Courting the Countess

by Donna Hatch

  Joanna looked up. “Really? I must seek your aid when my time comes.”

  “Elizabeth has proved a delightful surprise in many ways.” Richard glanced at her father with what might have been reproof, but she could not be certain.

  Why he’d gone from his horrid accusation to suddenly heaping praise upon her, she could not explain. He might be so conscious of his family image that he’d decided to pretend they were the picture of married bliss. Or did he play some other game?

  He glanced at her with what she could only describe as a look of apology, mingled with pleading. She focused on her dinner plate. He had apologized before they left on their journey but she’d been too angry to accept it—what was to stop him from doing it again?

  After dinner, the ladies removed themselves to a closed-off portion of the drawing room while Father, Martindale, and Richard remained to enjoy an after-dinner brandy. No doubt Father was taking snuff. Mary sat down to some correspondence and Joanna bent her head over her embroidery. Elizabeth steeled herself and went to look in on Duchess. She was the reason, after all, that Elizabeth had come. Very well, she’d come because Father had asked. Still, she ought to show more concern.

  Duchess was her usual disapproving self, but grumbled about her health more than over what a disappointment Elizabeth was in every way.

  Only moments later, Richard came in, much to Elizabeth’s surprise. “How are you feeling, Duchess?” he asked solicitously.

  His polite question sent Duchess off on another tirade about her illness. At least it wasn’t about Elizabeth. “I don’t like to complain,” Duchess ended. “I’m tired. Leave me.”

  Elizabeth dutifully kissed Duchess’s cheek and arose. Richard accompanied her as they left Duchess’s exhausting presence.

  In the corridor, Richard took her hand and tugged gently as he headed toward the stairs. “A word, if you please.”

  She hesitated. He was right. They did need to talk.

  He led her into the library. Only a single lamp illuminated the room. He closed the door, and for a moment, leaned on it as if borrowing strength. He pushed off, squaring his shoulders as if he were about to deliver a controversial speech to Parliament. “I know I’ve behaved like a boorish, unfeeling cad. You have every reason to despise me. I jumped to conclusions and treated you unfairly and with great discourtesy.”

  You treated Tristan discourteously, too, she wanted to say, but thought it better to leave him out of it for the moment.

  Richard drew a breath and visibly stiffened his spine. “It’s clear to me that you still have feelings for Tristan, but that’s to be expected. Emotions cannot be as turned off as we might wish.”

  She wondered if he spoke of her feelings for Tristan or his love for Letitia.

  “I’ve misjudged you,” he continued. “I ask—no, I beg your forgiveness. I don’t deserve it, but I ask it of you, anyway. I’m sorry. So very sorry. Will you forgive me?” Though he stood with all the commanding aura of a man accustomed to being obeyed, childlike vulnerability entered his eyes. He stood awaiting her words. His eyes narrowed as if in pain. “Please say something.”

  She moistened her lips. “You hurt me, Richard. Deeply. On more than one occasion.”

  He winced but kept silent.

  Drawing courage from his willingness to let her speak, she continued. “While I confess I have not totally overcome my…feelings…for Tristan, I vow to you that I have been trying to be a good wife. That includes not shaming you. Ever.”

  He waited, regret and pain shadowing his expression.

  Did she dare tell him that she feared this cycle of his mistrust would never end—that he’d always view her with suspicion? That each time he questioned her honor, he wounded her further and gave her greater reason to long for what she thought she’d once shared with Tristan? No. She must give Richard the chance to prove himself, just as she hoped for the chance to prove herself to him.

  While she wrestled with her thoughts, he waited, his posture slipping into a much less commanding stance. He drummed his fingers on his thigh and swallowed, the pleading in his eyes growing to desperation.

  She couldn’t hurt him. She had to offer him her forgiveness. Touching his arm, she leaned in. “Of course I forgive you.”

  His relief rippled over her in heady waves. “Thank you. I will endeavor to be worthy of your forgiveness.” He paused, still searching her eyes. “I sense a condition.”

  “No, there’s no condition.”

