Courting the Countess

by Donna Hatch

  Richard looked at Wesley with a raised brow. “Good heavens, I’ve frightened the poor child. Am I so terrifying?”

  “Servants are meant to be invisible. Being caught by the master in a room is bad form for any servant.”

  “Yes, but really, her reaction seemed overly dramatic. Are you spreading rumors that I eat every maid I see?”

  Richard was sure Wesley’s mouth almost twitched. “She’s new. Hasn’t spoken a word.”

  “Ah. Mrs. Brown is finally hiring more staff?”

  “Under the direction of Lady Averston.”

  “Excellent.” At least Elizabeth was taking her role as lady of the house seriously. At Wesley’s dubious expression, Richard eyed him. “What?”

  “I’m sure her heart is in the right place, my lord, but if you don’t mind me saying so, hiring those sorts of folks seems just asking for trouble.”

  “I trust Mrs. Brown.”

  “Not Mrs. Brown, my lord. It’s the new countess.”

  Richard allowed a touch of reprimand into his voice at the man’s boldness. “My lady is the daughter of a duke. I am certain she’s well prepared to manage a household.”

  “Indeed my lord.” Instantly contrite, Wesley kept his peace.

  Richard stripped and bathed, wondering what Elizabeth had done to ruffle Wesley’s feathers and what “those sorts of folks” meant. He made a mental note to ask her about it at dinner.

  As he dressed, the fireplace caught his eye. Instead of dark and empty, it contained a huge bouquet of wildflowers, an odd place for flowers, but it brightened up an otherwise dreary part of the room during the summer when fires rarely burned.

  “I don’t suppose that’s your idea, Wesley?” He indicated the flowers with his chin.

  “Lady Averston’s touch. They’re in every room.”

  “I see. Rather nice, I’d say.” Richard glanced at Wesley. “I can see to myself tonight after dinner. Take yourself off and see to your rheumatism or you’ll be no good to me on the morrow.”

  Wesley offered a stiff bow. “As you wish, my lord.”

  In the dining room, Elizabeth greeted him with a polite smile. Her gaze darted over his face as if to judge his mood. He missed the dazzling smiles she’d given him in the past but it would be best not to become too attached, either to the smiles, or to the woman who gave them.

  “Good evening.” He held out her chair for her and took his place at the head of the table.

  He tucked into his meal, making mental lists of all the things he needed to accomplish tomorrow, anything to keep his eyes off his wife, and the reminder of how she’d looked at Tristan on their wedding day.

  Elizabeth ate in silence, stirred her food with her fork more than eating.

  Richard glanced her way. “Dinner not to your liking, my lady?”

  She set down her fork without making a noise. “Weren’t you asking me to call you Richard rather than my lord only a few weeks ago?”

  He paused and then resumed eating. “Of course,” he replied between mouthfuls, “how careless of me. Forgive me, Elizabeth.”

  “There is nothing to forgive, Richard.” When he made no further comment, Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Have I done something to offend you, my husband?”

  After briefly flicking his gaze her way, Richard took a drink from his wineglass. “Of course not. I’m pleased with the efficient way you handle the servants. They clearly respect you. The new staff appears be well occupied. The flowers in the fireplaces are a nice touch.”

  “Then pray, what is it?”

  “What is what?”

  She moistened her lips. “Why do you avoid me?”

  “I do not avoid you. I have dinner with you, and you read to me in the library most evenings.”

  “That’s the only time I see you. I thought we’d be spending more time together.”

  He drew a breath and stifled the urge to blurt out all his frustrations over her loving Tristan, and that he knew it would only be a matter of time before she left him, and how badly it would hurt even after all the defensive measures he’d taken against her.

  He settled for what he hoped would be a convincing excuse. “I have been in London a great deal during the Season and have many tasks that require my attention now that I am home. Surely you must understand this.”

  “Of course.”

  Her dejected posture tugged at his heart. He added, “I don’t mean to neglect you.”

