The Countess

by Catherine Coulter

  “I have reached it.”

  “Ah, then you have this religious vow to remain chaste? And Lawrence is actually giving you your way? Everyone agrees that it is extraordinary.

  “Now, your gown is quite lovely as well. The pale blue is unusual, a delicious shade. How odd that you are dazzling every gentleman who happens by with this display of flesh, but you refuse your husband.”

  I couldn’t let all of that just go by. There was simply just too much to ignore. My charm slipped. I was ready to do battle. “I like to dazzle gentlemen. I rather thought, though, that my hair would be the focal point of my presentation this evening, not my bosom. My husband says that my hair combines more colors than all the autumn leaves he has ever seen, all of them mixed together. He admires my hair. All the gentlemen are sure to admire my hair as well.” I paused a moment, then sighed. “Although, to be perfectly honest, which is sometimes difficult, I must say that I think you have the most beautiful hair I have ever seen. It has given me some very uncomfortable moments, what with realizing that I am jealous of you. Well, there you have it. I do hope you enjoy yourself this evening. Are you coming to the drawing room?”

  “In a while,” she said, those beautiful eyes of hers gleaming at me.

  “Oh, yes, Lady Elizabeth. I was meaning to ask you, what do you think about Napoleon’s size? His endowment?”

  I thought she would burst her seams she sucked in so much air. She stared at me as if I had just told her that there was lint in her eyebrows, then she started laughing. Laughing until she was crying and hiccuping as she turned away and walked gracefully up the stairs. I could still hear her laughter when she gained the landing and turned into the west wing.

  I only wished I knew exactly how and why I had managed to fell her.

  It was perhaps the twentieth ball I had attended since my coming out, but it was the very first ball where I had been in charge, from assembling the invitation list, to checking that all the sheets were in prime shape for fifteen sets of guests, to the cleaning of the huge ballroom. In many cases, I was cleaning alongside the servants, something I had grown up doing at Deerfield Hall. The servants were beaming on the day of the ball. They were pleased with themselves, and they were pleased with me. Brantley never beamed, but he did nod to me, in approval, several times during the evening.

  I knew I would never remember all the courses served at dinner, even though I had spent hours on the menu, several times actually arguing with Mrs. Redbreast and Cook with a good deal of passion, which seemed to please both of them no end. As I watched the endless stream of platters laid with great care along the huge long table, I was nonetheless counting. There were to be forty-two dishes in all. There were forty-three. Goodness, how had that happened?

  There were platters of baked sole, oyster patties, game pies, garnished tongue, crimped cod, pork cutlets, it just went on and on. Between the soufflé of rice and the Nesselrode pudding, there was something to please the most fickle palate. I was too excited to eat, nearly floating two inches off my chair.

  Everyone seemed to be having a fine time. The gentlemen did not remain in the dining room because all our other guests were arriving for the ball. Lawrence efficiently removed them from the brandy bottles and led them to the ballroom.

  By ten o’clock that night, the ballroom held at least one hundred and twenty persons, all of them talking, laughing, drinking more champagne punch than was good for them, flirting and gossiping. The chandeliers glittered overhead, and the scents of the winter flowers were sweet and seductive. There were so many jewels clasped around throats and wrists and earlobes, a thief would have believed he had died and gone to Heaven if he could have gotten his hands on them. So many beautiful people, and they were here because I had invited them. Well, I suppose I must also give Lawrence some credit.

  The orchestra was in fine fettle. I was tapping my foot when John lightly touched his hand to my arm. “A waltz, Andy. I particularly like the waltz. Will you dance with me?”

  I said nothing at all, just drew a deep breath and turned into his arms. He was a marvelous dancer, smooth and graceful. He was still too big and too tall, but he did lead very well, and I felt safe, which was surely a strange thing, given he was a man, but it was true nonetheless. I was now getting used to it.

