The Earl's Countess 0f Convenience (Penniless Brides 0f Convenience Book 1)

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘I don’t know anything about such things.’

  ‘You don’t have to. It will be an act. You have an imagination, don’t you?’ He ran his fingers up her arm to rest on the warm skin at the nape of her neck. ‘Pretend, when you look at me, that we have been making love.’

  ‘But I don’t know how that would—what should I be feeling?’

  ‘Happy. Think of something that makes you happy.’

  ‘When a gown I’ve made turns out to be exactly as I’d imagined it?’

  He bit back a laugh. ‘Think of something a little more—how did it feel when you climbed to the top of a tree as a girl?’

  ‘Exciting. Dizzying. A little bit frightening. I always wondered what it would be like to let go, as if I might fly.’

  ‘Imagine you are feeling that now.’

  Eloise gazed at him wide-eyed. He could feel her breath on his face, see the quick rise and fall of her breasts beneath the neckline of her gown. She reached tentatively for him, resting her hand on his shoulder. ‘In the mornings, in the summer, when the sun is only just coming up, I like to walk on the grass, barefoot,’ she whispered. ‘It’s cool, and damp, but in the most delicious way that makes you want to curl your toes into the grass. Is that what you mean?’

  ‘It is perfect.’ So perfect that he could picture the bliss on her face, that he wished, absurdly, he was the grass under her feet.

  ‘Alexander, I’ve never even been kissed.’

  He could have groaned aloud at the temptation. Instead, he forced himself to sit back, to lift her hand to his lips once more, to press the lightest of kisses to her wrist. And then to let her go. ‘There will be no need for real kissing. Absolutely no lovemaking. What we have discussed will be the extent of our performance. Do you think we can manage that?’

  ‘Do you think we can?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ Alexander shifted uncomfortably on the wooden bench.

  ‘Would you still think so if I had been as you imagined, fiercer, older and with spectacles?’

  Would he? The chivalrous answer would be no. But hadn’t they agreed to be honest? ‘Luckily, I tried to avoid imagining you at all.’

  ‘For fear you wouldn’t be able to abide me? It’s fine, you can admit it,’ Eloise said with a rueful smile, ‘for I confess, that I was—I was steeling myself for the worst.’

  ‘And would you be here now, if I had lived down to your expectations?’

  ‘Would the vast sum I will earn compensate for a stoop or spectacles or bad breath?’ Eloise grimaced. ‘The truth is, when I saw you I was vastly relieved, but—well, we are being brutally honest, aren’t we? Then I will tell you that you could have been an Adonis, but if I had taken you in dislike, and felt I could not overcome my reservations, then I wouldn’t be sitting here with you.’ She smiled shyly. ‘The fact that you do resemble a Greek god—a fact that I am sure cannot come as a surprise to you—well, the female population at least will not find it too difficult to believe that I fell in love with your face and not your fortune. Not that I mean to imply that all females are so shallow as to fall in love only with handsome men, but...’

  ‘No, but I fear that the majority of men are indeed that shallow,’ Alexander interrupted wryly. ‘My cousin will find it much harder to question the validity of our marriage when he sets eyes on you.’

  ‘When you meet Phoebe and Estelle, you will realise why I am known as the clever sister.’

  ‘Clever and beautiful. I am fortunate indeed,’ Alexander said, thinking, as she blushed charmingly, that he was in fact beyond fortunate.

  ‘Clever enough to recognise that you have not answered my original question.’

  ‘I think we are all shallow creatures as far as first impressions go. I would like to think that I’d have overcome any reservations by getting to know you. I am certain that, having come to know you a little, I’d want to know more, and I can also say, as you did, that if I’d taken you in dislike, I would have put an end to the matter. But I am relieved—I can say now, hugely relieved—to discover that while your exterior is extremely attractive, it is what lies beneath that makes me think we will suit.’ He cast a worried look up at the sky. ‘We should get back inside, it looks like it’s threatening to rain.’

  Eloise stood up. ‘Do you realise we’ve been talking all this while as if the decision has already been made?’

