Courting the Countess

by Donna Hatch

  The following morning, Richard joined her for breakfast. She beamed at him in elation at this unprecedented event. “Good morning.”

  He kissed her cheek. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

  “My bed is decidedly more comfortable than the carriage for sleeping.” Feeling almost flirtatious, she glanced at him through her lashes. “Although your shoulder was very nice as well. Perhaps you’ll lend it to me again in the near future.”

  He lifted a brow and turned to her. “As you wish, my lady. I was rather hoping you might wish for my…er, shoulder last night after we arrived home. However, you seemed rather fatigued.”

  “I admit I was extremely sleepy.” The words but I wanted you anyway sprang to her lips but her courage failed her and she couldn’t form the words. Surely it wasn’t a lady’s place to make such overt suggestions, even to her husband.

  They spoke of unimportant matters in an easy, natural manner that warmed Elizabeth and gave her hope that they’d at last reached a comfortable friendship. Perhaps, love would follow. She clung to that hope.

  After finishing his meal, Richard arose. “I’d best catch up on my correspondence before I depart.”

  “When shall you leave?”

  “By noon, if possible.”

  She nodded, disappointed that he’d be going so soon. After an hour of alternating between trying to stay out of the way and hoping to be helpful, she gave in to her desire to be with him and she peeked into his study where he sat going through an assortment of papers.

  “May I help?”

  His teeth flashed. “Please. I have been corresponding with the applicant for a secretary. He will meet me in London.”

  “I hope you find someone to suit. Until then, I can assist you if you wish.”

  “I welcome your aid.”

  He handed her a stack and she sorted the papers as she had once before. They worked side by side, not speaking, except for her to receive clarification on a paper or him to ask her to pen a reply on some estate matters, but the silence enfolded them in comfort.

  As they had luncheon together, Richard received a note from his steward. As he read, he pursed his lips. “It appears I will have to delay my trip. I must attend to a matter on the estate.”

  She smiled. “That gives me more time with you before you must leave.”

  He lowered the note, his dark eyes looking her over, all solemnity except for a tiny smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Does that please you, my lady?”

  “Well, the fairy queen cancelled tea with me, so I suppose you’ll do for a substitute.”

  He chuckled, kissed her cheek, and rose. “In that case, I’ll try not to be too long.”

  During his absence, she spent time in the gardens. Her own little garden had been lovingly tended in her absence. As she stood admiring it, almost wishing it needed her care, a footman appeared.

  “Milady, are you at home to a Miss Wentworth?”

  Elizabeth swallowed against a dry mouth. Memories arose of how she had come between lovers, of how Richard may forever compare Elizabeth to Leticia and find her lacking. That kiss in the garden. Still, Leticia had been kind when she could have been bitter and angry. Elizabeth owed it to Leticia to receive her graciously when she called.

  Elizabeth smoothed a shaking palm over her hair, wishing she could as easily smooth the knots in her stomach. “Please show her to the front parlor and bring the tea service and cakes.”

  Elizabeth squared her shoulders and donned a plum-colored velvet spencer to dress up her simple white muslin frock. Pushing back her doubts, Elizabeth drew a breath and entered the parlor. “Miss Wentworth, how lovely to see you.”

  Leticia Wentworth sat composed, her hands folded, the picture of absolutely serenity. She arose and took Elizabeth by the hands. “Please call me Leticia.”

  “How kind of you to visit.”

  “You look absolutely radiant, and what stunning gowns you wear. I simply must have the name of your modiste.”

  “You’re very kind. I used Madame Prideaux.”

  “No! Then they must be your designs.”

  “I made a few suggestions.”

  As they sipped tea and sampled scones and biscuits, talking about innocuous village news, Elizabeth’s qualms quieted. Perhaps Leticia could not help loving Richard any more than Elizabeth could help her own feelings for Tristan…although the thought of Tristan no longer sent her pulse pounding. Richard consumed her thoughts and a great deal of her heart. She only wished she could claim all of his heart. At least he’d vowed to try to trust her.

