Countess by Coincidence

by Cheryl Bolen

  “Oh, we get along exceedingly well.”

  “I rather enjoyed sharing a chamber when I first went up to Eton. Being an only child is beastly. I rather like the camaraderie of being around other fellows.”

  “Like Mr. Perry?”

  “Yes, indeed. There were four of us who’ve been the best of chums since we played cricket together at good old Eton.”

  “And none of them have married?”

  He wrinkled his nose again. “I suppose I’m the first.”

  “Though it’s not really like being married. You’ll continue on with your three chums as if you were just down from Oxford.”

  “Indeed we will,” he said rather jollily.

  As they passed the door to his bedchamber, he felt uncomfortable. No proper lady had ever before been in this part of his house since he'd succeeded. It seemed awfully odd being there with her. He strode along the wooden-floored corridor until they came to her room, and he swept open the door. “Your chamber, my lady.”

  Her face brightened as she moved into the room. “It’s lovely.”

  He remained in the doorway. He could not bring himself to step into a chamber that had such intimate associations. After all, this woman, this lady, was almost a complete stranger to him. His gaze whisked around the room. The high, curtained bed dominated every other item within his view. A pity it would never be used for a pleasurable purpose. His gaze went to her. She faced the dressing table, her profile to him, and he observed the smooth lines of her pleasing figure. Yes, a great pity, but there you were. He sighed.

  “Did your mother select the draperies and bed curtains?”

  Why did she have to bring up the bloody bed curtains? He found himself thinking about lying within the closed bed curtains, ravishing this lady he’d accidentally wed. That would never do! “Yes, I believe she did. She loved turquoise.”

  “I do too.”

  Somehow, that surprised him. Turquoise was so vibrant a colour, and she was so . . . mousy. Not that she looked mousy, actually. Her prettiness was undoubtedly above normal. It was just that her temperament was so meek, and she was so quiet. He would have thought she favored insipid colours like gray or pink. “Feel free to change the chamber in any way you’d like.”

  She shook her head. “There’s nothing here I would want to change. Your mother was possessed of unerring taste.”

  Her comment pleased him inordinately. It validated his own opinion of his lovely mother. “Thank you. She was.” He felt closer to Maggie. Not close enough to enter that chamber, not close enough to ever bed her, and certainly not close enough to ever stop wishing this abominable marriage had never occurred. Nevertheless, the two of them shared his good opinion of his sainted mother.

  He drew a deep breath as if to clear his mind from any thoughts of her bed. “Well, if you’re settled in, I’ll be off.”

  She arched a brow. “You’ll be with Perry and the other two gentlemen?”

  “I will.”

  “I would like to know their names. The other two.”

  “They’re David Arlington and Michael Knowles.”

  “Do you think we could ask them all to dinner so that I could become acquainted with them?”

  “Why in the devil should you wish to be acquainted with them?” He wasn’t sure any of them knew how to act in the presence of a proper lady.

  “As your wife, I'm interested in you as well as in your friends.”

  How he hated that word. Wife. “Very well.”

  “I shall depend upon you to nail down a date that will be agreeable to all for our dinner.”

  * * *

  His three best friends watched him sheepishly as he strode into White’s minutes later. His gaze went from the always-jolly Arlington to Knowles, always the pensive one—who never turned down the opportunity to have fun with his friends. “Perry told you.”

  Knowles nodded. “We know about your marriage.”

  “You’re losing your touch, old boy,” Arlington said. “Your first night with a woman to whom you’re properly wed, and you aren’t taking your pleasure with her? How flattered we are that you’d rather be with us.”

  Knowles eyed him with great seriousness. “And Perry says the new Lady Finchley is pretty, too.”

  John seethed. “Perry should have told you it ain’t a proper marriage.”

  “Perhaps the lady thinks otherwise. You must own, the ladies are always drawn to you,” Knowles said.

  Perry smiled. “You are, after all, tall, dark, and titled. What more could a lady ask?”

