The Earl's Countess of Convenience

by Marguerite Kaye

  A taste of his own medicine, Alexander thought, slowing down on the approach to the village. Now he knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of an unanswered question. It wouldn’t be fair of him to press her further, when she was usually so careful not to push him. Until this morning, when his dissembling had hurt her, but what option did he have, when he could hardly tell her the truth!

  Damn Sir Marcus for raising her suspicions. It wasn’t like him to be so indiscreet. Mind you, he’d more or less admitted, in the note Alexander had received in the post that morning, that he had underestimated Eloise’s intelligence.

  Lady Fearnoch strikes me as an uncommonly observant woman as well as an uncommonly attractive one. Both qualities, I have no doubt, you are aware of and will be wary of.

  A clear warning shot across his bows, the parallels between Claudia and his wife clearly drawn. As if he needed to be reminded.

  Beside him, Eloise remained deep in contemplation. ‘There’s a new bridge across the Thames here,’ he told her. ‘We can cross and carry on to Richmond Park, if you like—I reckon it can’t be more than four miles.’

  ‘That sounds like an excellent idea. I’ve heard so much about its charms.’

  She remained unusually quiet, gazing out at the fast-flowing Thames as they crossed the river, though he was pretty sure her mind was miles away. He took a route that followed a bend in the river for a while, turning south at Mortlake, where the vast green swathes of Richmond Park came into view. He entered the parkland through the nearest gate and, following his nose, took one of the paths which he hoped would take them around the perimeter. ‘I’ve never been out here before, but Sir Marcus suggested it as a pleasant country drive.’

  ‘He displays an impressive interest in his protégé’s affairs.’

  Alexander cursed his mentor once again. ‘You surprised him, Eloise, you were not what he expected.’

  ‘So he informed me,’ she answered tartly.

  ‘If it were not for him, I would be—I don’t know where I would be, to be honest. I know he put your back up, but...’

  ‘What would you have done if he had withheld his permission for you to marry?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know. Fortunately, he did consent.’

  ‘Would you have considered resigning?’

  ‘God, no. I have never—no.’ Alexander tried to imagine such a scenario. ‘That was not an option.’

  ‘So it is as he said, you really are wedded to your country. It is as well that ours is not a real marriage, else I’d be jealous.’

  ‘My duties preclude what you call a real marriage—’ He broke off, aware that anything he might say risked raising further questions. He was so used to guarding his secrets it had become second nature. To reveal more would cause her quite unnecessary worry, apart from the fact that to do so was tantamount to treason. Discussing his proposed marriage with Sir Marcus, he had been able to dismiss out of hand any concern that he’d take his wife into his confidence. But that was before he’d met Eloise, when his wife was faceless and formless, a woman who would live a parallel life to his, whom he would care for in an abstract way, but who would remain peripheral. He had had no intention of acting out a love match, of breakfasting with her, dining with her, dancing with her. Seeking out her company when he had no reason to. Taking her for a drive. Talking to her of the past that he had thought long buried. He hadn’t imagined it would be so difficult to brush off her questions, to hide behind evasions, to prevent her from getting to know him too well. He hadn’t thought that he’d want her to know him. He didn’t want to hurt her again with another blunt rebuff.

  ‘My work not only requires me to be abroad a great deal, it requires my complete dedication. I have to be able to react to any crises immediately, and to concentrate totally on resolving those crises without distraction. In that sense, Sir Marcus is right—my duty and my loyalty must be to my country, without compromise. Do you understand?’

  ‘A little. Better than I did, I think.’

  Eloise studied the passing landscape for a moment, but he could see that she was debating with herself on whether to pursue the matter. Though his heart sank, he was not surprised when she did.

  ‘Is that why you told me that love is anathema to you? I wondered why, from what you said to me the first day we met, you were so vehement, and how you could be so certain. Then last night, Sir Marcus said that you never made the same mistake twice, and I was thinking about it this morning, and the other thing you told me, that you were not—that you had not been interested in taking comfort in another’s arms, and it made me wonder—it made me wonder if you had been? In love, I mean. And that Sir Marcus had forced you to give her up.’

