The Incomparable Countess

by Mary Nichols

  She was sitting out a gavotte, talking to Richard and Augusta, when Augusta laughed. ‘Mama, just look who has arrived. What does he look like?’

  She turned and beheld James, dressed as a Cavalier in pale blue and lemon silk, sauntering into the room with two friends similarly attired. Seeing his sister and stepmother, he came over to speak to them.

  ‘Mama, your obedient,’ he said, sweeping off a huge hat with a long feather. ‘Gussie. Richard. May I present Sir Giles Forrester and Mr Arthur Harriman.’

  The introductions effected, Frances turned back to her stepson and looked him up and down. ‘You look very fine, James, but I am surprised Lord Willoughby has made you welcome…’

  ‘Oh, he don’t bear a grudge,’ he said airily. ‘Done and dusted. Which is more than can be said for another I could name. Poor Risley, a Marquis no less, and not allowed out until the end of term.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘The little filly told me.’

  ‘You mean Lady Lavinia. When did you see her?’

  ‘At Stanmore House, went to see how Risley did. She said they were all going back to Loscoe Court.’

  ‘When?’ The question was out before she had time to think.

  ‘Almost immediately, I believe. Did the Duke not tell you?’

  ‘No, why should he?’ So, he would not be coming tonight. Disappointment mixed with a strange feeling of relief swept over her. They would not meet again. There would be no more sparring matches, no more opportunities to hurt each other—for she was sure she had been as guilty in that respect as he had—no more sitting in companionable silence while she painted. The gossip would die down when it was realised he had left town, just as she had predicted it would. She would go back to being what she was before he had arrived. Was that only a few short weeks ago?

  The gavotte had finished and another dance was beginning. She became aware that James was bowing again, a broad smile on his handsome face. ‘My lady, may I have the pleasure of this minuet?’

  ‘Oh, you are an impossible child,’ she said, laughing.

  ‘Well, do I have to fight your suitors to dance with you?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ She laid her hand on his shiny satin sleeve and allowed him to lead her on to the floor. ‘But I do not doubt your friends will find it amusing.’

  ‘No, for they are consumed with jealousy. Their mamas are not so young or so lovely.’

  ‘Fie on you, James!’ she said as they made their way down the ballroom in the stately dance. ‘Save your compliments for those more deserving.’

  ‘None is more deserving,’ he said seriously. ‘You know I adore you, don’t you?’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes, and I would do anything for your happiness, and if anyone has made you sad, then I will call him out, be he never so lofty.’

  ‘Oh, James, you are a goose. Who is supposed to have made me sad?’

  ‘His Grace, the Duke of Loscoe.’

  ‘His Grace?’ she said sharply. ‘Whatever makes you say that?’

  ‘A little bird told me you have quarrelled. And that same little bird is convinced you are miserable over it.’

  ‘Does this little bird have a name?’

  ‘Now, do you suppose I should be such a gudgeon as to tell you that. Good God! Lady Lavinia!’ This last remark was uttered, not in answer to her question—though it could easily have been—but because he had looked up and seen an apparition.

  Frances turned in the direction in which he was gazing and beheld a witch. She was dressed in a black skirt, a long black cloak and a pointed hat. The bottom half of her face was covered by a wax mask with impossibly pointed nose and chin. Only the laughing eyes and the finely drawn brows were revealed, but they were enough to make Lavinia recognisable to those who knew her. She was dancing with Benedict Willoughby.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ Frances said. ‘Do you suppose her father knows she is here?’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘What do you think we should do? He might arrive at any moment.’

  ‘I hope, for her sake, he does not. But it is a capital rig, don’t you think?’

  ‘No, I do not. She is not yet come out; it will cause no end of a stir if she is discovered. The Duke has enough gossip to contend with without Lady Lavinia adding to it.’

  ‘We shall certainly add to it if we confront her, Mama.’

  ‘Then let us manoeuvre to be near her when the dance ends so that we can shield her and persuade her to leave.’

