Courting the Countess (4 page)
Read Courting the Countess Online
Authors: Barbara Pierce
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical Romance
Her mother ruthlessly forged ahead unaware of her daughter’s turmoil. “Rusticating out on this farm is no life for a young woman. It is time to bury your grief, and we all intend to help you.”
The comment sounded like an ominous threat. “Your help has not been asked for, nor is it needed,” Brook said, deliberately keeping her voice level, but the hint of steel was apparent.
“Lyon lamented over your mulish temperament,” the elder Lady A’Court interjected, gaining and holding Brook’s attention. “You were so much less than he expected.”
Brook gasped at the unexpected cruelty. She had no defense against what she perceived as the truth.
Mrs. Byres tugged on her skirt. “Lyon was a beautiful boy. The pair of you would have made handsome children.”
Ham stirred from his chair. “Ladies, there is no use speculating on a past that cannot be altered. Not only is it spiteful, it is in my humble opinion a complete waste of time.” He touched Brook lightly under the chin. “Cousin, your pallor concerns me. Perhaps a turn in the garden will restore your health.”
She allowed Ham to lead her out of the room away from their good intentions and pitying expressions. They did not linger for their cloaks, but walked out the front door. Ham was correct. Being outdoors helped.
She lifted her face to the breeze and enjoyed the coolness. “My lord, you may release me. I shall not faint on you,” she said, a feeling of calm slipping beneath her skin.
The earl hesitated. Critically judging her appearance, he must have decided she had not lied, and released her. He locked his arms behind his back, and they walked the yard. She sensed a struggle within him. Finally, he said, “I apologize for the pain my family has caused you. Elthia, Lady A’Court, well, her life was built around Lyon. She will never see that he had a hand in his destruction. It is simpler for her to believe that the rumors circulating after his death were malicious lies.”
She tasted the bitter bile of injustice. “You do not need to justify her reasoning for me.”
“I am not excusing her behavior.” He matched her short stride and kept a respectable space between them. “I suppose I am not explaining myself well.” He boldly took up her hand and compelled her to halt. “I would find it regrettable if you thought my opinion and the dowager’s were in alignment.”
Understanding softened her features. “I knew it was not
so, my lord. Your friendship has meant something to me.”
so, my lord. Your friendship has meant something to me.”
Boyish delight lit his handsome visage. “Truly? I am glad to hear it is so, Cousin. And when we return to London, I will be steadfastly by your side. No one will dare speak out of turn.”
She wrinkled her face in confusion. “London?”
“That was what your mother was attempting to explain before my aunt made a hash of things. Your family is opening the town house. They are expecting you to join them for the season.”
Brook pulled her arm from his grasp. “I have no intention of traveling to London this season or the next. I thought you understood!”
“I do. You are afraid.”
“I am not!” she snapped. She was not afraid; she was terrified. “You were not even in London when Lyon died. What do you know of the matter?”
“I have heard all of the rumors, even though Mr. Milroy and his then betrothed, Miss Wynne Bedegrayne, have always been close-mouthed about the final minutes of my cousin’s life before he fell to his death at Mr. Milroy’s town house. People will speculate. You cannot control human nature.”
She pushed him away, unable to contain her anger. “You have no notion of what you speak of, my lord.”
Undeterred, Ham pressed on, “You were too weak from the loss of your babe to endure all the curious speculation and cruelty. You are stronger now. Return to London with your family and I vow it will be different.”
“A touching promise,” Mallory Claeg drawled, casually making his way toward them. “Though it lacks the poetry of romance. Perhaps you would be more convincing, sir, if the delivery was made on bended knee?”
Ham glared at the intruder who so easily mocked his sincerity. “Who the devil are you, sir?”
This man would never be his friend.
Executing a quick bow, Mallory said, “My name is Mallory Claeg, sir, though I doubt I have answered your question.”
“Ham is my guest, Mr. Claeg.”
Behave
. Mallory heard her unspoken warning but was not inclined to indulge her. “What you really want to know is, who am I to Brook?” He deliberately used her Christian name, insinuating an intimacy he desired and had yet to achieve. Of course, Ham was not aware of it.
