by Nicole Byrd
“No, indeed. My husband never beat me. He was a kindhearted, dear man.” Now she had to blink hard against more tears.
The contessa pulled a clean handkerchief from her sleeve and pushed it into Lauryn’s hand. “Non, non. You vill veep us off the bed. Your ’usband is a zaint, we agree. You are zick for ’ome, is that it? As I zaid, if you miss your ’usband, you can leave and rejoin ’im at your vill. So what keeps you?”
“My husband is dead!” Lauryn almost shouted, raising her voice for the second time. “Unless I wish to cut my throat, I can’t join him.”
This time the contessa did not admonish her. Instead, she stared at her for a moment. “Ah, now I understand, a little. You mourn the good dead ’usband. ’E died this week, this month?”
Lauryn shook her head.
“When vas it that ’e died?”
Lauryn told her, and the contessa again looked mystified. “But, ma petite, you cannot mourn the man, even the good man, the rest of your life.”
“I loved him,” Lauryn told her, exasperated in her turn. “Don’t you know how it feels to love a man?”
“I vas married for eight years. It vas a buzinezz arrangement; ’e had a good family name, a zatisfactory estate,” the contessa said, her tone matter-of-fact. “Ve got along quite vell. When ’e died, I mourned him dutifully for zeveral months. Then I made the decisions I must to continue my life. You must remember the words of the priest, ma petite, when ’e makes the wedding vows: ‘until death do uz part.’ The good ’usband has died. The marriage is over.”
It sounded so harsh, put like that. Yet in her mind, Lauryn knew that the contessa was right. It was in her heart that she felt she was being disloyal to Robert…especially…
“There is more, oui?” The contessa was still watching her face, where her sisters had always told Lauryn her thoughts were too easily read.
Lauryn tried to wipe her countenance clean. “What do you mean?”
“It iz not that last night waz not good. It iz that last night waz too good. That iz what troubles you zo.”
“I didn’t say that!” Lauryn turned away from this too inquisitive, too discerning stranger, but the contessa would not be ignored.
“Of course, thiz iz the whole nutshell,” she said, nodding wisely. “If the lovemaking ’ad not been good, or only a little good, your conscience vould ’ave been easy. But Marcuz never makez love that is not exquizite. So now your ’eart iz smote—you vorry that the good dead ’usband vill look poorly in comparison.”
“I do not!” Lauryn tried to interrupt, her cheeks surely flaming, but the other woman ignored her.
“Do not be foolish, Madame Smith. Every man is different. Iz not necessary to judge better or good or not so good, just different. Zo, let it go and be eazy. And rest the eyes with the cucumbers, and come down for dinner, for if you do not—”
The contessa rose and glided toward the door, pausing with one hand on the door handle to say, “If you do not, I vill tell the earl that you are contemplating taking vows to become a nun, and ’e might as vell take me back as lover in your place.”
And smiling brilliantly, she pulled the door hastily shut before the handful of cucumber slices that Lauryn sent sailing her way splattered against it.
Even after the contessa had departed, Lauryn lay there for a time and fumed. Yes, she had been lying in bed overcome with guilt, it was quite true. The fact that what she had felt with the Earl of Sutton last night had taken her to such heights of passion—the very first time they had come together, too—how could it be possible, and what did it say about her years of lovemaking with her own husband?
She felt disloyal to the extreme. It was all very well, what the contessa had said, but she couldn’t just turn her feelings off and on, like placing a candlesnuffer upon a candle’s tiny flame when one was ready to kill the blaze. Her marriage may have ended at the moment life had been extinguished in her husband when he had succumbed to his illness, but feelings took much longer to fade.
Lauryn wished the contessa were not so skilled at putting her finger on the crux of the problem. It was quite true that if their lovemaking had not been so wonderful, she would not feel so guilty. Groaning, she put the cold cloth back over her eyes. She hoped that her swollen eyelids would be less noticeable by dinnertime, as she’d be damned if she would have the contessa telling spurious tales about nunneries while Lauryn lingered upstairs.
So she spent the afternoon in her room, wondering occasionally what the earl was doing, and how energetically the contessa was trying to cut her out of his activities. When the maid came up to help her dress before dinner, Lauryn was more than ready to get up and see people again. She choose another attractive dress from her collection of new gowns, this one a deep forest green, and with the servant’s help, prepared for the evening.
When the knock came at her door, she recognized the hand and hurried to open it.
The earl’s expression was hard to read. “I hope you are feeling better?”
“Yes, thank you,” she said, trying to smile naturally.
“Good,” he said, and to her relief, did not question her about the nature of her indisposition. He only offered her his arm. They walked downstairs to the dining room, where again a large party of guests was assembling.
She did not, of course, sit by the earl; her seat was at the other end, in the place of honor at the hostess’s position, where she sat above even the higher-ranked ladies, which must annoy many of them, Lauryn thought. She was careful not to appear to relish the fact. No need to make enemies; one never knew what the future would bring. She had hoped not to meet any of the Ton in this persona, but schemes could go awry, and this one had already strayed far from the course that she had intended it to take.
