Fair Maiden

by Cheri Schmidt

  “You do not want her to learn too much about me, do you?”

  “It would not be good if she discovered—about your past. I don’t know how she’d react.”

  Contessa’s pretty eyes slanted toward the refreshments at the sideboard.

  “Are you still hungry?”

  She reconnected with his face and shook her head. He didn’t believe it. If he’d been in her shoes he would have attacked the food like a madman.

  He drew her hand to his arm, deciding he’d use the excuse of getting her more to eat to escape his mother sooner. With no one listening, he dropped his mouth to her ear and whispered, “Contessa, Contessa, Contessa.”

  He couldn’t risk her vanishing in front of Lady Sparks, and he could see she too, understood that. But meet with his mother, and present Contessa, he must.

  Tugging gently on her gloved hand, he drew her back into the ballroom, and around to the sitting area where his mother sat conversing with Lady Wimple.

  “Ah, thank you, Son,” Lady Sparks said as she accepted the punch. And then patted the seat next to herself with a glove-muted thump, thump, and cast her eyes upon Contessa. “Sit, darling, tell me about your family.”

  An oath popped into Christian’s head, and he watched as Tessa swallowed nervously. Knowing she couldn’t answer that question, he said instead, “They live in France.”

  “But she does not have a French accent.”

  “Quite right, Mother, she is from England, but they live in France.”

  “Surely they have an estate here. Where, may I ask, might that be?”

  “’Tis in Surrey,” Christian said, knowing his mother didn’t know the area very well.

  Mother’s eyes shifted to his. Anger marched through the blue-green depths of them. “Son! I am asking these questions of Lady Contessa, not you.”

  Taking Tessa’s slight fingers into her own, Lady Sparks returned her gaze to Tessa, and then continued, “My dear girl, what is the name of their estate?”

  As badly as he wanted to answer for her, he knew he could not, or he would only aggravate his mother’s suspicion concerning his odd actions.

  He was utterly shocked when Tessa answered, “Camberly Lemere.”

  With his eyes shooting to her face, he knew he was smiling. Clearly this was something she’d suddenly remembered and he realized it was another name he could search for.

  “I have not heard of it. Christian, have you visited?”

  “No, Mother, I have not.” And he fully understood his mother only asked to assess the seriousness of his feelings for Contessa. He took Contessa’s free hand into his. May as well let the woman think what she wants. Perhaps he’ll gain the reinstatement of his allowance sooner.

  Then Lady Sparks peered about the room. “Darling, where is your chaperone? I must be introduced—”

  “Oh, dear! C—Lady Contessa, your stomach is positively grumbling like a terrible beast. We must remedy that.” He lunged to his feet abruptly, jerking her along with him.

  “But she just ate?” his mother sputtered.

  Ignoring that, he went on, “Just a moment, Mother, I must not neglect her needs. She could grow faint and swoon.”

  As they neared the refreshments, Tessa said, “Do you really think she’ll be fooled by that?”

  “I hope she thinks I’m simply enchanted by you, and will accept my odd behavior as that of a man in love.”

  Contessa stumbled and peered up at him. Only then did the meaning of his words sink into his brain. He’d just confessed his love. “Darling,” he whispered, trailing fingers along her cheek in hopes of addressing his feelings for her at a later time, “I must take you to my townhouse. We cannot let anyone know you’re with me without a chaperone.”

  “Will Lady Sparks be distressed if we do not return?”

  “I can’t let her keep asking questions you cannot answer. I’ll explain that you were feeling unwell and went home.”

  Swiftly he tugged her to the food, filled a napkin with another selection of sandwiches and pastries for her, then led her out to the front and called for his carriage.

  “Sweetheart,” he said, snatching her about the waist and setting her inside once it arrived, “I’ll follow along shortly. I must say goodbye to my mother.” And see if she’s willing to get my allowance coming again.

  Contessa stared after him as she settled on the cushioned seat, her eyes swimming with confusion and uncertainty.