. Mallory heard her unspoken warning but was not inclined to indulge her. “What you really want to know is, who am I to Brook?” He deliberately used her Christian name, insinuating an intimacy he desired and had yet to achieve. Of course, Ham was not aware of it.
“Mr. Claeg, please.”
He retrieved the bouquet of wildflowers from behind his back and handed them to her. “I thought of you when I picked these.”
Brook buried her nose into the colorful mix of spring blooms and inhaled their fragrance. “These are lovely. Thank you.” Her catlike eyes narrowed. “Why are you bringing me flowers?”
Mallory expelled an exaggerated sigh. “You are too young to be so cynical,” he mournfully replied. “Consider them a bribe—or an apology. I will accept whichever will get me some tea. My exploration of your lands has left me parched.”
Not liking the familiarity of their conversation, Ham interjected, “As a matter of fact, Mr. Claeg, I would very much
like to know about your relationship with my cousin.”
like to know about your relationship with my cousin.”
“Cousin?” Perhaps he had misunderstood the other man’s possessive posturing. Jealousy made men foolish indeed.
Lady A’Court, being the proper little hostess, provided the introduction. “Mr. Claeg, may I present Seaton Hamblin, the ninth Earl of A’Court. Ham, Mr. Claeg, a renowned artist, is also Viscount Keyworth’s heir.”
“Your name is, I confess, unfamiliar to me. However, I did have the honor of listening to your father speak once in Parliament. He is a remarkable gentleman.”
“I will pass on the compliment.” Mallory assumed the lady’s motive for mentioning the connection to the Keyworth name was to elevate his status. He could not thank her for it. He had spent most of his life distancing himself from his father. It was not a subject he dwelled on, so he focused on more important matters. “So, Countess, do my flowers gain me admittance to the castle?”
The flowers had been a thoughtful touch,
he mused, watching her inspect the various blooms.
The flowers had been a thoughtful touch,
he mused, watching her inspect the various blooms.
“Your imagination is as delusional as your self-love. Join us if you must.”
“Yes, please do join us, Mr. Claeg,” Lord A’Court echoed the invitation with false sincerity. “Mayhap you could use your influence to help us convince my dear cousin to return to London with us.”
“No one has that kind of influence,” she darkly muttered.
Watching Mallory Claeg interact with her motley family was a tiring affair. Her mother and sisters had been thrilled by the artist’s arrival and his simple token of spring flowers. Elthia, Lady A’Court was not so easily won over. As she glanced from Brook’s face to Mr. Claeg’s, the wheels of speculation were grinding out their own conclusions. From her thin-lipped expression Brook guessed the lady’s opinion was unflattering. Mr. Ludlow was affable yet reserved, while Grandmother Byres insisted that Mr. Claeg sit beside her at supper. Ham
was acting petulant. He hovered in a fawning manner around Brook that changed from flattering to downright annoying.
was acting petulant. He hovered in a fawning manner around Brook that changed from flattering to downright annoying.
Then there was his sister May’s behavior. Mr. Claeg’s presence had revived her flagging spirits. As she sat beside him on the sofa with Ivy on the other side, the pair took turns flirting outrageously. A stern look from Mr. Ludlow curtailed Brook’s half sister’s poor manners. Regrettably, no one thought to restrain May Hamblin.
Mallory Claeg seemed immune to the tension. After supper, Mrs. Ludlow had suggested that they adjourn to the small music room. Ivy and Honey, both competent on the pianoforte, took turns impressing the group with their skill. Mr. Claeg praised both girls and swore when pressed that he was unable to dub one girl superior over the other. His evasion did not prevent them from squabbling. Brook also was able to play the instrument but did not volunteer, nor was she asked. A slender book of verse in hand, she feigned interest in it while her parents, Mother A’Court, and Mrs. Byres played whist. With his arms crossed, Ham watched Mr. Claeg as if he were a stray mongrel he mistrusted. May Hamblin’s intentions were so clear that Brook felt a pang of pity for the young lady.