The fact that the contessa was seated near the earl didn’t bother her overmuch. The contessa would do what she could to insinuate herself with the earl, but the woman was so honest about it that Lauryn found her less of an annoyance than she would otherwise have been. And really, how many of the other women here would do the same, if they could? Either the earl wanted Lauryn, or he didn’t, and what the other females did or didn’t do would not change that, so Lauryn wasted no time trying to watch her lover for telltale signs of an altered interest. She kept her eyes on her own partners, as was proper, and smiled and chatted as any well brought up lady should.
Lauryn kept her dinner conversation polite and trivial, and deflected questions about her own past and personal life with light answers and smiling jests.
The gentleman to her left said, “But how have I not met you before, Mrs. Smith? Such beauty could not be easily hidden.”
She smiled archly, like the worst kind of society maven, and said, “I’m sure I was under your nose the whole time, Colonel Archwell.”
And when the elderly baron on her right insisted he had sat just behind her at the opera two weeks past, she only smiled and allowed him to treat her as an old acquaintance. Mostly she sipped her wine and ate her dinner and kept her chat easy and inconsequential, feeling that she was picking her way barefoot through a nettle patch.
The strain of keeping up a flow of light and unrevealing conversation left her with little appetite, and then there was the knowledge that she would be the one to lead the ladies out when dinner ended. She had not counted on serving in the position of the lady of the manor when she took on this role, and probably, neither had the earl. It was his brother, by inviting this large house party, who had thrust them into this imbroglio. She had expected her only significant position would be in the earl’s bed!
That thought almost made her blush, which would never do—they would all wonder what she was thinking, so she hastily turned her thoughts back to the boring talk about hunting and horses in which her dinner partners were deeply engaged. She kept her thoughts under strict control for the rest of the meal, and when the many covers had been consumed and the delicate pastries and hearty meats and well-stirred sauces and finally, the delicious desserts ha
d all been sampled, she looked around the table to gather the attention of the ladies, then stood.
The other females followed her example, and the men stood as well while she turned to lead the feminine half of the dinner party away. At the other end of the table the earl inclined his head and gave her a brief smile. She thought she read approval in his glance and even a glint of admiration, and she smiled back, trying not to blush again.
If he approved of her performance—she was conscious of a warm glow inside. That carried her down the hall and up the broad staircase and into the drawing room, where she selected the best and most comfortable chair—she was giving pride of place to no one, not as long as she was playing hostess!—and sat down, arranging her skirt gracefully around her. Now the inquisition would really begin.
As the other women came in and settled in chairs and settees around the hearth and around her, she tried to draw their names from her memory—she had met so many people last night. But tonight most of the neighbors were back at their own tables. The guests still here were the ones staying as houseguests, the ones that the earl’s brother had invited to come from London to stay. Her gaze skimmed over them lightly as she made an inventory in her mind.
This lady in the purple plumes was the plump baronet’s wife and those two were his daughters; she rather thought Lady Roberts was hoping for a husband from if not the earl, who was rather out of her social sphere, at least his brother. From the wary way Carter eyed the two girls, who seemed silly and giggled too much, Lauryn thought the odds were against this matchmaking mama. But their father was one of the earl’s hunting friends, so they had been invited.
The two fashionably dressed young matrons chatting to each other were wives of two former university friends of Carter’s; these two ladies eyed Lauryn with open speculation. Another two even younger women were also dressed in high fashion and could barely be told from the demimonde themselves, but she thought they were teetering on the edge of respectability—and she couldn’t remember if they were someone’s wives, or not.
And of course, the most fashionable, the most beautiful, if not the youngest, was always the contessa, who seated herself on the other side of the hearth from Lauryn herself. Dressed tonight in gold satin, she shone like a statue carved from precious metal.
“I am happy to see you so improved, Madame Smith,” she told Lauryn. “I see my visit, it was encouraging, yes?” She grinned.
“Thank you,” Lauryn said. “And yes, your advice was most helpful.” And she could not help smiling back.
The contessa’s openness was refreshing. Too bad the English ladies were more veiled in their methods.
“You must tell us how you met the earl, Mrs. Smith,” one of the matrons said, as if to demonstrate Lauryn’s thought. “I’m sure it is a memorable story.”
“Oh, no,” she answered, giving the other her best smile. “Quite boring, in fact. It was just another social encounter.” And wouldn’t they love to know the truth, she thought. They would drag her over hot coals, first….
“So you are saying he was so smitten by your grace and charm, he immediately swept you off to his estate to get to know you better?” Mrs. Roberts suggested. The two nitwitted offspring giggled at their mother’s drollness.
“I would never submit anything so vain,” Lauryn replied, smiling. “You are the one who suggests it, not me.”
“Ah, the English, they do not demonstrate,” the contessa broke in. “Now, when the earl was courting me, he was much more useful with the imagination.” She swept on with a long story about the number of flowers he sent, and how generous he was in the matter of jewels, and how often he came to call. The other females glared at her, which seemed not to bother the contessa at all, and only made Lauryn want to giggle.
This caused a lull in the conversation, which bothered Lauryn not at all. But the women around her exchanged glances, and she could feel them gathering their barbs for the next assault.
