The Counterfeit Countess

by Diana Campbell

  Selina thought the Earl winced a bit at this familiarity, but it was, of course, essential to their “roles.” They all rose, and Selina discovered that she was achingly tired herself. As she walked wearily toward the dining-room doorway, she observed that one of the draperies at the far window had developed an unsightly bulge. She started to cross the room, but, upon consideration, she doubted the Earl of Worsham cared a deuce for the condition of his curtains. The drapes could wait until tomorrow as well.

  Chapter 7

  Selina woke with a start and lay still a moment, wondering what it was that had rousted her from sleep. She then heard a series of sounds from the adjacent bedchamber—a squeak, a slam, a low mutter—and she bolted upright, staring fearfully at the connecting door. However, she soon detected the creak of receding footfalls, and upon consideration, she judged it most unlikely that Lord Worsham would take advantage of their proximity to make an improper advance. Indeed, in view of his extreme vexation at the conclusion of last evening, she judged it unlikely that the Earl would speak to her unless compelled by circumstance to do so.

  Selina sighed and propped a pillow behind her back. She had been too tired, too shocked to ponder her vyretched predicament before she retired, but now, for the first time, she cast about for a feasible means of escape. Mama’s remaining jewelry came immediately to mind: in addition to the jet and the rubies, there were a necklace and earrings of topaz, a complete set of garnets and several pieces of plain gold. Their sale would certainly finance her and Papa’s transportation to-^to ... To where? Papa had not related his final conversation with Sir Matthew, but Selina suspected that her mythical fiance had been “most distressed” by her abrupt departure from Virginia. It was entirely possible that he would decline to wed her after all, and he would assuredly refuse to readmit Black Jack Hewson to the staff of Platt’s Academy.

  In short, she and Papa were precisely where they had

  been two and a half months since: if they left Lord Worsham’s household, they would be forced to undertake a new life in some unfamiliar corner of the world. And, however handsome the price they obtained for Mama’s jewels, the money would not last forever; Papa would eventually have to seek employment, and there would be no cushion left in the event of adversity. Her imposture could not go on forever either, of course, but the ensuing weeks or months might well open new avenues of opportunity.

  Another muffled noise emanated from his lordship’s bedchamber, and Selina recollected one final factor: at this juncture, her defection might impose considerable hardship on Alex. Which—in light of the fact that she and Papa had created “one hell of a bumblebath”—would be grossly unfair. No, she must continue to pose as Lady Worsham until she could be credibly disposed of, and she would treat the Earl with the utmost civility throughout their charade. There was a great crash as, evidendy, his lordship slammed his corridor door, and Selina winced. She would try to behave with the utmost civility, she amended. She sighed again and rang for Rose.

  Nearly an hour elapsed before Rose completed her clumsy ministrations, and when Selina reached the breakfast parlor, she was dismayed to discover Alex alone at the table. She collected that Papa and Jeremy had finished their meals and departed, for there was a soiled napkin at Papa’s place and, at Jeremy’s, a veritable sea of crumbs and perhaps half a dozen odd, colorful artifacts. The latter reminded Selina of the items Black Jack Hewson had accumulated during the course of his ill- fated export-import business, and she further surmised that they were the gifts the Earl had purchased for his brother abroad.

  “You needn’t lurk in the hall,” his lordship growled. “Come in; I shan’t bite you. I shan’t even attempt to starve you to death; I believe you’ll find I’ve left an ample portion.”

  He tossed his head toward the miniature mahogany sideboard, and Selina ventured across the room. She decided at once that the remaining portion was significantly less than “ample”: one muffin, two rashers of bacon and a minuscule dollop of scrambled eggs. She stole an irritated glance at Alex’s plate, observed that it was quite clean and guiltily recalled that she had offered him no dinner the night before.

  “I’m not hungry,” she lied. “I shall take the muffin, and you may have the rest.”

  “I don’t want the rest.”

  “You want the muffin then. Very well, I shall take the eggs and bacon—”

  “I want nothing. I have consumed two servings of everything, and I am altogether satisfied.”

  “You cant be satisfied. You had no dinner, for which I apologize—”

  “Pray do not tease yourself about it. I had an enormous lunch at Aldershot.”

