To Catch a Countess

by Patricia Grasso

  Alexander missed Victoria. He’d passed the weeks since Christmas wondering if he should relent and listen to her so-called explanation. How could he trust her truthfulness? A woman who betrayed her husband would lie to protect herself.

  Supping with his daughters and reading them a bedtime story had become his routine. After which, Alexander would leave for the evening. Most nights found him at one of his clubs. Only Thursdays saw him attend the opera.

  Alexander walked into White’s Gentleman’s Club and, skirting the table occupied by the Russian princes, headed for the bar. He gestured the bartender who poured him a double whisky. When he’d downed that, the man served him another.

  Fortified by drink, Alexander advanced on his estranged brother-in-law. Rudolf was telling his brothers that he and his wife were taking Victoria to the opera on Wednesday.

  “Is that wise?” one of the brothers asked. “What if someone gives her the cut?”

  Rudolf shrugged. “Tory needs to get away from Inverary House more than society’s approval.”

  Alexander stood beside their table. “Rudolf, I wondered—”

  “Call me Your Highness.”

  Alexander inclined his head. “I wish to inquire about Victoria’s health.”

  Rudolf stared at him for a long moment. “Why do you care?”

  “Victoria is my wife and carries my child.”

  “I’m surprised you remembered.”

  “Forget I asked.” Alexander walked away, heading for the door. If he attended the opera Wednesday instead of Thursday, perhaps he could contrive to speak with his wife.

  * * *

  On Wednesday evening, a seven-month pregnant Victoria stood in front of the cheval mirror in her bedchamber. Her high-waisted, black velvet gown pulled tightly across her belly.

  Victoria decided she didn’t look too misshapen. Then she turned for the side view and grimaced.

  Reluctantly, Victoria had surrendered to her sister’s and brother-in-law’s nagging to get out of the house. Both believed she needed a change of scenery, if only for one evening.

  Victoria would never have agreed to the opera on a Thursday, but they had asked her for a Wednesday performance and refused to take no for an answer.

  “Don’t worry,” Samantha whispered, on the ride to the opera house.

  “Relax and enjoy yourself,” Prince Rudolf added.

  Victoria harbored misgivings about attending the opera, and the first—becoming a spectacle—came true the moment she entered the crowded lobby. She felt disapproving gazes upon her and wished she had remained home.

  Aplomb. Victoria recalled her aunt’s advice. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and walked through the lobby with her head held high.

  Apparently, all of society knew her husband was divorcing her on grounds of adultery. She should have known Venetia and Diana would act quickly to discredit her.

  Walking between her sister and brother-in-law, Victoria reached the base of the stairs that led to the balcony boxes. She heard a familiar voice, “The Douglas slut is bolder than brass to show her face in polite society.”

  Miriam Wilmington, Victoria thought without turning her head.

  “Poor Emerson, I heard the brat belongs to her lover,” another woman said.

  Victoria stiffened at the slur on her baby. She could suffer the poisonous arrows of gossip, but her baby was another matter.

  “Keep walking,” Rudolf whispered, leaning close.

  “Your condition precludes bashing her brainless head,” Samantha said, making her smile.

  Victoria nodded and climbed the stairs. Entering the prince’s opera box, she sensed people turning to stare at her and felt like crawling under the chair to hide. Instead, she stared without seeing at the stage.

  “Oh, dear,” her sister murmured.

  “Damn,” her brother-in-law muttered.

  Victoria followed their gazes to her husband’s opera box on the right. Her stomach churned at the sight. Alexander, Diana, Venetia, and Harry had just entered the opera box and sat down.

  Rudolf gave Victoria’s hand an encouraging squeeze. “I’m sorry, Tory, but leaving now would be worse than staying.”

  Victoria inclined her head, but her bottom lip quivered from her struggle to keep from weeping. God, she wished she was anywhere but here.