  She drew herself up. “You aren’t. I’m actually rather relieved you don’t hover over me; I have many projects I wish to accomplish.”

  He bit back a snide comment over whether any of her ‘projects’ involved his brother. Surely, she wouldn’t cheat on him so soon. Surely. “Glad to hear it.”

  Silence followed.

  He searched for a change of topic, torn between wanting to reach her and terrified to open himself to her. “I understand you’ve hired some new staff.”

  “Yes.” A spark entered her eyes.

  “You can leave that detail to Mrs. Brown, you know.”

  “I know but I felt strongly inclined to hire from Mrs. Goodfellow’s institution.”

  Richard searched his memory for Goodfellow Institution. It sounded familiar, but he was unable to place it. Probably the name of some staffing agency.

  “As you wish.” Richard finished his dessert and sat back.

  Elizabeth stared out the window with such a faraway look in her eyes that an ache rose up inside him. He longed to tease a smile out of her, to hear her laugh, to make her his wife in truth. If he so much as touched her, though, he’d draw her into his arms and fall under her spell. He’d be vulnerable to any pain she chose to inflict upon him. Such vulnerability would prove his undoing.

  He stood lest he be too tempted to give into his desire to touch her. Still, she didn’t deserve his cool treatment of her. After all, she hadn’t cheated on him. Yet.

  He tried to forget how lovely she was, how her lips tempted him to kiss them, how the curve of her cheek begged to be caressed. Eventually he’d need to make her his wife in truth if they were to have the two sons he’d told her in the beginning that he required of her. The idea of sharing such intimacy with a woman who pined for another left him cold. Still, he should at least attempt to make a home life with her; no need for them both to be miserable.

  Richard cleared his throat and gentled his tone. “Elizabeth, I hope you know that as the lady of the house, you have full freedom here to make any visits or implement any changes you wish. No room is off limits, and no desire will be rejected.” He winced. That last part was poorly worded.

  She watched him, bewilderment and hesitation mirrored in her eyes. “Thank you, my lord.”

  He fisted his hands, craving her smiles, her touch. Was it possible to bask in those pleasures without losing his heart?

  She moistened her lips, drawing his gaze. “Would you like me to read to you again tonight?”

  The idea of spending time listening to her melodious voice and watching her eyes glow with pleasure as she read the tales of romance and adventure was a sweet torture he didn’t know if he could withstand.

  “I’d like that very much.” Apparently, his mouth had disengaged from his brain.

  She offered a tremulous smile. They walked side by side to the library as he mentally shook his head over his lack of sense. Still, listening to her read might be the one pleasure in which he could indulge for the time being. He’d never imagined a celibate marriage, but he refused to become so vulnerable to her probable rejection and desertion.

  Though careful not to touch her, he couldn’t resist taking a deep breath to draw in her scent, that alluring blend that never failed to paint images best left unexplored if he hoped to retain a particle of his dignity or his heart.

  He sketched while she read, the lines under his pencil shaping into characters and scenes from the tales she read. Sketching kept his eyes off of her and the temptation to make her his wife in every way—a desire he simply could
not risk. The clock kept a steady rhythm in the background. When her voice roughened, he reached for a decanter to pour her a drink but her words halted him.

  “I suppose I should stop. It’s getting late.” She stood. “Good night.”

  “Sleep well, Elizabeth.” As she left, he reminded himself he’d be a fool to develop any feelings for her. So much for Tristan’s idea to woo her and win her heart. Every idea that came to him toward that end would only leave him more susceptible to the kind of emotions that would leave him helpless against heartbreak.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Early the following morning, Elizabeth wandered through the music room touching the various instruments and wishing for a harp. How she longed to pour her frustrations into her music, but alas, no harp resided here.

  Richard had been generous with her pin money and dress allowance, but a harp cost many times that sum. He’d been so distant since their wedding day that she couldn’t bear to ask him for any favors. At least they spent a few hours together most evenings.

