The Counterfeit Countess

by Diana Campbell

  “Put the glasses down and go to your room,” she commanded.

  “But—”

  “You promised, Jeremy, and one does not argue about a promise. And, in any case, I haven’t the time to argue, for I need to speak with Alex.”

  “He’s in the garden,” Jeremy said.

  “In the garden?”

  “Well, he said he was going to the garden. He left the ballroom and started down the stains, and when I asked where he was going, he said he was’ going to the garden. I asked what he was going to do in the garden, and he said he wished a breath of air—”

  “Thank you, Jeremy,” Selina interposed wryly. It was apparent that, unless interrupted, his tale might well continue till midnight. “I shall go to the garden, and you will put the glasses down and go to your bedchamber.”

  “Oh, very well.”

  His voice was a grumble, but a sheepish smile teased the corners of his mouth, and he reminded her, achingly reminded her, of his elder brother. Perhaps, when she spoke with the Earl, she could salvage some shred of pride by alluding to Jeremy's need for a home. He set the glasses on a nearby occasional table, and Selina ruffled his hair and accompanied him out of the ballroom and down the steps. When they reached the first story, she waited on the landing until he had walked down the corridor and disappeared into his bedchamber. She then continued down the staircase to the ground floor, traversed the dark parlor as rapidly as she could and slipped through the door at the rear.

  The garden was exceedingly dark as well, and the air smelled of rain, and Selina collected that a storm was brewing. Even as she formulated the thought, a jagged bolt of lightning briefly lit the sky, illuminating a black, boiling mass of clouds overhead. She ventured lenta-

  tively onto the gravel footpath, hoping to locate his lordship before the storm descended.

  Selina had been too busy to grant any attention to the grounds, and she soon found herself hopelessly disoriented. Dozens of footways branched off the main path, and though she tried to negotiate the maze in systematic fashion, the lights of the house—or, conversely, tne shadows of the outer garden—constandy loomed up in the wrong direction. To add to her confusion, the numerous marble statues and fountains looked like so many pale, shapeless blobs in the darkness; and she calculated she had passed the same statue of Zeus three or four times before she recognized it.

  In short, she was walking in circles, and she had decided to give up when a second bolt of lightning rent the sky, and she saw Alex not ten yards away. The night went black again at once, and she groped forward, praying that none of Jeremy’s beloved reptiles was about. At length, her outstretched hand found human flesh, and as she heaved a sigh of relief, there was another flash of light. To her unutterable horror, Selina discovered that her Fingers were resting on one of Miss Bradley’s bare shoulders and that Miss Bradley and the Earl were locked in a most enthusiastic embrace.

  “Lady Worsham!” “Selina!” Miss Bradley and Alex spoke in unison and sprang apart so rapidly that Selina feared, nay, hoped., they would tumble to the ground.

  “Lady Worsham,” Miss Bradley repeated. They had not tumbled to the ground, but Miss Bradley was patting her blond curls, which, Selina noticed, were in considerable disarray. “How very embarrassing.” Her tone left substantial doubt as to whether she or Selina was supposed to be embarrassed. “There is, of course, a per- fecdy logical explanation.”

  “Indeed?” Selina snapped. “I am most eager to hear it”

  “I am terrified of storms, and at the very first clap of thunder, I fairly threw myself into Alex’s arms.” Insofar as Selina could recall, there had been no thunder. “He tried to comfort me, but I remain very nervous, and I daresay it would be best if I were to depart.”

  “I daresay it would," Selina agreed frigidly.

  “Then if you could spare Alex for half an hour or so to drive me home—”

  “Is your coachman terrified of storms as well?" Selina interjected.

  “My coachman isn't here. Lady Worsham. I drove over alone in my phaeton, which, naturally, I should not have done had I guessed a storm was coming. But if you cannot release Alex for even half an hour, I fancy I can drive back alone as well.”

  Miss Bradley emitted a tremulous sigh, and Selina realized she had been neatly trapped: her refusal to “release” the Earl would make her appear unforgivably rude. Miss Bradley would gleefully report that Lady Worsham had forced her to struggle home alone through rain and lightning and thunder; the storm might well become a hurricane before her story had circulated round the country.

