A Scandalous Countess: A Novel of the Malloren World

by Jo Beverley

  “Millicent will not be there. You know how sensitive she is when carrying. Your antics have sent her to her bed.”

  “Then I’m sorry for it, Mother, but surely…”

  “There’s another reason Millicent has absented herself. Lord Dracy was unfortunately scarred in battle. One side of his face is distorted in a way that must distress a sensitive lady.”

  “Whereas I’m tough as boiled leather?”

  “You are not carrying a child.”

  Georgia told herself that wasn’t a deliberate thrust. “I think it would be shameful to turn pale at the sight of a man blemished in defense of us all, even if I were with child.”

  “Do not criticize your sister-in-law because you are made of coarser stuff.”

  “Coarser? To seek to be kind to a hero?”

  Georgia saw her mother make a big effort. Her lips even turned up at the corners. “You do have a good heart, daughter.”

  What on earth was going on?

  “What exactly am I asked to do?” Georgia asked.

  “Stay by Dracy’s side and converse with him no matter how tongue-tied he is. Ease his way, advise him.…”

  “On what?”

  “Anything that arises.”

  A lewd vision popped into Georgia’s mind and she had to struggle to keep a straight face. If only Dickon were with her. He’d laugh too.

  “Have you other questions?” her mother demanded.

  Only, why? Was this political? Her parents were constantly involved in political chess, especially now, with the king at odds with his ministry, and cabals scheming in every corner of St. James.

  “Mother, what’s truly behind this?”

  “You are unpleasantly willful, Georgia,” her mother said, but almost wearily. “If you will have an explanation, Hernescroft regrets the loss of Fancy Free. He hopes to negotiate an exchange of prizes. Some kindness to Lord Dracy might smooth the way.”

  “Ah, that makes sense.”

  Georgia considered the situation. She wanted to keep to her seclusion for the full year. Once she made a resolve, she liked to hold to it. However, Fancy Free’s situation truly did concern her.

  “Then I will attend,” she said. “In Fancy Free’s cause, I’ll take the most tender care of our gouty tar.”

  “He’s a naval officer.”

  Georgia ignored that. “And if he bellows across the dining table or spits on the floor I’ll hint him toward better ways.”

  “Sometimes I despair of you!” her mother snapped, but closed her eyes and held back any other rant. “Remember, Georgia, you must also counter the impression of your appearance at the race. Dress modestly and behave with sober discretion; then perhaps our guests will carry away a good report of you.”

  She swept out, and Georgia indulged in sticking out her tongue at the door as it closed and muttering, “I’m as much a slave as a horse.”

  “You stop that, milady,” said Jane, who’d been standing quietly in a corner.

  Laughing, Georgia stuck out a tongue at her too, and then sat to add the latest news to the letter to Lizzie.

  “Milady. You need to dress.”

  “In a moment.” Georgia wrote quickly, ending with, “If this could reach you in time, I’d beg you to pray for me. As it is, I’ll hold the letter back and report before dispatching it.”

  She put the letter in a drawer in her desk and locked it, then surrendered to Jane. She shed her robe, then put on her stays for Jane to lace, regretting that “pray for me.” It revealed nervousness. She’d explained keeping to her room last night as part of her commitment to avoid society for a full year, but she knew she’d grasped at the excuse.

  She longed to return to real life, to fashionable life, but now, as the time came close, she sometimes felt slightly sick. How many people still thought she’d been Vance’s lover, and thus the cause of Dickon’s death?

  She took out her feelings on the stays, pushing the flat, boned front into place. “What an imposition. I haven’t worn a full corset in an age.”

  “You can’t wear country stays to dine, milady. It’s always obvious and gives a poor impression.”

  “I know, but this is so unfair.”

  “I warned against you going to watch the race, milady.”

  “Yes, you did, but it was worth it.”

  “You always say that,” Jane grumbled, giving the laces a sharp tug. “But perhaps it’s no bad thing for you to appear in a small gathering before going on to larger ones.”

  “You might be right. Beaufort is here, and Waveney.”

  “Lord Waveney is married now, milady, and his wife’s here with him.”

  “Lud! Then I’ll see if I can attract Portland, though he is rather dull.”

  “It’s the ladies you need to impress, milady. Those are the ones who’ll write letters and carry away stories.”

  “At least Millicent won’t be there, sighing and tossing in reproachful comments. Though I suppose her sister will act as her proxy. Why Eloisa Cardross dislikes me so, I can’t imagine.”

  “Yes, you can, milady. She’s considered a beauty but can’t hold a candle to you. Stand up straight, milady.”

  Georgia did. “Have I started to slump? Horrors! You would tell me, wouldn’t you, if I had?”

  “Always, for what attention you pay.”

  “You are my wise older sister.”