  Pretending that Alexander and his lover weren’t sitting only a few feet away proved impossible. Victoria couldn’t keep from glancing in their direction. Each time she did, she saw her husband’s gaze on her.

  Thankfully, the opera began. Victoria still felt the cold stares of the opera-goers. And Alexander. Which, she supposed, was better than remembering the tender, loving moments she and her husband had shared at the opera.

  She needed to survive until intermission. No one would notice if she left during the second act.

  Victoria wondered why society accepted her husband’s obvious moral transgressions while they crucified her because of gossip. She wished she lived in the old cottage. Her only worry then was where her next meal was coming from.

  Act One ended, signaling intermission, a time when society socialized. The object in attending the opera was to see and to be seen. Only a few, like her husband, attended because they loved the opera.

  Feeling a presence in the opera box, Victoria turned to see Lord Russell who started to talk business with Rudolf. Lydia Stanley was with him. This was all she needed to complete her miserable evening.

  “Good evening, Princess Samantha,” Lydia Stanley greeted her sister. “How fares your family?”

  “The children enjoy excellent health,” Samantha answered, her smile polite but not warm. “You remember my sister Victoria?”

  Lydia Stanley looked at Victoria as if she was a repulsive bug. Turning her back, she said, “Excuse me, Princess, I see some friends with whom I must speak.” The voluptuous beauty looked directly at Alexander and smiled before leaving the opera box.

  Victoria paled. She had just received the cut direct from one of her husband’s former lovers.

  Making her public humiliation even worse, someone watching from a nearby opera box applauded Lydia Stanley’s performance and said in a loud voice, “Bravo.” Venetia and Diana burst out laughing as did several other opera-goers.

  Victoria looked directly at her husband, her gaze fixed on his, accusing him as the source of this humiliation. Alexander appeared stricken, but Victoria could feel no sympathy for his regret. He had encouraged the spread of gossip about the mother of his unborn child and cast a shadow over his own son’s paternity. She would never forgive him for that.

  “I appreciate your efforts to cheer me,” Victoria said, rising from her chair, “but I cannot remain here.”

  “I’ll escort you to the coach,” Prince Rudolf said, his expression grim.

  “I would prefer to leave alone.” Victoria gestured for him to sit. With her head held high, she left the opera box and started down the corridor.

  “Victoria.”

  Halting at the sound of her husband’s voice, Victoria watched him advancing toward her. She didn’t feel strong enough at the moment to withstand his anger, but as pregnant as she was, bolting down the stairs was not an option.

  “I’m sorry, Tory.” His apology surprised her.

  Victoria arched a copper brow at him. “Are you?”

  “I’ll escort you to your coach,” Alexander said, reaching for her hand.

  “I can find my own way out.” Victoria snatched her hand back, noting the surprise on his face when she did. “You should return to your seat. Diana will be wondering the reason you deserted her.”

  “You are carrying my child, Tory.” Alexander dropped his gaze to the mound of her belly and gestured toward the stairs. “I insist on escorting you to your coach.”

  Victoria inclined her head. In silence, they descended the stairs to the lobby. Those members of the ton who milled about, cast curious gazes in their direction.

  Outside the theater, Alexander
called for his own coach to be brought around. “I received notice from King’s Bench,” he said while they waited. “They have scheduled an informal hearing for the first of April.”

  “Yes, I know.” Victoria slanted a glance at him. “How are the girls?”

  “The girls are well.” An expression of hesitation crossed his face and then he added, “They miss you, of course. In spite of our troubles, I want you to know that I am grateful for your bringing them into my home.”

  Victoria swallowed the lump of emotion rising in her throat. She stared straight ahead and remained silent.

  “I would like to speak—”

  “Speak to me through my barrister,” Victoria said, echoing the words he’d spoken to her the previous autumn.

  “What—?”

  “As I walked through the lobby, Miriam Cunningham was loudly speculating about our son’s paternity,” Victoria told him. “I will never forgive you, and neither will our son.”

  His coach halted in front of the theater. Alexander opened the door, helped her inside, and then called instructions to his driver.

