Counterfeit Earl

by Anne Herries

  'Willingly,' the Viscount replied.

  Olivia's gaze met that of Lady Burton as the men went out together. She hesitated for a moment;

  then, sensing the older woman's awkwardness, went forward to kiss her on the cheek.

  'You are very welcome here, Aunt.'

  The faded blue eyes were moist with tears. 'You used to call me Mama, Olivia.'

  Lady Burton was a small woman. She seemed more fragile than Olivia had remembered her, her

  face thin and pale, her expression permanently anxious.

  'But you are in truth my aunt,' Olivia reminded her gently. 'I do not speak of you as such to hurt

  you, ma'am. I know that the breach between us was not of your making.'

  'I have so much regretted it,' Lady Burton said, dabbing at her eyes with a lace kerchief. 'I never

  ceased to love you, Olivia, despite what you must have thought. Can you ever forgive me for

  allowing Burton to cast you out?'

  'You were not to blame,' Olivia said. 'I think of you kindly, Aunt, and I bear you no ill will.

  Indeed, it would please me if we could be friends.'

  Lady Burton blew her nose hard. Olivia had changed so much. She had been an innocent girl when

  she jilted Ravensden, little more than a child, but she was a woman now. A woman of some

  character who knew her own mind. There was no going back, but perhaps they could move on to a

  new relationship?

  'Yes, I should like to be your friend, Olivia,' she said and smiled a little tremulously.

  'What will Lord Burton say?'

  'I care not,' her aunt replied defiantly. 'I told him I intended to visit you and he said I could go to

  the devil for all he cared. Our marriage is over, Olivia. He goes his way and I go mine. I should

  have had the courage to leave his house long ago.'

  'Well, you have done so now, and I am glad for your sake.' Olivia reached for her hand and held

  it. 'Come, let me take you up to your chamber. We may talk privately for a few minutes before

  joining my other guests for tea.'

  Olivia glanced at her own reflection in the mirror. She was wearing a simple evening gown of

  jonquil silk; the sleeves were puffed and tied with white ribbons. Around her slender neck she

  wore the pearls Jack had given her as an engagement present.

  A sigh issued from her lips as she thought about her husband. Jack had not ridden away that night,

  as she had feared he might, but the next morning his manner had reverted back to that of a polite

  stranger. He was considerate, thoughtful and willing to oblige her in every way, except the one she

  so desperately craved.

  He had not kissed her once this past week. If she tried to show him affection, he drew back from

  her touch as if he had been stung.

  Olivia had tried to apologise for her slight hesitation several times, but he merely smiled his cool

  smile and shook his head.

  'It is I who should beg your pardon,' he replied. 'I do not reproach you for your doubts, Olivia.

  Many women would shrink from my touch.'

  'You are not insane,' she cried. 'I have never thought it, Jack, even for a moment. Whatever the

  cause of your father's sickness, it has passed you by.'

  'Perhaps...' His eyes had taken on that closed, shuttered expression. 'But for how long? How can

  we be certain this curse will not descend on me in time?'

  'How can anyone know the future for certain?' she argued. 'Do not torture yourself so, my love. Let

  us take what happiness we may together. I know we may never have a child, but I am willing to

  accept that without regret.'

  Jack had walked away before she finished speaking. She had not wept, for she understood that his

  grief was even harder to bear than her own. Believing that he had harmed her, he carried guilt and

  shame as well as despair. It was not so, not so! His loving had brought her nothing but pleasure.

  Only his stubborn refusal to accept her love for what it was had caused her grief.

  Sighing again, she thrust the painful thoughts from her. She had guests waiting, and must not let

  anyone guess that she was desperately unhappy. Jack was playing his part as the attentive host, and

  she was obliged to do the same.

  Picking up her fan, Olivia went out, along the landing and down the stairs. As the hostess, she must

  be the first down, ready to greet her guests when they entered the drawing-room.

  It was still only a few minutes past six and they were not to dine until a quarter to seven. So

  Olivia was a little surprised to discover Viscount Gransden before her. He was standing by the

  window, gazing out at the gardens, but turned at once as she entered.

  'Ah, Lady Stanhope,' he murmured and she sensed that he had come early in order to have a few

  moments alone with her. His gaze went over her with undisguised approval. 'How lovely you look

  this evening. Yes, quite beautiful. Stanhope is a lucky fellow.'

  'You are very kind, sir.'

  'Do not look as though you did not believe a word,' Gransden said and raised his brows at her.

  His manner was teasing, flirtatious, but there was a look in his eyes that disturbed her. She

  recognized it immediately for what it was—the look of a hunter! 'You must know that you are a

  very beautiful woman.'

  'Beauty is not so very important,' Olivia replied. 'Do you not consider character of more lasting

  value, my lord?'

  'But you have character,' he said silkily. 'I would never deny it. Surely you know that I admire you

  greatly? Few women would have had the courage— or the inclination!—to jilt Ravensden. Most

  would have taken him for his fortune and consequence. It takes a certain kind of woman to risk all

  for love.'

  Olivia blushed. He was staring at her so intently, making her feel very warm and uncomfortable.

