The Widowed Countess

by Linda Rae Sande

  Clarinda had been quite aware of the quiet murmurings that followed their trek up the center aisle. Relieved to have the cover of the veil, she was able to allow her eyes to seek out and identify several people in attendance. Lady Pettigrew and her niece were suitably gowned in black bombazine. Lord Attenborough looked bored in his black mourning clothes, his wife gazing about the church as if she was looking for someone she knew. David’s London estate manager was staring into space, perhaps wondering if he would still have a position now that Daniel would be overseeing the earldom.

  At the rate people were pouring into the church behind them, it was quite evident the place would be full even before the bishop welcomed them to the service.

  Grandby managed to sit next to Clarinda, leaving Daniel to sit on her left and his mother on his other side. Once they were all settled, Clarinda felt Grandby turn in her direction. “’Uncle’ implies a niece or nephew. Unless the dowager countess had other children I am not aware of, that leaves you and David as the likely sources. What say you?” he asked in a whisper so quiet she almost couldn’t make out his words.

  Clarinda sighed and turned to her right, her chin almost resting on her shoulder. She waved a finger for Grandby to face front so she had access to his ear. “About six months,” she whispered. She turned and faced front, having a devil of a time keeping a straight face as Grandby’s face turned hard left. A huge grin lit up his face. “Me, too!”

  And then he did something Clarinda would not forget for a very long time.

  Milton Grandby, Earl of Torrington, stood up and, grabbing one of her hands, hauled her up, as well, embracing her in front of the entire assembly with so much enthusiasm, her feet left the floor.

  “Milton!” Clarinda heard Adele hiss from behind her. She caught sight of the bishop staring down at the spectacle, his brows furrowing before his eyes flitted between the coffin and her. A murmur rose up from those who had their heads raised up; the murmur grew as others lifted their heads to see what the commotion was about.

  Grandby let go his hold on Clarinda, making sure her feet were firmly under her before turning to the bishop. “Forgive me, Your Grace,” he called up to the bishop, sotto voce. “I have just been told my prayers were answered,” he stated in a lowered voice, his bushy eyebrows dancing in delight. He rather hoped the bishop wouldn’t request his immediate departure from the church.

  Clarinda quickly took her seat, wanting to disappear into the floor. Daniel was quick to clasp her hand onto his arm; Clarinda wondered why he hadn’t been holding on a moment ago. Perhaps he could have anchored her to the pew and saved her from her unwilling participation in Grandby’s display of joy. Now she would be the on dit for at least a week. Before the start of the funeral service of David Fitzwilliam, the Earl of Norwick’s widow was seen being twirled by her godfather in front of her husband’s mourners at St. George’s ...

  “What was that all about?” Daniel hissed, obviously angered at the earl’s indiscretion. His eyes were following the earl’s subsequent movements with suspicion.

  Something about the tone of his voice put Clarinda on the defensive. Grandby’s reaction had been so heartfelt, so full of joy, she could hardly find fault with the man. “Your mother’s reference to you becoming an uncle,” she whispered back, her breathing still labored from the excitement of being swept up and spun in a circle in front of the entire church. St. George is probably spinning in his grave, she thought. Hell, the dragon is probably spinning, too. And belching fire, do doubt. At least her stomach wasn’t; it seemed to have survived the joy ride just fine.

  Clarinda had to admit it was rather fun to be picked up like a child and spun around like that, but the black satin gown was certainly not the proper attire for such an activity. At least her skirts had been suitably shook out from the carriage ride.

  From the corner of her eye, she could see that Dorothea was quite amused at Grandby’s behavior, hiding her smile behind a fan she had suddenly flipped open. At some point, Lord Wellingham had appeared on Dorothea’s left, taking the seat next to her before she even realized he had arrived. And when she did, her lashes sprung into action and Clarinda could hear the man apologize for not having arrived at Norwick House in time to bring her to St. George’s in his new sporty phaeton. Dorothea would no doubt go home in the phaeton, although Clarinda wasn’t too sure whose home it would go to.

