Counterfeit Countess (29 page)

After the royal toast and a meaningful one for the Princess of Wales, who everyone knew was in the family way, even though the news was not official yet, the dowager’s glares coalesced into a coughing session that effectively broke into the discussion long enough for Faith to recall her duty. She led the ladies into the drawing room, where a professional keyboard player entertained them on the harpsichord, and fashion and balls became the topic of conversation.

“You have some interesting opinions,” Lady Graywood said.

Already aware she may have taken the discussion too far, Faith cringed inwardly, but outwardly merely furled her fan and smiled.

“I did not always live this way.” And wondered anew how she would cope with living in this way, becoming a leader of society, holding more balls like this. Smiling and agreeing with people she disliked because they needed to gain an advantage. She would not behave hypocritically, but apart from that decision, she had few other opinions on her future life. It had become obvious to her that leaving John was no longer an option. Almost she could wish for the position of beloved mistress, so she could live quietly somewhere under his protection. Although of course she was a mistress, in one sense. At least until next week.

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The thought made a smile flicker over her lips. Lady Graywood stopped in her recital of what her daughters were doing, and what she expected of a well-brought up young lady. By implication she condemned Faith, but aloud she complimented her on her forthrightness and her decided beliefs.

Faith cringed more. By the time John and the other gentlemen entered she was once again ready to sink into the first hole that happened to open in the floor.

Being John, he noticed something in her appearance and came over to join her. He held out his hand, commanding rather than requesting and she placed her own hand over his, allowing him to draw her to her feet. Heat burned through the thickness of two pairs of evening gloves, attraction that seemed constant and unwavering. He wanted her even here, his regard made that clear, but not to anyone else. How long had he felt that? She had avoided his eyes for so long, knowing she wanted him. Only recently had she allowed herself the indulgence of meeting his gaze, allowing him to see into the depths of her soul. “We should go in soon,” he said.

They’d opened the smaller drawing room that would become the card room once the ball had begun. The larger one would form the main ballroom. With the furniture either removed or pushed against the walls, the suite on the first floor of the house would accommodate at least two hundred guests. Although the ball would not be considered a fashionable squeeze unless at least another hundred arrived.

He tucked her closer so she could curl her arm around his. “You were magnificent in the dining room,” he said, loud enough for the dowager to hear. “Never change, will you?”

Faith knew her tension had allowed the dowager to reach a vulnerable part of her, the part that refused to believe she could perform the office she had fallen into. That would happen less and less, she determined, and nobody except John would ever know of her doubts.

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Committed to her action she raised her chin and met his concerned gaze with an unwavering smile. “Thank you. I may not be the kind of countess that has gone before, but times are changing and I will be my own sort of countess.”

His eyes glistened with emotion. “I know you will. I expect nothing else of my brave, clever Faith.”

She knew his words were heard by more people than the dowager. He had declared his devotion to her in words few people would misinterpret. She could face anything, do anything with him by her side.

Guests began to arrive and they moved into the ballroom. Any doubts Faith had about the gathering were quickly dispelled as even at this unfashionably early hour, the rooms filled. Not only with the military men the Duke of Wellington had sent their way.

The uniforms of the officers made a fine display in the elegant and spacious rooms. Their ladies glittered with jewels and sparkled with wit or vitriol, depending on their temperament and intelligence. Faith tried for dignified interest, knowing she could not compete with some of the society dames present. At least not yet. In time, she would.

Faith wouldn’t repeat her moment of doubt.

Many of the military men remembered her, and instead of commenting on her previous life, they called her “Friend” and treated her with kindness. Even though some of their wives gave Faith glances that indicated something else. Perhaps they wondered how she’d snared a prize like John, considering she was married to a lowly lieutenant before, barely scraping the level of respectability.

She knew, and she cared for none of the trappings he owned. Only him. She’d happily go with him to the other end of the earth, to the wilderness he referred to when he talked of his fur-trapping venture.

She opened the dancing. Not her forte, but she coped well enough. Watching John as they completed the complicated steps of
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the formal dance that opened the ball, she knew she would prefer to dance with him than anyone else.

However she had a position to maintain, something she suspected would become a tedious constant in her life. Easily tolerable if she had John to support her. And do other things, she thought with a secret smile.

When John led her off the floor, he took her to a senior army officer, a general by the adornments and insignia on his uniform.

Then he excused himself to attend to his duties as host and lead the highest ranking female present on to the dance floor. The man gave her a knowing grin. “You were not thinking of dancing just then, were you, my lady? That kind of smile is an indicator of character.

Women will smile at the thought of new jewellery, a pretty gown, a social coup or a more personal topic. May I ask what yours was for?”

She bestowed a gracious smile on him, not at all like the one earlier. “You may ask, sir.”

He was still chuckling when he led her out for the first country dance. “Don’t hold with the modern predilection for dancing with one person alone,” he said. “Dances are for making acquaintances.

How can you do that with only one partner?” She tended to agree, but since the waltz had held sway in fashionable ballrooms since its introduction over ten years earlier, she had requested the quartet they’d engaged to play some.

Her first surprise was when she overheard the dowager giving her far more credit than she deserved for the evening. While not a raging success, it was proving popular enough it would not be castigated as a disaster. She would remain content with that and build on it. Think in the long term, now John had persuaded her to stay.

The way he had induced her almost made her smile again.

Watching her through heavy-lidded eyes as she arrived late to bed last night, waiting for her to disrobe, making her feel a delicious wanton, wickedness guiding her movements. He’d taught her he
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loved her to take control in the bedroom, and how much she enjoyed doing so. As well as when he took over, unwilling or unable to wait.