  “Victoria—”

  Whatever he intended to say was lost as the coach moved into the road. Victoria suppressed the urge to look back and catch a final glimpse of the man she had loved.

  * * *

  Winter bowed to spring, March heralding its arrival.

  Since that evening at the opera, Alexander had considered his wife’s words. Had he cast a shadow over his son’s paternity?

  The gossip had spread faster than plague. He hadn’t told anyone what had happened, yet society had been whispering about the brewing scandal since before Christmas.

  His wife’s family would have remained silent. That left his own household and family. Servants did gossip to servants who, in turn, gossiped to other servants. However, he believed that Venetia and Diana had dropped juicy tidbits into conversations at social events.

  Victoria had acted the injured party at the opera. Could she be innocent of wrongdoing? Did she have a plausible explanation?

  Alexander decided to speak with her. He would listen with an open mind. If her explanation seemed plausible, they would reconcile which would squelch the gossip and free his son from cruel whispers.

  Two weeks after the incident at the opera, Alexander instructed his coachman to drive to Park Lane. Reaching Inverary House, he hurried up the steps and banged on the door.

  Tinker opened the door. “Deliveries in the rear,” the majordomo said, and tried to shut the door.

  Alexander’s booted foot prevented that and he pushed his way into the foyer. “Tell Lady Emerson I would speak with her.”

  “The lady isn’t home at the moment,” Tinker informed him. “Would you care to leave your card?’

  Alexander passed the majordomo his calling card and left the mansion. His wife’s absence irritated him. Having decided to listen, he wanted this conversation concluded so they could decide their future.

  Alexander waited a week but received no word from Victoria. He decided to try again. The majordomo allowed him entrance this time.

  “Tell Lady Emerson I need a word with her,” Alexander instructed the man.

  “Lady Emerson isn’t home at the moment,” Tinker told him. “Would you care to leave your card?”

  “Lady Emerson did not acknowledge my last card.”

  “Whether the lady acknowledges you or not is no business of mine.”

  Alexander cocked a brow. “I suspect that everyone’s business is your business.”

  Tinker made no reply. “Would you care to leave your card, my lord?”

  Alexander passed him his calling card. His irritation with his wife warmed into a slow simmer.

  Another week passed. No word from Victoria. His irritation’s slow simmer heated into a rapid boil.

  Again, Alexander went to Inverary House. He marched into the foyer as soon as the majordomo opened the door.

  “I told you Lady Emerson is not home,” Tinker said without being asked.

  “Where is she?” Alexander demanded.

  “Lady Emerson suffered an unpleasant incident at the opera,” Tinker said. “She decided to rusticate at His Grace’s Newmarket estate.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “I’m forbidden to divulge personal information.”

  “Damn it, man. I’m her husband.”

  “I’m so relieved you’ve recovered from your amnesia,” Tinker drawled. “Do you wish to leave a card?”

  Alexander wanted to toss the card in the majordomo’s face. Instead, he smiled and passed the man another card. “I would appreciate your sending me word when my wife returns to London,” he said. “Tell her we need to speak before the court hearing.”

  The majordomo’s lips twitched into the hint of a smile. “I shall certainly do that, my lord.”

  * * *

  Victoria arrived in London two weeks later. Walking around her uncle’s Newmarket estate had invigorated her. She felt better than she had in a long time, her only worry was the court hearing the following week.

  Resting on the chaise in her bedchamber, Victoria heard a tap on the door. “Enter,” she called, and looked over her shoulder.

  Tinker stepped into the room and closed the door. He took the three calling cards from his pocket and passed them to her. “Lord Emerson desperately wishes to speak with you, my lady.”

  “Desperately?”

  The majordomo nodded. “I wasn’t sure you wanted Her Grace to know, so I held the cards until your return.”

  “Thank you, Tinker.” Her smile could have lit the whole mansion. “I’ll take care of this.”

