The Widowed Countess

by Linda Rae Sande

  At least, that’s what had always happened until two years ago, when Grandby surprised Adele first by selecting her when she wasn’t as young as the widows he usually favored, and then with a diamond and sapphire ring and a proposal of marriage just before the first event of the next Season.

  Never a woman prone to vapors or to fainting, she nearly did that moment when Milton Grandby took her hand in his, knelt before her in the gardens behind Worthington House, declared his undying love and asked for her hand. “My brother, Devonville, used to tell me Grandby was a bounder, but I think he’s actually rather fond of him.”

  William Slater, the Marquess of Devonville, was quite powerful in Parliament and rather fond of his younger sister. Perhaps his initial assessment of the earl was meant to protect her from a fortune hunter – Adele had ended an earlier engagement when she discovered her intended only courted her because he had amassed a large gambling debt. Although she thought herself in love with William Weston, Adele quickly recovered from her broken engagement when Grandby showed her favor at the Harvey’s annual ball. Given the earl’s own vast fortune, she had no reason to fear him marrying her for the wealth that had been accumulated as a result of her first husband’s involvement with the early steamships.

  Clarinda gave a wan smile before her face turned quizzical. “Why is it we all call Grandby Grandby when we should be calling him Torrington?” she suddenly asked. He’d been an earl for as long as she could remember. And he’d been the favorite of his friends for the honor of godfather – many of his goddaughters had made their come-outs in the last few Seasons, and his godsons had probably finished school at Eton or Cambridge and were already beginning their careers as gamblers and rakes in the ton.

  Adele rolled her eyes. “I have no idea. I never bothered to ask. And I have never heard anyone call him Torrington,” she responded, apparently amused at the apparent change of topic. “He’s certainly not one to flaunt his title,” the countess added. “Nor has he ever called me his countess since we married,” she said as an afterthought, her brows furrowing in what may have been a show of distress. “Perhaps my brother was right.”

  Clarinda gave Adele a sunny smile at the comment, glad that her friend had made such a good match. She sobered, though, suddenly remembering how she and David had been such a brilliant match. “You and the earl seem perfect for one another,” Clarinda offered, struggling to keep the catch in her throat from making itself apparent. She hadn’t cried over David’s death for at least two hours. She was trying for a new record of three. “I rather doubt I shall ever be blessed with a loving husband again. It seemed rather amazing when David and I discovered we loved one another,” she managed to get out, the tears pricking at the edges of her eyes. “Damnation!” she whispered hoarsely. “I promised myself I was going to last three hours without weeping, and here I am turning into a watering pot!”

  Adele pulled an embroidered handkerchief from her pocket and held it out to Clarinda. “I don’t know what to say,” she whispered. “I don’t think there’s anything I can say to make you feel better.” Although she had news of her own – good news, in fact – she didn’t want to share it with Clarinda just yet. It would be like rubbing salt in a wound, and she dared not do that to her friend.

  She would never forget the day – just two days before – when she and Lady Pettigrew called on Clarinda, the day David Fitzwilliam, Earl of Norwick, strode into the parlor and suddenly dipped and kissed his wife. A pang of jealously stabbed her just then. Grandby would probably never do anything quite that daring, but now that she gave it some consideration, she wouldn’t put it past him. He was the one man on the entire planet that could render her speechless. She rather hoped her news would either render him speechless or at least leave him pleased. Or, she could always hope for the very best, imagining him as he dipped her into one of those romantic kisses like the one the earl had bestowed on Clarinda.

  “Do you believe in ghosts?” Clarinda asked suddenly, reminded of her talk with David the night before last.

  Adele stopped in her tracks and stared at Clarinda’s retreating back. “What ... Why would you ask such a thing?” she finally got out, so stunned at the change in topic she couldn’t think to simply answer the question.

  Clarinda stopped and turned when she realized Adele was no longer walking beside her. “I don’t. I ... I didn’t,” Clarinda corrected herself as she spoke softly, her head shaking from side to side. “It’s just ... I had very vivid dreams these past two nights. I am sure David was right there in my bedchamber, sitting on my bed and leaning over me, telling me everything was going to be fine.”

