Countess by Coincidence

by Cheryl Bolen

“Will you come with us, or is this your day for the pianoforte?”

  “It’s pianoforte day,” Margaret said, feigning disappointment.

  Mikey came running up to her, his little arms held up. Even though he was excessively fond of Margaret, she knew his first interest was being swung into the air. She hugged him close for a moment, smacking his cheek with kisses, then swept him through the air as he squealed.

  His mother stood watching, a smile on her face.

  Margaret set him down and eyed his mother. “How’s the new cook?”

  “She’s most satisfactory.”

  Margaret helped Mrs. Weatherford gather up the cricket equipment John had left there and assisted in corralling all the lads out to the park area.

  When she returned to the house, Mrs. Hudson was descending the stairs, a dreamy expression on her face.

  For some unaccountable reason, Margaret’s gaze leapt to the widow’s left hand. Every day since the two women had met a year earlier, Mrs. Hudson had worn her deceased husband’s plain gold wedding band.

  But not today.

  Margaret smiled up at her.

  “May I have a word with you, my lady?”

  “Would you like to walk along the pavement?” Margaret asked. “It’s a lovely day.”

  “Indeed I would.” Her gaze swept to Carter. “Will you watch out for Louisa?”

  He bestowed an equally dreamy expression at her. “You need never ask.”

  “I am so blessed to have Carter in Louisa’s life. No birth father could be more loving.”

  The women left Number 7 and began to walk along in front the houses on the square.

  “I wanted you to be the first to know,” Mrs. Hudson said.

  “That I was right about Abraham Carter being in love with you?”

  Mrs. Hudson nodded shyly. “After you spoke to me that day, I realized the feelings I felt for him were very tender.”

  “But both of you were too shy to disclose the feelings.”

  The other woman nodded solemnly.”He’s possessed of such a noble countenance, I knew he would never make the first step.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I prayed for the Lord to give me the courage to declare my feelings for him. I practiced what I was going to say for days. And finally I told myself that I held the keys to my happiness in my hands. Failing to act upon it could punish all three of us, could deprive us of all those things I had once shared with dear Harry.”

  “So you had finally realized that you were meant to be married again?”

  Mrs. Hudson nodded. “I can think of no finer man to unite with than Abraham.”

  “Indeed he is.” Margaret’s step slowed. “So I take it the Lord gave you the courage? Pray how did you bring this about?” Perhaps Margaret could learn from this woman.

  “First I contrived to be alone with him.” She swallowed. “Since you’re a married woman, I can tell you that because I’ve been wed before, I know a bit about physical intimacy. I know how to gauge a man’s reaction to it.”

  This was exactly the kind of information Margaret needed to hear. “With a true gentleman, the woman often has to make the first move.” Margaret thought of The Kiss. As much as John had enjoyed it—and she had no doubts of that—he had not initiated it. Nor would he. He respected her far too much. More’s the pity. “So what did you do?”

  “First I asked him to walk with me as you and I doing right now. I told him I needed to discuss something about the household accounts. Then I managed to link my arm through his. It was the first time we had ever touched in the soon-to-be-a-year since we’d met. Still, that was somewhat stiff and formal.” The widow blushed. “Then, it embarrasses me to tell you, but I made sure the sides of my breasts rubbed against him.”

  Margaret wondered if Mrs. Hudson then eyed the lowest part of Abraham’s torso to see if it did that cannon thing Caro had told her about.

  “I. . . I believed he was not unaffected by my intimacy.”

  So she had looked at his private part! Really, Margaret should not be thinking of her former footman’s private part.

  “After I finished discussing the deliveries that were to be paid for that day, we started back to Number 7. When we reached the steps to the front door, I stopped. I stepped on my tiptoes and brushed a kiss across his cheek.”

  “Did you say anything?”

  “I thanked him for being the most important man in my life.”

  “And he just let you walk into the house?”

  A smile broke across Mrs. Hudson’s face. “Actually, no. He told me I was the most wonderful woman he’d ever met and that if I weren’t still in mourning for my husband, he should like to always take care of me.”

  “So you’re to be married?”

  The widow nodded happily. “We wanted to wait to tell the others once I’d had the opportunity to speak to you.” Mrs. Hudson clasped Margaret’s hand. “We owe our happiness to you.”

  Margaret held both of the other woman’s hands. “True love like yours would have found a way, but I am happy I helped to speed it along. I cannot tell you how much this pleases me. I know you two will be very happy together.”

  * * *

  Later that day Margaret had her coachman stop at St. George’s Hanover Square. She kept thinking of Mrs. Hudson’s words about the key to her happiness lay in her hands. Just as it did with Margaret. Like Mrs. Hudson, she must pray for the courage to make John see how good a marriage between them could be.

  It was much warmer in the church now than it had been that day, the day of her marriage to John. Then it had been cold.

  Like that day, she had the church to herself, and like that fortuitous day, she ambled to the candles at the side of the church and lighted one, then knelt to pray.

  Dear Lord, You once gave me the courage to emulate my sister, and it resulted in fulfillment of my fondest hope. Now I beg that once more you enable me to speak to my husband as a true wife should. I pray for the blessed consummation of this marriage I’ve wanted all of my life—and which I know can be good for him too. I ask all of this in Your name.