  This was what came of exchanging confidences! ‘I’ve never been in love.’ It was not a lie. If he had loved Claudia would he feel less or more guilty? But the outcome would have been the same.

  His tone was wrong. Too aggressive. Eloise would think he was lying. ‘I assure you,’ he said more gently, ‘Sir Marcus has never had cause to interfere in my private life.’ The absolute truth this time, though only because Sir Marcus hadn’t known until it was too late.

  ‘I see I’ve read too much into what Sir Marcus said. He told me that you are one of the Admiralty’s greatest assets. I expect he was simply trying to protect his interests.’

  She was studying her gloves, which meant she didn’t believe a word of what she had just said. For the third time that day, Alexander cursed his mentor, but there was nothing more he could say that wouldn’t amount to treason. As the perimeter path turned north again, Alexander took the next gate out of the park. ‘We’ll go back a different way,’ he said. ‘I reckon if we follow the Thames on this side heading east we’ll be able to cross at Vauxhall and be back nicely in time for dinner.’

  ‘I’ve ordered the kitchen to prepare a fricassee with mushroom fritters and asparagus in lemon butter.’

  ‘That sounds delicious.’

  ‘The fritters are made with an ale batter.’

  ‘One of Phoebe’s receipts?’

  ‘Who else?’ She looked up at him, smiling wanly. ‘We didn’t go hungry. In Ireland, I mean. There were times when we had bread and cheese for dinner because the butcher hadn’t been paid, but that is still more than a good many poor souls around us had on their table. That’s not what I was thinking about earlier, when I was so quiet. It was what you said, about my living on tenterhooks and how that explained why I am always wanting to plan ahead. You’re right, Alexander. It’s so obvious, yet I’ve never thought of it before. I don’t need to rush into anything, do I? I mean, it doesn’t matter that I have no idea what I want to do with my life, does it—not yet, at least? That’s what I’ve been thinking about.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘That I need to enjoy the moment and stop thinking so much. Where are we?’

  ‘I think that must be Putney Bridge. We’ll be passing by the fields at Battersea soon, which I believe is a popular spot for duelling—no, you need not look like that, it’s not where my brother was fatally wounded.’

  ‘Does your mother know how he died?’

  ‘Yes. I would have kept it from her, but by the time I arrived back in England, Walter, as you know, had been dead and buried for several months. I don’t know how she came by the truth, but she knew.’ Glancing over at her, Alexander was unsurprised to see Eloise almost visibly bursting with questions. ‘She seemed—resigned, I think would be the nearest I can come to describing her reaction,’ he said, enjoying the satisfaction of surprising her with some unsolicited information. ‘As you will have surmised from her behaviour to myself as a child, my mother is not the most demonstrative of women.’

  ‘Or she’s a woman who has learned from bitter experience not to wear her heart on her sleeve.’

  He was startled, as much by the tone of her voice as her words. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘For every on
e of those dissolute earls who has preceded you, there is a countess. A woman who has been forced to endure the shame and the pain of their repeated infidelities, treated without respect, more likely with complete contempt, her feelings trampled on, mocked, derided. Your mother’s treatment of you is indefensible as well as incomprehensible, but my goodness, no wonder she appears cold, Alexander. I hope that’s how she feels too, because at least then she has been spared the additional agony of actually loving such a man.’

  Alexander pulled the phaeton over to the side of the road, quickly tying up the reins, but when he tried to take her hand, Eloise snatched it away. ‘I’m sorry. That was completely uncalled for—I don’t know where it came from.’

  Colour burned in her cheeks. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. Her shoulders rigid, she was staring down at her gloved hands, now tightly laced, making him think the better of a second attempt to touch her for the moment. What she said shamed him. He had never considered his mother’s position, had thought only, always, of the injustice of his own treatment. The extent of his self-absorption appalled him now, though at this moment it was Eloise he was more concerned about and it was blindingly obvious, now he thought about it, where her tirade had originated.