  'Some would say I was rather foolish than brave.'

  'Perhaps.' He nodded as if agreeing. 'But you have come about. You are Lady Stanhope—and a

  happy bride, are you not?'

  'Very happy,' Olivia said. She raised her head, meeting his gaze with a challenge. 'We are very

  much in love.'

  'Of course—as all brides and grooms should be,' he said, then glanced at his fingernails.

  'Unfortunately, the first bloom of love seldom survives the honeymoon.'

  Olivia turned away as Jack entered the room. She smiled brilliantly and went to greet him with a

  kiss on the cheek. He stiffened slightly but realising they were not alone, did not draw back as he

  was wont to do when she touched him.

  'Lord Gransden was just complimenting me on my looks,' Olivia informed him in a teasing,

  rallying tone. 'I have told him it is because I am happy and because we are both very much in love,

  but he says romantic love seldom lasts longer than the honeymoon. Will you tell him he is wrong

  in our case, Jack?'

  'Very wrong,' he replied without hesitation. 'In my own case I believe I shall love you until the day

  I die, Olivia.'

  'Well done, Jack,' Gransden said and laughed. 'Prettily said. I can see she has you hanging on to

  her petticoat tails.'

  Jack frowned, but before he could reply the other guests came chattering into the drawing-room.

  He turned away as Jenkins came to serve sherry and wine, but for the remainder of the evening his

  eyes followed his wife wherever she went. He noticed Gransden took every opportunity to touch

  her arm, or engage her in private conversation, and his frown grew into a scowl.

  Damn the man's impud
ence! How dare he look at her that way?

  Jack felt the anger surge inside him, but his honesty reminded him that Olivia would be better off

  as Gransden's mistress than as Jack's wife. The Viscount could give her so much that was

  forbidden Jack, for he had made up his mind that there would be no repeat of that afternoon when

  he had made love to her. It would be best for Olivia's sake if he were to go away, perhaps travel

  abroad somewhere. She might weep for him at first, but then she would find consolation in the

  arms of Gransden or someone like him.

  Yet the thought of any other man touching her was like a poison barb in Jack's side, and when his

  friend suggested a private game of cards later that evening, when the ladies had retired to their

  chambers, he could barely bring himself to be civil to him.

  'You must excuse me,' he said. 'I have some pressing affairs I must attend. Perhaps tomorrow...'

  and with that he walked away, leaving the Viscount to stare after him in surprise.

  It seemed that all was not well after all, Gransden thought smiling to himself. How interesting! He

  scented a mystery. Well, it might prove amusing to see how far he could press the pretty bride.

  Lady Stanhope was a passionate little thing, if that mouth of hers was anything to the point. He

  would find it pleasant to spend a few hours in her bed...

  The next two days passed very pleasantly. Olivia had no time to think of her own problems as she

  attended to the comfort of her guests. It was usual for both ladies and gentlemen to keep to their

  own rooms until almost noon, though Lord Melford and Viscount Gransden were early risers.

  Since both were keen horsemen, they went riding with their host first thing, then joined the ladies

  in the breakfast-room for nuncheon.

  Olivia too was an early riser these days, and on the Monday morning she met Lord Gransden as

  she was returning from the garden with a basket of flowers over her arm.

  'A very picture of domestic bliss,' the Viscount remarked. 'If I could be certain of securing a bride

  as...beautiful as you, Lady Stanhope, I might be persuaded into marriage.'

  She gave him a reproving look. His manners were easy, his features the kind that would be

  generally pleasing. Yet she sensed an underlying ruthlessness. 'I am sure there are many pretty

  young ladies who might be happy to accept a proposal from you, sir.'

  'I dare say there are a thousand such,' Gransden replied, moving to block her path as she would

  have continued on her way towards the house. 'You on the other hand are an exceptional woman,

  Lady Stanhope.'

  'You flatter me, sir.' Olivia tilted her chin at him. This was not the first time this weekend that he

  had offered her such compliments, and she really did not care for the way he was looking at her.

  'You should save your honeyed words for a lady who wishes to hear them. I have no such desire.'

  'You are unkind,' Gransden said. He was still smiling but his eyes had narrowed, his wolfish

  expression sending a chill down her spine. He placed a restraining hand on her arm. 'Stanhope is a

  dour fellow. You will not wish to spend your life always in the country. When you come to town

  we might meet in private sometimes.'

  'To what end, sir?' Olivia's eyes were angry as she gazed up at him. 'I think we should have little

  to say to one another.'

  'There are more pleasurable ways to spend a dull afternoon,' he said, his finger stroking her bare

  arm. 'I should be more than happy to find some pastime that might amuse you.'

  'I believe I shall decline your offer,' Olivia said. 'And now, if you will excuse me, I must arrange

  these blooms in water before they start to fade.'

  She shook off his hand and walked on determinedly. How dare the Viscount make such

  suggestions to her? She had been married for a mere four weeks. What could have prompted him

  to think she might be receptive to his hateful attentions? She could only think that Jack had

  somehow betrayed the true situation between them.