  * * *

  Leaving nothing to chance, Margaret selected her gown for the evening’s mysterious celebration. She wore what she had called her bridal dress. It was the one she’d had made for the dowager’s ball. It was what she had worn the only time she and John had ever exchanged a passionate kiss.

  Their only one.

  She still remembered how approvingly he had looked at her that night, still remembered the thrill of his earnest compliments. It had been the most romantic night of her life.

  Tonight would be even more romantic.

  After she dressed, her maid clasped the diamonds around her neck and stood back to peer at her mistress. “Oh, my lady, you look beautiful!”

  Margaret knew she could not look better.

  She stood and took one long glance in her looking glass.

  Every single weapon in this war of love would be used.

  Including champagne.

  Chapter 22

  “How lovely you look, my dear,” the dowager exclaimed when Margaret swept into the drawing room. “Please come sit by me.” She patted the silken sofa where she sat.

  “I wanted to wear my finest dress for the occasion.”

  “It’s the one you wore on the night of your ball, is it not?”

  Margaret nodded.

  “John Edward could not remove his eyes from you all night. Even when he danced with your sisters, it was always the vision of your loveliness that drew his attention throughout the evening.”

  “I wish I’d known.” She had never felt more lovely than she had that night. She had known that John thought her pretty, had known that he found her desirable. Tonight she wished to recapture all that magic.

  And soar to the next level.

  “I take it John Edward will be along soon?”

  “I know no more than you.”

  The old woman’s eyes widened. “Then you don’
t know what his surprise is, either?”

  Margaret shook her head. “I'm completely in the dark.”

  “Yet you’re anticipating a happy announcement?”

  “I am. I know not what it is, but I know many changes have come over him these past two months. I believe he will make you proud of him.”

  “I don’t suppose you have an announcement to make?”

  Margaret sadly shook her head. “Nothing could make me happier.” Well, there was something. . .

  “Will you have champagne?”

  “Indeed I will.”

  “So thoughtful of you to send it over for our celebration. Whatever it may be.”

  As Margaret finished that first glass of champagne, she heard the heavy steps of a man on the corridor. John’s steps. She had learned to distinguish his footfall from that of all other men. Her pulse roared as she eyed the doorway.

  Though he had not changed into dinner clothes he still looked devilishly handsome in his dove breeches and navy blue coat. An ever-so-slight line of dark stubble on the lean planes of his face indicated a manliness that sent her heart racing even faster.

  He stood framed by the doorway as his gaze swept over the chamber, then lingered on her. His expression went from casual to intense. His dark eyes simmered as they perused her. Then he looked up. Their eyes met, and he smiled. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “You are just in time for dinner,” the dowager said. “Pray, help an old lady up.”

  He rushed to his grandmother and assisted her. “It will be my honor to escort you two lovely ladies into the dinner room.”

  As they strode toward that chamber, the dowager said, “Are you not going to ask what we’re having to eat?”

  “I assumed my grandmother would serve her favorite grandson’s favorite dinner.”

  Margaret was briefly taken aback. Finally something she did not intrinsically know about her husband.

  The old woman sighed. “I never seem able to surprise you. You read me like a Minerva novel.”

  The dowager had arranged the chairs so the three of them could take an intimate dinner and not have to shout down the table. Margaret was to John’s left, his grandmother to his right.

  “Did you know your wife sent over a case of champagne for us tonight?”

  John’s flashing eyes met Margaret’s. “Thank you for thinking of that.”

  A footman began to pour each of them a glass of champagne as another brought out a tureen of clear turtle soup.

  Once their bowls had been filled, the dowager turned to her grandson. “Well, John Edward, I can wait no longer. What is this delightful news you have to share with us?”

  * * *

  He drew in a long breath. “I hope it pleases both of you.” His gaze went to his grandmother. “You’ve beseeched me for some time to demonstrate maturity.”

  “I don’t want you to come to an early demise like your reckless father.”

  He nodded, then turned to Maggie. Her sweet face was illuminated by the soft glow of candles from the chandelier suspended above them. “And you said something some time back that planted an idea which has taken root.”

  Her brows raised in query.

  He patted her hand. “You’re far too perfect a wife to try to dictate to me. You merely said- -”

  “I thought you would make a fine Parliamentarian?”

  A smile broke across his face. This woman who had come to know him so thoroughly could finish his sentences. “Yes.”

  “Does that mean . . .?” His grandmother eyed him, her fair eyes shimmering with happiness.

  He nodded sheepishly. “I have spent the day educating myself on how to go about being a meaningful member of the House of Lords.” He looked back at Maggie. “I started the morning with your brother. He was immensely helpful. Then I met with Lord Haverstock.”

  “Two of the finest men in the kingdom,” the dowager said.

  “Since I married you,” he said to Maggie, “I’ve come to realize there are more important things in life than the constant pursuit of pleasure. If I could be half as conscientious as your brother and Lord Haverstock, I would count myself successful.”

  “I know you will be, my boy. I’ve always said you’re possessed of honor.”