  Alexander considered this. He felt odd. Not afraid, but it was that feeling he often had, at the culmination of a mission, when everything was finally coming together but there was still the danger that it could all go wrong, the thrill of the unknown. He felt as Eloise had described, perched at the top of a tree. ‘Have I been presumptive?’ he asked.

  ‘Do you really think our natures are complementary?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, surprising himself with his certainty. ‘I think—I really do think that we will suit very well. And you?’

  Eloise bit her lip, frowning. Her smile dawned slowly. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think—I think if opposites attract, then we are an excellent match.’

  He took her hands in his. ‘Miss Brannagh, will you do me the honour of marrying me?’

  ‘Lord Fearnoch, I do believe I will.’

  And then she smiled up at him. And Alexander gave in to the temptation to kiss her. Delightfully, and far too briefly, on the lips.

  Chapter Four

  Six weeks later

  The journey from Elmswood Manor to London was made by means of a carriage which Alexander had sent for her. Eloise had been too sick with nerves to notice much, conscious only that each passing mile drew her nearer to the beginning of her new life. She knew she was approaching the metropolis because the roads became crowded, the post houses noisier, the buildings first crammed closer together, then growing ever taller. The well-sprung carriage jolted over cobbled streets. Iron palings, imposing mansions passed in a blur. She could hear street criers, see people jostling for position on the pavements, but little of the colourful city landscape registered. Overwhelmed, she abandoned her futile attempt to work out where she was and where she was headed, and sank back on the seat, trying to regain some element of composure before she arrived at the church.

  She had made her own wedding gown of white satin with an overdress of white sarcenet. A broad crimson silk sash was tied at the waist. Redheads should on no account ever wear red, Mama always used to insist. She had never allowed any of her daughters to do so, one of the very few instances of her involving herself with their upbringing, so naturally it was one of Eloise’s favourite colours. She had trimmed the neckline and the sleeves with the same crimson silk, and had worked a frieze of crimson flowers along the hem with her tiny, perfect stitches. There was a short velvet pelisse to match. Phoebe had trimmed her poke bonnet with complicated knots of crimson satin ribbon. Estelle had fashioned her a matching reticule. Kate had generously given her the locket on a gold chain, her only piece of jewellery.

  How many hours was it since she had bid them all goodbye? Her sisters had been so dejected at first, to be missing out on the wedding ceremony, but Eloise’s anxious pleas, endorsed by Kate, to be allowed to focus entirely on establishing herself as Lady Fearnoch without either the distraction of their presence or risk that they might give the game away, had reconciled them. Though at this moment, with the carriage drawing up in front of a church, she’d give a great deal to have them here in person to give her a hug and tell her that she was going to be the best Lady Fearnoch imaginable.

  It must be late afternoon. The church, she knew from one of Alexander’s flurry of missives, was St Mary-le-Bow in Cheapside. A sudden squall of rain spattered the window pane, and Eloise shivered. Panic kept her in her seat as the carriage door was opened, the steps lowered. It was one thing to agree to a very convenient marriage, another to actually go through with it. Though there had been any number of letters, she had not seen Alexander since acce
pting his proposal. Was she really going to marry him?

  Knees shaking, Eloise stepped out of the carriage and into the shelter of the portico where Alexander was waiting patiently, dressed in a navy-blue coat, fawn pantaloons and polished Hessian boots. He was carrying a hat and gloves. He was every bit as handsome as she remembered. This man was about to become her husband! Her heart lurched, thudded, raced.

  ‘Are you sure about this? There is still time to change your mind.’

  Nausea gave way to excitement as she met his gaze. She was terrified, and at the same time oddly exhilarated, as if she had climbed the highest tree and was looking down, astonished at her feat and afraid that she might fall. ‘I don’t want to change my mind.’

  ‘Good.’ His mouth relaxed into a smile. ‘Shall we?’