  He dipped and whirled me about in big circles, and I laughed and enjoyed myself so much that I never wanted it to end. But it did, of course, and then I waltzed with my husband.

  He was graceful and smooth and held me at exactly the right distance, and I did smile a good deal. He told me he was proud of me. He also mentioned that I was the most beautiful woman present, and he was very pleased that I was his wife. He never once looked overlong at my bosom. Did he even want to look overlong? I sincerely hoped not.

  “Thank you,” I said. “You are very kind.”

  He kissed my check when the waltz was over and told me he particularly liked the way I had arranged my hair. And I said, “Didn’t you once tell me that you very much liked all the mix of different colors?”

  “I’m sure that I must have,” he said, all smooth as honey, “for I have never before witnessed such harmony on a woman’s head.” He flicked a fingertip over my cheek. I grinned. My husband always knew when to say exactly the right thing. He left me smiling to attend the marchioness, whom, he said to me, had told him that I was an audacious chit—ignorant as dirt—but audacious. I did not think this could be much of a compliment what with the dirt thrown in.

  There was a portly gentleman waiting to take his place on the dance floor with me. He was on the tipsy side, but no matter. By the end of the evening, I had no doubt that I would be adept at avoiding trodding feet. I was pleased to see that there were gentlemen littered everywhere, all of them thankfully disposed to dance. I suppose they were so amiable because it was, after all, the holiday season and they were on their best behavior, also I knew that Lawrence had told all the gentlemen that there would be no cards or gambling tonight. And so, no lady went without a partner. My bosom got ogled more than was proper, but I didn’t have to say anything nasty. There was one skinny gentleman, though, who looked at me and actually licked his chops. I simply laughed, he was so ridiculous, which didn’t please him at all. I think he would have preferred for me to act affronted by his behavior. When I mentioned this to Lawrence, he laughed. The skinny gentleman, he told me, wore quite a bit of padding. He was relieved that I hadn’t hit him. The padding just might have slipped.

  As for poor Lady Elizabeth Palmer, I feared she would surely wear holes in her slippers she danced so exuberantly, with such an inexhaustible supply of grace, the wretched too beautiful woman. Three times she waltzed with John. That was scandalous, at least that is what I told both Miss Gillbank and Miss Crislock, both of whom were doing a great deal of laughing. Miss Gillbank danced at least twice with the young baronet, Christopher Wilkins, whom I had seated next to her at dinner both evenings.

  I drank more champagne punch than I should have, and finally, at nearly three o’clock in the morning, the guests began to take their leave.

  I fell, literally, into my bed, making George growl because I landed on him, at four o’clock.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The next four days were an education for me. I learned how to gossip. I learned how to keep my face perfectly blank when I didn’t understand something scandalous. I learned how to flirt with men without being perfectly terrified, and I fancy that by the fourth evening, I wasn’t bad at it. Still, I knew not to trust any of them. I made certain that I was never alone with one of them.

  Except John.

  He came upon me in the stables seeing to Small Bess two mornings after the ball. He came on me actually not an hour after Lady Elizabeth Palmer had finally cornered me and told me about Napoleon.

  She had caught me just outside a small back parlor where I’d fled to just after the marchioness had informed me, in front of at least twenty other ladies, that I should strive to be taller, since my bosom was too
large for my torso. That really wasn’t at all true, it was just one of those little jabs that occasionally popped out of a guest’s mouth.

  “I can’t bear it any longer,” Lady Elizabeth said, coming to within two inches of my face.

  “What’s wrong? Are you wearing a corset that pinches your ribs? Was your toast burned at breakfast? Did your maid have the gall to refuse to bring you hot water?”

  “Shut your mouth,” she said, obviously irritated. “You cannot make me laugh, so stop trying. Someone has to tell you, and I suppose it will have to be me. It’s about Napoleon.”

  “You mean his blasted size?”

  “Yes,” she said, staring at me as if I had grown another nose.