  Maggie sipped her champagne. “Your grandmother’s right.”

  A footman entered the chamber with a salver-covered tray.

  “What is your favorite meal, dearest?” Maggie asked.

  He had finally grown accustomed to being Maggie’s dearest—so accustomed, in fact, that were she to fail to address him thusly, he would be disappointed. “And I thought you knew everything about me.”

  “You must own, you’ve never shown much inclination to dine with your wife.”

  “You’re an angel to put up with me.”

  She set down her champagne. “I love being married to you.”

  Maggie did not lie. Could she really mean that she loved being married? His heartbeat drummed. Could she possibly mean she might could love him?

  For too long he had denied his attraction to this woman he’d wed. There was not another woman in the world he would prefer over her. When he said she was the perfect wife, he had spoken the truth.

  He thought, too, of her with Mikey. God, but he wanted her to have her own son. His son. God, but he wanted her to be his wife in every way.

  She inhaled deeply. “Allow me to guess. Lobster.”

  He chuckled, then eyed his grandmother. "This woman I’ve married knows me even better than you do. Sometimes I believe she reads my mind.”

  “That, my boy, is how it is in good marriages. You’ll come to read her mind, too.”

  It was a talent he did seem to be acquiring.

  He lifted the salver and began to pass around the plate of lobster.

  “A man who's going to be an important member of Parliament needs to have a fortune at his disposal,” Grandmere said.

  What the deuce was she trying to say? Did she not want him to serve in the House of Lords? He regarded her from beneath lowered brows.

  “I shall summon my solicitor tomorrow so I can make a generous settlement upon my favorite grandson.”

  The air that had stilled in his lungs swished out. "I should be very grateful to you, and I vow not to squander a farthing."

  Grandmere's little pink mouth lifted into a smile, and her blue eyes glittered with satisfaction. “Aw, my boy, this is a first.”

  “What?”

  "You actually made a vow. With your propensity to honesty, this is as good as a signed contract."

  Throughout the dinner, he kept refilling his wife’s champagne glass, all the while remembering the last time she had imbibed great amounts of champagne. She’d asked him to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her again.

  No kiss had ever affected him as profoundly as The Kiss. By the time the dinner was finished, all he could think of was being alone with Maggie in the carriage. Kissing her. Loving her.

  * * *

  Maggie was not as foxed as she’d been the previous time she’d imbibed great amounts of champagne, but he still felt compelled to steady her as they made their way to the coach. Inside, she scooted as close as possible to him.

  At last. They were alone in the coach. As he sat there contemplating how he would make the first move, his wife stunned him. Her hand splayed over the interior muscles high in his thigh and began to trace sultry circles.

  His breath grew short. He was instantly aroused.

  Her lashes lifted and she spoke in a low voice. “Do you like my dress?”

  “It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

  “Such a dress allows exploration. I should like to feel your lips feathering along my neck, my chest . . . even lower,” she said, her voice a seductive whisper.

  He groaned and hauled her into his arms for the most passionate kiss of his life. Her mouth opened willingly, eagerly, and he was lost in swirling sensations of almost unbearable pleasure.


  His lips trailed along her elegant neck, her smooth shoulders, then lower. He pushed down the bodice of her dress, freeing a breast. Her breath hitched when his mouth closed over a taut nipple.

  He could go mad with desire.

  When the coach pulled up in front of their home moments later, he restored her clothing, then she flung both arms around him. “Lady Finchley invites Lord Finchley to her bed.”

  He couldn’t believe this was his Maggie. His shy wife. He vowed that he’d never run out of champagne again. He had never wanted anything more, but . . . “I shouldn’t like to take advantage of a woman who’d had too much champagne.”

  Her hand cupped his bulge, and she spoke throatily. “I drank the champagne to ensure that such activities would occur.”

  He seized her hand. “You truly are the perfect wife.”

  * * *

  The moment her bedchamber door closed behind them, she flung herself into his arms. As he planted his feet there and embraced her, he knew this was the place where he wanted most to be, the woman he wanted most to love. “We mustn’t muss so beautiful a dress. Allow me to help you out of it.”

  He would have preferred a slow disrobing, revealing each delectable part of her in lazy increments, but he feared he might explode from want. He eased off her dress until it pooled at their feet, then he began to loosen her stays. When her breasts sprang free, he gasped, scooped her up into his arms, and strode to the bed.

  “Should you like me to blow out the candle?” he asked softly, his heated gaze fanning over the smooth curves of her silken body. She was the loveliest, most desirable woman he'd ever seen.

  “As soon as I see your cannon.”

  Cannon? What the bloody hell was she talking about? “My cannon?”

  Her eyes simmering, she slowly nodded. “Caro says—not from personal experience, mind you—that when a man desires a woman, his thing juts out like a cannon.”

  In spite of the tenderness of the moment, he burst into hearty laughter.

  He moved even closer, reverently cupping her pretty face in his hands as he spoke softly. “I love it when my wife drinks champagne. I love it when my wife casts off her shyness and speaks truthfully. And I love it when my wife is bashful. I believe I’ve come to love everything about you."