  “What is it, then?”

  She folded her arms as if to protect herself from further hurt as a great weariness crept over her. All the memories and emotions of being at her family’s ancestral home, her conversation with Mary, dinner, and now her conversation with Richard all left her so tired she could hardly stand. “I will never give you reason to doubt me. I wish you would trust me.”

  He swallowed as if she’d asked for a piece of the moon. “I don’t know if I can just yet. Trust is as fragile as a crystal goblet, and once it’s broken, it’s almost impossible to repair.” He moistened his lips. “You haven’t broken my trust; I only thought you did.”

  She held her breath, sensing a turning point in her tenuous relationship with Richard.

  “I find it difficult to trust anyone, but I will try to trust you. As my wife, you deserve at least that.”

  Hurt at his unwillingness to give her his trust gave way as a new emotion elbowed in—compassion. Someone, or perhaps more than one person, had hurt him so deeply that he assumed everyone would. His lack of faith did not stem from his view of her character, or even his feelings for her. A vulnerable place inside him colored his perceptions.

  The new understanding lightened her heart. A desire to wrap her arms around him overcame her so strongly that she had to fold her hands together. Otherwise, she might cause an unseemly display of affection such as what Father and Duchess often chided her for enacting.

  She offered him a gentle smile and touched his arm. “Thank you. I vow I will do whatever I must to deserve such a gift.”

  He inclined his head. “Thank you.” He hesitated. “Well, good night.”

  “Good night, Richard.” She left him and went to bed, praying that they’d finally reached some kind of ground upon which to build a relationship.

  Over the next few days, Duchess’s health improved. They should return home, but Elizabeth couldn’t remember when she’d enjoyed a summer at her family’s county seat so much. She saw little of Duchess, and a great deal of her sisters. Moreover, the thought of the long trip that lay between them and home held little appeal. During the visit, the tension between her and Richard had eased. Perhaps it was their big talk, or perhaps Richard simply had fewer responsibilities that took his thoughts and his time, but he seemed genuinely relaxed. He and her father and brother-in-law spent time in one another’s company and a friendly camaraderie clearly formed between them.

  One evening, Duchess joined the family for dinner. Unfortunately, Father and Martindale had been called away on estate matters.

  Before the second course arrived, Duchess aimed a poisonous barb at Elizabeth. “Your gown is beyond-the-pale, Elizabeth. Did you design that atrocity yourself or rely on some country bumpkin dressmaker to create it?”

  Elizabeth flinched as if she’d been struck and stared at Duchess before quickly dropping her gaze onto her hands. Such a cutting remark made in front of so many others was overly cruel, even for her. “I-I made a few suggestions.”

  Duchess sniffed. “You really ought to leave fashion to those who are expert in that field. Trying to assert your own limited sense of style in such a clumsy attempt to win approval will only leave you open to further ridicule.”

  Elizabeth’s face burned and she set down her fork, her appetite forgotten. “I’m not attempting to win approval,” she ground out. “I know better than that.”

  “I think her gowns are lovely,” Richard said.

  Duchess wasn’t finished. She had to twist the proverbial knife. “A
fter the shameful way you began your marriage, you ought to keep quiet and focus on producing heirs. If you keep your head down and your mouth shut, by the time your children are old enough to attend school, rumor regarding your shame should have faded.”

  Would this never end? Anger lent Elizabeth courage and she met her stepmother’s gaze boldly. “No one is still interested in our marriage, or its origin. All rumors have been put to rest and my neighbors have been very welcoming.”

  “How dare you speak to me with such impudence!” Duchess’s face mottled red. “Hold your tongue.”

  Next to her, Joanna was breathing in rapid little gasps. She pressed a napkin to her mouth.

  Instead of quailing at the familiar sign of Duchess in a rage, hot indignation burst over Elizabeth. “I’m my own lady now—”

  “Remember your place,” Duchess snapped.

  “Madam,” Richard’s voice rumbled, “I’ll thank you not to speak to my wife in such a manner.”

  Duchess’s mouth dropped open.