  “I can certainly spare my husband for half an hour,” Selina said grimly.

  “You are so kind. Lady Worsham. Then I fancy we should be off immediately, before the storm grows worse.”

  Selina elected not to point out that, as of yet, there was no storm. Miss Bradley took Alex’s arm, and they strode unerringly up the footpath, and Selina trailed miserably behind them.

  Chapter 15

  Selina was initially startled to discover the ballroom unchanged, but she soon calculated that she had been away under a quarter of an hour. Nor did it appear that she had been missed: Matthew was standing up with Harriet, Simon was dancing with Grandmama, and Papa was partnering one of the Willis women (Selina could never recollect which was which). She was tempted to disappear again, but when the set ended, Sir Hector Willis bounded up and requested the honor of her hand for the next. Selina reluctantly acquiesced, and as Sir Hector escorted her onto the floor, the storm descended.

  At first, there was only an increase of lightning—an almost constant flash, it seemed, which occasionally illuminated the ballroom as brightly as sunshine. However, by the time Selina's quadrille with Sir Hector had finished, the lightning was punctuated by great rumbles of thunder, and the guests had begun to peer apprehensively toward the windows. The rain arrived midway through the next dance, and as the opening patter became a steady, pounding roar, Mr. Willis, Selina’s current partner, smiled apologetically down at her.

  “I do hate to leave your wonderful assembly a moment earlier than absolutely necessary,” he said, “but I fancy we should be on our way before the weather worsens.”

  Selina murmured her understanding, and Mr. Willis gathered up the remainder of his clan and ushered

  them hurriedly out of the ballroom. Their departure served as a signal: evidendy no one had wished to be first to leave, but—that obstacle overcome—the rest of the company was frantically eager to be off. Indeed, the regretful good-nights flew so thick and fast that Selina was rendered nearly dizzy, and within the space of ten minutes, the ballroom was entirely devoid of guests.

  “What a wretched coincidence,” Mrs. Seymour sighed. “First Waterloo, now this . . She shook her head. “You must not conclude that all your balls are destined to end prematurely, my dear; I am sure your very next assembly will continue quite gaily till dawn.”

  Selina wished she could be sure there would be a “next assembly,” but she merely nodded. Grandmama patted her shoulder, then frowned about the room.

  "Where is Alex?” she demanded.

  “He—he decided to drive Miss Bradley home. She came alone in her phaeton, and in view of the storm, he did not feel she should return alone.” It was not exacdy a lie, Selina persuaded herself; could she be blamed if Mrs. Seymour inferred that the Earl and Miss Bradley had left with the rest?

  “That was extremely thoughtful of him,” Grandmama said, “but, unfortunately, most inconvenient for me. I had hoped Alex would drive me home.”

  “Is Addison terrified of storms as well?” Selina asked

  dryly.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Never mind,” Selina mumbled.

  “I do not believe Addison has any fear of storms whatever,” Mrs. Seymour said, with some puzzlement. “However, he is another servant who should have been pensioned off years ago. In fact, now that I think on it, I must own that all my servants have outlived their usefulness—another hazard
of old age, my dear. In any event, though Addison still drives quite well on a sunny day, I shudder to contemplate his performance in rain and mud and darkness.” Grandmama did, indeed, shudder. “But I daresay, with Alex gone, there is no alternative.”

  “Of course there is,” Selina said. “You must spend the night here. You and Addison both, and you can go in the morning.”

  “Are you certain, dear? I shouldn’t want to impose—”

  “You will not be imposing,” Selina interrupted firmly.

  She signaled Winthrop and issued appropriate instructions, and the three of them descended the staircase to the first story. They separated at the landing, and as the butler led Mrs. Seymour toward the guest wing, Selina proceeded to her own bedchamber. Since she nad previously desired Rose to assist in the cleaning of the ballroom, she undressed herself, donned her nightclothes and gazed nervously at the mantel clock.