  Perhaps a walk would do. She donned a shawl and bonnet and after leaving the house, she strode through the gardens toward the open fields beyond. Two men, one stooped and aged, and the other a few decades younger, worked together in the gardens talking softly.

  As she passed them, she called, “Good morning.”

  The older man turned. “Oh, yer ladyship.” He doffed his hat and bowed.

  “I don’t believe I know your name.”

  “Green, m’lady. This is my grandson, Jonah.”

  A gardener named Mr. Green? She almost laughed out loud at the appropriate name.

  The younger man touched the brim of his hat. “Mornin’, yer ladyship.”

  “The garden is looking well.”

  “Thank ye kindly.”

  As she passed by them, they returned to their work, kneeling next to a flowerbed. Elizabeth paused, noticing the holes in the bottom of the younger man’s boots.

  Surely, she could find a pair of boots for the poor man so he wouldn’t need to walk about with holes in his soles. Her father often gave older shoes and boots to his staff. She mentally measured his feet, then returned to the house and went to Richard’s room. He probably had a dozen pairs or more and wouldn’t miss one. She planned to arrange for the man to visit the cobbler, but that would take time, and the gardener might put off a trip to the village, which would leave him in those sad shoes for far too long.

  She pushed Richard’s bedroom door open like a shameless trespasser, but stood rooted to the floor while all her determination abandoned her. As his wife, she shouldn’t fear to enter Richard’s chambers. However, they were as much strangers as if they’d just met. The bedroom was an extremely intimate place, a place he hadn’t invited her to share with him. Besides, odds were, Richard wouldn’t own an old, tattered pair of boots; he was so meticulous about his appearance that his boots and clothing were probably all in pristine condition.

  Still, she was here now and curiosity about her husband emboldened her. She knew so little about him. His private chambers might contain clues about the man she married. Summoning her courage, she stepped inside and waited, half expecting some sword of justice to drop from the ceiling. Nothing happened, of course. She chided herself for her childish imagination.

  As she expected, bold colors and heavy, antique furniture adorned the room. She pictured earls of long ago lounging in this room. She glanced at the bed, then looked quickly away, but not before imagining Richard lying tousle-haired and sleepy-eyed amid the pillows. She heaved a sigh. He really hadn’t changed; he’d simply reverted to the Richard she’d first met at the house party. Once Richard had done his duty wooing her before they wedded, he’d once again become the stern, aloof lord.

  Or had seeing Leticia triggered his return to that persona? The idea that he pined away for another woman left her hollow inside.

  After shaking off self-pity, she glanced at the mahogany bureau but found its surface clear of clutter. In fact, the entire room seemed elegant but rather impersonal, as if he never dared let down his guard, even in private. The one incongruity was an armchair drawn up to the fireplace. Draped across the back was a frayed blanket. She fingered the worn, soft blanket, wondering about its origin. Surely, he kept such an old blanket for reasons other than to keep warm.

  Next to the armchair stood a small table with a lamp and a stack of papers. Pencil drawings. She picked up the top one and examined it. A lone knight in full armor sat astride a black destrier rearing up to do battle. On the next page, a knight stood alone, his shoulders drooped, his sword tip pointed downward. The third page bore the image of a young jongleur playing a lute, his mouth open as if in song, with tears running down his face. Each page bore a scene from one of the stories she’d read. Each was of a man in sorrow, or in battle. Always alone.

  Cleary Richard viewed his life and his future as bleak without Leticia, the woman he loved.

  A sob escaped her throat and she put her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. They were two lonely people, thrown together, pining for another’s love. Stories of star-crossed lovers had seemed so romantic in the pages of a book or a poem, or a song. In truth, it was a miserable, desolate existence.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. If only Richard would allow her into his life, they could at least comfort one another. But he was more closed up than ever.

