The Widowed Countess

by Linda Rae Sande

  But then Daniel’s last comment and the denial made just before it tamped down the volcano. She felt the steam inside her suddenly dissipate. He doesn’t despise me? she wondered in awe.

  “You’re doing it again,” Daniel murmured as he kept his eye on the furrow between her brows. “It’s rather ... cute when you do it, though,” he added, his words sounding as if he were in awe rather than pointing out an ugly feature on her otherwise beautiful face.

  She is still so beautiful, he thought as his gaze took in her oval face with the perfect complexion, the high cheekbones, pert nose and aquamarine eyes that seemed to see right into his soul. The lashes that surrounded those eyes were dark like her hair, and curved so they seemed to sweep through the air as they fell over the light blue-green of her eyes. And when they lifted, it was like a curtain rising to reveal the aquamarine jewels of her countenance. Her maid had obviously become adept at dressing her hair. The elaborate coiffure would have been suitable for a ball at Carleton House. He noticed how she had a tooth caught in her lower lip, the plump flesh bent in just a bit where it made contact. And she was watching him as if she was trying to solve a puzzle. She is more beautiful than she was when we cursed one another all those years ago. At the moment, he couldn’t even remember why they had cursed one another. Couldn’t remember what had brought on the accusations that caused her face to redden and her anger to erupt so forcefully. Like a volcano, he thought, all steam and molten lava roiling out of her. And then she’d slapped him. Even today, he could feel the sting of that open-handed hit. Like a steam burn, he remembered. He could feel the force behind it as her arm swung hard and impacted him like shrapnel from an explosion. He was sure it had hurt her more than it did him, but if it did, he never saw Clarinda flinch.

  The target of Daniel’s never-ending gaze continued to regard him warily. Why is he looking at me like that? she wondered, making sure to keep continuous eye contact. Clarinda didn’t want to be the first to look away, thinking it would be some sort of surrender or admission of guilt if she did so. And he’d just said the wrinkle between her brows was cute. At the same time, his brown eyes had taken on the look of a lovesick puppy. Look who’s calling the kettle black!

  It was the same look David had given her that day in Kensington Gardens when he’d taken her to the area surrounded by pink roses and lowered himself on one knee and asked for her hand in marriage. She’d accepted the ring he gave her, of course, and told him pink roses were her favorite flower and would be for the rest of her days. The simple gold band with a square-cut emerald had been his paternal grandmother’s, he’d said back then. And then David went on to explain that he’d wanted to give her his maternal grandmother’s instead, but his mother was still wearing it.

  Clarinda knew very well why Dorothea Fitzwilliam still wore that ring – the sapphire was huge, and the diamonds that surrounded it weren’t too shabby, either. But Clarinda was quite happy with her engagement ring and told him so.

  It was quite a surprise then, when two years later, David was off on a hunting trip with friends when Daniel related the story of how he had asked for her hand in marriage. How he knew from asking her friends that she favored pink roses, so he took her to Kensington Gardens and asked for her hand amongst the pink roses. He explained how surprised and disappointed, nay, heartbroken he was when Clarinda married David instead of him, the tone of his voice suggesting he had never forgiven her for choosing his older brother over him.

  Even if she was betrothed to David.

  Stunned that he would claim he had been the one to ask for her hand – not David, as Clarinda believed all this time – Clarinda had allowed her anger to build in the ensuing argument, the steam and molten lava causing such pressure that when the volcano finally erupted and she vented the steam, she did so by slapping Daniel so hard her hand, indeed, her entire arm, had hurt for nearly two weeks afterward. She often wondered if she had done permanent damage to his facial bones, for she was sure she had at least cracked some bones in her hand or wrist or arm. But she’d never had the chance to ask him, for he disappeared that day, apparently to take up residence at Norwick Park, and he never returned to Norwick House.

  At least, not until today.

  “I’ll have a footman deliver your breakfast to the parlor, my lady,” Daniel said in a very quiet voice, his eyes finally looking away as his face displayed a slight flush. “In the future, should I desire kippers for breakfast, I shall be sure to take my morning meal in my bedchamber.”

  With this last comment, Daniel bowed to a rather stunned Clarinda and turned to make his way back into the breakfast parlor. Clarinda stayed rooted to the same spot for several minutes, lost in thought as she remembered more of the details of that day in Kensington Gardens. Could Daniel really have been the one who asked for her hand? She struggled to remember, but the dowager countess interrupted her thoughts when she appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Does everyone get up early in this household?” Dorothea asked with a hint of annoyance. She was already dressed in a dark green silk gown, her hair caught up in an elegant chignon and adorned with a wide green ribbon. A black armband was the only hint the woman knew someone who had died.

  “I apologize if you were disturbed, my lady,” Clarinda offered contritely. “Your son arrived this morning. He’s in the breakfast room,” she added as she pointed in the general direction.

  Dorothea glanced at the door to the breakfast parlor and then turned her attention back to her daughter-in-law. “Aren’t you eating, darling?” she asked, one elegant eyebrow arched up, as if she was looking forward to the spectacle of seeing Clarinda and Daniel sitting together at the breakfast table.

