Courting the Countess (14 page)

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Authors: Barbara Pierce

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical Romance

BOOK: Courting the Countess
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Gill wiped her nose and snickered into her hand. There was no fooling the imp. She was too shrewd not to guess most of Mallory’s callers were attracted to the artist rather than his art. Of the group, only Lord Ventris was strictly interested in a business transaction.
Mallory had painted a portrait of Miss Nost for her father. He had discerned during one of the sittings that both father and daughter were considering him as a possible husband for the young lady.
He had a very brief and forgettable liaison with Mrs. Howsen a few years earlier. The widow had hinted last month that she was willing to resume their friendship.
Lady Buttrey was another lady who had caught his attention, but he had not pursued her. Never shy, the lady had been aware of his attraction. The private collection she had invited him to view was likely in her bedchamber.
As for Carissa, well, he had cast her aside last year after she had tried to hurt Amara by flaunting her very old friendship with Brock Bedegrayne. Mallory had thoroughly enjoyed punishing the jealous witch, but her spitefulness had prompted him to end their relationship. He could not view her renewed interest in him as anything encouraging.
A year earlier, he had told himself that he had acted for his sister’s sake. Now he understood that meeting Brook again had played a part in his decision to part ways with Carissa, although he doubted the countess would be flattered he had discarded his mistress for her.
“We can sort through the business issues later, Messing.” Mallory noticed Gill was not following him into the house. “Coming, imp?” he asked, purposely keeping the offer blasé.
It still took some coaxing to get her to enter his house. Sometimes she reminded him of a wary animal mistrustful of its good fortune. Once he got her into his painting room, they could spend hours discussing art. He had discovered she had a keen wit and a hunger for art that rivaled his own. While he fed her mind, he always managed to feed her belly. Considering how scrawny she was, it might very well be the only meal she would eat that day.
“I should leave. You have work.” Her movements were decidedly awkward, revealing her sudden discomfort. “I best be off to sell my sketch.”
Ah, pride. For some, it was an insurmountable wall. “The
one of the museum is mine,” he said decisively, watching her eyes round. “Three shillings was my offer.”
Slyness crept into her dark brown eyes. “Four.”
“My dear girl, four shillings is outright thievery. Three is highly generous, considering the problems you are having with perspective.”
She was so outraged by the insult that she was not aware that she had followed him into the house. Messing wrinkled his nose as she passed but was prudent to keep his mouth shut.
“Problems with perspective? Are you daft? The building all but jumps off the paper.” She opened her book, her furious motions demanding that he look at her work and recant his criticism.
He nodded to the woman who appeared behind them. “Why, Mrs. Lane, how pretty you look today,” Mallory said to his housekeeper. He removed his hat and handed it to his manservant.
“Mr. Claeg, it is good to have you back with us again.” She gave him an apprising look. “You have been starving yourself.”
His naturally lean frame caused her no small amount of concern. She fussed over him like an overprotective hen. “If I starve, my raison d’être is motivated by the noblest endeavor.”
“Art,” Gill said, still stewing about his unflattering observation.
Mrs. Lane grunted. “Likely one of your mistresses is giving you fits. Give me a little time and I will bring something for you and the girl.” She glared at Gill in her no-nonsense fashion. “I am leaving it to you to make certain Mr. Claeg eats every bite.”
“Y-Yes, ma’am,” Gill said, intimidated by the housekeeper. “Every bite.”
Satisfied with the promise, the older woman turned to
leave. She winked at him, leaving no doubt that Gill had been expertly manipulated. He was not the only one who worried about the girl.
Sighing dramatically, Mallory said with resignation, “Well, Gill, that settles it. No one disobeys Mrs. Lane’s dictates. Put your book on my worktable and we will discuss why your sketch merits less than the four shillings you are demanding.”
“But—” The protest was for appearances, since Gill already had tossed her sketching book ungraciously onto the table and was slipping the leather strap of her pack over her head.