  Arlington’s brows raised. “A large purse and a large . . . instrument go very well in pleasing a lady.”

  They all laughed heartily. All except John.

  “With the lady’s dowry,” Perry said, “Finch now has the large purse, but I cannot answer to the second qualification.”

  Arlington smirked. “I daresay it was lack of those two vastly important resources that prompted Lascivious Mary Lyle to seek larger pastures.”

  They all started laughing. Except for John.

  Knowles eyed him. “While we’re on the topic of Lascivious Mary, I must warn you, old boy, that just because you’re now in funds, you must think twice before taking a mistress. Aldridge obviously doesn’t approve of taking mistresses. He doesn’t have one. And the duke’s beastly protective of his sisters.”

  “Remember Viscount Morton’s fate,” Perry cautioned.

  Arlington began to howl in laughter. They all turned to him to learn what amused him so. “Finch’s love of play, horse racing, drinking, and women is why he needed to marry, and now that he has, it seems those very activities will be denied him.”

  Knowles solemnly eyed John. “He’s right, old boy.”

  Anger surged through him. “No one tells the Earl of Finchley how he spends his money.” His gaze went to Perry. “Shall we play faro?”

  “Perhaps, old fellow," Knowles said, "you should give the illusion of having settled down in order to placate your grandmother. Does she not control a rather vast fortune?”

  There was merit in what his most serious friend said. If Grandmere thought him settled, he could receive a settlement many time greater than the dowry given him by the Duke of Aldridge. What would it hurt to pretend to domesticity for a few weeks in order to get his hands on what should already have been his?

  John swallowed hard. “I have a rather strong urge to drown myself in brandy tonight.”

  “A jolly good plan,” Arlington said.

  Perry ordered four bottles.

  * * *

  Margaret had known that her husband had no intentions of bedding her, but it stung that he found her so undesirable that he would not even step into her bedchamber. Long after he was gone, she refused to douse a single candle. She sat upon a silken settee and surveyed her new room. Though it was smaller than what she was accustomed to, it was as elegant as anything in the ducal home in which she’d been raised.

  Knowing that his mother had chosen the selections herself somehow made Margaret feel closer to her, closer to the woman’s only child. She wished she could have known her. John obviously had adored his mother. She wondered what he had inherited from her—other than his luxuriously dark hair. She knew his father had been a hopeless rake. Sadly, the son had inherited many of his father’s traits.

  She had not been much in her husband’s company, but she thought perhaps he did not admire the man who’d been his father. What of the grandmother? Margaret’s brief interaction with her after the wedding ceremony indicated a closeness between John and her. The old woman quite obviously doted upon her only grandchild. Had she made similar allowances for her wayward son? She seemed to believe that beneath John’s wicked ways he was fine and decent.

  Margaret preferred to believe that he was.

  Even though he had deserted her on what should be their wedding night, nothing he’d done could diminish her binding attraction to him.

  When she’d stepped into her new bedchamber and seen the state
ly bed, her heartbeat had nearly exploded. Her throat went dry. Her insides went all bubbly. How she wished this were a real marriage. How she wished to be crushed into his embrace and carried to that bed. How she wished he would peel every garment from her body and seek the pleasure she craved, the need only he could satisfy.

  It was illogical to be so fiercely attracted to him. It was futile to dare hope he would ever be attracted to her. It was idiocy to be so hopelessly in love with him.

  Chapter 7

  How odd it felt to come to Berkeley Square and not walk up the steps to her old house. Today Margaret meant to visit with John’s grandmother. Of course she would not leave the square without visiting Aldridge House—especially with Caro, who had wept when Margaret’s things were removed the previous day.

  How fun it was to announce to the dowager’s butler, “Lady Finchley to see Lady Finchley.” It was equally as gratifying when John’s grandmother rushed into the saloon and gathered Margaret into her bosom. “Oh, my dear, what a delight it is to see you! Come, we must remove to my own sitting room. It’s so much more intimate there.”