  Leticia leaned forward. “I wanted to invite you to our sewing group. We meet at my home every Wednesday at noon for luncheon. Some of us sew, but many of us prefer to visit. Often we discuss books we’ve read. Won’t you join us?”

  “Thank you, I would be delighted. I do love to read, but I’m afraid my sewing isn’t much to recommend me.” A fault that had earned her many of Duchess’s beatings. Elizabeth shivered and pushed away the thought.

  Leticia’s attention focused on something behind Elizabeth’s shoulder. Her smile faded and she seemed to have trouble breathing.

  Elizabeth turned her head to see what had captured her attention. Richard stood in the doorway, his gaze locked with Leticia’s.

  Elizabeth’s heartbeat ground to a halt.

  Richard recovered first. “Forgive me for interrupting. Good afternoon, Miss Wentworth.”

  Leticia’s voice grew faint. “Good afternoon, Lord Averston.”

  The formality of their speech proved they still held feelings for one another. Were they denying them, or trying to put on a show for her?

  Richard turned to Elizabeth. “I didn’t realize you still had a guest. When you’ve finished, please see me in my study.”

  Only able to manage a whisper, Elizabeth said, “Of course.”

  With a brief incline of his head, Richard said, “Lovely to see you, Miss Wentworth. Please pay my respects to your parents.”

  Leticia offered a wobbly smile. “Of course.”

  With a slight bow to them both, he left.

  Her mouth dry, Elizabeth watched Leticia as she shuddered in a breath. Then, gathering herself, she raised her chin. The memory of Leticia kissing Richard hit Elizabeth with the force of a hurricane.

  Leticia turned tortured eyes on Elizabeth. As she probably witnessed Elizabeth’s distress, her eyes widened in clear understanding and she held up a hand. “Forgive me, I did not expect to see him. I vow I have no designs upon Richard.”

  “None?” She spoke more harshly than she intended but really, how could she believe a woman who’d kissed another woman’s husband?

  Leticia shook her head, her shoulders slumping. “I loved him as a child, but I have driven out all those childish feelings and I only have the kindest regard for you both.” She spoke with the conviction of a woman who wanted desperately to believe her own words.

  Elizabeth studied her, trying to believe her but still fearful to hope.

  Leaning forward in her seat, Leticia looked her in the eye, her expression earnest. “Truly, I bear you no ill will. Seeing you both so well has been good for my soul. You belong together and I wish you every happiness.”

  “Thank you,” Elizabeth managed.

  “I am certain that if I were in your position, I’d worry about my husband’s fidelity. I assure you, however, I have never been with him in an improper way.” She blushed. “I did kiss his cheek in a sort of farewell at your ball, but I vow that was the only time I have ever touched him. I will never touch him in the future at all. Ever.”

  Elizabeth stared. The cheek? Leticia expected Elizabeth to believe the kiss she’d witnessed had only been on the cheek? As she reviewed in her memory the exact details of that night, she had to admit, taking into account the darkness and the distance, the kiss might have been on his cheek rather than his lips. Perhaps she was as guilty at jumping to conclusions as she’d accused Richard of doing.

  Leticia’s voi
ce broke into Elizabeth’s thoughts. “I truly wish you both every happiness.”

  Elizabeth watched her with dreadful hope. “Thank you, Leticia. Your grace is to be commended, and—”

  Leticia held up her hand. “Please. Say nothing further. I am trying very hard to do and say everything that I ought. The truth is, there were days when I thought terrible things about you, especially in the beginning. For that, I am sorry. I will try to be a good friend to you both and stop wishing for what might have been. But do not make the mistake of thinking I am some kind of saint because I am far from it.”

  Tears of sympathy welled up in Elizabeth’s eyes. “I wish…”

  “I do, as well. You are a better match for him, however. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. Maybe someday I’ll believe it.” Leticia’s voice grew hoarse. She stood, blinking quickly and pulling on her gloves. “Thank you for a lovely afternoon. And I hope you’ll join our sewing circle.”