  “But that was nearly four and twenty hours ago. You must have the bacon at least—”

  “I don’t want the bacon! I don’t want anything! Fill your plate and hush!”

  “There is no need to shout,” Selina said warmly. “I was merely attempting to be civil.”

  “I was not shouting!” the Earl shouted. “/ was also attempting to be civil.”

  Selina glowered at him a moment, but she soon saw a familiar twitch at the corners of his mouth, and, despite herself, she laughed aloud.

  “I fear we are well in the way of killing one another with civility,” Alex said dryly. “Take whatever food you want, and I shall have the rest.”

  Selina nodded and set the bacon platter in front of him, then transferred the eggs and muffin to the empty plate on the sideboard. It seemed a very small breakfast indeed, but when she took her place, she found that, as was his wont, Lord Worsham had managed to overset her. She wasn’t hungry after all, and she picked at the scraps before her, uncomfortably aware that Alex’s lavender eyes were regarding her down the length of the table.

  “I fancy I have not yet adequately apologized,” Selina said at last. The silence had begun to grow oppressive. “That is, there appeared no reason to apologize until we learned that Harriet had informed your grandmother of our marriage. Well, there was a reason, of course, but not as much reason. Which is not to say that I am blaming Harriet. . .” She stumbled to a halt; what was it about him that tied her tongue in knots? “In any event, I am truly sorry for the trouble I have caused, and d shall cooperate insofar as I can to undo it.”

  “Excellent." Alex devoured the final rasher of bacon and wiped his lips with his napkin. “As it happens, I have given the matter considerable thought, and I believe I have determined a suitable course of action. The Season is drawing to a close, and I propose to hide ‘Lady Worsham’ to the end."

  “Hide me?” Selina repeated. “But the news will surely get about.”

  “Unfortunately, it will.” The Earl nodded, and Selina noticed that in the morning light, his hair looked paler than hay, looked almost as fair as Jeremy’s wheat- colored locks. “However, my notion is that if no one actually meets you, you will be extremely easy to forget.”

  Selina quelled a sharp, irrational stab of annoyance. “Harriet and Simon and Jeremy have already met me,” she pointed out. “And I shall be introduced to your grandmother this evening.”

  “I was excluding the family,” his lordship said airily. “Simon and Harriet will shortly return to Wiltshire, and Jeremy is only a child. I did initially view Grand- mama as a problem, but, upon reflection, I have altered my opinion. Indeed, your plot increasingly appears to be to my benefit. When Grandmama meets you, she will no doubt be enchanted; you are quite fetching, you know.”

  Alex flashed his winsome grin, and Selina, feeling the horrifying threat of a blush, hastily gazed at her plate.

  “Grandmama will spend two or three days in town,” the Earl continued, “will travel happily back to Wiltshire and will be devastated to learn of your untimely death. Needless to say, she will be immensely sympathetic to her dear, widowed grandson; I should not be in the least surprised if she increased my allowance and altered her will in the very same instant. Meanwhile, since ‘Lady Worsham’ will have remained a phantom to the rest of the world, certain—certain other partie
s will be spared a good deal of pain.”

  “Miss Bradley,” Selina gasped. She had somehow overlooked the Earl’s erstwhile fiancee, and her eyes flew up. "What will you tell her?”

  “I shall begin by telling Isabella the truth: that while abroad, I encountered a father-daughter pair who shamelessly undertook to exploit me.” Selina flushed and bit her lip. “I shall add that I impulsively wed the daughter, a decision I have since come to regret most bitterly. I daresay that will set the stage very nicely for a reconciliation following your tragic demise. Do you not concur?”

  “Yes,” Selina muttered.

  “I am delighted to secure your approval, for I intend to call on Isabella without delay. Indeed, I fancy I should go at once; I sold my curricle prior to my departure and am compelled to rely on public transportation. Perhaps, in an effort to assuage my imminent, bottomless grief, Grandmama will present me another equipage.” The Earl once more flashed his mischievous smile and rose. “If you will excuse me, I shall see you this evening.”