  “Tessa,” he said, passing the laden napkin to her. “Marvin will get you safely to my home, and from there Jackson will help you.”

  “But—but, Christian, he does not know of my—solid state.”

  He hesitated. She was right. But he had to speak with Mother. “Very well, wait here for me, and when I return we will travel on to my townhouse.” She sank back with obvious relief as he shut the door, spun on his heel and pounded up the stairs to the entrance.

  “Ah, Christian dear, you have returned. But, where is Lady Contessa?”

  “She is indisposed, I’m afraid. I have escorted her to the carriage.”

  “What a shame. I so wanted to speak with her again.” His mother smiled up at him, igniting a thrill of hope which ran through his chest. It seemed she was indeed pleased with his performance for the evening.

  He held his breath waiting for her next words. She smoothed her sapphire gown with gloved fingers, glanced once in his father’s direction and then spoke, “Don’t tell your father just yet, but I will speak with Mr. Leeraby on your behalf. It won’t be what you’re used to quite yet, but it will be something.”

  “Thank you.” Gathering her fingers into his he kissed her knuckles.

  She held his fingers fast when he attempted to release her, and he lifted his gaze to her blue eyes once again, the question written upon his face.

  “I must confess,” she began slowly, “I quite liked her, Christian. But do not think this means you may keep stalling. I expect to see some real—progress with Lady Contessa in the near future.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Was he prepared to offer marriage to Contessa? Christian pondered this as he settled in next to her on the carriage seat. His mother had made it pretty clear that was what she wanted, and expected.

  His gaze shifted to her and he noticed she’d eaten everything he’d put inside the napkin for her. Christian smiled.

  He thumped the roof of the carriage, and it jolted forward, then rocked and swayed as it began moving. She threw one palm to the wall, curled one tiny fist around his sleeve, and dropped back into the cushions as she braced her feet against the floor to keep from sliding off.

  A chuckle rumbled out of him.

  Watching her experience the physics of life anew was entertaining to witness with her guileless reactions.

  The smile slipped from his mouth.... Was he ready to propose? As he considered the question, peering at her, he thought that perhaps he was. As long as she stayed within this world of the living. He reached for her tiny wrist and found her pulse. The thumping against his fingers was comforting, and he kept hold of her all the way to his home.

  Luckily, she didn’t seem to mind the contact, and he wondered if his touch made her feel grounded during the jerky ride.

  When they arrived, he helped her down and escorted her to the front door. Poor old Jackson nearly fainted when he saw her clinging to his arm, looking as opaque as ever, and Christian reached a hand out to steady the loyal butler.

  “It-it cannot be…” Jackson breathed, losing what little color there was in his shriveled face.

  “It is a miracle, if you ask me. And I’m not going to question it.”

  Jackson stumbled back, allowing them to enter. But the way Jackson’s eyes shifted nervously to the other room caused Christian to worry. “What is it? Is all well?”

  The old man sputtered and then Peter stepped out of the drawing room, beaming a giant grin. “Chris! Since you’re in town, come to the club with us.”

  Next Brendan came into v
iew. “Please do, we’ve missed you. How can you stand that quiet country life?” His words left him when he noticed Contessa, staring wide-eyed at the two of them. “And who might this lovely lady be?” He swept into a bow, adding an exaggerated flourish with his hat.

  Peter bowed too, eyeing his brother curiously.

  “Lady Contessa, this is Peter Sparks, my little brother, and Sir Brendan Middleton. Peter, Brendan, may I introduce, Lady Contessa.”

  “’Tis a pleasure, my lady,” muttered Peter.

  “Lovely to met you, my dear,” added Brendan with a wink.

  They both moved in to kiss her fingers in turn, and Tessa curtsied.

  Christian bristled, and he didn’t really know why. Perhaps it had to do with the lecherous look in Brendan’s eye. The one Christian had witnessed on more than one occasion. The one that meant Brendan would use his title and good looks to snatch her away from him the second his back was turned.

  “What will it be, Christian? Will you be joining us tonight?”

  “I’m afraid I cannot tonight.”