  Elizabeth arose on unsteady legs. “Thank you for calling.”

  They parted and Elizabeth sank back on the settee. Leticia was one of the kindest most gracious and lovely ladies of Elizabeth’s acquaintance. Richard would be a fool not to love her. He probably compared Elizabeth to Leticia. He was just too much a gentleman to show it. At least there was no longer any look of disapproval in his eyes.

  After seeing Leticia again, no doubt his regard for her would be awakened. Then he would find Elizabeth a poor substitute.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Leaning one shoulder against the window of the upper story, Richard watched Leticia’s carriage disappear down the drive. Seeing her again had been…odd. Unexpected.

  He had dreaded facing her again—had feared he would remember all the reasons he’d decided to pursue a betrothal with her in the first place, and that all those reasons would awaken old feelings, thus eclipsing his growing affection for Elizabeth.

  Instead, he’d felt almost nothing. Surprise. A moment of discomfort. Then, except for a bit of awkwardness, only comfortable friendship stirred in his heart, mingled with a touch of sadness that she’d been hurt by events out of her control.

  Perhaps he’d never really loved Leticia—not the kind of adult love one should have for a woman one hopes to wed. If someone had asked him a few months ago, he would have declared he’d loved Leticia. Yet in retrospect, his love had been brotherly. He remembered her as the saucy little girl who always seemed to have skinned knees and who tried to bridge the gap between wanting to swim in the river with the boys, and ride side saddle like a demure young lady. She’d been a friend. He’d never, not even when he’d planned to marry her, imagined her as a lover. She’d been comfortable. Familiar. Safe. He’d always trusted her. He’d never doubted her ability for monogamy, due in part that she, unlike every other woman under the age of a hundred, had never fallen for Tristan’s wild and rakish charm. Or abandoned her family.

  That was it, then; he’d never actually loved Leticia. More importantly, he was happy with Elizabeth. His wife stirred in him a depth of tenderness he’d never experienced.

  With an unexpected peace, he returned to his work, ordering the modifications his steward had recommended, listening for Elizabeth’s lively step, and anticipating taking her into his arms.

  He sent a footman with a message for Elizabeth, informing her he would not depart for London until the morrow, hoping she’d appear. He received no response.

  He strode to his chambers and stripped off his cravat in preparation to change into his evening attire for dinner, passing Elizabeth’s opened door. He paused, backed up, and looked in. Elizabeth sat wearing a dressing gown and brushing her hair, staring straight ahead as if lost in thought.

  He paused at the entrance to her room. “Did you enjoy your visit with Miss Wentworth?”

  “Leticia,” she corrected in an subdued voice. “She asked me to call her by her Christian name.”

  “Ah, good. Glad to see you getting along so famously with her.”

  She stopped moving, simply gripped her hairbrush with white fingers.

  Richard leaned against the doorframe. “You aren’t getting dressed for dinner.” Then he winced. Stating the obvious was never a brilliant way to begin a conversation.

  “No.”

  He moved to stand behind her and touched her shoulder. “What is it?”

  She tensed under his hand. “I’m not feeling well. I believe I’ll take a tray and go to bed early.”

  He touched her forehead but it was cool. “Headache?”

  She hesitated briefly. “Yes.”

  Perplexed, he waited, but she volunteered nothing. “Elizabeth, is something amiss?”

  “No, I merely have the headache and I wish to retire early.”

  What the devil was wrong? At luncheon, everything seemed perfect.

  She arose, and after drawing her dressing robe more tightly about her, folded her arms. “Good night.”

  Suspicion trickled through his mind. “Elizabeth, are you overset by Leticia’s visit?”

  She stared down at the floor. “Why do you ask?”

  “Did she say something to upset you?”

  “No…” She pressed her lips together and lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

  He placed a hand on each of her shoulders and turned her so she faced him. “Did I give you the impression that I desire her over you?”

  She flinched. Her lower lip quivered. So, at last the truth. “When I saw you in the garden during our ball, it looked to me…” She trailed off, moistened her lips, and drew a breath as if steeling herself. “…as if you and she were kissing…on the lips.”