  But before they could do anything at all, the dance came to an end and Frances watched in horror as Benedict took Lavinia by the hand and led her from the room. ‘I am going after them,’ she said, making for the door. James shrugged his shoulders and followed.

  When they finally pushed their way through the crowd and gained the upper gallery, the young couple were nowhere to be seen. Rows of doors led to other rooms, but they were all firmly shut. Could they have gone into one of those? Or downstairs? The dining room was on the lower floor, as were the library and the rooms set aside for the ladies to rest and refresh their toilettes.

  ‘There!’ James said, leaning over the banister and catching sight of a black cloak and hat disappearing down a corridor. Frances, trying not to give the appearance of haste, started down. She had no idea what she would say to Lavinia when she caught up with her, but somehow she must be persuaded to go home. And knowing how wilful she was, that was not going to be easy. And in the back of her mind was the conviction that if Marcus ever found out about it, he would somehow lay the blame at her door.

  There were few people on the ground floor except those either coming or going from the rest rooms. No one paid any attention to the two hurrying figures, any more than they had noticed the earlier couple, who had disappeared into the conservatory. James pulled open the door for Frances to enter.

  In the half-light from the lanterns in the garden, they saw Lavinia, whose mask lay on the floor, silently struggling with Benedict. He had his arms around her, but she was fighting him off, kicking and scratching, but making no more noise than an occasional grunt.

  James and Frances ran forward but before either could intervene she had delivered a telling punch to his stomach with one hand and slapped his face so hard with the other, her ring cut his cheek. He swore and clapped his hand to it, at the same moment as he saw James bearing down on him. He did not wait to find out what fate was in store for him, but fled across the tiled floor and through the outer door into the night.

  ‘My, that was a spirited defence,’ James said, admiringly. ‘Another minute and you would have had him floored.’

  She turned and looked at him, then at Frances and burst into tears. Frances took her in her arms to comfort her. ‘James, go and find a hackney. Do it quietly. We will wait for you in the ladies’ room.’ Then to Lavinia, ‘Come, we will tidy you up and no one will be the wiser.’ She picked up the mask. ‘Better put that back on and pull your cloak round you.’

  ‘You won’t tell Papa?’

  ‘No, though that is not to say I shouldn’t.’

  ‘I didn’t mean…I didn’t think…’ she began as James put his head out of the door to make sure there was no one about before beckoning them forward.

  ‘No, of course you did not,’ Frances said and, with a nod to James to be gone, ushered her charge into the ladies’ room which was, to her relief, empty.

  There was a washstand with water, soap and towels, several small tables, some comfortable chairs and a sofa, a looking glass and sundry combs and brushes.

  ‘Now,’ she said, sitting on the sofa and pulling the girl down beside her, ‘let us see the extent of the damage.’ She took the girl’s face in her hands; it was blotched with weeping, but otherwise unmarked. ‘Nothing to be seen there. Did he hurt you anywhere else?’

  ‘No.’ Lavinia grinned suddenly. ‘I gave a good account of myself, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes, my dear, you did, but you know it should not have come to such a pass. Wh
atever were you thinking of?’

  ‘I was mad as anything with Papa. He said I was not to come and see you again…’

  ‘I know,’ she said softly, fetching a cloth wrung out in cold water and setting about bathing the girl’s face. ‘But coming here like this would not incline him to change his mind, would it?’

  ‘It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t your fault that Duncan got himself in a coil, nor mine either, and so I told Papa.’

  ‘Oh, I am sure that made him see the error of his ways and retract,’ Frances said with gentle irony.

  ‘No, it made him angrier than ever. It was Benedict Willoughby’s fault. He has always been a bad influence on Duncan and I did not see why he should go unpunished. I hit on the idea of confronting him and making him confess to Papa that he was the one at fault.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘And then I thought of the masquerade and I prevailed on Felicity to give me an invitation…’

  ‘So she knows you are here?’ Frances was trying to tidy Lavinia’s tangled hair as she spoke, and though she appeared calm, her mind was busy with the problem of how to spirit Lavinia out of the house and back home safely without Marcus finding out.

  ‘Yes, but I swore her to secrecy.’

