Courting the Countess

by Donna Hatch

  Richard searched for words to make amends, but she was right; he fully expected her to let him down. He found no answer to their predicament. Which meant they had no way to make amends.

  She picked up a book and began reading. They sat in silence until they stopped to change horses. Richard rented a horse and rode outside for the remainder of the day. That night, he rode in the carriage with his silent wife and tried to snatch what little sleep he could, but at daybreak, he resumed the journey on horseback.

  Dark storm clouds gathered and the wind whipped to biting speed by the time they arrived at the ducal county seat, an ancient dwelling sprawling over the moors like a ramshackle collection of monolithic stones.

  Elizabeth emerged from the carriage pale and drawn. She only glanced once at Richard before climbing the front steps.

  The servant who admitted them smiled at Elizabeth. “Welcome home, Lady Elizabeth.”

  “How is Duchess?”

  “The fever broke this morning and she seems to be feeling a little better.”

  “I must see her at once.” Elizabeth peeled off her gloves and hurried up the stairs to the duchess’s suite.

  Richard followed. It would not do to leave Elizabeth alone with the viper, no matter how ill. The duchess lay in the center of an enormous bed, surrounded by pillows, flowers and an army of servants.

  Elizabeth quickened her steps until she nearly trotted to the bed. “Mother,” she cried, “I’m so sorry for all the times I’ve let you down. Please forgive me.” She sank next to the bed and threw her arms around her mother’s neck.

  Looking a little thinner, but hardly on the brink of death, the duchess heaved a sigh. “Faith, child, I always said you were born for the stage. Do show some restraint.”

  Richard stifled a cry of outrage at the woman’s insensitivity. Clearly, no heart beat within that breast. How could a woman be so cruel to her own daughter?

  Hurt and shock overcame Elizabeth’s expression. Slowly she drew back and straightened her spine where she sat. As she raised her head, she composed her features. “Forgive me. I was concerned for your wellbeing and tired from the long journey to come to your side.”

  “You should never use emotion as an excuse to abandon decorum.”

  In a small voice, Elizabeth nodded once, folding her hands into her lap. “Of course.”

  Sickened, Richard stepped forward and tried not to grind his teeth. “I am gratified you are looking so well, madam. We had feared to find you in a much more serious condition.”

  The duchess’s cold eyes turned upon him. “I was quite ill, I admit. However, reports of my impending death were exaggerated. There’s certainly no cause for such a scene.” She made a gesture toward Elizabeth.

  Richard clenched his fists. “Your daughter was clearly concerned for your health, and rightly so. We drove straight through to be at your side. Elizabeth and I are fatigued, as you can imagine. Now that we see you are much improved, perhaps we should rest and return later this evening to visit you.”

  Duchess made an impatient gesture. “Your rooms are prepared, no doubt. Off with you. I must rest.”

  Her eyes downcast, Elizabeth leaned in and kissed her mother’s cheek before arising. The duchess frowned and made a shooing motion.

  A surge of protectiveness overcame Richard, and he again vowed to shield his wife from such a creature.

  Before they reached their rooms, Elizabeth’s sister Mary came down the corridor the opposite direction.

  “Mary!” Elizabeth let out a cry. They threw themselves into each other’s arms.

  Glad finally to see Elizabeth with someone who truly cared for her, Richard stepped back to allow them time to greet one another.

  The younger of the three sisters arrived. Had Joanna lost weight? She looked thinner than usual, and pale. She greeted Elizabeth politely but without her usual energy.

  Elizabeth noticed. “Are you well, Joanna?”

  Joanna nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  A footman showed Richard to a suite he would share with Elizabeth. He collapsed onto a chair, grateful it didn’t move or bounce like the carriage over rutted roads during their journey. Weary, he rested his head back against the chair and closed his eyes.

  He woke to Elizabeth’s voice. “Please leave Lord Averston’s things in this room and take my trunk to my old room.”

  “Yes, milady.” The footman withdrew.

  Richard raised his head. “That’s not necessary.”