  Surely he would not? It was hurtful to Olivia that her husband might even consider confiding such

  an intimate secret to his friend. She had not mentioned one word in her letters to Beatrice, nor had

  she spoken of her unhappiness to Lady Burton. She would not dream of doing so!

  She was so angry that she did not notice she was being observed from the windows of the house. It

  really was too much! No matter how upset Jack was, he should not discuss their situation with

  another.

  She was still feeling angry as she began to arrange her flowers in vases the housekeeper had

  brought to her private sitting-room. She believed that men did sometimes discuss these things, at

  least she knew they boasted to one another of their mistresses. She had once hidden behind the

  curtains in Lord Burton's study and heard some very surprising things. At the time she had been no

  more than thirteen and too innocent to really understand, but now she knew exactly what they had

  meant and why they had seemed to think it all so highly amusing!

  'Ah, there you are, Olivia,' Jack said entering the room just as she was finishing her flowers. 'The

  Melfords and Petersons are leaving after nuncheon. I've asked Gransden to stay on until the end of

  the week. You will want some time to be with Lady Burton when your other guests have gone, and

  Gransden knows of some sound carriage horses for sale. We shall ride over later this afternoon to

  take a , look.'

  'You must do as you wish.' Olivia frowned. Her heart sank as she contemplated another five days

  of being leered at by the Viscount. 'It is your house and he is your friend.' Her hurt at his betrayal

  of her to Gransden made her speak more sharply to him than she ever had before.

  'You invited him, Olivia.' Jack's gaze was hard, cold.

  She gave him an accusing stare in return. 'Because he was your best friend. Or so I imagined.' A

  true friend to Jack would not try to make love to her!

  'You seem to like him well enough.'

  Jack's expression gave nothing away, and Olivia felt her temper rise. How dare he insinuate that

  she had the slightest interest in the Viscount? Her manner towards him had never been more than

  that of a hostess concerned for a guest's comfort.

  All the frustrations and hurts of the past few weeks boiled over, causing her to speak without

  thinking.

  'Lord Gransden is both charming and handsome, a witty companion. I dare say most women would

  enjoy his company.' As indeed she would herself if he would not look at her as if he were

  preparing to gobble her up!

  Picking up one of her tastefully arranged rose bowls, she walked past Jack and out into the hall.

  Tears were pricking behind her eyes. How could he think so ill of her? What had she done to

  deserve it?

  Olivia placed her bowl on a rather lovely satinwood table in the hall, then ran quickly up the

  stairs. She heard Jack call her name but would not look back. He had no right to say any such

  things to her. No right at all!

  Olivia and her aunt spent a quiet afternoon together after the other guests had gone. They talked

  mostly of the past, of the time when Olivia had been Lady Burton's spoiled and much-loved

  daughter, laughing together easily as they recalled amusing incidents.

  'Do you remember that doll you bought me with the wax face and wooden body?' Olivia said. 'I

  loved poor Betsy so much, but then I t
hrew her in the fishpond when I was cross and the gardeners

  had to drain it to get her out.'

  'And when they did she was ruined and you wept for hours,' Lady Burton replied, smiling at her

  fondly. 'I bought you another but it was never the same, was it?'

  'No...' Olivia sighed. 'Once something is spoiled it can never be quite the same, can it?'

  'No, I suppose not,' Lady Burton said. 'But perhaps in certain cases something better can be put in

  its place. You were an indulged child, Olivia, and I was a foolish woman, unhappy in my

  marriage, giving all my love to a child who was not even mine...'

  'But you were my mama,' Olivia said. 'I have only good memories of that time.'

  'But then Burton disowned you and I let him send you away.'

  'That is forgotten now.'

  'Then perhaps we can find a true affection for each other as women,' Lady Burton said. 'I would

  like to believe that when I-leave here in a few days you would want to see me again, to visit me—

  even come to me if you were ever in need of a loving friend.'

  'Yes, of course we shall visit one another,' Olivia assured her. 'We shall write often and always

  be friends.'

  'If that is the case, I am content,' her aunt said. She hesitated for a moment, then: 'Forgive me if I

  intrude into affairs that are none of my business. I do not ask for your confidences, Olivia—but are

  you quite happy, my dear?'

  'Yes, perfectly,' Olivia lied, and then as the other woman's gentle eyes probed. 'I do not like

  Viscount Gransden very much. Oh, I know he is charming and witty, but he looks at me...in a way

  that makes me uncomfortable.'

  'Yes, I have remarked it,' the older woman said. 'I dare say you will find many men look at you in

  such a way, my dear. You are beautiful, but there is something more...an indefinable quality that

  will always draw men to you as moths to a flame.'

  'I have noticed that look in some men's eyes before, of course,' Olivia agreed. 'But he seems to

  imagine I might...it is all nonsense, of course!'

  'I saw him waylay you in the garden this morning,' Lady Burton said. 'You must just be firm with

  him, Olivia, as you were then. Be polite but make sure he understands you are not interested in his

  attentions. Your husband is a possessive man. I have seen it in his eyes when he looks at you, and