  “My goddaughter is with child,” Grandby was saying to the bishop. “Lord Norwick’s wife,” he amended, pointing back at Clarinda.

  Aware she’d just been pointed out to the bishop, Clarinda slumped as far down in the pew as she could, which wasn’t very far given the nature of the straight back and shallow bench. Besides, the bishop could see her quite clearly; she was in the front pew.

  The bishop’s brows furrowed, and then they lifted so they nearly touched the rim of his mitre. The frown he’d displayed since noticing the earl’s escapade changed to one of amusement, and he gave Clarinda a nod. The general din in the sanctuary died down to silence as the bishop held up a hand and welcomed the mourners.

  There was a prayer followed by a hymn, but Clarinda hardly noticed the proceedings. She felt as if she was somehow disconnected from her body, and at the same time, very aware of so much around her – Grandby’s lime cologne, the swish of silks when Adele suddenly straightened in the pew, Dorothea’s almost silent sniffle as tears pricked her eyes, and her own sense of being at odds with what the bishop was saying only a few feet in front of her.

  But what assaulted her senses the most was Daniel. His proximity was suddenly noticeable, as if he had just that very moment sat down next to her, when, in fact, he had been sitting so close the entire time. David! she thought, her sense of loss so profound she could barely breathe. And yet, when she did, she smelled David. Smelled the worsted wool of his topcoat, the slight citrus of the laundry soap used to wash his cravat, his amber cologne and the slight scent of musk he gave off early in the day. He is here! she thought, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes. She had to resist the urge to glance about in search of him. Is he somewhere in the back? It would be just like him to take a seat directly behind her, just so she would not be able to spot him if she turned slightly to the left or right to look. She did turn her head then, so her gaze was mere inches from Daniel’s profile, tears dripping from her cheeks with her sudden movement. The scents of amber cologne and citrus laundry soap and musk surrounded her, blanketing her with comfort. She breathed in deeply, stifling a sob as she did so.

  Daniel turned his head ever so slightly to find Clarinda staring at him. He realized, a bit belatedly, that tears were streaming down her cheeks. He fished his handkerchief out of his pocket and held it out to her. When Clarinda didn’t move to take it, probably because she already had one stuffed in her other hand, he noticed, he lifted a corner of his own and slipped it beneath the netting, dabbing the fine linen against her cheek. “Shh,” he whispered, his own resolve to remain steadfast crumbling. She is so beautiful, he thought, the back of one finger accidentally brushing against her soft skin.

  The touch set off a shock of something through his entire body, an awareness that sizzled along every fiber of his being. Struggling to remain in control, Daniel tried to concentrate on the square of fabric he held in his hand. One corner was already damp with her tears. And then, as more fell from her eyes, he watched Clarinda raise her hanky to take over the task of catching the tears before they slid off her face and onto the black silk of her gown.

  Daniel thought for a second to reach out with his tongue and catch the tear drops, as if their salty wetness could quench the thirst he suddenly felt for her.

  Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away from Clarinda and faced front. He thought of how pale she looked in black, how vulnerable and small and delicate. Daniel wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and comfort her right then and there. He wanted to kiss away he
r tears, assure her everything would be alright. He wanted to strip her of the ugly widow’s weeds and kiss her breasts and suckle her taut nipples and stroke his fingers along the length of her naked body and make love to her with slow, gentle strokes of his manhood tucked tightly inside her warm, wet ...

  Jesus! Daniel took a deep breath, surreptitiously giving his crotch a glance. St. George must be spinning in his grave, he thought. And the dragon ... ah, to hell with the dragon, he almost said aloud. The tightness of his black breeches seemed to ease a bit. He dared not look over at Clarinda, afraid if he did, she would notice his erection and wonder how a man could get aroused in the middle of a funeral service.