  With her hands folded in front of her, she turned to him. In a bitter voice at odds with her serene posture, she retorted, “I assumed you’d be more comfortable in a private room, since you clearly prefer not to sleep with me.” She left.

  Richard cursed and rubbed a hand over his face. Too tired to find the desire to address the situation at the moment, he went to bed.

  The late afternoon sun streamed in through the open windows when Richard awoke, stiff and rumpled from sleeping in his clothes. With Wesley’s help, who looked also weary from the journey, Richard washed, shaved, and changed. He ate on the balcony, admiring the view of the lake and distant mountains.

  After finishing his meal, he hailed a footman. “Have you seen Lady Averston?”

  “No, my lord. I believe she’s still resting.”

  “Show me to her rooms, please.”

  The footman looked startled but made a brief bow and brought him to the family quarters in the opposite end of the wing. Richard did not miss the implication.

  The door stood ajar and swung open on silent hinges at Richard’s touch. Richard glanced back, but the footman had disappeared. Elizabeth’s room had been decorated in pale green and pink, with Chinese silk wallpaper. It was lovely and feminine, just like Elizabeth.

  He found her lying upon the bed, curled up on her side, wearing only her shift. Her face was serene in sleep. Tenderness overcame him as he watched her. He admired the curve of her brows over her closed eyes, the porcelain-like smoothness of her cheek, the fullness of her lips. Her hair lay in a tumbled mass on the pillow, spilling down over the bed sheets. Very lightly, so as not to wake her, Richard smoothed a hand over her cheek, then fingered her silky waves. Struggling against the desire to climb into bed next to her, he turned and left her to rest.

  No doubt she needed it after their grueling trip. If only they’d known the situation wasn’t as grave as they’d believed, they would have traveled with more comfort. The greeting Elizabeth had received from her mother made Richard want to bid the ducal family a curt farewell and return home, never to darken their doorway again. He couldn’t believe Elizabeth had been suffering over that heartless woman, thinking that she had somehow been an unworthy daughter, when all along, the duchess was clearly abusing her.

  No wonder Elizabeth had fallen for Tristan’s charms. She’d been so hungry for love and acceptance that she’d believed Tristan when he’d poured on a rake’s pretty words about her being beautiful and unique and entrancing—all of which was true, of course, but Tristan had probably used the compliments as a means of seduction.

  She was beautiful and entrancing. She just didn’t know it. And that was his fault. Richard had failed to tell her, or to show her.

  She probably thought she’d married a man as impossible to please as her mother. He vowed to change that as soon as she awoke. Until then, he’d search for words to apologize and take steps to cross the chasm between them.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Underneath a bright, cloudless sky, Elizabeth walked along the path in the gardens next to Mary, enjoying the song of the birds and the murmur of wind stirring the leaves. Perhaps it had been petty, but she’d ignored Richard’s message that he wished to see her as soon as she’d arisen. She couldn’t face that kind of tension at the moment. For now, she’d bask in Mary’s soothing presence.

  “I heard you playing the harp this morning,” Mary said. “I’ve missed that sound.”

  “I miss playing it.” She rubbed sore fingers together. Too much time had
lapsed and now her callouses were gone.

  “How is married life?”

  “Fine,” Elizabeth answered automatically.

  “Truly?”

  Hoping she sounded believable, Elizabeth seized upon any truths she could. “I enjoy being mistress of my own home. I’ve made my bride visits and have found my neighbors to be pleasant. I also threw my very first ball. It was a triumph.”

  Mary looked at her curiously as if she found Elizabeth’s answer lacking in some way. “You ordered new gowns, I see.”

  Elizabeth smiled and smoothed a hand over her emerald gown. “Yes.”

  Mary gestured to Elizabeth’s walking dress. “That is very pretty. I’ve never seen a style quite like that. I shall have to get the name of your modiste.”

  “It’s my own design.”

  “I miss poring over fashion plates with you. You always had such unique and tasteful ideas. Too bad Mother never allowed us to make our own clothing choices while we were unwed. As soon as I return home, I will send for new gowns made with that tapered-in waist underneath the bust line. And I simply adore how it’s lower and gathered at the back.”