  ‘Apart from coming to the ball where you should never be, why did you allow Benedict Willoughby to take you out of the room like that? It is to be hoped that no one else recognised you, for it looked very bad.’

  ‘I was giving him a jobation about leaving Duncan to take the blame for what happened and he didn’t like it. I didn’t want to make a scene in front of everyone, but I was determined he should recognise his fault and admit it to Papa…’

  ‘So you agreed to go somewhere private. Oh, Lavinia, how foolish of you.’

  ‘He said he had something important to tell me and I thought…’ And she burst into tears again, undoing all Frances’s good work on her face.

  ‘Oh, my dear, please do not upset yourself. There is no harm done, if we can get you safely home.’

  ‘Oh, but there is. It is dreadful. He told me…he said I had no right to be Miss Goody Twoshoes when my father was a rakeshame of the worst kind. He said Papa had…had fathered a child on his groom’s wife…’

  Frances’s heart gave an uncomfortable lurch but she answered evenly, ‘I am sure that is nonsense, Lavinia. Benedict was just trying to frighten you.’

  ‘So I told him, but then I remembered. Mrs Poole did have a baby when her husband was away at the war, but she disappeared with the child before he came back.’ She gave Frances a lopsided grin. ‘Even I am not such a wet goose as to think it could be her husband’s.’

  No, Frances decided, Lavinia who had been educated alongside her brother, with the freedom of the countryside and its animals for her textbook, would know facts that were kept from more gently nurtured young ladies. ‘But that doesn’t prove it was the Duke’s, does it?’

  ‘But I remembered something else. That drawing I did of the little boy. I said he reminded me of someone…’

  ‘And so you have put two and two together. Lavinia, had it not occurred to you that you saw some small thing in the child’s face or posture that made you recall that picture in the drawing room at Stanmore House and you exaggerated the likeness without realising you were doing it? It is possible, you know.’

  ‘Then why did Papa take it away? And where did Benedict hear the tale?’

  ‘Lavinia, there are some nasty malicious people in the world and some of them have been denigrating your papa, but we do not have to believe them, do we? Benedict Willoughby was simply making mischief. Now dry your eyes, James will be back soon and I will take you home and we must contrive to get you up to your room without the Duke seeing you.’

  ‘He has gone to Risley and though he said he would not be gone above two days, he has not come back or I would not have risked coming.’

  Before Frances could comment on this, there was a tap at the door. ‘It’s me. Open the door.’

  Frances went to obey and James slipped inside. ‘There is a hackney at the door.’

  ‘Good. I will take Lavinia home. Tell Sir Percy I have the headache and have gone home, will you?’

  ‘Yes, but there is a problem. The Duke rolled up just as I arrived with the cab and he accosted me. Wanted to know if you were here. I told him yes, but you were unwell and had desired me to fetch you a cab to take you home.’ He grinned ruefully. ‘He says he has his carriage here which is infinitely more comfortable than a dirty cab and insists on taking you home himself.’

  ‘Oh, no. Did you not try to dissuade him?’

  ‘Naturally I did. I said I would not put him to the trouble, that I was ready to leave myself anyway, but he would have none of it. It seems he has come expressly to see you and…’

  ‘Oh, dear. I really do not think I can abide another jobation from him.’

  ‘I do not think he means to give you a jobation. He said to tell you he will not speak unless you give him leave, but he will see you safely home.’

  ‘Oh, what are we to do?’ wailed Lavinia. ‘He will see me and…oh, I wish I had never come.’

  ‘You do not wish it any more heartily than I do, my lady,’ Frances said with some asperity. ‘Now, let me think. James, I think I must go and speak to the Duke and allow him to take me home. Once we have gone, you smuggle Lady Lavinia out to the hackney and see her safely to Stanmore House. It is not an ideal solution, for she should not be with you without a chaperon—’

  ‘No, she should not. His Grace will have my hide for it.’

  ‘We will just have to risk it, we can’t involve anyone else. Wait until we have gone before you come out.’ She stooped to kiss Lavinia’s cheek. ‘Do not worry, child, all will yet be well. Now I must go.’