So lost was Brook in her musings, it startled her to find Mr. Claeg staring directly at her. Another man would have glanced away once he had been caught. Mr. Claeg was proving to be something other than predictable. Peeking over her unread tome, Brook lifted her brow, letting him know in her own way that she was not intimidated. Unabashed, the scoundrel simply tucked his fist under his chin and continued to study her. Ham had noticed their silent exchange and scowled at them both.
May Hamblin lightly stroked Mr. Claeg on the coat sleeve, interrupting his deliberation. “Being a connoisseur of art, you must live a fascinating life, Mr. Claeg.”
Ham shifted his stance. Perhaps he had finally noticed his sister’s keen interest in the artist. “Mr. Claeg is in trade, May. He makes pictures. It is connoisseurs who make it art.”
“It is an old argument, my lord, and both sides are passionate,” Mr. Claeg said, smiling at May. The gaze he directed at the earl held no amusement. Mallory knew he was being baited and yet could not leave the subject undefended. “Naturally, I am in favor of the artist. It is his vision, his blood, that is ground into the pigment and mixed with linseed oil. The artist puts a part of himself on that canvas.” He shook his head as if deriving conclusions from a private argument with himself. Brook suspected he had said more than he intended to his unappreciative audience. “I lose respect for the gentleman who claims to know art because he had traveled to Italy and viewed several dozen pictures. All that proves to me is that he can traverse the seas without disgracing himself.”
May giggled and applauded her companion. It was a dreadful simpering sound, Brook thought. The woman was also making a fool of herself.
“The artisans should allow the educated gentlemen to create a standard of excellence. They need guidance, a moral and decent aspiration. Mr. Claeg, even you must concede that you do not have to be a potter to appreciate a porcelain vase, or a silversmith to recognize good plate,” Ham stubbornly argued.
“I do not criticize aspiration, Lord A’Court, just the man who judges its value,” Mr. Claeg astutely countered.
Ivy’s hands froze over the keys of the pianoforte while she listened raptly to the gentlemen’s debate. The players of the card game had also suspended their play. Despite his casual airs, Mr. Claeg took his art very seriously, and it was an imprudent man who provoked him.
“Ha! Only those who embrace mediocrity fear the power of the connoisseurs. Talent survives the ages.”
May was not the only Hamblin who was acting outrageously. Brook had credited Ham for having more sense than he was illustrating.
“Not when the varnish blackens and the paint begins rotting off the canvas,” Mr. Claeg drawled. She noticed his white teeth when he smiled. They were straight and very sharp, the sign of a true predator.
“If this argument has been debated by learned men for generations, I doubt we will find a resolution this evening,” Brook said, and everyone laughed with the exception of the earl and Mr. Claeg. She was putting an end to their conversation before they took their disagreement outdoors. “Ivy, play something soothing.”
“Play one of Handel’s works,” her mother called out before returning her attention to the cards in her hand.
The gentlemen continued to scowl at each other while Ivy began playing. Ignoring the hostility between her brother and Mr. Claeg, May said, “I saw your submission to the Royal Academy last year, and
mediocrity
was not the word to describe it.”
mediocrity
was not the word to describe it.”
Losing interest in the earl and his plebian tastes, Mr. Claeg focused his eerie light blue gaze on May. “What did you think of my
Pandora
?”
Pandora
?”
Flattered, she checked her reflection in the large mirror on the wall across from her and preened. “Extraordinary, sir. One could empathize with her anguish.”
Exasperated by his sister’s attempt to intellectualize on a subject out of her depth, Ham rolled his eyes, mumbled, “God save us.”
“Were you shocked by her costume?” Mallory asked innocently.
May pursed her lips. “No. Was that your intention?” As they sat side by side together on the sofa, her curly dark hair and classic beauty complemented Mr. Claeg’s masculine grace rather nicely, Brook sourly mused.
The artist idly scratched his chin. “Well, for the sake of symbolism she was stripped of her civility.”
The young woman looked perplexed.
“His
Pandora
was naked, May,” Ham dryly replied at his sister’s gasp. “She was probably some prostitute he dragged off the street.”
