The Counterfeit Countess

by Diana Campbell

  “Ah, yes; there was a Platt lad who emigrated to the United States some years since. Forgive me, Lady Worsham: I have eighteen grandsons, and it is difficult to keep abreast of their activities. Or do I have nineteen?” He frowned at Lady Shackleford, but she was chatting with Grandmama. “In any event, I do hope dear Marcus is faring well.”

  Selina murmured that “Marcus” was faring very well indeed, and Lord and Lady Shackleford melted into the crowd. The Earl flashed his mischievous grin, and as Selina turned pointedly away, there was a sudden hush in the ballroom.

  “Mrs. Angus Lennox,” the butler intoned. “Miss Isabella Bradley."

  Selina’s eyes flew to the entrance, and she repressed a gasp of shock. She had somehow fancied that Alex’s former fiancee would be a woman of commanding physical presence, but as Miss Bradley reached the head of the receiving line, Selina perceived that she was scarcely larger than Grandmama—short and slight, with delicate features, enormous blue eyes and a profusion of soft blond curls. She resembled nothing so much as a doll, and Selina suspected that Miss Bradley artfully capitalized on this resemblance, for she was clad in a simple white muslin gown far too youthful for her four and twenty years.

  “Mrs. Seymour!" Miss Bradley’s voice was her only unattractive feature: it was high-pitched and rather shrill. "It was so very kind of you to invite us."

  “It was. kind of you to come, Isabella,” Grandmama responded noncommittally.

  “I should not have missed such a happy occasion for anything. And this must be Mr. Hewson.” Miss Bradley continued down the line and swept Papa a deep curtsy, and, to Selina’s intense annoyance, Papa visibly preened. “And this, of course, is Lady Worsham.” She was situated directly in front of Selina now, and she stood back and shook her head. "Alex, Alex, your description did not do her justice. You did not tell me how very lovely your wife is.”

  “I fancy there are a number of things I failed to tell you about Selina,” his lordship said dryly.

  “Be that as it may, I fear I am late again, and I daresay you are eager to dance. I shall take no more of your time. Perhaps we shall have an opportunity to converse later in the evening, Lady Worsham.”

  Miss Bradley floated on into the ballroom, and Selina grudgingly credited her with a good deal of cleverness. Miss Bradley’s faultless courtesy must surely render her a most sympathetic figure, and, indeed, even as Selina watched, half a dozen parties rushed forward to greet her. The scene was so distressing that when Selina returned her attention to the receiving line, she was barely civil to Mrs. Lennox—a plain,.rawboned woman who wore an expression of seemingly permanent resignation.

  Shortly after Mrs. Lennox had trailed her niece to the floor, Grandmama did, in fact, disband the receiving line and order Alex and Selina to lead out the first waltz. Selina was dismally reminded of their dance in Richmond—a similarity which grew more pronounced as the Earl “shoved” her silently about the ballroom.

  “You could say something.” she hissed at last. She had detected more than one pair of keen, curious eyes upon them.

  “What do you wish me to say?” his lordship inquired politely. “That you have made a great hit? Very well: you have made a great hit; I daresay every man here is fairly dying to stand up with you. So I suggest you put your mopes aside and pretend to be having a splendid time.”

  “I am not in the mopes!” Selina snapped. Alex whirled her round, and she caught Miss Bradley’s great blue eyes upon them and essayed a brilliant smile. “I am having a splendid time.”

  “Excellent.” The Earl smiled as well, but his own eyes were frosty. “Then I needn’t reiterate that you brought this situation entirely upon yourself and must not expect me to come to your rescue.”

  “I expect nothing from you, milord,” Selina said coldly. “As you yourself pointed out, we are even.”

  “Excellent,” his lordship repeated. The music stopped, and after a final, dizzying spin, he released her. “If you will excuse me then, I shall leave you to entertain your countless admirers.” He bowed and strode away, but he had not yet disappeared in the throng when General Mansfield bounded up and requested the honor of the next set.