  “John told me I was to disregard anything anyone said about Napoleon’s size. He said I was simply to forget it. I was to continue blissful in my ignorance.”

  “A man’s size or his endowment simply refers to his manhood,” Lady Elizabeth said, staying her course. “Surely you know how gentlemen are fashioned?”

  I stared at her blank-faced. “Yes, certainly. Do I look like an idiot?”

  She managed to roll her eyes and nod her head both at the same time. “Yes.”

  Then, of all things, my husband rounded the corner and nearly plowed right into Lady Elizabeth.

  “Goodness, forgive me, my dear. What are you two ladies doing? Talking about the latest fashions?”

  “Exactly,” I said. “I dislike ruffles, and Lady Elizabeth informs me that ruffles will be the newest thing this spring. It is disappointing.”

  And my husband said, “You make me laugh even when you are lying to my face,” and he went on his way.

  And that was the end of our conversation.

  And now I was spreading more ointment on Small Bess’s back, and John strolled in.

  He grinned like a sinner who had just slipped by St. Peter through the Pearly Gates. “I just spoke to Lady Elizabeth. She told me of your aborted conversation.”

  “I tried to ignore all talk of Napoleon, just as you suggested, but she was adamant.”

  “Then my uncle came along, and you never learned the end to the tale, hmmm?”

  “That’s right.” I looked beyond his shoulder. “She did ask me if I knew how men were fashioned, but nothing more than that.” I sighed. “She is so very beautiful. I feel like a pathetic dowd. I see her, and I want to smack her because I’m jealous.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. Small Bess whinnied. I heard Tempest trumpet in his stall.

  “Well, she thinks you’re an original,” he said.

  “So is she.”

  “And an ignorant twit.”

  “She would, curse her.”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t matter, does it?”

  I looked at him then, really looked, and said slowly, “I don’t know. Does it matter?”

  He just ignored that, and began petting Small Bess’s neck. “You are taking care?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, you aren’t. I followed you here to the stable to make sure no villain would try to do away with you. Don’t let down your guard, Andy. Whoever wants to make you pay for it all, whatever that means, is still here. Boynton simply cannot be your shadow every moment. Take care.”

  He was right, and on the final morning after all our guests had taken their leave, I walked back upstairs to my bedchamber. The truth of things hit me in the face as I walked down that long corridor. I didn’t see a single servant. The house was very empty now. Hollow, yet filled with menace I didn’t understand, like the Black Chamber, with that horrible cold that bespoke, Viscount Waverleigh had said, of an evil that was here, right now, hidden among all of us.

  There was even no sign of Belinda. I fetched George and took him for a very long walk. Boynton walked some ten feet behind me. I was grateful to John. Boynton made me feel safe.

  Dinner that evening was a subdued affair. Thomas sighed a lot, Amelia’s parents had evidently exhausted their supply of otherworldly phenomena stories, because most of their attention was on their plates. Lawrence was quiet, even thoughtful, as he picked at his food. As for Miss Gillbank, she smiled a lot, but it wasn’t meant for us, it was for someone she was thinking about. I wondered if it was her baronet, Christopher Wilkins. As for Miss Crislock, she talked about the Christmas gifts she had sewn and needed to send back to her friends in London. She told me that she had quite a surprise planned for me. Bless her heart, for as long as she had been with me, nearly ten years, she’d always had the very best surprises. Last Christmas, she’d had ice skates made for me and had hired someone to teach me how to perform tricks on the ice. I had nearly broken my neck when I skated backward into a huge barrel set at the edge of the ice, but that was neither here nor there. If she’d been sitting next to me, I might have cried on her neck and blessed her for always being here for me.

  John asked her what she had made for him. She just shook her head at him and said he had to wait, like all the rest of us.

  I thought about Napoleon, but kept my mouth shut. Everyone went to bed early. Belinda wasn’t there. Where was she? My room was empty. I didn’t like it. I held George until he pulled away from me.