  Jane snorted, but there was a laugh in it, for they were friends.

  Jane had just turned thirty when hired to be the new Countess of Maybury’s lady’s maid, and at first she’d seemed severe. Beneath a starchy exterior, however, lurked a wry sense of humor and a delight in fashion that equaled Georgia’s. She’d soon become a friend and confidant, and she and Georgia had worked together to design the unique garments worn by Lady May.

  Georgia knew she should have listened to Jane’s sensible advice more often, but her adventures had seemed harmless and Jane’s cautions stuffy. There’d been no serious consequences at the time, but those exploits had made it easy for vile-minded people to believe the worst.

  The time she’d diced for kisses.

  The goddess costume that gave the illusion of bare breasts.

  Being caught kissing Harry Shaldon at Lady Rothgar’s ball.

  That had been unfortunate, but Dickon had made light of it, even claiming that he’d lost the right to the kiss at cards. He’d not reproached her afterward either.

  Dear Dickon.

  But that alone had made the story of her being Vance’s lover credible to some. As if there were any comparison. Shaldon was a bold, sporting gentleman, but he was a gentleman. For all his birth, Sir Charnley Vance was not.

  “Take my advice now,” Jane said, knotting the laces. “Behave perfectly, for all eyes will judge you—”

  “I know that.”

  “But do not show anxiety or shame. That duel was your husband’s folly, no more than that, and though you’ve grieved for him most tenderly, you have nothing with which to reproach yourself.”

  Georgia almost argued, for she knew her sins, but what Jane said was mostly true. She was innocent—of anything really bad, at least.

  “Now, what gown, milady? The cream lustring, the blue, the fawn with roses?”

  “The gray tabby.”

  “That thing! It’s hardly suitable for dusting, never mind dining with dukes and earls.”

  “It’s my best half mourning. I won’t dress in colors, Jane. I resolved to give Dickon the twelve months, and to renege on that simply because I mingle with the beau monde would be despicable.”

  “I doubt any of them are watching the date.”

  Georgia laughed. “They’ll be counting the days as carefully as they count those to the birth of a first child. The gray. Hurry. To be late will make me all the more significant.”

  “Then put on the pockets and hoops whilst I get it.”

  Georgia was tying the second knot when Jane returned, her arms full of smoky cloth. It did rather look like a dark cloud.<
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  “When you’re finished with gray, milady, I’ll say a prayer of thanks. It performs a miracle and makes you drab.”

  “Drab is exactly what we want now.”

  Jane passed over the skirt and Georgia put it on. Next came the bodice, which hooked up the front and reached modestly to her collarbone. She scrutinized herself in the mirror.

  “Can you find that frilled insert, Jane? And the snood cap.”

  Her maid gave a snort of disgust but soon returned with the two linen items. The insert fastened around Georgia’s neck and tucked down beneath the bodice, front and back.

  “Positively nunlike,” Georgia said. “This should smother any thoughts of the Scandalous Countess.”

  “A scandal it is that anyone call you that, milady, and you scarce more than a girl even yet. Sit you down and I’ll fix on the cap.”

  “I don’t think age plays a part,” Georgia said, obeying. “There are girls at Danae House who were raped, but others who danced merrily along the path to disaster at fourteen.” Danae House was a charity for disgraced serving girls.

  Jane twisted up Georgia’s thick hair and pinned it tightly. “It’s not suitable for you to be involved with such as them.”

  “Is it wrong for Lady Rothgar to be a patroness, or Lady Walgrave, or the Duchess of Ithorne?”

  “They’re all older than you, milady.” Jane shoved a last pin into Georgia’s hair and added the snood, which covered all the hair at the back. Georgia tucked away as much of her front hair as possible.

  “Jewelry, milady?”

  To wear none other than her wedding ring would be eccentric, but what? “The pearl studs,” Georgia said, taking out the plain gold ones she was wearing. “And my mourning bracelet.”

  When Jane returned, Georgia put in the earrings and then slid the mourning bracelet on her right wrist, pulling a face at it. The black and silver band held a crystal that protected a lock of Dickon’s brown hair. It always made her think of his corpse.

  She looked at the small portrait on her dressing table, which she much preferred. It showed him smiling and in fashionable finery, full of life and the joys it held. She kissed her fingers and touched them to the image, but the glass was as cold as his corpse had been.

  She swallowed and stood to survey herself in the long mirror.

  “Lud! Perhaps Beaufort and the rest won’t even notice my presence.”

  Jane snorted.

  Georgia put on her plain black shoes. “It might be pleasant to be ignored, like a ghost at the feast.”

  “There’s an odd thought for Lady May,” Jane said.

  It was indeed. Georgia took the gray fan Jane offered and turned back to the mirror for a final check, tucking away a curl, smoothing away a crease in the bodice.