“No thanks are necessary, brat,” he said, smiling at the similarities between Gill and the countess. Neither female desired his help, and yet their mulishness just made him more determined to meddle in their solitary lives. “The joy of art is derived in sharing it with others.”
He laughed when she crossed her eyes in response. Inspiration struck him. Giving in to his spontaneous nature, he said, “I have never contemplated taking on an apprentice before, but your unrefined talent challenges me.”
“Unrefined,” she sniffed, and wiped her nose with her sleeve. “I’ve done well enough without you.”
“Think of what you might achieve with my assistance, Gill, if you become my apprentice. I rather like the notion of being your master,” he added maddeningly.
The young woman grimaced. “Having your man Messing plant his sneering lips on my arse is more likely than me ever calling you master, Claeg.”
With trepidation, Brook watched her servant approach Viscount Tipton’s town house. She had told no one about this particular errand. This was private. The last time she had been here, the surgeon had told her that she had lost her baby.
She looked away when the front door opened, regretting her decision to come to Devona first. Perhaps choosing to approach the youngest Bedegrayne first was cowardly, but so much had changed in Brook’s absence. Even if she had been brave, she did not know where Wynne lived. Returning to the Tiptons’ residence seemed somehow appropriate, that is, if the lady and lord of the house did not refuse her card.
“My lady,” the footman said, startling her with his sudden presence. He opened the carriage door. “The family is receiving visitors this afternoon.”
The news should have calmed her. Instead she was fighting the urge to order the coachman to take her home. Half-blind by fear, she allowed the servant to assist her out of the carriage. The Tiptons’ butler stood stiffly by the open door, giving her no choice but to follow through with her purpose.
“Lady A’Court, the family bids you welcome and await you in the drawing room,” the gruff servant said. “Might I say, my lady, that you look noticeably better since our last meeting.” He smiled at her, flaunting disturbingly sharp little teeth.
“Ah, thank you, Mr … .” she began, floundering for the name of a man she could not recall.
“Just Speck,” he said, escorting her to the drawing room. “You were too sickly for introductions.” She let the understatement go unchallenged. He opened the door and entered before her. “Lady A’Court, my lord.”
She was petrified. The strange-looking butler practically shoved her into the room. A sweeping glance revealed Viscount Tipton was alone. “My lord, I was told the family was receiving visitors.”
The oddy-colored bluish eyes from her dreams lightened with amusement. “My servant lied.”
How dreadfully awkward! Uncertain on how to respond, she said, “Forgive me, Lord Tipton. I shall not keep you.”
“No, stay,” the surgeon ordered before she could back out of the room. “I owe you the apology. Much to my dismay, no one seems to appreciate my humor except for my wife. Please, come in and sit.”
“Did your servant lie, my lord?”
He guided her toward one of the chairs. “Only at my urging. The family is not receiving visitors this afternoon. Nevertheless, our house is always open to you, Lady A’Court.”
His kindness was almost her undoing. Blinking furiously to combat the overwhelming urge to cry, she asked, “Is your wife at home?”
“Regrettably, she is out of the house. I know she will be upset when she learns that she has missed your visit. Will you be remaining in town for the season?”
“Your butler told me that the family was home. I assumed your wife was here.”
“A tiny deception perpetuated at my order, I confess.” He did not seem repentant for his actions. “I wanted to meet you again and was certain you would not enter the house if you had been alerted to Devona’s absence.”
Clutching her reticule tightly with both hands, Brook
tried to hide her alarm. There was good reason that polite society treaded cautiously when dealing with this gentleman. “Why?”
“The dire circumstances that brought you to me drove you away from London. It is not a great leap in intellect to assume you would have been content to avoid me.”
It seemed rude to agree. “My lord, I may not have been as appreciative as I should have been during those early days; however, I now realize that I owe my life to you.”
“To be indebted to
Le Cadavre Raffine
must be terribly burdensome for you.”
Brook was taken aback. Not only by his casual use of a nickname she had only heard others whisper but also because he seemed to be teasing her. “Are you mocking me, sir?”