  Resuming their walk, Adele gave Clarinda a nervous glance. “Perhaps ... perhaps he was,” she offered carefully. “I imagine you needed to be reassured. Better by him than anyone else, don’t you suppose?”

  Clarinda gave Adele a sideways glance, recognizing the woman’s ploy for what it was. She sighed heavily before changing the subject. “I expect Daniel will arrive tomorrow,” she stated, an involuntary shudder wracking her body just then. Adele caught the movement and eyed Clarinda with furrowed brows.

  “Are you ... frightened of the brother?” she wondered, surprised at Clarinda’s reaction to her own statement. “I thought you two got along quite well,” she added then, remembering back to when her first husband was still alive and Clarinda was betrothed to David Fitzwilliam. She had heard that while the twins shared similar looks – most claimed they could not tell the two apart – their personalities were quite different. Daniel was more serious, more sober, while David had enjoyed the life of a rake. Then David began to change. The man had been an earl for a few years at that point, his devil-may-care attitude quickly changing to that of a more responsible aristocrat. Where he might have taken his seat in Parliament only on occasion, he was suddenly there for every session. The time he would have spent at Gentleman Jackson’s salon was instead spent participating in hunts and practicing archery. And his evenings, rumored to feature a succession of whores, mistresses, and visits to his very own men’s club for a card game, were suddenly filled with trips to the theatre and musicales. Adele believed it had more to do with his impending nuptials than anything else; the man who might have been considered a rake had quickly disappeared from the gossip columns as well as the gaming hells and brothels, preferring to be seen in the company of Clarinda at the opera and society events.

  Meanwhile, Daniel Fitzwilliam moved to Norwick Park, the seat of the earldom, and began managing the properties of the Norwick earldom on his brother’s behalf. His no-nonsense approach to business and his studious nature when it came to choosing suitable investments resulted in huge gains for the Norwick estate. In only four years, he had nearly quadrupled the value of the Norwick fortune. The sale of his brother’s men’s club and high-class brothel accounted for some of the profits, of course, but most of the coin could be directly attributed to his estate management.

  “We used to get along,” Clarinda agreed, although a bit reluctantly. She didn’t mention Daniel’s last words to her, though. Didn’t mention how bitter he had been. “It will be so awkward for him,” she went on. “He inherits the earldom if I carry a daughter. And if I have a son, he ...” She paused and shook her head, glancing over to see Adele’s widened eyes and suddenly slack jaw. “Can you imagine being him? Knowing you missed being an earl just because your brother was born mere moments before you? And then, when your brother dies unexpectedly and far too young, you inherit, or maybe not, because tomorrow you find out your sister-in-law has seen fit to finally carry the child she’s been trying to have for four years?”

  The last sentence came tumbling out in a mix of anger and regret, as if Clarinda had somehow planned the pregnancy to occur at just this most awkward of times and was now regretting it.

  Adele continued to stare at Clarinda, her eyes blinking several times as if she couldn’t think of what to say in r
esponse. A baby?

  “A bit less than six months,” Clarinda spoke with a nod of her head, thinking that would be the answer to Adele’s question – could she formulate one. “I haven’t told anyone else, Adele,” she added, her heading shaking from side to side. “I didn’t even tell David, although he ... he knew. He was so ...” She looked up to find Adele’s still regarding her in awe. “Happy,” she managed to get out before tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

  “Oh, Clare,” Adele breathed, moving to wrap her arms around her friend’s shoulders. “I had no idea!” she replied in a hoarse whisper. “And I’m usually the one that knows these things,” she added as she pulled away and gave Clarinda’s arm a gentle shove.