Her body heating with the remembrance, she worked on concentrating on her steps when another military gentleman took her on to the floor.

The rooms were filling nicely as the evening went on and people were staying, not taking one look and leaving, as people sometimes did. The terror of boredom seemed endemic in London society.

Either that, or the vying for attention led to fatigue with the efforts.

For the first time Faith appreciated her decision to be herself, rather than don a persona for her public appearances. While she understood their need for privacy, now more than ever, she knew that would not work for her.

As her latest dance partner took her towards the sideboard where light refreshments and drink were laid out, her foot slipped.

She frowned down at the polished wood, the floor consisting of pieces of wood inserted in a detailed pattern. This room was intended for dancing and she had no wish for her rooms to be turned into ice by over-zealous servants.

Just one piece, the black. She would ensure that never happened again.

When she looked up, it was into a familiar pair of brown eyes.

The hooked nose and austere features, combined with the dark, bushy eyebrows often deterred most people from familiarity with him. But Faith had seen him in very different circumstances to these and she could smile at the most distinguished soldier in the nation with unreserved pleasure.

He took her hand and bowed over it. “Lady Graywood, it’s a delight to meet you again.”

“Your grace, thank you for coming.”

She’d expected to see her husband when such an honoured guest arrived, and she wasn’t disappointed. John bowed and the two men
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exchanged the greeting that old colleagues might engage in, after formal bows were disposed of.

The duke surveyed the ballroom. “I see my influence has not entirely died. I brought the Arbuthnots. I trust you are not as much a stickler as some?”

The strong rumours surrounding the Duke of Wellington and Mrs. Arbuthnot were not abating. However, few people had shunned them either. Nobody denied the hero of Waterloo. “I’m flattered,” she said before John could comment. “Mrs. Arbuthnot is reported to be an engaging and intelligent woman and I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

A bit of flattery to the people who meant the most to him rarely went amiss. The duke favoured her with a warm smile. “Indeed she is. I would be delighted to introduce you.” His marriage a failure since he returned from Belgium, the duchess residing in the country for the most part, everyone knew the duke took his pleasures elsewhere, and Mrs. Arbuthnot was the current favourite, albeit with the connivance of her husband.

Faith blinked. His grace was granting particular attention to her.

At the most she’d hoped for a brief appearance, but Wellington showed every indication of remaining and exerting his charm, which was considerable but rarely used for anything or anyone he disliked. He was not appreciated in some quarters, but the majority applauded his efforts for the country. Without him, Britain might not have come out of the recent bloody and expensive wars as well as it had.

Now the man frequently proclaimed the saviour of the nation was leading her out for the next country dance. Beyond her wildest dreams. Even the dowager was wearing a satisfied expression, as near as Faith had seen to an outright smile.

She was happy. Her ball, thanks in great part to the dowager and John was a great success. She had found the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, and she finally had a purpose.

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What could possibly go wrong?

Unfortunately, Roker and David Carlisle had decided to attend this evening. Faith had hoped they would not but had sent the invitations as a matter of courtesy when the idea for the ball was first mooted. As Wellington guided her through the steps and then they separated to perform the parts of the dance that would bring them back together at the end she took the opportunity to observe the two men who for their disparate reasons wanted to see her husband humiliated, or at the least brought under their thumbs.

Carlisle would prefer to continue running the estate his way and maybe he was also in cahoots with Roker, who had been robbing the estate blind for years. John had told her everything, shared all his information with her. There was no longer any doubt.

Faith had no doubt John would be dismissing the two man, perhaps prosecuting them in the courts after the ball. Just as she knew Roker must be aware of his intention, because John had commandeered his files and had not returned them. The bookroom was piled high with dusty old ledgers, and the door fitted with a new lock. He and his associates had drawn up a final report, had it copied and distributed around various offices, so destroying the evidence wasn’t possible.

At least they weren’t downstairs trying to break in to the study.

John had stationed a footman inside the room in case anyone tried any such ploy.

The duke executed a tricky turn, bringing them back together and as she spun under his arm, she caught sight of her husband, stern-faced, confronting Roker and Carlisle. Something untoward was happening. Edward Smith was approaching the group at a fair clip. Faith didn’t have to see her to know the dowager was keeping a weather eye on what was fast becoming a confrontation.

Although she badly wanted to cross the room and give him her support, she dared not because she was partnering the guest of honour. She didn’t want to let him anywhere near the people
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standing to one side of the bathroom. Even though they were speaking softly, that would not last long, if the expression on John’s face was any indication of the progression of affairs.

Before she could prevent him, the Duke of Wellington escorted her off the dance floor, heedless of the pattern in the dance. He headed for the little group with determination, herding Faith, his hand grazing the small of her back.

“There appears to be no evidence of the marriage,” Roker said, his voice ringing clearly so as many people as possible could hear.

He flourished his paper. “This says that your wife’s first husband was killed at Waterloo, not just before it. That would not give you the opportunity to marry her before the battle. Moreover, there is no record of your marriage, my lord. I have searched for it, since you did not see proper to furnish me with the papers I asked of you.”

A chill spread rapidly through Faith’s body, invading every part of her, until the blood in her veins threatened to freeze. She couldn’t move, couldn’t say anything, words whirling through her head, none of them making any sense.

Control, Faith.

Dignity was all that remained to her. Her thoughts coalesced, settled, and all the while Roker was destroying her life, word by word. She’d only just begun to believe in what she’d gained, but now with her world crashing around her, she recalled what had got her here. A lie. She’d adopted a life not her own, used assets that didn’t belong to her. Nemesis had come to collect the debt.