  The much-winded dowager mounted the stairs to the third level, where the chamber to which she brought Margaret was one of the most comfortable rooms Margaret had ever seen. The pastel colours were soothing, and the chintz-covered furnishings were cozy and feminine. The room featured the bric-a-brac which had been collected over the old woman’s lifetime. On the wall hung plates with portraits of King George and Queen Charlotte. There was a collection of miniature portraits of various members of the Beauclerc family. The sofa was adorned with needlework pillows, which the dowager must have executed over her long life.

  After the two women settled on the sofa, the dowager beamed at Margaret. “And how, my dear, are you enjoying being married?”

  “Very much.”

  “I must tell you, I’ve never been prouder of John Edward than I was the day I discovered he’d selected you for a wife. I did not even know he was acquainted with you. How long has the . . . romance been blossoming?”

  Margaret cautioned herself to respond honestly. She did, after all, abhor lying. “I can only answer for myself.” She paused and looked up at her husband’s grandmother. “I have always wanted to . . .” How could she express those complex emotions this woman’s rakish grandson had always elicited in her? She could hardly say win his heart for she had no assurances that day would ever come. “Be the woman fortunate enough to wed John.”

  “Bless you, my dear. I fear there will be difficult times ahead for you, but I know in my heart that John Edward will settle down, and when he does, he will be a loving, devoted husband—and eventually father.”

  Margaret’s heartbeat hammered. Such a notion thrilled her. “I pray you are right, my lady.”

  “I won’t deny there’s a wild streak in all the Earls of Finchley, but John Edward has more redeeming qualities than his forefathers.”

  “I would be obliged if you’d enlighten me as to those qualities.”

  The old woman’s face softened. “It’s the little things. He’s always had a soft spot for the women in his life. He was most earnestly solicitous of his gentle mother and of me, too. No son was ever more devoted than John Edward was to his mother. He never left her side when she fell ill with her fatal malady. I am ashamed to say my own son lacked the same compassion which John Edward has in abundance.”

  “I will own one of the reasons I came to you today was to learn more about John.” Margaret loved that she was the only woman in the kingdom who could refer to him by his Christian name.

  The elder Lady Finchley smiled. “There are probably those who believe he butters me up in order to secure the fortune left me by my wealthy father, but I know he cares about me. He’s incapable of artifice. Even as a little child, he could not tell a lie. I truly believe he’d rather I live a very long life than die and leave him a very wealthy young man.”

  How Margaret loved learning these things about the man she had married. How fortuitous it was that he detested lying, as did she.

  “In order for your marriage to flourish, my dear, you will have to find a way to keep John Edward away from those bosky friends of his.” She frowned.

  “You refer to Christopher Perry, David Arlington, and Michael Knowles?”

  The old woman’s eyes narrowed. “I do indeed. You will have a difficult time until those three gentlemen marry and settle down to domesticity.”

  Margaret shrugged. “I fear that is out of my hands.”

  “So it is. A pity I cannot manipulate such a change.”

  “I do feel the same.” How jealous she was of those three men who would spend more time with her husband than she.

  There was a knock upon the door, then John strolled into the chamber, a posy of lavender and violets clutched in his hand. His gaze flicked from his plump grandmother to Margaret, and he stopped dead in his stride. His gaze still on his wife, he said, “Had I known you were here, Maggie, I’d have brought you flowers too.”

  Her heart fluttered. The idea of getting flowers from him was so touching. Even more touching was her husband calling her Maggie. It was a name no one else ever called her. Even though there was no intimacy in this marriage, his use of Maggie served her as an endearment, a validation that she alone was his wife. “I am touched by your sentiment.”

  He turned and presented his grandmother the posy. “I saw these on the street and immediately thought of you, Grandmere. I’ve neglected you since my marriage.”