  Clarinda smiled broadly despite the tears that limned her eyes. “I dared not say a thing until I was well past the point when I lost the last two,” she whispered with a shake of her head. She resumed walking, wishing she could skip to the end of the carriageway where their coach waited. There was something very freeing about being able to talk about her pregnancy. And although Lady Torrington wasn’t a gossip, news would still spread quickly, especially after Adele told her husband. The Earl of Torrington would gladly tell all the gentlemen at White’s that his first goddaughter was expecting, and he would do so with the kind of fervor normally shown by the expectant father. “Will you wait to tell Grandby until the day after tomorrow? Until after I’ve had a chance to speak with Daniel? I would hate for him to find out from someone other than me,” she reasoned, wondering how she was going to break the news to her brother-in-law. She had no idea how he would accept the news.

  “Of course,” Adele replied with a downward tilt of her head. “He’ll be at White’s tonight anyway. He’s always there at seven and home for dinner at eight. And I told Lady Seward I would attend a play with her tomorrow evening,” she added, knowing she could keep Clarinda’s secret since Penelope Winstead Seward did most of the talking when they attended Society events together.

  “Thank you,” Clarinda breathed in relief. She glanced about the park, noticing how more carriages were making their way down Rotten Row. “I think I may need to return home,” she said, glancing down at her widows weeds. “Wouldn’t be right for me to be seen out here after only a couple days of mourning.”

  Giving her friend a wan smile, Adele nodded, but then stopped and seemed to regard the handle of her parasol a bit too closely.

  “What is it?” Clarinda wondered, noting Adele’s look of indecision.

  “I’ve not yet told Grandby, so you must not say anything,” Adele began uncertainly. Before she could start her next sentence, Clarinda’s eyes widened, her parasol fell to the crushed granite below and her arms were wrapped around Adele’s shoulders.

  “Yes!” Clarinda exclaimed, tears springing to her eyes. “I wondered. I thought you might say something over tea, and then, when you did not ...”

  Adele regarded Clarinda with a look of shock. “How did you ..?”

  “I ... I only suspected. It’s that ‘glow of impending motherhood’ you have surrounding you,” Clarinda said brightly, tears flowing down to warm her chilled cheeks. “About three months, too?”

  “About that, I think. I haven’t told Milton. I ...” Adele’s shoulders sagged, as if the good news wasn’t enough to keep her buoyed from what might be bad news to a man who had married late and never seemed concerned about siring an heir. Had he been, he certainly would have chosen a younger, more biddable wife. But it wasn’t as if any of his godsons could inherit the earldom. She didn’t know if there were cousins or nephews that would inherit, but Adele rather doubted he wanted the earldom to revert to the Crown upon his death.

  “He’ll be ... he’ll be thrilled!” Clarinda countered. “Oh, I wish I could be there when you tell him,” she murmured as she retrieved her parasol from where it had landed. She remembered David, though, and how he just knew. “It’s possible he already knows,” she added, with a cocked eyebrow. “Norwick did.”

  Adele seemed surprised by the possibility. And surprised to learn that David knew he was to be a father before his death. Certainly the man would have spread the news at White’s, but since no one said a word about it in the drawing rooms and parlors she’d frequented lately, David had obviously kept the news a secret. “If Milton knew, all of London would know,” Adele replied with a grin, and then she wondered if maybe he did know and was keeping it a secret like David had.

  “You must let me know how it goes,” Clarinda spoke as they hurried off to the waiting coach.

  “You will be the first to know how he reacts from me, but if he reacts as you think he will, I cannot promise he won’t head straight to White’s with a large carton of cheroots, in which case this entire town will know before I have a chance to send you word,” Adele responded, her mood having improved greatly with their discussion.

  A footman handed them up into the town coach just as several coaches and men on horseback were about to pass. Wanting to be sure she wasn’t seen, Clarinda started to pull the shade over her window. She paused, though, when she noticed one of the men remove his top hat and give her a nod.

  David! she thought as she stared at the rider, his russet coat and doeskin breeches fitted to perfection, the Hessians he wore polished to a gleaming shine. But before she could catch another glance, the man’s hat was back on his head and he seemed to blend in with the other riders. His back was to the Norwick coach as they turned the corner to make their way out of the park.