  Selina did not know whether her partners could be termed “admirers” or not, but they certainly seemed “countless”: over the ensuing two hours, she was quite unable to sit down. By midnight, her feet were throbbing and she was literally breathless, and when the orchestra leader announced a brief intermission, she narrowly quelled a sigh of relief.

  “May I escort you to the refreshment parlor for a glass of champagne, Lady Worsham?” The Marquis of Shackleford beamed paternally down at her, apparently oblivious to the fact that, by actual count, he had trod on her slippers thirteen times.

  “No, thank you," Selina replied. “I believe I shall visit the ladies’ withdrawing room."

  “Very well," Lord Shackleford agreed regretfully. “Should you have occasion to correspond with Michael, pray do extend him my fondest regards.”

  Selina promised she would, and as his lordship marched purposefully toward the refreshment parlor, she fled in the opposite direction. To her gratification, she found the ladies’ withdrawing room deserted, and she sank onto the long bench in front of the extended dressing table. She looked considerably the worse for wear, she judged grimly, gazing into the oversized mirror, and she plucked her gloves off and began rearranging her wilting curls. Her left hand did not seem to be functioning precisely as it should—the result of too much dancing, she surmised—but when she impatiently examined it, she beheld Grandmama’s heavy, sparkling ring. Despite the difference in their statures, it was an almost perfect fit, and Selina twisted it round her finger, imagining that it was truly hers.

  “It is very becoming indeed.”

  Selina had not heard the door open, and she barely heard the soft click as Miss Bradley closed it. She hastily abandoned her scrutiny of the ring and started tugging at her hair again, and Miss Bradley seated herself at the opposite end of the bench.

  “It is Mrs. Seymour’s ring, is it not?” Miss Bradley removed her own gloves and fussed with her blond curls though, insofar as Selina could see, they required no repair whatever. “Yes, it is; I have observed it on numerous occasions. Evidently you have made an exceedingly favorable impression on her. But then I can't claim to be surprised, for you have made a universally favorable impression. On the men and the women alike,

  and that is very difficult to accomplish. But you have succeeded: everyone is chattering of Lord Worsham’s fetching bride.”

  “Thank—thank you,” Selina stammered.

  “I daresay that if the truth should emerge, their shock would be universal as well.”

  Miss Bradley’s tone had not altered, and Selina initially failed to register her words. Then Miss Bradley whirled away from the mirror, and her eyes narrowed to wicked blue slits.

  “What do you think, Lady Worsham? How do you fancy your new friends would react if they learned the truth about you and Alex?”

  Evidendy the Earl had divulged the full particulars of their plot to his former fiancee, and Selina perceived no reason to feign innocence. She was at the point of stating so aloud when she suddenly recollected that Miss Bradley had called her “Lady Worsham,” and she detected a glimmer of cunning in the narrowed blue eyes.

  “Truth?” Selina repeated coolly. “What truth is that, Miss Bradley?”

  “I had hoped you would tell me, but it appears I must discover it for myself.” Miss Bradley’s delicate features hardened with determination, and she no longer bore the slightest resemblance to a doll. “I know Alex very well, far better than you do, I suspect. And it is clear to me that he is concealing something, that there is something—something peculiar about your marriage. I have not yet puzzled it out, but I assure you that I shall. And when I do, Lady Worsham, I shall take keen delight in advising the world of my findings."

  There was a distant screech as the orchestra began tuning their instruments again, and Miss Bradle
y snatched up her gloves and rose.

  “I fear you must pardon me now. Much as I hate to terminate this fascinating conversation, I promised Alex the first dance following the intermission. I cannot but observe, Lady Worsham, that he seems to prefer not to stand up with you.”

  Miss Bradley swept across the room and out the door, closing it with another click so soft that Selina might almost have fancied she had imagined the encounter. But she had not, of course, and when she peered back at her reflection, she saw that she had gone quite pale. She belatedly recognized the wisdom of his lordship’s proposed course: had she consented to remain hidden, Miss Bradley’s anger would have simmered harmlessly for a month or two, Selina would have “died,” and the charade would have come to a painless end. As it was, Selina wondered what Miss Bradley would do if she did discover the truth. Was her fury such that she would use her knowledge to destroy Lord Worsham as well as his counterfeit wife?