  She preceded him through the door. The interior of Wren’s church was beautiful in its simplicity, with arched recesses on either side of the nave bounded by Corinthian columns of white Portland stone. The nave was flooded with light, the myriad colours of the stained glass reflecting on the marbled floor, making silhouettes of the two figures who would be their witnesses standing at the altar in front of the vicar. Not quite sure whether she was sleeping or awake, Eloise placed her hand on the man who would very shortly be her husband and made her way down the aisle towards them.

  * * *

  The vows had been solemnly made, the papers duly signed. The deed was done. She was married. Eloise stood on the steps of the church in a daze as Alexander—her husband!—thanked his witnesses. She was now Lady Eloise, Countess of Fearnoch, but she still felt remarkably like the eldest Brannagh sister.

  ‘The sun is shining on our nuptials,’ Alexander said, turning to her with a smile. ‘A good omen, I hope.’

  ‘I can’t believe we are married.’

  ‘I hope you’re not regretting it already.’

  ‘No, no, of course not, it is just—there were moments during the ceremony when I felt as I if I must be dreaming. It’s all very strange. I’ve never even been to London. I have no idea how to behave or what is expected of me or—or anything.’

  ‘You must be yourself, that is all I expect of you. I hope you don’t mind that our first night will be spent in a hotel. Robertson—my lawyer—tells me he has had Fearnoch House made ready for our arrival, but I reckoned that today would be momentous enough without subjecting you to the ordeal of formal introductions to the staff. Was I wrong?’

  ‘Good grief, no,’ Eloise exclaimed, looking horrified. ‘Is that what I must expect tomorrow?’

  ‘Let’s enjoy today first.’ He took her hand in his. ‘Ours is not a traditional wedding day, but there is no reason why it shouldn’t be memorable. Your carriage awaits, Lady Fearnoch.’

  ‘My carriage?’ She turned, just as a very elegant equipage drew up at the church steps. The body of the carriage was in the shape of a cup, painted glossy black, as were the spokes of the wheels. The hood was folded back to reveal an interior of dark-green velvet. ‘You don’t really mean that this is my carriage?’

  ‘I never say what I don’t mean,’ Alexander said, smiling at her. ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘Like it! I love it. May we go for a drive?’

  ‘That was my intention. Excellent timing, Bennet,’ he said to the coachman who, having secured the reins of the two lively grey horses, jumped down, doffing his cap. ‘This is Lady Fearnoch.’

  ‘My lady, it is a pleasure to meet you. May I be the first to offer my congratulations.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Bennet is not a coachman by trade,’ Alexander said, as the other man opened the carriage door and let down the steps. ‘He is my personal servant. And I assure you,’ he added, pre-empting her anxious question, ‘very much in my confidence, and entirely trustworthy.’

  ‘Also, be assured, my lady, that I know how to handle the ribbons,’ the man said. ‘Now, if you will help her ladyship into the carriage, my lord, we can be off.’

  ‘My love?’ Alexander handed her, quite unnecessarily, up the steps, jumping in beside her. ‘Since this is your first day in London, and the first day of our new life together, I thought you might like a very short sightseeing drive.’

  ‘I would. I can’t think of anything more—it’s a wonderful idea, especially in a fine carriage such as this.’

  ‘It is called a barouche, and it is yours, as are the horses. There wasn’t time to have your coat of arms painted on the doors, but...’

  ‘I have a coat of arms?’

  ‘You are a countess. I am sure there must also be a cloak of ermine and a coronet somewhere, though I’m hoping that King George keeps his fragile hold on this earth for a few more years yet, and spares us the necessity of wearing either at the next coronation.’

  ‘Good heavens, I hadn’t thought of that. I sincerely hope that he does—though I must confess, I do feel that England would be a great deal better off without him.’ Eloise covered her mouth theatrically. ‘Ought I not to have said that? As a countess...’

  ‘I have married a radical!’

  ‘I am not! Only it seems to me that we expend a great deal of money on keeping a fat, drunken womaniser in luxury, that could be put to a much better use elsewhere.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Alexander said, ‘but now you are a peeress of the realm, it might be prudent not to voice those thoughts in public.’

  ‘Would I be sent to the Tower? They would surely not send a countess to Newgate?’