  ‘You’re remembering the way your mother treated your father, aren’t you? That’s the parallel you have drawn.’

  ‘I don’t know if there is such a thing as a female rake,’ she answered gruffly, ‘but that is what she was. She claimed she loved my father, but she can’t have, because when you love someone, you’d do anything to avoid hurting them. And my father...’ She lifted her head to meet his gaze, her mouth trembling. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t see so clearly before, how dreadful it must have been for him. I feel so awful, because I’ve always blamed him, every bit as much as Mama, for neglecting the twins.’

  ‘But they were both culpable for that. And it wasn’t just the twins, Eloise. You suffered too.’ He took her hands, and this time she allowed him, her fingers twining around his. ‘Doubtless your father was wronged, but that doesn’t excuse him abandoning his responsibilities as a parent.’

  ‘Any more than whatever travails your mother suffered excuses her treatment of you, but it does at least go some way towards explaining it.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of it in those terms.’

  Eloise freed one of her hands to touch his cheek. ‘It’s too late for me to attempt any sort of reconciliation,’ she said, ‘but it’s not too late for you. Think about that, Alexander.’

  * * *

  Eloise had dinner served in the breakfast parlour at the back of the house, the least formal of any of the dining rooms at Fearnoch House. They were both subdued, careful with each other, saying little, but the silences were not uncomfortable. When the table had been cleared, the servants dismissed for the night—another of Eloise’s changes, for she could not see the point of keeping them out of their beds waiting on orders which neither she nor Alexander ever issued—they opened the long French doors and stepped out into the garden.

  It was twilight. With the skies still clear and midsummer approaching, it would not get much darker. The grass was damp with dew, the smell of fresh green sap and early roses scenting the air as they strolled slowly, arm in arm, towards the trees.

  ‘One moment. Look away,’ Eloise said, kicking off her shoes, unfastening her garters and removing her stockings. With a sigh of delight, she curled her toes into the cool grass. ‘You can turn around now.’

  ‘So it’s not only at sunrise you like to walk barefoot?’

  ‘No, I—did I tell you that?’

  ‘Don’t you remember?’ Alexander took her hand, and they began to walk again. ‘The day we met, we were in the garden at Elmswood Manor, and you asked me to help you imagine how you would feel after making love.’

  ‘Oh.’ She remembered. ‘Like climbing a tree and looking down. Exciting. Dizzying.’ And like curling her toes into the cool, damp grass. Delicious. ‘You must have thought me ridiculous, to think the epitome of pleasure was to walk barefoot on the grass at sunrise.’

  ‘I never think you ridiculous.’

  They had come to a halt under the trees, the new green leaves forming a canopy over their heads. She could no longer see his face, which made her all the more acutely aware of him as they turned towards each other, as he put his hand on her waist, as she stepped closer to him, her skirts brushing against his legs. ‘I didn’t even know what it was like to be kissed at that point.’

  ‘You were fairly confident that you wouldn’t enjoy it, I remember.’

  ‘I was wrong.’ She felt him exhale sharply as she put her arms around him.

  ‘Eloise, what are you doing?’

  If she thought about what she was doing, she wouldn’t do it. But wasn’t that the point, wasn’t that what she needed to learn, how not to think, how not to plan, how to simply enjoy? ‘If you don’t want to kiss me, Alexander...’

  He groaned. ‘You can have no idea.’

  He pulled her tight up against him. Her toes curled into the grass as his mouth covered hers. And then she forgot all about her toes. Her eyes drifted closed as she surrendered to the delight of their kisses. She felt as if she were melting, slowly melting from the inside, as their lips clung, moved, shaped and moulded to each other. And then their tongues touched, and she felt as if she was burning, tingling all over, and a sweet ache flared inside her.