  “In the parlor,” Clarinda acknowledged with a nod. “Far away from the odor of kippers, my lady,” she added with a wan smile, hoping the dowager countess wouldn’t think she was deliberately avoiding Daniel. Which she was doing, but she didn’t want Dorothea to know. She gave a curtsy before she turned and made her way to the parlor. A footman carried in a tray covered with a silver dome just as Clarinda settled into a chair at the card table. “Thank you, Nichols,” she said as he removed the dome to reveal her usual morning meal of coddled eggs, toast, and chocolate. As she took the steaming cup of chocolate to her lips, Dorothea appeared in the doorway.

  “Before I join my son for breakfast, Clare, I thought I should ask if you’d had a chance to share your good news with him?” she wondered with a mischievous grin.

  Clarinda fought the urge to roll her eyes and instead shook her head. Surely Daniel would not find the news of her pregnancy good. But she had no idea how the man would react once she told him. She would have to tell him before tomorrow afternoon, though, before the solicitor read David’s will. “No, my lady. Our entire conversation consisted of me trying to convince him that the sight of him was not repugnant, and that he didn’t smell bad, while he informed me the furrow between my brows was cute but no doubt permanent.”

  Dorothea seemed to consider Clarinda’s words for several moments before her face suddenly brightened. “Oh, well now you two are getting somewhere,” she announced happily before she disappeared from the doorway, the retreating swish of her skirts suggesting she was on her way to the breakfast parlor.

  Wondering if anyone would notice, Clarinda toyed with the idea of adding a dollop of brandy to her chocolate before she sighed and ate her breakfast alone, sans brandy. Penning a note to Adele, she mentioned she would be taking a walk in the park at eleven and wondered if Adele might want to join her. She almost tacked on the words, ‘Save me,’ along with a drawing of her neck-deep in water made up of the name ’Daniel’, but thought better of it. It would be eleven o’clock before she’d have the note ready for the footman. The footman hurried off with her note, leaving Clarinda to finish her second helping of coddled eggs and toast.

  Chapter 9

  Parlor Talk

&nbs
p; Daniel stood in the parlor doorway, not quite sure if he should step over the threshold. Clarinda sat facing the fire, her profile suggesting she was deep in thought and hadn’t noticed his presence. He was surprised, then, when she took a deep breath and stood. Turning to face him, she afforded him a deep curtsy.“My lord. Forgive me for not properly welcoming you to Norwick House,” she said in what sounded like a truly repentant voice, her eyes downcast.

  Unsure of how to respond, Daniel bowed and entered the room, stopping just in front of Clarinda so he could reach for her hand and lift it to his lips. Brushing them over the backs of her fingers, Daniel continued to hold onto her hand as he regarded her. “Thank you, my lady. I am ... sorry for your loss.”

  Raising her eyes to meet his, Clarinda realized he meant the sentiment. “And I am sorry for yours, my lord,” she answered formally. God, he looks just like David!

  Daniel nodded, his eyes closing briefly.

  “Did you have a good trip from Sussex?” she asked then, wondering if now would be a good time to tell him the news of the baby she expected in five months, three weeks and one day.

  Daniel shrugged, glancing toward one of the chairs. “As good as could be expected, I suppose,” he murmured. “May we sit?” he asked, one brow furrowing as if he thought she might deny him the hospitality.

  Clarinda’s eyes widened. “Oh, of course,” she replied with a nod. “Please,” she motioned toward the chair David would normally take. Daniel eyed it with a frown and instead took an adjacent chair after Clarinda took her place on the settee. She was careful to sit up straight as possible, as if she was preparing for a verbal battle.

  “As mistress of this house, I suspect you are best equipped to tell me what I need to know,” he stated, not waiting for her to comment on the weather or the funeral scheduled for the following day. “We should start with the staff. As a result of my brother’s untimely passing, has anyone resigned their post or given notice they intend to leave their employment?”

  Clarinda stared at Daniel in surprise. “No,” she replied with a shake of her head, wondering why he would think they would. Most of the household staff had been with the house since before David moved in, and those who were newer servants all seemed satisfied with their posts.

  Daniel blinked at her response. “Oh,” he responded, his quizzical expression suggesting he thought the entire staff would have given their notice. “And those who work in the stables? In the carriage house?”

  “No,” Clarinda answered carefully.

  Frowning, Daniel leaned forward and clasped his hand together, his elbows supported on his knees. “And the house? Any ... overlooked maintenance? Leaky roof? Drafty windows?”

  “No,” Clarinda shook her head, joining her own hands together on her lap. Then, thinking she should make some comment other than ‘no,’ she added, “The kitchen was recently remodeled and now has a newer stove. And we acquired an ice box.” She was rather glad for this last addition since it allowed her to serve her guests cold lemonade instead of the lukewarm lemon water that reminded her of the dreck they served at Almack’s.

  “Oh,” Daniel answered with a nod that seemed to suggest he was impressed. “And the gardens?”