  “She’s right,” Richard said. “There have been no further whispers of scandal regarding Elizabeth or our marriage. The gossips have turned their discussion to Lord Byron’s latest escapade. Elizabeth is a lovely and proper wife and I am blessed to have her.” Richard raised Elizabeth’s hand to his lips.

  A shocked silence fell over everyone at the table. To her knowledge, no one had ever spoken so forcefully to Duchess.

  Gratitude warmed Elizabeth, and tears sprang into her eyes. She looked down lest she reveal her emotion to her family. How kind of Richard to rise to her defense. How noble. How brave. His continued protectiveness must mean he cared, at least at some level.

  “That Beau Brummell,” Mary said. “Have you heard his latest?”

  That prompted a discussion on one of the most fashionable and notorious men in England. Elizabeth sent Mary a silent expression of thanks.

  Father joined them and Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. Duchess often toned down her poison in front of him. He greeted them all and made a point of nodding to Elizabeth, his mouth softening.

  Mary’s husband, Lord Brinton spoke. “Speaking of notorious men, I read that the authorities have a lead on that infamous and mysterious criminal, Mr. Black.”

  Father looked up from his meal. “Have they indeed? That is good news. I hope they shut down all his operations. If half of what I’ve heard about Mr. Black is true, he deserves to be hanged.”

  Lord Brinton glanced at Richard. “I’m intrigued by your theory that Mr. Black might be an alias. I wonder where this investigation will lead.”

  “Merely speculation,” Richard said.

  “Bow Street is heading up the investigation,” Lord Brinton said. “I’m sure they’ll uncover the truth.”

  Father cleared his voice and glanced meaningfully at Elizabeth and her sisters. “Perhaps this is a discussion for another time.”

  Elizabeth resisted the impulse to roll her eyes and made up her mind to read the paper to learn more.

  “Of course, forgive me, ladies,” said Lord Brinton.

  Father said to Richard, “I regret I will not be able to join you hunting tomorrow, Lord Averston. I have received a writ of summons for a peer trial and must make preparations to return to London.”

  Richard’s fork paused mid-air. “Peer trial?”

  “It seems Lord Einsburgh has been arrested.”

  Elizabeth gasped. The idea of a lord being arrested seemed unbelievable.

  Richard nodded. “I read about that in the paper.”

  Elizabeth made the mistake of glancing at Duchess. Their eyes met. Absolute cold fury poured out of the woman. Her lips curved into a cruel smile, the same expression she’d worn for years each time she’d dragged Elizabeth into her private parlor and punished her. For a moment, Elizabeth recoiled as bewilderment overcame her. Then she understood: Duchess planned to punish Elizabeth for the embarrassment of Richard’s words of reprimand. All thought of Lord Einsburgh and a trial fled.

  Elizabeth had found some confidence as Richard’s countess. Yet that confidence trickled away at the thought of Duchess’s retribution. Cold sickness overcame her and she could not eat another bite.

  If only she had the courage to wrench that riding crop out of Duchess’s hand and refuse to bend to her will. It didn’t matter. Duchess would win. In the end, Duchess always won.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  After a surprisingly delightful morning of hunting with his brothers-in-law, Richard walked into the house. He removed his hat and stripped off his riding gloves. As he passed Elizabeth in the hall, he halted at her expression. She looked as if she’d seen a ghost.

  He touched her arm. “What is it?”

  She dropped her gaze. “Nothing. Duchess wishes me to see her in her parlor.”

  “And?”

  “It’s nothing. She probably just wants to speak with me,” she said faintly as she clasped trembling hands behind her back. “And have…tea.”

  The hackles on the back of his neck arose. “What are you not telling me?”

  Visibly steeling herself, she shook her head without raising her gaze. “It’s nothing..”

  Concerned by her pallor and the tremor in her voice, he put an arm around her and began to lead her in the opposite direction. “You don’t look well. Go lie down. You can speak with your mother another time.”