  Delaying.

  “Enough of this dithering,” she said and left the room.

  She went downstairs, but when she heard conversation from the Terrace Room, she halted three steps from the bottom.

  She forced herself onward, but perdition! Her heart was beating faster than it should. She’d never been afraid like this before. Never. A burst of laughter felt threatening, as if they laughed at her.…

  A footman was stationed in the hall, observing her.

  To excuse another halt, she asked, “Has Lord Dracy arrived yet?”

  “Yes, your ladyship, but I saw him just now go out onto the terrace.”

  “Thank you,” Georgia said, meaning it, and turned to go onto the terrace by a different door.

  A cowardly move, but she could cloak it in duty. Lord Dracy was her charge, and it seemed he’d already fled the company. Poor fish out of water. No, a beached tar, like a beached whale.

  Rotund, floundering, helpless.

  Georgia went through an anteroom and out onto the terrace, but then she paused.

  There was only one man on the terrace, a gentleman in brown country clothing who had his back to her. It had to be Lord Dracy, but he was no gouty whale. Broad shoulders, long, strong legs…

  But what on earth was he doing?

  Dracy had been introduced to the Hernescroft house party and none of the ladies had fainted. Some had been uncomfortable, however, so he’d relieved them of his face by strolling out through open doors onto the terrace. After so much time at sea and in foreign lands, he never tired of the English countryside.

  He walked up to the stone balustrade, amused by the fancy of being on the poop deck of a ship, with a fair sea spread before him and a brisk wind making music in the sails.

  Instead of gray waves he was surrounded by the rolling green of a skillfully designed park, and the music came from the twitter and song of birds. English birdsong was a rare treasure.

  He inhaled with satisfaction and realized a sweet perfume rose from below. He leaned forward across the wide coping to find the source. Ah, roses and a honeysuckle vine were climbing the wall. But what were the tall, ungainly plants bearing pale flowers?

  “I do hope you’re not attempting to put an end to your existence, Lord Dracy.”

  He straightened but took his time in turning. If that mellow voice didn’t belong to Circe, he’d be damned disappointed.

  It did, and Lady Maybury, a teasing light in her big blue eyes, was as perfect in the flesh as in the painting, despite a gray dress and a demure cap that hid most of her hair.

  In fact, she was even more alluring.

  In such a gray frame, she glowed with vitality.

  He pulled his wits together and bowed. He almost said, “Lady Maybury,” but remembered in time that she was supposed to be a stranger.

  “You have the advantage of me, ma’am.”

  She dipped a curtsy. “The Countess of Maybury, my lord, Lord Hernescroft’s daughter. He requested that I take tender care of you, so I fear he’d be most disappointed if you did away with yourself at the terrors of your first social event.”

  Heaven help him, a gentle wit, good humor, and most wondrous of all, no sign of a flinch at the sight of his face. She’d have been warned, but from the first she’d met his eyes with no hint of discomfort.

  There was also no hint that she knew of a special connection between them. In general, he preferred honest dealings, but he’d avoid them for now and enjoy this pleasant moment.

  “Hardly my first social occasion, Lady Maybury, but my first with fine English ladies.”

  “Frightening enough to send you head first off the balustrade, my lord?”

  He smiled, testing her with the snarl.

  Again, wonder of wonders, no flinch.

  “I wasn’t attempting suicide, ma’am. I merely wished to discover the magic of the perfume below. Roses and honeysuckle I recognize, but not the tall plants.”

  She came closer in a soft rustle of skirts and leaned out, but the balustrade was too wide to give her a view.

  Dracy scooped her up and sat her on top, keeping an arm around her waist—for safety’s sake, of course.

  Her beautiful eyes were only a foot from his, the subtle tones of green and blue reminding him of some foreign seas. Her lashes were brandy brown and thick, and even up close her complexion was as perfect as a rose petal. It truly was.

  And her scent…

  Or was that the flowers?

  Chapter 5

  Trapped by his arm, Georgia stilled, heart fluttering, unsure what to do but determined not to show it.

  “I was warned you might be rough-and-ready in your ways, my lord, but this…”

  His expression was slightly, irritatingly, amused. “Blame it on the navy. Are you offended?”

  “And if I were?”

  “I would instantly return you to the terrace, my lady, and apologize profusely.”

  “So tame?”

  “You would prefer that I complete the offense and tip you over?”

  She had to laugh. “You are certainly an original, Lord Dracy.”

  “Perhaps a gallant one? I hoped to prevent you from snagging your gown.”

  “It would be no
great loss. In twenty-four days I’ll be free of mourning and may well burn it. Very well, sir. I will trust you and lean.”

  She did so but hadn’t anticipated that it would press the side of her right breast to his hand. Thank heavens for stays!