“And where did you say your family is from?” The other matron asked. “My cousin is married to a Smith from Devonshire, whose family is extensive. Perhaps you are related?”
This was a potential trap in more ways than one. If she claimed kinship, they could track down the link and prove it untrue, and if she did not, they would dig for another family connection. The others were silent, waiting for her to answer.
Oh, for the wisdom of Solomon, Lauryn thought, feeling the muscles of her neck tighten. “Devonshire, I don’t believe so,” she said. “But then, tracing one’s family tree is such a boring exercise, don’t you think?”
Since this was a common exercise for members of the Ton, the lady who had been about to follow up her first question with more demands for information paused with high spots of color showing on her cheeks, and the whole roomful of women gasped at such effrontery.
Lauryn pretended not to notice.
“Why should one have to–ah–trace it?” the contessa added, her tone innocent. “Is it not already known?”
“For most of us, it is!” another lady snapped.
“I suppose,” the lady’s friend put in, while the first still fought to control her outrage, “that you are expecting an offer from the earl anytime?” She smiled, looking as congenial as any tiger in an eastern jungle ready to spring upon some helpless prey.
Lauryn laughed aloud. Her amusement was so obviously unfeigned that the rest of the room stared at her.
“I think not,” she said. Continuing to smile, she turned to the first Roberts daughter. “What about you, Miss Roberts? I suppose you have many admirers?”
The young lady blushed and made a disclaimer, but she seemed to enjoy the attention. She twirled a lock of her hair and traded teasing comments with her sister for several minutes.
And then, to Lauryn’s relief, the men joined them, and she could leave it to the earl to take over management of the guests. Carter and some of the younger of the company soon wandered off into the billiard room, where presently occasional shouts of glee suggested lively games were being pursued, whether on the green felt tables or other more vigorous types of diversion, Lauryn wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
Meanwhile, in the drawing room, Mrs. Roberts volunteered her daughters to play upon the pianoforte for the entertainment of the guests. This meant the occasional wrong note or off-key assault upon their ears, but at least it got that three-some out of their way, as Mama and the other sister had to go and turn pages and look over the first sister’s shoulder as she played.
And it drove the contessa, who had first stayed to be near the earl but appeared to have real musical taste, off to rejoin his brother and the younger party.
The earl came to stand beside Lauryn as a servant passed around glasses of wine on a silver tray.
“I see you have survived the gauntlet unscathed.”
“Oh, I have endured a few bites, but the blood loss is minimal,” she told him, keeping her voice as low as his own.
His grin was mischievous. “I cannot imagine any of my neighbors, and certainly any of Carter’s friends, getting the best of you, Mrs. Smith.”
For a moment, she felt a warm surge of answering feeling, that he should think her capable, that he should seem to think them a team, set against his neighbors or his half brother’s silly group of friends…and then she looked away from his admiring glance. She was making too much of a few joking words. She must not imagine more here than was really the case.
She had not come here to get her heart broken.
Six
Although the earl’s demeanor was polite and attentive to his other guests, she felt his impatience, and even shared it. The conversation in the drawing room was less than diverting, the music certainly less than entertaining, and just having him stand by her side was a gentle torture. His nearness made her long for the time when they could be once more alone together.
What was wrong with her that she could so hunger for his touch? The man was like laudanum, she wanted him so badly. She tried to listen t
o one of the other men talk about a new hunter he had bought, but her thought kept drifting back to their time together last night, how his hands on her body had inflamed her—she pulled her thoughts away with the greatest difficulty, afraid her color was rising.
Was he breathing too quickly, as well? She was sure it was not over the fine points of the nice little roan that the colonel was describing with such precise language. “Her sire is an Irish hunter from north of Dublin, excellent bottom.”
She glanced up at the earl, and he met her eye and smiled, and her pulse leaped. Soon, soon, they could escape the others and come together once more….
A crash of keys from the pianoforte made her jump. It was the end to yet another tune, and she turned to clap politely. Miss Roberts beamed at the praise and at once turned the pages of the sheet music to find another tune.
“Would you like to play for us, Mrs. Smith?” the earl asked, leaning closer to ask. The soft touch of his breath against her cheek made her draw in a deep breath, even as she shook her head at his question.
“No, indeed. I’m afraid I’ve had little training at the pianoforte,” she told him, her tone candid. “I would not wish to perform before company.”
“I hardly think you could do worse,” he muttered, keeping his voice low as he nodded toward the young ladies sitting at the instrument on the other side of the room, who had now decided to favor the remaining guests with a duet. At least they seemed to be driving many of the remaining company up to bed.
Lauryn tried not to laugh. “Be that as it may,” she said, “I would not wish to display my own lack of skill, trust me.”
“Always,” he told her.
Lauryn looked up, and for a moment, their gazes met. She felt breathless, and once again everything inside her was melting like wax left too close to a fire. And yet, she also felt the urge to run away and hide—it was too much, too soon. For all of her brave words, she felt as if this masquerade were almost out of control—her body had reacted so strongly to his powerful masculinity that she felt barely in command of her own actions.