“Only a little,” he assured her. He moved closer, disconcerting her further. He was a large man. His size alone was intimidating. She could not quite meet his gaze. “It must have taken a tremendous amount of courage to come here.”
“I will admit, I was apprehensive of the family’s reaction.”
“Really, how so?” He stared down at her as if she were a puzzle he needed to solve.
“Well, it takes a generous soul to forgive the woman responsible for almost getting a beloved member of your family killed.”
 
“You let her leave?”
Tipton winced at the vociferous exasperation directed at him. “My fiery temptress, what did you expect me to do? Have Speck lock her up in the larder?”
“No, of course not,” Devona replied, showing no sign of calming down. His wife was a petite woman with bluish-green eyes and curly copper tresses no amount of hairpins seemed able to contain. At four and twenty, she was the youngest of the Bedegrayne siblings. She also had a temper that rivaled her father’s. “You knew I was taking Lucian to see Papa. You
should have sent someone to summon me home.”
“My apologies, but I lack your talent for thinking up grand schemes. Besides, the lady was terrified. Speck had to coax her into the room.”
“Good grief! You turned the gargoyle loose on her. Knowing him, he probably dragged her into the room.”
Tipton viewed it as more of a nudge, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. Despite her fears, Lady A’Court had stood her ground even if it had taken some prodding on his part to understand why she thought he and the Bedegraynes would denounce her return.
“Pearl would have been a more suitable choice.” Devona sagged against him, letting him hold her. “Well, nothing can be done about it. I presume you ordered Speck to follow her once she ran screaming from the house.”
Tipton and the young widow had parted genially, both satisfied with their encounter. Out of concern, he had told Speck to follow her at a discreet distance just in case the lady had been less than forthright about her residence. “Give me some credit, Devona. I can exude charm when it is necessary.” He nuzzled the top of her head with his chin. “I caught you, did I not?”
“You blackmailed me into marrying you,” she said bluntly. She tilted her head back, confronting the full impact of his eerie light blue stare. “It was a devil’s bargain I have never regretted.”
Moved by her declaration, he gruffly said, “Good thing, since I hold on to what is mine, Wife.”
 
Mallory recognized Brock Bedegrayne’s equipage in front of the Keyworths’ town house. He had encountered the couple on his numerable visits. While he applauded his sister’s dedication to her family, it troubled him that his parents were so unworthy.
“G’morning, Buckle,” he greeted the butler. “Are the
Bedegraynes in the library?” If he succeeded at nothing else this day, he intended to ease his sister’s pain.
“No, sir. Mrs. Bedegrayne was feeling sickly this morning. I was able to persuade her into eating something for the baby’s sake. You will find her and Mr. Bedegrayne in the morning room.”
“You are a good man, Buckle,” he said, patting him on the back. “Give me some time with my sister before you announce my arrival. There is no reason to upset Amara any more than we have to, do you not agree?”
“Very well, sir.”
He found his sister and her husband just where the butler had told him they would be. Like children whispering secrets, they had their heads together. They parted at his entrance into the room.
“Buckle tells me you are unwell, puss,” Mallory said, kissing the top of her head.
Amara brushed the crumbs of her toasted bread from her fingers. “A minor stomach complaint, nothing more.”
“She was whiter than this table linen,” Bedegrayne countered, holding Mallory’s questioning stare. “Perhaps we should quit town. The air is not good for her.”
His meaning was clear. The man worried that the strain of the Keyworths’ refusal to acknowledge Amara was endangering her and the baby she carried in her womb.
“A fine idea, Bedegrayne. If you do not mind having a houseguest in a few weeks, I will join you at Whitmott Park once I have settled my business affairs.”
“I am not leaving town,” Amara said, glaring at them. “I am not the first lady in England who has found herself in the delicate condition. Do you both think I am so inept that I cannot bear a child, something every female since the dawn of time has done for her mate?”