  More kisses, and she somehow found herself leaning against the tree, Alexander pressed against her, and she was positively flooded with heat in response to the weight of him. And then his hand stroking the side of her breast made her moan, and it made her nipple tighten, and it turned the ache into something else, like a pulse, and when he cupped her breast, when he stroked her nipple through her gown, she felt breathless, as if she had been running.

  More kisses. She smoothed her hand down the line of his back, feeling the tension in him, reassured by the layers of clothing between them, but at the same time wishing there were fewer. She was hot, burning inside. She was restless. She felt strung tight. Her body arched like a bow, and her hands found the taut curve of Alexander’s rear, under his coat, and all her instincts screamed for her to pull him closer, tight up against her, but he resisted, lifting his head, putting an end to their kisses.

  ‘Eloise,’ he said urgently, ‘you don’t know what you are doing.’

  He was right. His words were like a bucket of cold water. Her eyes flew open. She was unutterably grateful too for the lack of light to illuminate her shame. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Alexander caught her hands, holding her tighter when she tried to struggle free. ‘When I said that you didn’t know what you were doing, I was not complaining about your lack of experience, for heaven’s sake. I meant that you didn’t realise the effect that you were having on me.’

  She had only the vaguest notion of what he must mean. Thank heavens for the dark.

  ‘I think,’ Alexander said gently when her silence became painful, ‘that we had better go in. We are neither of us quite ourselves. Only last night we launched ourselves as the Earl and Countess of Fearnoch. Today has been—well, we’ve both got a lot to reflect on.’

  ‘And tomorrow?’

  ‘Tomorrow, I think we should try to establish some sort of normality.’

  She followed him back up the garden into the breakfast parlour, retrieving her shoes and stockings on the way. Once inside, absurdly conscious of her bare feet, Eloise tried to hide them under her petticoats, watching Alexander as he closed over the French doors and checked the bolts. A wave of exhaustion washed over her.

  ‘Tomorrow, in the cold light of day,’ she said, ‘we’ll wake up and wonder what on earth came over us.’

  ‘Yes.’ He sighed, raking his hand through his hair, clearly torn and for once making no effort to disguise the fact. ‘I need you to know, that when I told you I had lost inte
rest in lovemaking, it wasn’t a lie.’

  ‘I must confess to having wondered what it was that made you lose interest. Will you tell me?’

  ‘No.’

  She flinched.

  ‘I can’t tell you. Don’t ask me. I hate it when you ask me a question that I can’t answer, and then you look so—so hurt!’

  She couldn’t understand why he was so agitated. ‘But how am I to know what subjects are taboo?’

  Alexander swore under his breath, raking his hands through his hair again, before attempting a rueful smile. ‘How indeed? I have had no desire whatsoever to kiss anyone for some time—I can’t explain why, you’ll just have to accept my word for it, so this—this attraction between the pair of us is inconvenient to say the least.’

  ‘I didn’t think I’d want to kiss anyone at all, ever. It’s not only you who finds it inconvenient.’

  ‘Inconvenient, and very wrong.’ Alexander gripped her hands. ‘We can’t allow ourselves to become intimate. It’s not what either of us wants from this marriage.’

  ‘To say nothing of the fact that it’s against Sir Marcus’s rules.’

  ‘Those rules are there for a purpose. I can’t risk—they exist to protect us, ensure neither of us gets hurt, Eloise.’

  ‘But we were only kissing, Alexander.’

  ‘You may be innocent, but you’re neither naïve nor stupid.’ He released her. ‘We were not only kissing. A few more of those only kisses, and—but we came to our senses just in time, and now we will ensure we not lose them again.’

  He was right. A few more of those kisses, and she’d have surrendered to him completely, and the risk of that—it didn’t bear thinking about. ‘No,’ Eloise said, shuddering. ‘Tomorrow we will wake up clear-sighted and without regrets, and we will begin our married life as we mean to go on.’

  ‘But first we both need to get some sleep.’ He took her hand, lifting it to his lips as he did every night, but tonight, after a moment’s hesitation, he kissed the air above her fingertips. ‘Goodnight, Eloise.’