Pandora
was naked, May,” Ham dryly replied at his sister’s gasp. “She was probably some prostitute he dragged off the street.”
The earl’s snide tone had Brook rising to Mr. Claeg’s defense whether he needed her to or not. “It is a high honor to be chosen by the academy. Are you an associate?” Brook asked, attempting to cast him in a responsible light.
His head snapped in her direction. All the friendliness she always associated him with was quickly doused by her question. “No,” he said, stating with that one word that pursuing the subject would be futile.
If having an artist in the house had not captured her younger half sister’s imagination, the notion that he painted naked prostitutes was positively titillating. “Ladies truly pose naked for you?” Honey asked, her eyes wide with awe.
“Honey Ludlow!” her father shouted.
“Sweet Honey, I assure you—” Mallory winked at Brook. “I kept my eyes firmly shut.”
The clock chimed the tenth hour. The house was still active with the sounds of its temporary inhabitants. If they had been in London, they would have been preparing for a late supper or a ball. Here it was easier to conform to nature’s schedule. Everyone was going through their various nighttime rituals before they went to bed. Brook smiled at the feminine shriek that was followed by infectious laughter. She had paired her half sisters in a bedchamber. Brook envied their closeness. Too many years spanned between them for her to share in their merriment.
She pushed open the door they had not bothered to close. Honey was chasing Ivy around the room, both were dressed in their nightclothes. The few pieces of furniture posed no
obstacles for them. What they could not run around they climbed over. Brook opened her mouth to chastise them and then thought better of it. The room would survive the abuse.
obstacles for them. What they could not run around they climbed over. Brook opened her mouth to chastise them and then thought better of it. The room would survive the abuse.
“Pleasant dreams, girls,” Brook said.
Ivy narrowly escaped her sister by rolling off the bed. She used the post to right herself and swing herself in another direction. “G’night,” she said, not breaking her stride.
Honey skidded to a halt and exhaled a sigh of relief that it was not mother or father who had come to check on them. “G’night, Sis.” She lunged for Ivy and the chase resumed again.
Brook closed the door. She continued down the hall and listened to the indistinct murmur of voices. Recognizing one of the voices, she deduced that her personal maid, Morna, was still tending to Elthia, Lady A’Court’s needs. The older woman traveled with her own personal staff; however, she was a woman who was used to an army of servants seeing to every whim. If Brook wanted assistance with her dress, she might have to seek out her housekeeper, Mrs. Gordy.
The door abruptly opened while Brook stood there wavering about whether or not she should open the door. The solemn face of her housekeeper popped into view. So the dowager had absconded with her Mrs. Gordy, too. Chagrined, Brook wondered if she would be forced to seek assistance from one of the bailiff. She could just imagine Lady A’Court’s reaction to that plan!
Brook looked at the large pot of steaming water in her housekeeper’s hands. “Is there a problem?”
“Aye, madam,” she huffed, tossing a perturbed look back at the women in the room. “Too many people in this house. Demanding this … complaining about that—I am too old for this nonsense!”
Since Mrs. Gordy was younger than the woman she was complaining about, Brook fought back a smile. “What is wrong with the water?” she calmly asked.
The older woman sniffed. “Too cold, Her Ladyship says, as if she can’t see the steam rising from it. Why, I could scald a babe in this water!”
“Housekeeper, who is keeping you from properly heating my water? Put aside your idle chatter for your own time. My feet cannot wait.”
“Go,” Brook whispered. “I will handle her.” The thought startled her. There was a time when she did not believe she could handle anyone with the A’Court name.
“You’ll be able to cook an egg in it,” Mrs. Gordy promised, a malicious gleam lighting her gaze. “A good night to you, my lady.”
“Do not dawdle, Housekeeper. I cannot—” Seeing Brook, the dowager halted her rant. “Oh, it is you, Lady A’Court.”
She sat in front of her dressing table. Brook’s maid, Morna, was at the older woman’s feet removing her stockings. The dowager’s personal servant was in the act of peeling off her wig. Brook had never seen the lady without her wig and found the vision disconcerting.
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