  They stared at him for a moment or two, and then perused her in a way that disturbed him. “Where is her chaperone?” Brendan asked. Christian had feared his friend would notice that, though he’d hoped he wouldn’t.

  “She…is…in…Lady Contessa’s chamber. Checking to make certain all is prepared properly for her stay,” he lied.

  “Ah, I see,” Brendan said, with unmistakable suspicion.

  Damn.

  Peter, the more level-headed of the two, pulled him to the adjoining room and said in a whisper, “Chris, what are you doing? You cannot take such an irresponsible risk. She’ll be ruined. How could you be so thoughtless?”

  “No, it is not what—”

  “I see what’s going on here,” added Brendan, over Peter’s shoulder. “If you’re caught alone, she will be force to wed you.” He chuckled. “You dog. Such a cunning way to gain her consent.”

  “Her chaperone should be down any moment—I would never! You’re wrong.”

  “Sure we are.”

  His attention shifted to the young lady he’d left standing in the foyer with a flummoxed-looking Jackson. It seemed she had already found a distraction for herself, and clearly thought she was not being observed. He watched Tessa in muted awe as she radiated innocence while removing her gloves and bending to experience the fresh flowers on the entry table with touch and smell. A honeyed lock of hair had tumbled free from her coiffeur, and danced alluringly along her blushing cheek. The front of her gown gaped open just enough to tempt him further. But when she caught him looking, she snapped upright, and yanked the white coverings back on, blushing with awareness of her mistake.

  “Oh, well, terribly sorry you cannot join us,” Brendan whispered into his ear. Only then did he realize he hadn’t been the only one ogling at the lovely vision of Tessa through the doorway. “Shall we be off, Peter?”

  Peter jabbed one more criticizing gaze at Christian and then left with Brendan.

  Surely Peter knew him well enough to know he would not, he would never—Oh, bloody hell! He had! He had let manners and propriety slip for she was only a spirit. But no longer was that the case. Surely she had to be a lady, or a prince would not be so intent upon marrying her. And that truth only made things worse.

  Guilt uncoiled and twisted within his chest. He’d addressed her by her first name. Repeatedly. He’d been alone with her more times than he could count. He’d kissed her, held her…and…oh, dear Lord, forgive me! he prayed mentally. She’d slept in his bed!

  This had to be remedied. He must gain a chaperone for her. But who could he trust with one who could very likely turn back into a ghost?

  “Ah-ha!” he shouted, startling Jackson. “The witch!”

  “What are you going on about, Chri—my lord?” snapped the butler.

  “The witch. Tabitha. She will make the perfect chaperon for Contessa.” He began pacing back and forth, his fingers rasping over his evening growth of whiskers. “She will not be startled if…” His words trailed away as a maid entered with service for tea.

  He had to be careful with what he said aloud. Especially here, in this cozier dwelling. The last thing he needed was for one of the servants to overhear talk about a ghost.

  “I see you have a guest, m’ lord. I will go and fetch another cup and more scones.”

  “Please bring two more cups, my dear.”

  “As you wish, m’ lord.” The girl set the tray on the table, curtsied and then scurried from the room.

  “Scones?” said Tessa, beaming brightly at the prospect of another food to try, and gliding into the drawing room to join him. Until that change in topic, Contessa, it seemed, had remained distracted by everything in the entry hall.

  “Come, you’re my partner in crime,” he muttered softly to Jackson, and motioned for the old man to join them, then closed the doors behind him.

  Christian observed that his butler didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He stood bug-eyed while plucking at a button on his waistcoat. “Chris, are you certain about this? Do you really want,” his speech dropped to a faint whisper, “a witch to live with us?”

  Apparently still uninterested in their hushed conversation, Tessa seemed content with exploring the books on the shelf. Quietly she was touching the raised texture on the bindings, lifting some from the bookcase, opening them, passing her now naked fingers over the paper and then moving on in like manner. He’d never seen anyone so curious. It was like watching one who had lost the sense of sight only to then suddenly regain it. And as he thought about it, certainly that was the case. Except it was the sense of touch she’d been deprived of, and smell, he realized as she lifted a thick volume to her nose, taking in the essence of leather.

