The Countess and the Rake

by Georgette Brown

  “Do not ever presume to call me away from the tables,” he had seethed before stalking back into the card room to, more likely than not, run up more debt.

  A little shaken by his vehemence, Gertie had returned to the ballroom to Mrs. Pemberly and Mrs. Drake, both of whom were still on the topic of Lord Barclay. After sitting a while, Gertie had grown restless and decided to seek some air in the gardens, but she had not walked far when she overheard two familiar voices.

  “I have not the least interest in Mr. Warburton!” Sarah was protesting.

  “It matters not,” Alexander had responded. “He has an interest in you.”

  “But he is old and—and homely.”

  “He is wealthy.”

  “I will not marry him.”

  “As your brother, it is my duty to oversee your interests. We are in a precarious way with funds.”

  “My interests? You mean your interests! Perhaps if you did not lavish your mistress with gifts quite so often, we would not be in such dire straits. That sapphire bracelet of hers must have cost a fair guinea.”

  The rest of their conversation had continued as if from the end of a long tunnel for Gertie. The words had hit her full and hard in the stomach. Alexander had a mistress. She was not surprised by the fact, but the realization was nonetheless painful. Little wonder that he had not sought her bed chambers of late. He had a mistress. A mistress to whom he presented gifts. Aside from his wedding gift to her, a broach that had belonged to his grandmother, she had never received the slightest token from him.

  She could not remember if she had stayed to hear the end of their dialogue. Overcome with misery, she had sought seclusion to nurse her wounds. In the quiet of the library, away from the music and merriment, she had sobbed. She had never expected to win her husband’s heart, but she had hoped to have a child, a source of pride and joy, someone to bestow the bountiful affection that waited in her own heart. She was sure that a child would take away the despair of her loveless marriage and fill the void with light. But if her husband had no desire...

  What a stupid fool I have been, Gertie had chided herself, on the verge of a new wave of tears when she heard a scuffle outside the library door. She dashed behind the nearest curtain.

  Two bodies stumbled into the room. Through the slit between the curtains, she saw the flash of a familiar midnight blue as the bodies fell onto the sofa not far from where she hid. Her cheeks flamed when she realized the body of the woman writhing below was that of her sister-in-law. The body pinning Sarah to the sofa was that of Lord Barclay.

  “Tell me,” Sarah said between deep breaths, “how it is we have not met before?”

  “You would feign ignorance?” he responded as he pressed his mouth to her neck. “Come, come, we have been neighbors, after all.”

  “I had not had my come-out when you left England. I was five and ten, and I think you thought me an awkward little girl then—“

  She stopped upon realizing she had revealed her own falsehood. She looked at him with some trepidation, but he only smiled briefly before returning to her neck, which he caressed in slow lingering kisses. She closed her eyes and moaned in delight.

  “You have no need to prevaricate with me, Lady Sarah. You were never awkward.”

  Sarah arched her back and neck, allowing him more surface. “I see that you have lost none of your impudence since leaving England.”

  “Indeed, I have acquired more during my absence,” he murmured into her neck. “I would hazard that you prefer your men impertinent.”

  Sarah gasped. One of his hands had made its way up her skirts. Gertie flushed. This would not do. She had to find a way out. But she could not tear her eyes from them—from him and what he was doing. There was something masterful in the way he moved with Sarah, plying her body as if he were a puppeteer secure in knowing just how she would react to his every move. No doubt his confidence stemmed from many a practiced seduction.

  “Very impertinent,” Sarah acquiesced as her gasps quickened.

  Gertie marveled at how this Barclay could fondle Sarah with one hand without interrupting the rhythm of his kisses. Imagining what he might be doing beneath Sarah’s skirts stirred sensations in her own loins. His ministrations were apparently quite effective for Sarah was panting and moaning, one hand clutching the edge of the sofa with whitening knuckles. Gertie shifted her weight in discomfort. She needed to find a way out for she knew not how long they intended to stay, and though the fullness with which his mouth explored the neck before him mesmerized her, she did not think she wanted to view her sister-in-law much more than she had.

  Sarah’s moaning became high pitched grunts and wails. She was close to her climax, her eyes shut tight. The two were absorbed enough for Gertie to slip away. Slowly, she brushed aside the curtain and stepped from her hiding place. Her toe struck the footstool as she dashed towards the door, but she suppressed her cry. Once safely outside the library, she hurried down the hallway and allowed herself a grimace for her poor toe. She found a mirror on the wall and examined how her tears had smeared her powder and rouge.

  She also noticed one of her earrings to be missing.

  JUST BEFORE SARAH CRIED out in ecstasy, Phineas thought he heard something behind him. After gently coaxing the last tremors from her orgasm, he allowed her a moment of peace before moving himself to examine the room about them. He saw no one, but the door was not completely shut and he was sure that he had closed it when they came in.

  “What is it?” Sarah murmured as she stretched with the satisfaction of a cat freshly woken from a nap.

  “Nothing,” he responded. There was no need to alarm her. “I think dinner will be served shortly. We had best return.”

  It was possible someone had sought to enter the library and he had simply not heard the door open. Sarah had been rather vocal. But then he noticed the overturned footstool. Someone had been in the room.

  “When shall I see you again?”

  “Methinks your brother bears little fondness for me, madam,” he answered wryly as he studied a spot of discoloration on the carpet.