  His lordship bowed and left the breakfast parlor, and Selina stared miserably back at her plate. She was forced to own that Alex was conducting himself with far more “civility” than she deserved, and she could not conceive why his call on Miss Bradley distressed her so. But it did, and as soon as she heard the slam of the front door, she pushed her plate away and stood up. She traversed the small corridor between the breakfast parlor and the dining room, and as she crossed the latter, she glanced toward the misshapen drapery she had observed the night before. The unattractive bulge had disappeared—apparently the ever-efficient Rose had straightened the curtains—and Selina trudged wearily on into the foyer and up the stairs to her bedchamber.

  * * *

  Throughout the day, Selina entertained a vague hope that Mrs. Seymour might be delayed and their meeting consequently postponed. However, just as the mantel clock struck five, Rose appeared at the corridor door and announced that the Earl’s grandmother had reached London half an hour since.

  “Lord Preston dispatched his coachman to tell us so,” the maid continued, “and the landau is waiting to convey you to Brook Street at a quarter past six. So I daresay, ma’am, that you should start getting ready at once.”

  In fact, the timing was dangerously close: it was ten minutes after the hour when Rose fastened Mama’s golden choker about Selina’s neck, somehow setting it back to front. Selina dismissed her, hurriedly righted the necklace and stood critically back from the cheval glass. She had not wished to appear either too demure or too worldly, and she thought the blue net frock, oyer a slip of blue satin, struck a happy compromise. She stooped and fussed with the flounce of blond lace round the bottom of her skirt, then drew on her gloves and sped down to the entry hall.

  Rose’s report was accurate: Simon’s landau was waiting in the street, and Papa, Jeremy and Alex were already inside, already chattering of his lordship’s remarkable foreign adventures. Lord Preston’s coachman handed Selina into the forward-facing seat beside the Earl, and as they clattered down Mount Street toward the intersection with South Audley, she discreetly inspected her male companions. Papa, clad in another of his new ensembles, looked exceedingly distinguished, she judged, and Jeremy approached the acceptable: she glimpsed but one small slain on his neckcloth and a slight smudge of dirt on the bridge of his nose. Lord Worsham was another matter: there was a great patch on the near sleeve of his cinammon frock coat, which clashed hideously with his worn maroon pantaloons; his saffron waistcoast was spotted in half a dozen places and lacked several buttons; and his shirt-points and neckcloth were equally ragged. She wondered Miss

  Bradley’s reaction to the lamentable condition of her former Fiance, to say nothing of his shocking news. Alex’s lavender eyes met hers, and he arched one blond brow, and Selina gazed swiftly down at his disgraceful Hessians.

  When they reached number fifty-one Brook Street, the coachman assisted the entire party out of the landau, and Alex led them up the front steps and rang the doorbell. Winthrop answered their summons at once, and Selina, peering nervously over his shoulder, observed that the foyer was empty. She concluded, with an uncharitable flood of relief, that the elderly Mrs. Seymour had probably fallen ill as a result of her long journey. She was mentally reviewing her wardrobe so as to select appropriate attire for the funeral when Harriet flew down the staircase.

  “You are here,” Lady Preston breathed. “And precisely on time, thank God; Grandmama cannot abide tardiness. She wishes to meet you in her bedchamber. I’ve put her in the blue room; the one you occupied, Selina.”

  "We shall oblige her without delay then.” The Earl drew himself up, and Selina heard an alarming rip as one of his tenuous seams gave way. “As I recollect, the blue bedchamber is at the end of the corridor on the right—”

  “No!” Harriet protested. “I fear I did not adequately explain myself: Grandmama desires a private interview with Selina. Take her up immediately, Winthrop; it is nearly half past six.”

  “But—but . . .” Selina glanced desperately about, but his lordship shot her a piercing, quelling look, and Papa was scrutinizing the very mediocre portrait above the side table with what appeared to be fascinated admiration. “But Winthrop need not take me up,” she concluded grimly. “I know the way.”