  “As well you should. Your Maggie must come first in your thoughts now.” She took the posy and smelled the tiny flowers. “They’re lovely, my sweet John Edward, and I thank you.” Her contented gaze connected with Margaret’s for a silent confirmation of her grandson’s thoughtful nature.

  Had Margaret herself received the posy she could not have been more pleased. It made her feel more confident over her lifelong obsession over this rogue to know that he did have redeeming qualities.

  The dowager patted the sofa beside her and indicated for him to sit between them. “I must compliment you, John Edward,” she began. “Your name has not appeared in the newspapers once since the day you had the good sense to marry Lady Margaret Ponsby.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t read those papers,” he said. “As I was telling Maggie, you can’t believe that rot.”

  As I was telling Maggie. How she loved hearing him speak like that. It sounded as if theirs were a real marriage, sounded as if they shared intimacies as other married people did.

  “Since you wed, I’ve not seen mention of those rowdy friends of yours in the papers, either,” his grandmother said. “Does that mean that you are the leader in frivolity?”

  He shook his head. “I’m more a follower than a leader. I would have to say Perry’s the instigator. And if you haven’t seen mention of me in the papers, it is due in good part to wise counsel I’ve received from Knowles.”

  The old woman rolled her eyes. “I have difficulty believing any of those young men of yours wise.” She shrugged. “Enough berating of your friends. We must discuss the ball to introduce you and your Maggie to Society. I should like to have it next Friday. Would that be agreeable to you?”

  Now he rolled his eyes. “If that’s what makes you happy, Grandmere.”

  “I know you don’t fancy balls, but you’re no longer a single man who’ll be besieged with scheming mamas desiring to unite their daughter to a handsome, titled young man.”

  “I beg that you not describe me in such a manner.”

  “You refer to the word handsome?” His grandmother's brows arched.

  He nodded, shooting a glare at the elder woman.

  She spun to face Margaret. “Do you not find him handsome, my dear?”

  Colour rose in Margaret’s cheeks. She could not tell a lie. “I do.”

  He eyed her, a softness in his expression, but said nothing.

  “Why else, my boy, would you merit so fine a catch as Lady Margaret? Of course she was at
tracted to your handsomeness. You must own, you had little else to recommend you to so fine a lady. But be assured I am acquainting her with your finer qualities so she won’t feel she’s made a grave mistake by marrying you.” She looked from John to Margaret. “Neither of you will ever regret this marriage.”

  To keep her husband from being embarrassed, Margaret asked him, “What will you be doing today?”

  “I should like to buy a carriage for you.” He shrugged. “Should you like to accompany me?”

  Her pulse accelerated. “I should love it above all things.”

  “You two must take my coach, then,” the dowager said.

  * * *

  He felt deuced awkward looking at his prim wife as she sat across from him in his grandmother’s carriage. What did one say to a gently bred lady?

  How surprised he’d been to find her at Grandmere’s. Now that his grandmother was not able to get about as much as she had as a younger woman, he worried about her being lonely and made it a point to visit her often. He was her only living flesh and blood, and she his. No matter how the old woman chided him, he loved her very much.

  He thought even more highly of his wife for making a visit to his grandmother one of her first priorities after the acknowledgement of their marriage. “It was good of you to seek out my Grandmere.”

  “The pleasure was mine.”

  “Pay no attention to her praises of me. She is vastly partial to her only grandchild.”

  Maggie chuckled. “You are blessed to have her—and I shall be happy to claim her as my own grandmother.”

  “Your grandparents are no longer alive?”

  “They’re all gone. My parents too.”

  “Ah, something you and I have in common. But you are fortunate to have so many siblings.”

  “Indeed I am. And with my brother’s marriage I’ve gained another sister of whom I’m exceedingly fond.” She looked up at him. “You must now think of Aldridge as your brother.”

  Why did the duke have to be such a dull stick? He hadn’t always been that way. It was said the Duke of Aldridge had been a great scoundrel—before he was snared by Cupid’s arrow and fell so blindingly in love with the former Elizabeth Upton, Haverstock’s sister.