  “Jackson, can you suggest anyone better?” he asked in continued low tones, not wanting to disturb Tessa’s exploration.

  The old man shook his grizzled head.

  “She must have a chaperone.”

  “Yes, I do believe it should be so then.”

  “Then you will send out a runner to go and find Tabitha and bring her to me?”

  The maid returned with two more cups and a plate full of scones.

  “Right away, my lord,” said Jackson, attempting to use the arrival of tea as an excuse to escape. Christian didn’t see the need for Jackson to rush when the elderly fellow was serving just as well as a temporary chaperone. Besides needing to keep a third party in the room, he wanted to thank him for his loyal service and friendship. Plus, it appeared Jackson was still suffering from shock after seeing a living, breathing Contessa. Jackson stared at her as though some sort of zombie lurked along with them in the room. Yet terrifying to look upon, she certainly was not.

  “Sit, old friend. Relax for a moment and have some tea with us.”

  “I am but a servant—my lord.”

  “Hogwash. Sit, I said.”

  Without further argument Jackson lowered with some reluctance into the wingback chair to his right. The cushion on Christian’s left sank as Contessa settled her weight next to him, peering eagerly past his chest at the offered refreshment on the table between himself and Jackson. He began serving up tea and a scone for her.

  She watched, her chin resting on his shoulder as he poured out. But just as he’d done so, he’d hesitated with one lump of sugar hovering above the liquid. Somehow he doubted she would like her tea more sweetened as he did his own, and dropped in four cubes instead of two, then added milk. Stirring, he twisted and passed the cup and saucer to her. She reached for it, but he said, “Oh, you may remove the gloves, darling.” He hadn’t noticed until then that she’d put them back on.

  With reddening cheeks, she rose upright, stripped her hands, bashfully tugged at her shortened sleeves and then accepted the steaming cup.

  Accounting her actions, he realized that in her day women most likely did not wear such revealing sleeves. And while she would remove the long gloves to touch something, she was obvi
ously uncomfortable without her arms being covered. But she’d appeared fine about it earlier at the ball, even when he’d kissed her and held his naked palm against hers…. His gaze shifted to Jackson, and then he understood. She was comfortable around him, but no one else. He couldn’t help but feel flattered. She trusted him.

  “Careful, loving, it is hot,” he said as she lifted the drink to her lips.

  Chapter 15

  Hot and Cold

  Contessa hesitated, her mouth poised just above the tea, feeling the steam brush against her face, warming her flesh. She moved it away. She did not want to burn herself, and wondered how long she needed to wait before she could taste it. Her gaze shifted to the scone Christian was preparing. It looked like a flat bread of which he was spreading a creamy white sort of butter on top.

  She had thought he meant to eat the yummy-looking item and was a little surprised when he set it on another plate and passed it to her.

  “For me?”

  “Of course. A proper gentleman always serves his lady before himself,” he said, with an emotion she’d seen earlier passing through his dark gaze. Was it guilt again? She could not fathom what he had to feel guilty about. He’d been so kind to her, so accepting of her, and taking such good care of her.

  She set the teacup and saucer down, then reached for the little triangle-shaped bread, and bit into it. She moaned. It was warm, delightfully crusty on the outside, deliciously tender on the inside, and quite tasty. The buttery substance on top had melted into it, and whatever it was, she loved it.

  When she finished with that, she set the empty plate aside and reached for her tea again, hoping it had cooled enough. Just before taking a sip, she looked up and saw with a bit of shock that both Jackson and Christian were watching her. “That was lovely,” she said. “What was the white, creamy—?”

  “Clotted cream.”

  “Oh, I am quite fond of clotted cream.” She finally tipped the teacup to her lips and tasted the tea. It was better than she expected it would be.

  “How is the tea?” Christian asked.

  “I’m enjoying it as well, thank you.”