  Selina wearily closed her eyes and glimpsed a solution. If Alex revealed the truth to Miss Bradley at once, explained that the deception was gready to her benefit .. . But Selina’s pride would not allow her to invite such humiliation, and she opened her eyes once more. No, she would simply do what she should have done from the start: she would make every effort to bring the hoax to an early end. Grandmama would no doubt quit town by the end of the week, Selina would disappear from public view, and, without further exacerbation, Miss Bradley’s rage would dissipate after all.

  The orchestra had burst into a sprightly boulanger, and though Selina could hardly bear the prospect of further dancing, she realized that her continued absence from the ballroom would be remarked upon. She sighed and put on her gloves, retrieved her reticule and stood, slipped through the withdrawing-room door and trudged down the corridor. At the entrance to the ballroom, she literally collided with a breathless footman, and to her astonishment, he seized one of her hands and began to wring it.

  “Begging your pardon, ma'am,” he wheezed, “but I have just received the most incredible news.”

  Selina’s preoccupation was such that she feared he had somehow learned of her fictitious marriage, and she glanced nervously over her shoulder. Some two dozen people immediately inside the ballroom had fallen silent and were regarding the unusual scene with avid curiosity.

  “A courier!” the footman panted. “He was seeking Lord Harrowby's home, but he was somehow directed here. It’s not so odd, now that I think on it. Though Lord Harrowby’s house is in Grosvenor Square, it is situated similarly to this—”

  “The news!” Selina snapped impatiently. “What was the courier’s news?”

  “Napoleon has been defeated!” The footman flung Selina’s hand away, and she staggered. “In Belgium, at a place called Waterloo! Unfortunately, the Emperor himself escaped . . .”

  But the footman’s latter intelligence was quite drowned by a rousing cheer from those nearby, and they swifdy began to pass the news into the ballroom. The ensuing ripple of excitement was actually visible, Selina marveled: several dozen heads at a time rotated toward the entry, strained to catch the words of the parties just behind, whirled back round so as to speed the report along. Eventually the orchestra stopped playing, and General Mansfield rushed to a spot direcdy below the gallery.

  “I am pleased to announce,” he shrieked, “that Napoleon has been defeated near the Belgian town of Waterloo! The Empire is saved!"

  The General managed to convey the impression that— despite the considerable distance between Waterloo and Portman Square—he had personally engineered England’s latest military triumph. Indeed, he appeared at the point of delivering a victory address, but his opening syllables were lost in another great cheer, and with a moue of irritation, he stalked back into the crowd.

  Selina feared that the assembly would become a frantic revel of celebrauon, likely to last through the night, but this proved not to be the case. When the initial furor had subsided a bit, the details of the courier’s visit began to circulate about, the ballroom, and there was a dawning realization amongst the guests that they had been presented an on-dit of almost unparalleled magnificence. Lord Harrowby—to whom the messenger had intended to report—was Lord President of the Council, and it could safely be assumed that, at this juncture, the Battle of Waterloo remained largely an official secret. Evidendy it occurred to everyone at once that he could be the first to relay the wonderful news to his children, his servants, to casual passersby in the street—if only he hurried. There was a veritable stampede for the entrance, and within seconds, it seemed, the ballroom was empty.

  “Well!” Grandmama’s toque had been knocked decidedly askew, and she impatiently jerked it off and tossed it in the nearest chair. “How fortunate we conducted our assembly this evening; I daresay the town will be quite obsessed with that wretched Corsican for days to come. Should they catch him again, I hope they will lock him securely up where he can create no further mischief. Do not care for it, my dear.” She patted Selina’s hand. “The abrupt exodus was no reflection on you; you made a very favorable impression indeed.”

  Mrs. Seymour’s words were chillingly familiar, and Selina gazed apprehensively about. But Miss Bradley was gone; the servants were already bustling round the deserted ballroom. Lady Stansbury was dozing in a distant chair, and, at the entrance, Selina and Alex, Simon and Harriet, Grandmama and Papa had formed a loose knot.