  David’s ghost, Clarinda amended with a slight shake of her head. While others might have felt frightened by the thought of seeing their deceased husband as a ghost, Clarinda found herself hoping he would appear often. The comforting thought settled over her as the coach made its way back to Norwick House.

  Chapter 5

  The Dowager Countess Arrives

  A dusty coach-and-four was parked in the semi-circular drive in front of Norwick House when Clarinda’s coach pulled up in front. The unmarked equipage looked as if it had arrived only moments before, a pair of footman appearing from the house to unload a trunk from the back while a stable boy held the horses. One of the Norwick House footmen had jumped from the box of Clarinda’s coach and was about to open her door when Clarinda realized the other coach must belong to the dowager countess. Surprised at its appearance so soon after David’s death, Clarinda wondered how the woman would have been able to reach London so quickly. Dorothea Fitzwilliam made her home near the southern coast, and Clarinda was sure the courier wouldn’t have reached the dowager’s house until early yesterday. If Lady Norwick was already here, it meant she would have traveled through the night, changing horses several times along the way. Or, she might have just arrived with the intention of paying a visit. This last thought had Clarinda panicked.

  Allowing the coachman to hand her down, Clarinda gave him a nod and made her way to the front of the house, mindful of the footmen behind her who labored under the weight of the trunk they had just unloaded. Porter, the house’s majordomo, held the door for her and took her pelisse and bonnet. “Her ladyship has been shown to the Blue Room,” he said with a raised bushy eyebrow, as if he wondered about the suitability of that particular bedchamber.

  “Thank you, Porter. It is the best room in the house,” Clarinda assured him as she dared a glance in a looking glass mounted near the front door, wincing at the sight of her hair. “I never imagined she would get here so quickly.”

  Porter lifted his head a fraction. “I do not believe her ladyship was in residence in Bognor when the courier delivered the news of the earl’s death to his lordship,” he whispered.

  Clarinda pushed a few stray hairs behind her ear and gave Porter a sharp glance. “Why not?” she wondered, nervously smoothing her bombazine skirts. “Was she at Norwick Park?”

  The majordomo seemed suddenly embarrassed and did not respond. He was already aware o
f the dowager countess descending the main stairs. Clarinda took a deep breath and nodded in his direction, acknowledging his expert use of his eyebrows to warn her of Dorothea’s impending entrance. She made her way to the foot of the stairs. Sure enough, from the swish of silk skirts and petticoats, she could hear that Dorothea Wright Fitzwilliam was nearly down to the first staircase landing. Not wanting to have to look up at the formidable woman as she made her way down the second set of stairs, Clarinda gathered up her skirts and hurried up the steps to meet the woman on the lower landing. Her timing proved perfect as she reached the broad carpeted landing just as the Dowager Countess of Norwick was about to step onto the same landing.

  “My lady,” Clarinda managed to get out before noticing her mother-in-law looked positively resplendent in a fashionable scarlet carriage gown. Why isn’t she wearing black? was the countess’ first thought, although she saw that Lady Norwick did at least have a black armband secured around the sleeve of her gown. She immediately sealed her lips, realizing she should have waited for the older woman to speak first. Performing a perfect curtsy, Clarinda waited for the dowager countess to make her greeting.

  “Oh, Clare,” the woman said with a shake of her head. “You needn’t be so damned formal with me,” Dorothea claimed, moving to wrap her arms around the younger woman’s shoulders. “I am so very sorry for the both of us,” she murmured before she pulled away and stepped back, leaving her hands on Clarinda’s shoulders. Her gaze swept down her daughter-in-law’s dress, making a ‘tsk’ sound as she did so. “I promised myself after spending a year in mourning for Norwick that I would never again wear black. Or black and white. Makes me look like the living dead, and I fear it almost does the same to you. Although ...” She moved her gaze to Clarinda’s face. “You look ...” Her eyes suddenly widened. “You look ...”