  So be it. They would lead separate lives. She would fill her empty heart with helping the downtrodden and people who others overlooked or abused, like the gardener who needed boots. She dried her tears, replaced the papers, and resumed her search. Off to one side she found the dressing room. Shelves of boots lay directly to her right. She searched for the oldest-looking pair. To her surprise, she found two in the far back corner, scarred and worn, apparently long forgotten. Her father would have discarded any boots that looked so abused.

  She picked up one boot and eyed it. It appeared bigger than the boots the young gardener wore, but perhaps he could wear an extra pair of socks. The sole was still intact which would be an improvement over those he currently wore. She paused at the array of overcoats, noticing two that appeared slightly thinning and frayed, but still with plenty of wear. The gardeners could probably make good use of these, as well. Would Richard care if she took them? Would he even notice? She paused, caught in indecision. Her only other choice would be to purchase boots and coats for the gardeners, but she didn’t yet have any kind of agreement with the locals outside of the modiste, nor enough money of her own to buy them outright.

  Still, as the countess, she had a duty to the villagers and especially to their staff. If Richard had a problem with her gifting his old clothes to the needy, he would have to take it up with her. After another hesitation, she laid both old coats over her arm and picked up the boots.

  As she left the dressing room carrying the boots and coats, the door opened and Richard’s valet entered.

  He stopped short at the sight of her. “My lady.”

  Shaking off the sensation that she was some kind of thief, she nodded to him. “I don’t believe I know your name.”

  “Wesley, my lady.” His gaze fixed on the boots in her hand.

  “Wesley. Good day.” She strode past him with her head high.

  She wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard him sputtering something about the master’s boots. But that was ridiculous. Richard was always immaculate. No doubt he hadn’t worn these boots and coats in years. It was a wonder they were still in his possession.

  The young gardener alternately protested and thanked her, and put them on. He preened as he strode around wearing the boots. Both coats were too loose for the men through the shoulders, but they assured her their fit would allow for free movement as they worked. Smiling, she returned to the house.

  In the great hall, Richard strode to her. Her heart gave a little leap at his attention until she noticed his fearsome scowl.

  “There you are,” he said. “Where have you been?”


  She went utterly still at his tone as cold fear skittered over her. Her voice hoarse with fright, she managed, “I-in the gardens.”

  He let out his breath in a sigh of exasperation. “Stop looking at me as if I’m about to pounce on you.”

  Duchess, too, had hated her signs of weakness, yet she couldn’t help but take a step back. “Y-you’re angry with me.”

  “No, of course not. I’m merely a bit frustrated because my boots are missing and I need them. My valet said he saw you with them so I’ve been looking for you. Where have you taken my boots? And why?”

  “Y-your boots?” She shrank from him.

  Sadness touched his eyes as he took another breath and visibly quieted his voice. “I’m not going to hurt you, Elizabeth, I vow it. Not now, not ever. Just tell me where you put my boots.”

  Taking her fear in hand, she drew a steadying breath. “The old brown ones?”

  “Yes.” His anger faded and humor touched his mouth. “They probably look nothing like an earl should wear.”

  Emboldened, she shook her head once. “Indeed not.”

  “So, what have you done with them?”

  “I…”

  Fear wrapped cold tendrils around her spine. She’d made a terrible mistake in thinking he’d never miss a single pair of boots.

  Although Richard’s forehead creased in puzzlement, an amused smile tugged at his lips. Amusement?

  Finding her courage, she raised her chin. “I gave them to the gardener’s son.”

  A brow rose. “The gardener?”

  “Mr. Green. And his son. I noticed his boots had holes in the sole.”

  “I see.” His gaze searched her face.

  “Forgive me. I never dreamed you’d miss them.” She chewed on her lip, trying to summon the courage to confess she’d also taken two coats.

  “It’s quite all right. I only wear them when I want to play laborer with my tenants.”

  “My lord?”

  “Sometimes I enjoy a bit of labor now and then, and I was going to help build a stone fence. I wanted my old boots for that task.” He smiled ruefully. “Don’t tell anyone or my name will surely be stricken from the guest lists.”