  She dug in her heels while a look of absolute terror overcame her face. “No. I must go now. She has summoned me. Putting it off will—er, I will go visit with her now, and lie down afterward. She is, after all, the reason we’re here. I should at least visit with her when she wishes to see me.”

  A sickening suspicion overcame him. “I’ll go with you.”

  She shrank away from him. “No, she wants to see me alone.”

  “I don’t think that’s wise.”

  “Please let me go; she’s waiting.”

  He demanded, “What, exactly, are you expecting to find in her morning parlor?”

  “Nothing. She merely wishes to have a word in private.” She pushed at his chest, desperation lacing her voice. “You…you need to change. Please go.” She wriggled out of his grasp.

  “No.” The commanding tones in his voice echoed in the corridor.

  She flinched.

  He softened his voice. “Why are you willing to go to her like a lamb to the slaughter?”

  She turned away. “I’m not. We’re simply going to have a conversation like two intelligent adults. Stop trying to act like a protective husband when we both know you’re not.”

  Stung by her words, he recoiled. She strode away, her head high and her arms rigid at her side.

  Very well. He deserved her anger. For the first two months of their marriage, he’d been neglectful and mistrustful. No longer. He refused to neglect her now when she needed him. Elizabeth did not deserve whatever the duchess had in store for her. If his wife wouldn’t defend herself, he would.

  Energy flowed through his veins in anticipation of a conflict with the duchess. Richard didn’t care who she was or how much power their family wielded, if that woman thought she was going to hurt his wife, she had a lesson to learn.

  Elizabeth disappeared into the library, closing the door behind her. He waited until he heard a door on the opposite side of the room open and close before entering the room. He found himself in an empty sitting room with a closed door on the far side. Richard crossed the chamber, listened at the door and pushed it open. It opened onto a sitting room. He spared a thought for English architects who designed so many of the older houses with rooms that opened onto rooms rather than having passageways that connected everything. Voices lead him to the next chamber.

  The duchess’s shrill tones seeped through the walls. “I will not be spoken to in such a manner! Now turn around.”

  “No. You will not treat me this way,” came Elizabeth’s voice. “I am not a frightened child you can bully any longer.” Anger and terror laced her passionate words.

&nb
sp; There was a thump as if a heavy object had been dropped.

  “You are not so grown up as you suppose,” the duchess snarled. “And I will not be defied.”

  Elizabeth let out a cry of alarm. All of Richard’s protective instincts sprang into action. He burst through the room. Elizabeth and Duchess stood struggling to control a long, thin riding crop. Richard’s heart nearly stopped.

  They both froze, their gazes locked on Richard. With rage boiling through him, Richard reached Elizabeth’s side in only a few strides. With all the loathing coursing through his body, he stared down the duchess who looked back at him with contempt.

  Richard grabbed the riding crop. Elizabeth released her hold on it but the duchess continued to grip it. With a quick twist, Richard wrenched it out of her hand. He glowered at the duchess and pulled Elizabeth against his chest.

  He stared at the duchess as rage and disbelief thundered through him. “You were going to hit her with this?”

  The duchess didn’t have the grace to look ashamed. She made a negligent wave. “I seldom draw blood. She’s so wild, she needs correction.”

  “Correction?” Richard shouted. “How dare you!”

  A calculating light glinted in her eyes. “She’s not worth it, you know.”

  Richard drew himself up and poured venom into his voice. “Do not ever touch my wife again. In any manner. For any reason. Is that clear?”

  The duchess made a sound of disgust. “Using a light hand on such a hoyden will only lead to your disgrace. She’ll turn out just like her mother, the little tramp.”

  Elizabeth let out a gasp.

  Richard stiffened. “What are you talking about? She’s nothing like you—” He broke off as a new suspicion sprang into his mind.

  After moving to a mirror, Duchess smoothed back her hair. “No, she’s nothing like me. I have no doubt she’ll be just like the woman who—”

  Elizabeth broke in, “Please don’t.”

  Turning away from the mirror, the duchess opened her eyes in mock surprise. “What? You haven’t told him? My, you are full of secrets.” She smiled like a cat eying a wounded bird.