  “A bit more figure-flattering, don’t you think?”

  “Indeed, I do.” They walked in companionable silence a moment before Mary ventured, “You have said nothing about your husband.”

  Elizabeth paused, choosing her words. “He’s polite, dignified, generous, and for the most part, does not interfere with my interests.”

  Mary stopped walking and turned to her. “Oh, no. What’s wrong?”

  “I said nothing about anything being wrong.”

  “That is not the description a new bride gives about her husband if all is well.”

  Elizabeth examined the ground. “What should I have said?”

  “I don’t know, how about he’s charming, handsome, wonderful, tender?”

  “Of course.”

  Mary led her to a stone bench and sank down upon it.

  Elizabeth perched at the edge, unwilling to have this conversation. “My modiste is Madame Prideux and I am persuaded she did a lovely job interpreting my crude drawings. She’s—”

  “Lizzie, tell me what’s happening with Lord Averston.”

  “Nothing.”

  Anger tinged Mary’s voice. “Is he hurting you?”

  “No.”

  Mary lifted her chin and peered into Elizabeth’s eyes. “You never admitted when Mother hurt you, either.”

  Elizabeth looked her directly in the eye. “Mary, I vow, Richard has never harmed me.”

  Mary watched her as if determining her truthfulness. “Is he rough with you in intimate matters?”

  Elizabeth’s face burned. “No.” Then, against her better judgment, admitted, “Quite the contrary.”

  “Then what is it?” Mary put an arm around her.

  Her sister’s compassion proved her undoing. Keeping so much bottled up inside became too much pressure to contain, and Elizabeth let out a sigh. “Where do I begin?” Tears gathered in her eyes. “How could everything have gone so wrong? He’s…” Elizabeth broke off with a sob.

  Mary drew her in and embraced her. All Elizabeth’s control snapped and she wept. Mary held her without speaking, without moving, simply held her.

  When Elizabeth’s sobs died down, she leaned against Mary, counting herself blessed to have such a loving sister. Even when Elizabeth had tried so hard to conceal evidence of Duchess’s form of punishment, Mary had sensed Elizabeth’s need for comfort. Her sister always offered it without prying, without judging, simply extending love.

  “Tell me everything,” Mary said. “Start with the beginning.”

  With a candor that surprised them both, Elizabeth poured out the way Richard had suddenly turned so aloof after the wedding, his absence during the day, his lack of attention, seeing him kissing Leticia on the night of the ball, his discrediting her to the servants, and his unjust accusation that she’d been unfaithful to him. It all poured out amidst sobs. Mary listened, her own eyes glistening with sympathetic tears.

  Elizabeth blew her nose. “I don’t know what’s worse; his accusation that I’ve been unfaithful with Tristan, or knowing that he’s still in love with Leticia Wentworth.”

  “Both are terrible,” Mary said quietly.

  “We’ll end up like Father and Duch—er, Mother, barely able to speak a civil word to one another.”

  “Not if you prove to him you are faithful. Be patient. You’ll have to earn his trust. That will be difficult if he thinks you’re still infatuated with his brother.”

  While Elizabeth chewed on her own guilt, Mary read her expression. “Oh, no, Lizzie. You can’t be serious. You cannot truly still harbor a tendré for Tristan.”

  “You don’t think I would have gone off alone with him at the house party if I weren’t—” She stopped herself before saying the words “in love with him,” no longer certain they applied to the state of her heart during the house party. She drew a breath. “I was hoping—”

  “Don’t say it. You cannot believe that rake had any intention of marrying you.”

  Elizabeth flinched. “You sound like Duchess.”

  Mary sighed. “He may have found you attractive, but to a man like that, you were merely an interesting diversion.”

  Though she’d reached the same conclusion, hearing such a judgment pronounced on Tristan pricked her fading loyalty for him. “I don’t trust gossip. Gossip painted me little better than a hussy.”