  The minx. Did she have any idea the effect she had on him? Any idea that he’d spent last night tossing and turning with thoughts of what he could be doing to her if she was in his bed? Of how he imagined removing her night rail so the fabric would barely skim over her silken skin? Of how his hands would follow the fabric to continue the caress, their gentle touch tickling the back of her thighs, sliding around the swells of her bottom until his fingertips could dance around the small of her back? And then barely touch every bump along her spine to the nape of her neck? Then to move ever so lightly across her shoulders and down along her collarbones and up to the hollow of her throat? His lips would take over at the point to suckle and kiss ... Christ! Daniel swallowed the growl he’d nearly allowed to escape his throat. His breeches were about to rend from the pressure of his erection. Think of the dragon! Think of Mother! The pressure subsided as quickly as it had built.

  He’d promised himself he wouldn’t think of her that way, the way he’d thought of her for the entire year she was betrothed to his brother and those first two years of their marriage, when he believed she would realize at any moment that it was he who had courted her, and he who she had kissed in the garden behind Norwick House, and he who had asked for her hand in marriage amongst the roses in Kensington Gardens.

  Not David.

  But David Fitzwilliam was the beneficiary of all Daniel’s work to the make Clarinda Anne Brotherton his wife. The heir to the Norwick earldom was betrothed to her, but he had never courted her, never kissed her, never even asked for her hand before their wedding in front of a magistrate. Daniel knew he resembled his older twin brother, but it wasn’t until he watched Clarinda marry the bounder that he realized just what it meant to be David’s Fitzwilliam identical twin.

  Well, his brother was dead, damn it. It was his turn. His turn to make Clarinda his wife. And to hell with a year of mourning. He wouldn’t last that long, and he rather hoped Clarinda wouldn’t be able to, either. If it was the last thing he did before he died, Daniel vowed, he would make Clarinda his wife.

  Chapter 14

  Last Will

  Feeling exhausted, Clarinda climbed the steps to Norwick House, very aware of Daniel as he escorted her home. His mother had left Worthington House on the arm of Lord Wallingham, her eyes suitably wet and a hanky clutched in one fist while her other hand rested on the viscount’s beautifully dressed arm. Wallingham assured Daniel he would see the dowager countess to Norwick House in time for the meeting with the solicitor, but Clarinda wondered if the viscount knew the meeting was later that afternoon and not some day the following week.

  “It was a splendid service,” Daniel said in a solemn voice. “I was quite impressed with the bishop’s sermon.”

  Clarinda dared a sideways glance. She wondered at first if Daniel was being facetious. She’d listened to every word the bishop had said and could hardly find his sermon of any comfort, nor his prayers the least bit affirming. And the gathering at Worthington House had been more of a garden party than a post-funeral soirée. It hadn’t been the fault of their hosts, of course. Adele and Milton Grandby had been gracious hosts, their home suitably solemn, the small sandwiches and cut fruits unlike the more festive fare served at a ball. The guests, however, behaved as if it was just another gathering of the ton. Clarinda heard at least two mothers attempt to gain advantageous marriages for their daughters and three arrangements for illicit assignations later that evening. “I fear I cannot share your praise,” she murmured as Porter opened the front door and stepped aside, his head lowering.

  Daniel allowed Clarinda to proceed him and then followed until they were well inside the vestibule before he responded. “You’re right, of course. It was all a load of horse manure,” he groused, handing his great coat to Porter as he made the proclamation. The majordomo struggled to keep his face impassive.

  Clarinda wondered if Porter wanted to laugh or to punch Daniel for the impertinent comment. Not able to help herself, she gave Daniel a brilliant smile, an expression she hadn’t made since the morning of David’s death. “If you hadn’t said it, I would have,” she whispered as she allowed Porter to help her out of the carriage gown’s pelisse. “Thank you for escorting me, by the way. I rather liked that people seemed to forget it was David we were mourning. They all thought he was right there on my arm the entire time.” She made the comment as she rolled her eyes, hoping Daniel would understand her meaning. It had been positively amazing to watch how some of those in attendance had simply assumed he was David, addressing him as Lord Norwick (which he probably would be, actually, although not until after her babies were born), and then helping themselves to the funeral food and drinks as if they had no clue as to whom they were supposed to be mourning.