  He recoiled. “No. No, not at all. She kissed my cheek. That is all.”

  She fixed her gaze upon him, her expression two parts hope and one part hurt. “She told me that today. I can’t help wondering if you wish you’d married her instead of me.”

  He brushed a finger across her cheek. “No. I don’t love Leticia. And I never kissed her.”

  She searched his face, her eyes filled with longing and fear and a vulnerability that chipped away a little more at that now-crumbling wall he’d built around his heart.

  Taking a step closer, he cupped her cheek. “I don’t wish I’d married her instead of you.”

  She let out a half breath, half sob. “You were all but betrothed.”

  “Yes, but not because I was in love with her—I know that now. When I see her, I feel nothing beyond friendship. I’ve known her all my life. I never loved her the way a husband should love his wife.”

  Fearful hope brightened her eyes but a glimmer of doubt remained. How else to convince her? He remembered the stories of King Arthur’s knights. “I never loved her the way Prince Erec loved Enid, or the way Lancelot loved Guinevere.”

  A tiny smile lifted the corners of her lush mouth, that tempting, lovely mouth. He bent his head to kiss her, to show her just how much she’d grown to mean to him. She kissed him hesitantly at first, but with increasing passion.

  A servant’s voice broke through the tide of desire washing over him. “My lord. A rather large box has just been delivered.” Annoyed, Richard lifted his head to bark a sharp go away but he’d left the door open, so he had no reason to snap at the servant.

  Then the servant’s words sank in. A large box? Ah. “Excellent.” He smiled at Elizabeth and smoothed her hair away from your face. “Something has arrived for you.”

  He took her by the hand and led her out of the room. When they arrived in the main hall, Elizabeth let out a squeal of delight. The box must have given itself away. It had to be either a harp or a very large coffin. Richard’s chest swelled at the sheer happiness in her eyes.

  As they pried the boards off, revealing a case, she squeaked little sounds of joy, her smile brighter than fireworks. Working together, they opened the case revealing a gleaming mahogany harp nestled in a thick bed of straw. Richly carved garland streamers of leaves and flowers twisted around the column all the way to the base. The soundboard had
been painted to match the column, generously touched with gold paint. From the graceful curve of the top where the strings wound around pegs, to the claw feet, the instrument was exquisite. The rapture in Elizabeth’s expression was more exquisite, still.

  She plucked a few strings. They were badly out of tune, even to Richard’s untrained ear, but she smiled as if they were melodious. With her eyes shining, she practically leaped toward him. Then, as if checking herself, she halted, rose up on tiptoe, and kissed his cheek. He wished she’d thrown her arms around him. But her initiation of contact encouraged him.

  “Thank you, Richard. Thank you so much.” She clasped her hands together.

  Well worth the price, indeed.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Very early the next morning, Elizabeth fairly raced to the music room. She half expected the harp to have been the figment of a dream. There it stood as if it waited for her. She caressed the graceful curve, the carvings on the column.

  Richard’s gift had been unexpected and very generous. Why would he spend so much money, and go to so much trouble to buy her a harp, and not give her the wedding rubies? Did he mean it as a friendship gesture, but wasn’t certain he was willing to accept her as his wife?

  The significance seemed almost cruel. Still, the harp was a wonderful gift, and she planned to enjoy every minute of it. Besides, Richard’s kisses had grown more frequent, and increasingly filled with tenderness and passion. His declaration that he’d never loved Leticia gave her hope that they’d find true happiness together.

  After laboriously tuning it with fingers sore from last night’s playing, she sat and plucked out a melody. Moments later, Mrs. Brown’s voice boomed through the house, penetrating the dulcet harp tones. Irritated, Elizabeth growled. She should have closed the door in the music room so she could enjoy her music in peace. She’d spent nearly half an hour tuning the harp and since it was new, its strings wouldn’t hold their pitch for long. She’d have to retune the harp all over again when she returned.