  Clarinda smiled then. “Mr. Foster does a wonderful job keeping the grounds trimmed and the gardens looking neat and tidy,” she offered with a nod. Of all the staff at Norwick House, she liked Mr. Foster the best because he did such a good job in the only position that was the most evident to anyone who drove up to Norwick House and parked in the semi-circular drive in front. As for the gardens in the back, she frequently walked through them with her visiting friends when the weather permitted.

  “I take it he can grow roses,” Daniel stated, a slight smile finally touching his lips.

  Clarinda nearly sucked in a breath at the sight of his changed expression. It was the first hint he’d shown of not being angry. Her face changed to a slight frown, though, when she realized what he had said. “We actually don’t have any roses in the gardens, nor out front,” she murmured, a look of puzzlement crossing her face.

  “No roses?” Daniel repeated, his brows furrowing as if she’d said there was no brandy in the library.

  Thinking of brandy, Clarinda remembered she hadn’t rung for tea. Nor had she offered Daniel anything stronger. “Would you like a glass of brandy, my lord?”

  Daniel blinked. “It’s not even ten o’clock in the morning, my lady.”

  Clarinda regarded him for a moment, wondering as to the significance of his statement. She was quite sure David imbibed anytime of the day or night. “Tea, then?” she suggested, reaching over to shake the silver bell that she’d left on the edge of the settee the morning when David had swept her into the dip and kissed her senseless. She almost imagined Daniel doing the same and had to shake her head to rid herself of the almost-formed picture in her mind.

  “Fine,” Daniel responded with a wave of his hand. “No pink roses?” he asked then, apparently not willing to give up the conversation about the gardens.

  Clarinda turned to him from having nodded at Rosie, who had appeared in the doorway as if she had been camped out in the hallway. “No pink roses, my lord,” she affirmed, “Although the maid’s name is Rosie,” she added as she waved a hand toward the doorway. She wondered if she needed to direct Mr. Foster to plant a huge rose garden before the day was done. There was certainly room in the back, near the edge of the parkland that bordered the property line.

  Daniel stared at her for a very long time. “I thought ... I thought they were your favorite flower,” he stammered, a muscle in his jaw working overtime.

  Clarinda leaned her head to one side and regarded her brother-in-law for a very long time. “They are,” she acknowledged with a nod, wondering how Daniel knew such a thing. Had David mentioned it to him? She could hardly imagine the brothers discussing her love of pink roses. “How ... how did you know?” she asked quietly, deciding she wanted to know.

  His lips thinning to a straight line, David ducked his head a bit. “Your friends did,” he replied quietly. “They told me. The day before I took you to Kensington Gardens and asked for your hand in marriage.”

  There.

  Despite what had happened the last time he mentioned his proposal, the words were out again. He wondered if the volcano that was Clarinda Ann Brotherton Fitzwilliam’s anger would suddenly erupt and leave him awash in molten lava.

  Clarinda held her breath, remembering where this conversation had taken them the last time they’d had it two years ago. “I wasn’t aware my friends had shared that information with you,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

  Porter appeared in the doorway, clearing his throat to make his presence known. “Yes, Porter?” Clarinda and Daniel replied in unison.

  “My lady, a floral delivery for you. Where shall I put the bouquets?” the butler asked as his eyes shifted nervously to his right.

  Clarinda realized almost immediately that since David’s death notice had appeared in The Times, flowers would start arriving. Gladioli, no doubt, most from the hot houses just outside of London. “You can put them here on the table,” she offered, waving to the tea table in front of the settee. She noticed one of Daniel’s eyebrows arch up, but he said nothing.

  Meanwhile, Porter gave his mistress an uncertain look. “My lady, all of these bouquets are ... far larger than that small table will allow, I should think,” he replied uncertainly.

  “Oh?” Clarinda answered, coming to her feet. Caught by surprise at his sister-in-law’s quick rise, Daniel moved to stand and instead stayed seated, heaving a sigh. Clarinda made her way to the doorway and peeked around the corner. Several liveried delivery men stood in the vestibule and hallway, all burdened with large bouquets of pink flowers. “Oh!” she said, her hands coming up to clasp together in front of her waist.

 
There were at least seven very large vases of roses – pink roses – being hefted by the gloved servants. The scent of them filled the hallway, intoxicating her instantly. “Oh!” She stole a glance back at Daniel, but his attention was elsewhere, one leg crossed over the other and bobbing up and down. This cannot be a coincidence, Clarinda thought as she turned back to consider the huge rose garden that had suddenly appeared in her hall. “Um. One on that table over there,” she pointed toward the round table near the base of the stairs, “One in my bedchamber, one in here on the card table, one in the dining room, one in the breakfast room, one in the dowager countess’ bedchamber and one in the library,” she counted off as she pointed at each footman in turn. “Was there, perhaps, a card?” she asked in a whisper, leaning toward Porter as she made the query.

  “If there is one, we haven’t yet found it, my lady,” the butler replied in an equally quiet voice.

  Clarinda realized that looking for a pasteboard card in this mass of roses would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. “If you do find one, be sure to bring it to me straightaway,” Clarinda said, more of a suggestion than an order. Damn thing was probably pink to match the flowers, she thought as she stole another glance in Daniel’s direction.