  Clarinda might have been horrified except for the fact that she’d had no idea whose funerals she’d attended the last two times she’d been to funerals. That thought alone had her staring into space for several seconds, forcing Daniel to wave a hand in front of her face and ask as to her welfare.

  “Are you up to this, Clare?” he asked softly. “Because, if you’re not, I can have Mr. Hammond return another day,” he offered, one of his hands cupping her elbow.

  Clarinda regarded him for a long moment. “I’m fine, Daniel. Really,” she assured him. “I just want this all to be over,” she said with a wave of her hand. She didn’t add that she wanted it to be over because she was looking forward to climbing into bed and spending the night with David. He might be dead, but he wasn’t buried yet, and she expected he, or his ghost, rather, would pay a visit to her bedchamber at some point during the night.

  “I expect mother will be here shortly,” Daniel said as he led her to the study. “In the meantime, would you like a glass of sherry? Or a brandy, perhaps?”

  Clarinda considered the offer and shook her head. “I’m thinking I would like some tea,” she said with a shake of her head, not adding that the thought of alcohol of any kind would have her casting up her accounts in a matter of moments. Porter overheard her comment about tea and said he would see to its delivery to the study.

  Even before Clarinda and Daniel made their way into the dark paneled study, Dorothea Fitzwilliam appeared in the vestibule looking every bit the merry widow, her face flushed and her manner suggesting she’d been tumbled at least a couple of times in the last hour. “Thank you, Porter,” she said brightly as the majordomo took her pelisse and reticule. “If Lady Seward dares to show her prune face visage, I am not in residence. But, if Viscount Wallingham pays a call, please let me know immediately.” With that last order, the dowager countess made her way to the study.

  “So glad you could join us, Mother,” Daniel said, his derision barely concealed.

  Dorothea regarded him with an arched brow. “Why, thank you, favorite son,” she countered, her head held high as she made her way to the sideboard and poured herself a brandy. “I learned long ago how to handle my grief. Perhaps, in time, you will learn how to handle yours.”

  Clarinda had to suppress the gasp she almost made audible. She had never heard her mother-in-law sound so bitter, so angry with one of her sons. But then, she had never heard one of the woman’s sons sound so judgmental, either.

  Daniel almost cou
ntered his mother’s statement with a scathing retort of his own, but he had to still his response when he realized how he planned to behave later that night. He, too, would be seeking solace in the arms of another, although he could argue he was merely staking a claim that had been unjustly taken from him so many years before. “I apologize,” he whispered, his hand coming to rest on his mother’s back as he moved to stand next to her. “I have allowed by opinion of Lord Wallingham to come between us, and your association with him is none of my concern,” he said quietly.

  Lady Norwick raised her eyes to her son’s gaze, surprised he would apologize. “You’re forgiven, of course,” she replied with a nod, her eyes suddenly limned with tears. Apparently embarrassed, she turned away and caught Clarinda’s gaze. “Now, who is this solicitor we’re waiting for? One of the Hammonds, perhaps?” she wondered, her manner suggesting she was annoyed. She swirled the brandy in the crystal balloon she held, her tears gone as quickly as they appeared.

  Clarinda glanced at the mantle clock. Had they been at Worthington House for only two hours? The afternoon had seemed to go on forever. “Yes. Mr. Hammond should be here shortly,” she said with a nod. As if on queue, Porter appeared in the doorway to announce the arrival of the solicitor.

  “Send him in,” Daniel stated. He moved to position three chairs in a semi-circle in front of the massive mahogany desk that sat in the middle of the room, intending for the solicitor to sit behind it as he read David Fitzwilliam’s last will and testament. Daniel motioned for Clarinda to take a seat, and she did so just as Mr. Hammond entered the room. The man bowed to them all, apologizing for his tardiness.

  “I have just come from the office. I wanted to be sure I had all the final papers,” Mr. Hammond explained. Daniel motioned him to the desk, carefully pushing aside David’s papers to make way for the solicitor’s stack of papers and a briefcase that seemed overstuffed with documents. As he did so, Mr. Hammond gave Daniel an odd glance.