  An invisible clock chimed twice, and Lady Preston began nervously to wring her hands. Procrastination was clearly out of the question, and Selina boldly ascended the stairs to the first story. When she had rounded the landing and counted herself well out of sight, she stopped and collapsed against the wall. She had expected Alex to conduct by far the greater portion of their conversation with his grandmother, had expected her own participation to be confined to an occasional, innocuous yes or no; and she shuddered to contemplate the awkward inquiries Mrs. Seymour might pose. Sne wondered if she could credibly become “lost” on her way to the blue bedchamber. Perhaps she could appear in the dining room a scant few seconds before seven, sheepishly claiming to have followed the wrong corridor and wandered aimlessly about . . . She heard a light footfall on the steps below and rushed on up to the second floor, dismally noting that the simple plan of the house rendered any excuse of a “wrong corridor” quite impossible.

  Selina stopped again at the familiar door of the blue guest room, peering furtively up and down the hall in search of a secret passage or some such thing. But she glimpsed no dark", mysterious doorway, and as she shuffled her feet and moistened her lips, the mantel clock inside the bedchamber struck two notes. Selina chose to interpret this as a sign from heaven: evidently the household timepieces were not entirely synchronized, and if she knocked at once, Mrs. Seymour would be compelled to award her points for punctuality if nothing else. She tapped on the door very lightly; with any luck, Alex’s aged grandmother w’ould fail to hear her. Selina could then slink away and state, with complete honesty, that she had tried—

  “Come in.”

  The voice was surprisingly deep, almost masculine, and, her last hope of rescue dashed, Selina reluctandy opened the door. Mrs. Seymour was examining herself in the cheval glass, but at the sound of the door, she turned, and Selina repressed a gasp of shock. She had calculated that Lord Worsham’s grandmother must be well into her seventies, but she appeared far younger. Her hair, while altogether white, was luxuriant and arranged in a modish, upswept coiffure, fancifully adorned with a wreath of satin roses. Her face was remarkably unlined, her complexion astonishingly dark, and her eyes—though Selina would not have judged it possible—were of an even deeper blue than those of her grandsons. Her gown was exceedingly stylish—a confection of white net, trimmed with rose-colored bouquets and rouleaux and flounces and generously studded with pearls. Her jewelry was composed of mixed pearls and diamonds, and Selina estimated that the necklace alone would support her and Papa very handsomely till the end of their days.

  “I desired you to come in, girl,” Mrs. Seymour boomed. Her alto voice surprised Selina all over again because Alex’s grandmother w
as a tiny woman—possibly five feet in height and seven stone in weight. “Not to gawk at me from the threshold. Did you anticipate a withered old crone?”

  “I—I’m sorry, Mrs. Seymour,” Selina stammered. “I didn’t mean to stare—”

  “You may stare all you like, for I certainly intend to stare at you. And I shan’t permit you to call me ‘Mrs. Seymour’; you are to address me as ‘Grandmama.’ Come in now; let me have a look at you.”

  Selina closed the door and tentatively ventured to the edge of the Axminster carpet, and Grandmama emitted a sniff of annoyance. “You will have to do better than that; my eyesight isn’t what it used to be, and I’m too vain to wear spectacles. Come here”—she squinted and pointed down—“and stand on this ridiculous flower.” Selina crossed the rug—unhappily visualizing herself as Marie Antoinette en route to the guillotine—and halted on the indicated design. Mrs. Seymour’s violet eyes narrowed in cool appraisal, and Selina entertained another unsettling image: that of a mare (of dubious bloodlines) brought to the block at Tattersall’s.

  “You are very handsome,” Grandmama pronounced, after a seemingly interminable silence. “But then I should have been astounded if you were not; Alex would never have w'ed a homely girl. And at any rate, I am far more concerned about your character. Sit down.”

  Mrs. Seymour carelessly waved one hand, much resembling her elder grandson, and Selina wondered exactly where it was she was supposed to sit. The armchair was situated in a far corner of the room, from which point she and Grandmama would be compelled fairly to shriek at one another, and the bed was heaped with opened and unopened pieces of luggage. Eventually Selina opted for the latter, carefully repositioned one great trunk and perched on the edge of the counterpane. Apparently she had selected the proper course, for Mrs. Seymour shoved one of several valises aside and sank onto the opposite end of the bed.