  It was nearing one a.m., and Selina estimated that his lordship and Miss Bradley had departed well before midnight. Selina had not been to Bradley House, but Miss Bradley had implied that the round trip would require half an hour, which meant that Alex should have returned by a quarter past twelve. Half past at the latest. Selina went to the window and peered between the draperies. But the coach yard was nearly invisible in the now-driving rain, and she eventually dropped the curtains and chided herself for her foolish concern. It was highly unlikely that a man who had traveled halfway round the world, who had dealt with parrots and pirates and visited all manner of uncivilized places, would come to ruin within a few miles of his own home. Neither the Earl nor Miss Bradley had specified precisely how he was to come back to Worfields, but Selina presumed he would borrow the phaeton, an open carriage. Naturally he would not set out in a furious storm. No, he would wait until the rain had abated, and fifteen minutes after that, he would clatter into the coach yard.

  Selina crossed to the bed, removed her dressing gown and, leaving the bedside candle burning, crawled beneath the covers. She drifted into and out of sleep, but at some juncture, she awoke with the clear notion that something was amiss. She lay still a moment and ultimately realized that a sudden silence had disturbed her: it had stopped raining. She dashed to the window,

  parted the drapes again and observed that the coach yard was bathed in moonlight. The mantel clock read three, so Alex could be expected at a quarter past. Actually, she amended, he could be expected at any moment; the rain might have ceased some time since. She redonned her dressing gown, cracked her bedchamber door so as not to miss him and perched on the edge of the bed.

  As the clock struck a quarter past the hour, then half past, then a quarter to four, Selina found it increasingly difficult to hold her head erect. She had failed to consider the mud, she thought groggily; the mud would dramatically impede his lordship’s progress. He might well be delayed another fifteen minutes, even another half an hour, and in the interim, it would do no harm if she dozed. She might fail to hear the phaeton in the coach yard, but she would undoubtedly detect the Earl's footsteps in the sitting room, and there was no other entry to his bedchamber. She stretched out on the bed, and when she woke again, the clock was chiming seven.

  Selina leaped up, surmising that she had missed Alex after all. Perhaps it was for the best, she decided philosophically: his difficult journey would have put him in no frame of mind to conduct a conversation about Sir Matthew and their imaginary scheme. She would talk to his lordship later in the day, when he was thoroughly rested. She walked to her bedchamber door, intending to close it, but she could not quell a nagging prickle of concern. Carriages could overturn, especially on a slippery road; and drivers, however accomplished, could be trampled by frightened horses. Perhaps she should glance into the Earl’s bedchamber, ascertain that he was safely asleep . ..

  Selina fairly crept across the sitting room, and just as she reached the midpoint, the door creaked open. Alex stepped over the threshold and closed the door with infinite care, and Selina rapidly perceived the reason for his caution: his striped stockings were twisted round his calves; his small clothes and satin coat were hideously wrinkled; and his shirt-points had effectively

  wilted to nonexistence. He began to tiptoe toward his bedchamber, and she could not maintain her silence.

  “Where the devil have you been?” she hissed.

  The Earl whirled around, and Selina observed that his neckcloth was altogether missing.

  “Has my memory failed again?” He knitted his blond brows as though in great bewilderment. “I seem to recollect that we discussed my destination in the garden. I thought you understood that I was to drive Isabella home; perhaps I am mistaken.”

  “I also understood that you were to return in half an hour’s time,” Selina said frigidly.

  “And so I should have if I had been able to leave Bradley House without delay. However, Isabella and I barely outraced the storm; we had just entered the house when the rain began. I elected not to depart in the midst of a downpour; perhaps I was mistaken in that regard as well.”

  “The downpour ended four hours since,” Selina snapped.

  “Then I do apologize if I alarmed you. Had I known you were waiting up for me—”

  “I was not waiting up for you,” Selina lied stiffly. “I chanced to wake at three o’clock and saw that the moon was already out.”