  “You cannot entertain thoughts of Tristan Barrett and hope to have a happy marriage with another man—especially his brother. Forget Tristan and turn your attention to your husband. Be there for him, wrap him in comfort and safety.”

  “He’s never home.” Misery wore through her, leaving her bone weary. “When he is, he hardly speaks to me unless it’s to find fault with me.” She let out a huff. “Or with my servants.”

  “He’s here with you now. What did you talk about during the journey?”

  “Very little, I’m afraid,” Elizabeth said.

  He’d tried, on more than one occasion during the carriage ride, to initiate a conversation, but she was too hurt by his accusations, and too anxious over potential lost chances with Duchess, and frantic to be at Father’s side if he needed her, to cooperate with Richard.

  Mary nodded sagely. “Talk to him while you’re here, and during your journey home. Find out what he likes, what he fears, what he hopes. Ask questions. Take this opportunity to get to know him and prove to him you want to make him happy. Don’t look back. Focus on your new life. Think about his needs and set your own aside. That’s when true happiness occurs.”

  “In other words, stop being selfish.” Elizabeth twisted her wedding band around her finger.

  Mary took her hand. “You are not selfish. You often think of others, usually at the cost of your own happiness. But the man in your thoughts should be your husband, not your first infatuation.”

  Guiltily, Elizabeth stared down at her hands. “I understand.”

  Banishing all thoughts of Tristan seemed impossible, though. Perhaps no one ever quite forgot one’s first love.

  She straightened. Had it been love? Or had it been mere infatuation as Mary suggested? Her growing tenderness for Richard could never find a secure foothold in the face of so much mistrust. Already, it equaled—surpassed, even—her feelings for Tristan. With Richard so closed up and distant, and Tristan so open and charming, it was easy for her heart to choose Tristan. Although, he wasn’t the true object of her heart’s desire, merely the one who easily pleased her.

  Mary was right; she must focus on building a life with Richard, and focusing on his happiness. Richard clearly still loved Leticia. She could not forget seeing him wrapped in Leticia’s arms, nor the memory of them kissing. Yet she’d pledged herself to Richard. The only honorable thing to do would be to make the best of their marriage, which must include shutting down her stray yearnings for Tristan.

  Chapter Thirty-Three


  Dinner passed more pleasantly than Elizabeth had ever remembered. Duchess’s absence no doubt had made the difference; she remained too ill to join them at the table. Martindale, Mary and her husband, Father, Joanna, and Richard proved charming dinner companions. Especially Richard. What had gotten into him, she couldn’t say, but he was more attentive and complimentary than he’d ever been.

  Seated next to her, his eyes shone. “Your gown is beautiful. I like red on you. And you must have your abigail do your hair like that more often. It’s even more flattering than your usual style.”

  She faltered. “Thank you.”

  Guilt wove through her that she’d made a point of avoiding Richard until dinner. She’d told herself that she was trying to soothe and quiet her anger toward him so they could converse civilly. To be honest, she’d been too upset with his behavior at her ball. It was supposed to be her triumph, and he’d ruined everything. Still, she had vowed to try to be a good wife and make a marriage with him, perhaps even win him away from Leticia. She glanced at him and offered a smile that probably came out tentative, at best.

  “It is lovely, Elizabeth,” Mary said. “The pearls are pretty with it.”

  Elizabeth lowered her gaze, thinking how well rubies would complement the gown, the family wedding rubies with which Richard had not seen fit to trust her.

  Richard turned to her family. “You should have seen her put on our first ball. The skill with which my lovely bride carried it off was nothing short of amazing.”

  At her father’s raised brows, she murmured, “It was nothing.”

  “Without any assistance from me, I might add.” Richard smiled wryly. “Unfortunately, estate matters kept me from her side. She handled it all with finesse. All our guests exclaimed over her stunning triumph.”

  Father listened to Richard’s recount with disbelief. Then he turned to Elizabeth. “You surprise me, daughter. Knowing your shyness, I wouldn’t have expected it of you.”

  Mary jumped to her defense. “I’m not surprised. Lizzie has always had a way with people when she manages to overcome her shyness. She’s a master at planning.”