  I awoke at ten o’clock the next morning, stretched, and petted George’s topknot because he’d stuck his face into mine and licked my nose until I laughed and ducked away. I swung my legs over the side of the bed. The tiny golden key to my Italianate letter box fell forward outside my nightgown. I had forgotten about it, and my father’s wretched letter that hadn’t really told me much of anything except that I should leave Devbridge Manor right away.

  Well, I supposed that I should consider it. I wanted to see that letter again. I carried George over to my writing desk and opened the top drawer. I lifted out the letter box, lifted the golden chain over my head, and stuck the key in the box. The lock was broken. I stared at it, unwilling to believe it. Slowly I opened the box. It was quite empty.

  My father’s letter was gone.

  George didn’t realize the significance of the empty letter box. He wanted to go out and relieve himself.

  I was shaking even as I dressed quickly to take him for his morning walk. Boynton weaved in and out of the shadows some twenty feet behind us. I wanted to ask Boynton to bring two friends the next time.

  Amelia’s parents left that day, after Lord Waverleigh had once again paced about Caroline’s music room. Nothing, he said, there wasn’t anything at all. And I had to agree with him. No vestiges of Caroline. Had it indeed been Caroline who had locked Amelia in the music room so long ago? Or maybe I had imagined the door slamming shut in my face. Maybe all of it was just madness.

  He also visited the Black Chamber once again, and reported to all of us that the evil was still here and it was quite real. And he had shaken his head when his dear wife had said, “Now, Hobson, there’s no reason to scare everyone.”

  “Yes,” he had said, and he looked over at me, a puzzled look on his face. “Yes, there is, but you’re quite right, my dear, since I do not begin to understand it, then I shouldn’t terrify the household.” And he thought that erased what he had said? I wanted to hit him. He had terrified me and given me no explanation.

  His words also killed any hope of conversation. It also hurled me into a well of fear. I was frankly relieved when they finally took their leave. We all stood in the front of the Manor, waving when their carriage rolled down the long driveway.

  Thomas said to Amelia, “Your father told me that I was to cease complaining about my health, or else when I died, my ghost would not give forth a strong aura. I would never be able to see you again, even from that metaphysical distance. I would, he told me, be doomed.”

  It took all the strength I had not to burst out laughing.

  John had no reticence at all. He clapped his brother’s shoulder and said, “I don’t want you to be doomed, Thomas, no matter what sorts of distances we’re talking about. Do consider what your father-in-law told you.”

  Amelia was staring down
at the toes of her slippers. What was she thinking about this, I wondered? Or was she thinking about the evil in the Black Chamber? She didn’t say a word, merely offered to prepare Thomas a very nice tisane if he would accompany her to their bedchamber. I stared at them, walking so very close together, speaking in low voices. About what?

  When John and I were alone. When I was certain that there was no one hanging about, I said, “There is something I suppose I should tell you. I should probably have mentioned it before, but I didn’t, so perhaps now is a good time to do it.”

  One of those dark eyebrows of his shot up. He eyed me. “Well? Come on, out with it.”

  “All right. Two weeks ago I received a letter from my cousin Peter. He enclosed a letter from my father, a man I had hoped was long dead and in Hell, where he so richly deserves to be.”

  “Your father? I believed he was dead. You lived with your grandfather, did you not?”

  “Yes. I do not wish to discuss it. I despise him. He murdered my mother.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t wish to discuss it. Just believe me. In any case, in this letter he wrote me, he said that he had read of my marriage to your uncle. It unnerved him. He told me to leave Devbridge Manor at once, that he was coming as soon as he could.”

  I saw that flash of violence in his dark eyes, then it was gone, and I knew he was angry. “May I ask,” he said very pleasantly, “why the hell you did not tell me of this damned letter before?”

  “I did not feel that it was anyone’s business. Actually, that isn’t quite all of the truth.”

  “And the truth is what, exactly?”

  “I didn’t want you to know about the man who is my father.”