  Her marriage had been damaged beyond repair, but she wanted her husband to know that she had never been unfaithful. If he believed her, Alexander would allow her custody of their child. She would retire to her uncle’s country estate, and Alexander could enjoy generous visitation rights.

  Getting into the Grosvenor Square mansion without Venetia’s and Diana’s presence was difficult. She needed to pick her time carefully. When Alexander was dressing for the opera seemed best because Venetia and Diana would be home dressing for the opera, too.

  The Thursday before the hearing dawned bone-chillingly wet. Wearing her black woolen cloak, Victoria pulled its hood up and slipped out of the house.

  With her more-than-eight-months-pregnant belly leading the way, Victoria felt like a ship sailing down the street. Thankfully, the inclement weather kept people indoors.

  With the three calling cards in hand, Victoria knew that her husband would finally give her the opportunity to explain what had happened all those long months ago. She climbed the front stairs of the Grosvenor Square mansion. The front door opened before she could knock.

  “Welcome home, my lady,” Bundles greeted her, wearing a broad smile. “His Lordship is dressing for the opera.”

  “Thank you, Bundles.” After removing her wet cloak and passing it to him, Victoria waddled across the foyer and climbed the stairs to the third-floor bedchamber. She hadn’t been inside the house since the previous November. If she had only known how futile those reading lessons would be, she could have saved herself a great deal of heartache.

  Victoria hesitated outside her husband’s bedchamber door. Her old friend insecurity stepped from the shadows of her mind, making her heartbeat quicken.

  Without knocking, Victoria opened the door and stepped inside. Alexander stood with his back to her and was tying his cravat. Her heart ached at the familiar sight of him dressing for the opera.

  Victoria was about to make her presence known when the connecting door to her old bedchamber opened. The widow walked into the room.

  “Alex, darling, are we attending the Websters’ ball after the opera?”

  Victoria stood frozen in shock. Her husband was divorcing her for alleged adultery but had his whore ensconced in the bedchamber reserved for his countess.

  Turning toward the widow, Alexander saw Victoria standing the
re. His gaze dropped to her enormously distended belly.

  “How could you do this?” Without waiting for a reply, Victoria left the bedchamber and hurried, as best as her bulk would allow, down the stairs to the foyer. She heard her husband calling her name but didn’t pause in her flight.

  “Give these to the earl for my replacement.” Victoria dropped her betrothal and wedding rings into the majordomo’s hand. Without breaking stride, she flew out the front door and hurried in the direction of Park Lane.

  A moment later, Alexander bounded down the stairs to find his majordomo holding a cloak and staring at the open front door. “Where is my wife?”

  “She left, my lord.”

  “Without her cloak?”

  “Without her cloak and without a coach.”

  “Do you mean my pregnant wife walked here in the rain?” Alexander asked, looking in surprise at the older man.

  “Apparently.”

  “Has she gone?” Diana Drummond walked down the stairs to the foyer. “You need not divorce her if she catches a chill.”

  Alexander snapped his gaze to the widow. If she hadn’t detained him, he would have caught his wife before she escaped out the door. Going after his wife would be futile. She would never believe him innocent, nor would she forgive him.

  “Lady Victoria asked me to give you these for her replacement.” Bundles passed him the rings.

  Alexander stared at the wedding and betrothal rings. Unspeakable loss surged through him.

  “Shame on you,” Bundles said. “Find yourself another majordomo—I quit.”

  Chapter 14

  “Are you certain you want to go through with this?” Duke Magnus asked, his dark gaze on her.

  “I will not admit guilt for something I didn’t do.” Victoria met his gaze across the coach. “If Alexander wants Diana Drummond, he’ll need to find another way.”

  “Good for you,” Robert said, sitting beside his father.

  “Be strong, Tory,” Prince Rudolf said, beside her.

  The first day of April had come quickly. For five months, the moments had seemed like hours and the hours like days. And then, suddenly, Victoria had awakened on the morning of the hearing.