“Frankly, Sis,
delicate
is not the word that pops into my head when you are screeching like a harpy.”
Bedegrayne shot at him an annoyed scowl. “You need rest, dove. Sitting in this house does not count.”
“Let it be, Brock,” she warned, casting a look in Mallory’s direction.
“Hell, Amara, it is no secret around town that your family despises us.”
Mallory’s sister pushed away her barely touched plate of food and burst into tears. He did not care if Bedegrayne was her husband; he could not stand by and watch him bully her. “That is enough, Bedegrayne.”
“Not nearly, sir. While you flit in and out of your sister’s life, I have been at her side watching her useless attempts to appease your parents for the astounding transgression of falling in love with the wrong man.”
“Brock,” she begged through her tears.
“What will you do, dove? Give me up? Give up our child?”
In her outrage, her tears dried up at the suggestion. “Never,” she vehemently replied. “I love you.” She fiercely hugged Bedegrayne.
Mallory could not quite swallow the lump swelling in his throat. Crouching down beside her chair, he said, “Amara, we Claegs are a selfish clan. I defied the family by running off with my mistress. Doran tried to turn himself into something he was not because he found himself lacking in our father’s eyes. And you, you almost sacrificed yourself in marriage to men you could never love because some part of you felt you needed to make up for your brothers’ failings.”
Amara shook her head in denial. “No.”
He smiled slightly. “Perhaps not. I have spent most of my life as the family outcast and it affords me a different view than yours. Bedegrayne also saw the truth. Love is something freely offered. It cannot be stolen or bartered away. Our father will never forgive you because he does not understand this concept.”
“Are you telling me to forget about him, to stay away even when he is sick and needs me?” She hiccupped softly.
Mallory kissed her hand. “I am suggesting that you do not settle for less than you deserve. You were brave when you chose a life with Bedegrayne. If our family cannot reconcile themselves to your decision, then you must cast them out of your heart.”
“I am not like you, Brother. I do not love carelessly or lightly.”
She had inadvertently smitten a ruthless blow by simply speaking the truth. He absently rubbed his heart. “I have not been as fortunate as you, puss. Mayhap one day,” he said wistfully.
Her husband touched her on the shoulder. “Your brother is right. If your father needs you at his side, he will have to push aside his pride and summon you. We are leaving now.” Bedegrayne, not brooking any disobedience, helped her onto her feet.
“Will you be traveling north to Whitmott Park?” Mallory asked, calculating the distance between his sister and Cornwall.
“No,” Bedegrayne said, disgruntled about the decision. “Short of kidnapping, there is no way of luring Amara out of town now that Lyon’s prey has returned.”
Mallory froze at the mention of A’Court’s first name. He had not heard any rumors of Brook’s return, although he admitted silently that he was not paying heed to the latest on-dit titillating polite society. It did not bode well for him if the countess had indeed returned to town and yet had failed to tell him of her presence. Recalling his parting words, he privately conceded that it would have been more astounding if she had contacted him.
Unaware of her brother’s musings, Amara adopted an intractable expression. “Do not call her that horrid name! After all she has endured, she is undeserving of the
ton
’s mockery.”
She appealed to her brother. “Do you recall Lord Lanston’s daughter, Brook? She was probably too young and innocent for you to consider trifling with—”
“You have an extraordinarily low opinion of me,” he lamented.
“Sadly, Lyon Meylan, Lord A’Court, had no such compunction in marrying a lady ten years younger than himself.”
“A difference in age is not a sin, puss. How many years does Bedegrayne have over you? Seven?”
“Six,” she admitted, irritated that Mallory had not readily agreed with her. “His age was less troublesome than other aspects. Lord A’Court was courting a lady whose disposition was so contrary to his. Brook’s family was naturally ecstatic that she had captured an earl’s attention. If anyone had any concerns about the gentleman, they were swept away when the banns were posted.”
Mallory lifted his brow. At this stage he was not prepared to reveal his association with the countess. “You speak as if you know the lady intimately.”

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