  She was mad, she told herself, as she found her cloak among the others deposited there, slipped from the room and made her way to the entrance hall, where Marcus stood waiting. Not only had she teased him about Duncan, she had exacerbated her crime by condoning his daughter’s mischief. If he ever found out about it, his fury would know no bounds. And to top it all, she had landed herself with his saturnine company for a journey home which would be fraught with tension.

  Chapter Ten

  He turned when he heard her step behind him and was momentarily taken aback by the costume she had chosen to wear. It was almost Puritan in its simplicity: a plain wool skirt of a colour like dark tobacco with a cream cotton blouse, over which was a white starched apron. On her lovely head she wore a mob cap, though it was not big enough to hide the gleaming coils of her dark hair.

  Far from making her look common, the costume served to enhance her natural poise; she did not need expensive clothes to display her beauty. It was there, in the lines of her face, the soft curves of her body and the light in her eyes. He wore no hat, so he could not sweep it off, but he touched his forelock in the manner of a yokel and grinned. ‘At your service, my pretty wench.’

  Notwithstanding the trepidation she was feeling, she smiled. In spite of the fustian coat and the thick breeches and leggings, he made a very poor peasant, being upright and proud and having clean well-manicured fingernails and hair professionally trimmed. But she was reminded of Lavinia’s tale of seeing him going out dressed like a labourer. If the idea was to deceive, she doubted he had been very successful. ‘La, sir, you flatter me,’ she said, adopting the simpering manner of a serving girl.

  ‘No.’ He was serious now. ‘No flattery was intended. But I am told you are unwell and would go home.’

  ‘It is nothing but a slight headache, but the party is very noisy and I have had enough of it.’

  ‘My barouche is at the gate, I did not send it away. Will you do me the inestimable honour of allowing me to conduct you home?’

  How formal he had suddenly become. And there was about him a kind of intensity which was almost frightening. But she could never be afraid of him; she knew him too well, loved him too well. Angry, yes, disappointed, yes, but never fearful, except perhaps on Lavin
ia’s behalf. ‘Thank you.’

  She hardly dare glance behind her as the flunkey by the door opened it for them and Marcus escorted her out, but she hoped James was watching and would give them ample time to leave before emerging. The hired carriage stood a little way off; its driver, muffled in a caped overcoat for all it was a warm night, sat on the box waiting patiently for his fare to emerge. She pretended not to notice it.

  Marcus handed her up and, once she had settled, climbed up beside her, bidding his coachman take them to Corringham House. ‘Handsome over the bricks,’ he told him. ‘Her ladyship has the headache and we must convey her smoothly.’

  Though time in his company was exquisite torture, she knew that the longer they took, the longer James would have to see Lavinia safe home, and so she smiled a little wanly and sat back in the corner of the carriage and exhibited every appearance of someone in the throes of a dreadful megrim.

  ‘My poor Fanny,’ he said, turning to look at her, though he could see little in the gloomy interior, not even her lustrous eyes, for she had shut them. ‘If I have in any way contributed to your indisposition, then I am truly sorry for it. I would not for the world hurt you or have anyone else hurt you…’

  Her eyes opened and she stared at him across the carriage. ‘Your Grace—’

  ‘No,’ he interrupted her, ‘you must not call me that. Look at me.’ He tugged at his rough coat. ‘Do you see a duke before you?’

  She smiled. They must not quarrel again, she simply could not go on giving blow for blow because, sooner or later, she would miss her aim and he would see what was really in her heart and, for her pride’s sake, she could not allow that. ‘No, I cannot say that I do. But I truly do not know what I see.’

  ‘A man,’ he said. ‘I hope you see a man. And his name is Marcus Stanmore.’

  ‘Very well, I see Marcus Stanmore,’ she murmured, confused by this change in him. Where was his arrogance, where his fiery temper?

  ‘Whom you once loved.’

  ‘Did I?’ she queried.

  ‘Oh, Fanny, have done with this teasing, I must speak seriously to you, if your headache can stand it.’