  ‘I’d rather not have to rescue you from either.’

  ‘Ah, but surely you could use your influence to have me released. The Duke of Clarence is the First Lord of the Admiralty, isn’t he—and now that he is next in line to the throne—’ She broke off, as he looked quite startled. ‘I was only funning, Alexander. I don’t expect you’ve even met the Duke, have you?’

  A crack of the whip distracted Eloise as the barouche pulled away from the church steps. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘We’re headed towards St Paul’s Cathedral,’ Alexander said. ‘If you look back, down river, you’ll just about be able to see the docks. That’s Southwark, on the other side of the Thames, and that bridge you can see is Blackfriars.’

  Craning her neck, Eloise could see the masts of innumerable tall ships on the skyline. The river teemed with traffic, crammed with smaller sailing ships, dinghies, rowing boats and barges. The Thames was wider than she’d imagined it, a strange colour, somewhere between brown and yellow, and judging by the way some of the smaller boats were being tossed around, much faster running than she had imagined too.

  The barouche was making its way slowly along a wide road, also teeming with traffic, with a terrifying number of people taking their lives in their hands to dodge from one side to the other. Every street corner seemed to be alive with vendors shouting their wares, from candles to shoe blacking, hot-pressed paper to ink, jellied eels, sugared buns, buttons and buckles. Dray carts bearing barrels and kegs, stacked high with straw, were pulled by plodding shire horses. There were carts drawn by donkeys or pushed by hand. There were covered coaches and open carriages like their own, sporting phaetons, and innumerable riders on horseback, all of them vying for space. The noise made conversation impossible.

  She did not need to be told when St Paul’s loomed into sight, for the dome dominated the skyline, the cathedral itself starkly white in contrast to the surrounding buildings. As they turned down to drive along the frontage nearest the river, its distinctive cross shape revealed itself.

  ‘Ludgate Hill,’ Alexander informed her, ‘and through there, the Old Bailey and Newgate. Chancery is nearby, and all the Inns of Court.’

  Lawyers and their clerks now crowded the streets. The cries of newspaper vendors, trying to outshout each other with their stories, manned the street corners. The city was so much bigger than Eloise could ever have comprehended. Her nose, as well as her
eyes and ears, was assaulted, with the smells of horses and coal, of too many people in too enclosed a space. There was a yeasty smell from the taverns and the drays delivering to them, some less pleasant smells from the gutters that she tried not to inhale. Then, past the expanse of Lincoln’s Inn Fields, they swung down towards the river again.

  ‘Covent Garden,’ Alexander informed her. ‘That is the Royal Opera House, and down there, that enormous building fronting on to the river is Somerset House, where the Royal Academy exhibits each year. Are you interested in paintings? I believe that there is a vast collection at Fearnoch House.’

  ‘I’m afraid I know almost nothing about art,’ she replied. ‘Perhaps because whatever I try to draw, whether it’s a horse, a cat or a person, they all end up looking the same.’

  Alexander laughed. ‘Another thing we have in common, then.’

  The traffic had eased. The buildings around them had become more spacious, some positively grand, and the people more elegant.

  ‘We’re on the Mall now,’ Alexander said. ‘That’s Horse Guards Parade on the left. If you look straight down as we drive through St James’s Park you’ll see Buckingham Palace. We’ll go on through Green Park to the edge of Hyde Park, just where Apsley House is...’

  ‘Wellington’s home?’

  ‘Yes, but I think we’ll avoid Hyde Park for today. It’s the fashionable hour, everyone will be out showing off their horses and their toilettes, and I am not sure that we want to risk meeting anyone I might know, before the notice of our marriage has gone out.’

  ‘I thought you spent most of your time abroad?’

  ‘I am obliged to spend some time in London.’

  ‘So you do have friends here? You’ll no doubt have relatives here too? Your cousin, you mentioned, and there will be your brother’s friends, I expect.’

  ‘We never mixed in the same circles,’ Alexander said. ‘It’s quite a contrast, isn’t it, the parkland from what surrounds it.’