  “Was it indeed? Well, I did not chance to wake at three o’clock. I chanced to wake at half past six, at which point I dressed and requested Isabella’s coachman to drive me back—”

  “Waked?” Selina screeched. “Dressed? You slept at Miss Bradley’s?”

  “What did you imagine I should do? Did you fancy I should sit in the saloon sipping tea all night?” He paused. “Ah, yes; I see what you imagined. Permit me to assure you that you are wrong: I did not share Isabella’s bed. I was, in fact, in the saloon, sleeping on the couch. I am happy to report that I was quite comfortable because I have grown amply accustomed to sleeping on sofas. However, l am a trifle disheveled, so if you will excuse me . . .”

  He negotiated an exquisitely sardonic bow, and Selina felt her eyes narrow with fury.

  “If you did sleep on the couch”—she was hissing again—“I daresay Miss Bradley was bitterly disappointed.”

  “And what is that supposed to signify?” his lordship inquired politely.

  “Only that after Miss Bradley threw herself into your arms, she must have hoped for something more. If, indeed, she did initiate the scene in the garden.”

  “Yes, her description was quite accurate,” Alex said airily.

  “I could not but notice that you appeared to be enjoying her—her assault. I do not recall that you were struggling to escape—”

  “For God’s sake, Selina! She took me utterly by surprise and only a few seconds before you yourself appeared. What would you have had me do? Should I have thrown her to the ground and fled back into the

  house?”

  “I wonder why she was in the garden in the first

  place.”

  “I wonder why you were in the garden,” the Earl

  countered.

  Another clever ploy, but, for once, Selina would not allow him to wriggle free. “I further wonder why you helped Miss Bradley move.”

  “For God’s sake!” his lordship repeated. “Isabella travels with more luggage than does Wellington’s entire army, and when she requested my assistance—”

  “That is what I most particularly wonder: just when it was she requested your assistance. I was not aware that you and Miss Bradley were in regular contact.”

  “ ‘Regular contact’?” Alex echoed. “I encountered Isabella, quite by accident, on the occasion of my last visit to town ...” He stopped, and his own eyes narrowed. “Do you know what I wonder?” he continued. His voice was deceptively soft. “I wonder what possible interest you could have in how often I see Isabella or under what circumstances. Unless you wish to ascertain when and for how long I shall be conveniently out of your way. Had you been
alerted to my overnight absence, you could have entertained Sir Matthew with no fear of interruption, could you not? I am sorry, love; I shall try to be more considerate in the future.”

  It was hopeless, Selina realized; nothing she might say would alter his opinion. And did it matter? She could not marry a man who continued to dally with his former fiancee, a man who would rapidly render the three of them the premier on-dit in England.

  “There will be no future, Alex,” she said. Her voice was frightfully unsteady, and she cleared her throat. “I shall leave Worfields as soon as I can.”

  “Ah, you have decided to return to America with Sir Matthew then.”

  He had afforded her one final chance to salvage her pride, and she nodded. “Yes, that is precisely what I have decided.”

  “I shall not pretend to be surprised: I anticipated that probability, and I have given the matter considerable thought.” He made as if to jerk, off his neckcloth, but, finding it gone, he fumbled with his wilted shirt- points instead and sank onto the Adam sofa. “I trust you will be sufficiently honorable to abide by our agreement."

  “Abide by our agreement,” Selina said hesitandy.

  “Yes. You promised long since to undo your mischief, and I believe I have formulated a proper course of action. We shall tell Grandmama we are all going to America: you and I and John and Jeremy. And, of course, Sir Matthew.” He made a moue of distaste. “We shall claim that, for the four of us, the trip is merely a holiday and we shall shortly come back to England. You and Sir Matthew and your father will actually sail, and Jeremy and I shall go to ground somewhere in Britain. After a suitable interval, we shall ‘sail back’ with the lamentable news that you have died. North America is a wonderfully dangerous place, and there are all manner of possibilities: a mysterious fever, Indian attack . . . We shan’t tease ourselves about it now; I shall have some months in which to select the exact form of your tragic demise. For the present, do you approve my plan?”