  “Very fortunate indeed,” Mrs. Seymour continued, “for I fancy the Season is virtually at an end. Yes, after the victory illuminations have been viewed and extinguished, I suspect there will be a general departure for the country. I shall arrange for our transportation at once, lest we be caught unprepared.”

  Grandmama’s “our” and “we" led Selina to collect that Mrs. Seymour and the Prestons would leave London together—a circumstance which would immeasurably simplify her and Alex’s situation. “An excellent idea, Grandmama.” She bobbed her head. “I quite understand that you may have to quit town immediately, so in the event I do not see you again, I wish to thank you for the ball—”

  “Not see me again?” Mrs. Seymour interjected. “You misunderstood, dear; I intend us all to go to Wiltshire.” She beamed around the family circle, and, from across the room, Lady Stansbury emitted an astonishingly loud snore.

  “Harriet and I cannot leave just now,” Lord Preston said. “My numerous responsibilities require my presence in London for another week or more.” He issued a martyred sigh. “We shall follow when we are able.”

  “Alex and I cannot leave either,” Selina blurted out.

  “No?” Grandmama’s face sagged with disappointment. “And why is that?”

  “Why is that.” Selina fixed the Earl with a paralyzing stare, but he gazed impassively back, and Selina recollected that she had not yet informed him of her new scheme. Well, it was actually her new agreement to his old scheme. Though it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep track of who had formulated which scheme . . .

  “Why?” Mrs. Seymour pressed.

  “Because—because we cannot impose upon you,” Selina said. “No, we certainly cannot reside in your home for many weeks—”

  “Nor shall you be required to do so, for I have conceived the perfect wedding gift.” Grandmama beamed about again. “I intend to have Worfields refurbished so as to render it suitable for your permanent occupation.”

  “That is very generous of you, Grandmama,” Lord Worsham said.

  Selina waited for him to add a “but,” but he did not. She shot him a glare, and he returned a bland smile.

  “Indeed, it is too generous,” Selina protested desperately, “and I am sure Alex will agree that we must regretfully decline. He has advised me of the wretched conditions at Worfields, and I daresay a renovation would take months—”

  “Nonsense!” Mrs. Seymour said. “Worfields is far from ‘wretched,’ and I daresay the work can be finished in a matter of weeks. I shall send word to Mr. Farnsworth to start the repairs immediately, and by the time we arri
ve, I fancy you will be able to begin selecting paints. Most of the furniture can probably be salvaged as well; if not, it will do until you have an opportunity to procure new pieces.”

  Selina looked frantically at Alex, but his face remained expressionless, and she suddenly realized that Grandmama’s “wedding gift” greatly enhanced his own scheme. Yes, before Selina was killed off, Worfields would be restored to splendor, restored without the expenditure of a single Bradley-Cochran farthing.

  “It is settled then,” Grandmama said Firmly. “We shall depart for Seymour Manor as soon as possible.” Her tone allowed for no further discussion, and Selina contented herself with a Final furious scowl at the Earl. “Meanwhile, as the landau must .take you to Mount Street and return for us, I suggest you set out at once.”

  Mrs. Seymour led the way out of the ballroom and down the stairs—seemingly not a whit affected by the strenuous evening—and Selina trudged disconsolately in her wake. There were still perhaps a hundred guests milling about outside the house, but Lord Preston’s carriage was drawn up direcdy in front of the entrance, and Selina hurried to it. Amidst a chorus of cheerful farewells, they clattered into the street, and during the homeward drive. Papa and Alex eagerly shouted the news of Waterloo to dozens of passing vehicles and pedestrians. Everyone shouted eagerly back, and long before they reached his lordship’s house, Selina had developed a fearful headache.

  Rose was awake when Selina entered her bedchamber, and, much as she longed to be alone, Selina felt compelled to relate the news to her as well. Rose was thrilled and promptly stated her opinions as to what should be done with the “Gorsican monster” when he was caught. Selina was astonished to learn that the mild-mannered maid entertained distinctly medieval notions of punishment; boiling in oil was high on her list of favored penalties.

  “But how was the ball otherwise, ma’am?” Rose asked, after she had at last tugged Selina into her nightgown. “Was it simply splendid?"