  Sarah pouted. “What does that matter?”

  It was no discoloration. He bent down and picked up a garnet earring.

  “Alexander may be my brother, but I am near twenty years of age and quite capable of deciding whose company I wish to keep.”

  “No doubt, but I have no desire to find myself in another duel.”

  He tucked the earring into the pocket of his waistcoat.

  “Alexander would never have the courage to challenge you.”

  Phineas had to agree with her assessment. He had seen enough of Alexander, who was near in age to his own brother, growing up to believe that the Earl lacked much of a backbone. But it had been made clear to him that the scandal of another duel would send him into permanent exile or to a trial by peers. A friend of his who served in the House of Lords had advised him not to test his luck with the latter, saying “If you hadn’t made half of them a cuckold by bedding their wives, I would have said otherwise.”

  Turning to Sarah, Phineas offered his hand. She rose from the sofa and straightened her skirts.

  “I will be at Hyde Park tomorrow,” she informed him as she patted her ringlets to ensure they had not come undone. “I should be most pleased to see you there—if you are not otherwise occupied.”

  He brought her delicate hand to his lips. “I will make myself unoccupied.”

  She gave him a broad smile, one that looked odd upon her customarily humorless physiognomy. It amused him at times the women he chose to seduce. With Sarah Farrington, she was as much the seducer as he. Having made eye contact with him, she had immediately thrust up her fan, but her eyes had told him all he needed to know. They had beckoned, and when he had not immediately responded for he had no desire to be part of the group of pups that lapped at her, she had sought him out, conveniently dropping her fan at his feet when their paths crossed in the hallways.

  At dinner, Sarah glanced
often over her pigeon pie in his direction. She was not the only one to eye him. He was keenly aware that he and not the much touted lobster was the cynosure of the evening. There was not one pair of eyes that did not look his way. One set in particular had caught his attention. The soft green eyes, set in an unremarkable but tender physiognomy of rounded cheeks and supple lips, had studied him from across the dance floor. He had found her familiar, and though he possessed an astute memory for faces, he could not place her.

  “When did the Earl of Lowry marry?” he asked of Mrs. Pemberly, who was seated next to him.

  “He has been married to Gertie some three years,” she replied, clearly pleased to be the source of information for him.

  He looked down the table at the Countess of Lowry. She did not appear to be the kind of wife he would have expected Alexander to take.

  “I do not think I know her family.”

  “Well, her family is of the bourgeoisie but a good family nonetheless. Her father made quite the profit in the sugar trade.”

  Ah, that explained Alexander’s choice of spouse, Phineas thought to himself. He had known Alexander to be rather vain and would not otherwise have taken a plain woman to wife lest she possessed some other prevailing quality.

  “If you ask me,” Mrs. Pemberly posited, “I would rate her family above that of the Farringtons. Gertie is far too good for the likes of him.”

  He studied the elder woman and decided she spoke sincerely and not with any attempt to flatter him with her awareness that the Farringtons and Barclays were not the fondest of relations. Mrs. Pemberly seemed a woman who hesitated not to speak her mind. He returned his attention to that of the Countess, who stirred her soup aimlessly. She sat between Alexander and the Dowager Lowry, both of whom ignored her the whole of the dinner. Phineas recalled seeing the Earl and his wife earlier in the evening. He stood too far to overhear their conversation, but he had seen the livid expression upon Alexander and the forlorn look of hopelessness in Lady Lowry after he had berated her in what must have been harsh terms. Though he knew not her person, Phineas felt a tug of sympathy for the Countess. He knew of few women he would recommend Alexander to. Perhaps Sarah Farrington if she were not already his sister.

  The powder and rouge upon Lady Lowry wanted another application, he noticed. His gaze drifted to her garnet necklace, the design of which matched the earring in his pocket.

  “I should introduce myself to this new relation of mine,” he commented.

  Mrs. Pemberly eyed him carefully. “Indeed?”

  “The relations between the Barclays and the Farringtons are not as strained as the rumors would have you believe. We converse quite amicably.”

  “Indeed?”

  He looked her square in the eyes and smiled. “Indeed.”

  She was the first to blink. “Well, you will find Gertie a pleasant and honest girl. She is quite refreshing in that regard. You will find no nonsense with her. While she may not be up to snuff with all the de rigueur of gentle society, she is extremely sensible. I myself have seen her maturation through the years and regard her with as much affection as if she were mine own.”

  Noting the claws of the lioness, he replied, “You are protective of her.”

  “I will not see her harmed.”

  “And you fear that I am a wolf in search of a sheep.”

  “Though I suspect Lady Lowry is not the type to inspire your predilections, I confess your motives puzzle me.”

  “A simple desire to acquaint myself with a new member of the family does not satisfy you?”

  “Certainly the marital situation of a woman has not stopped you before,” she continued without answering him, cognizant of the rhetorical nature of his question. “Dare I presume that you have mended your ways?”

  A brash question deserved a brash reply.

  “Do you hope that I have?”

  Mrs. Pemberly colored, then allowed a grin to creep into her lips. “Fair enough.”

  The dinner over, Phineas rose to his feet. He turned to Mrs. Pemberly and raised her hand to his lips. “What delightful dinner company you have been, Mrs. Pemberly. I esteem a woman who speaks her mind. I hope that Fortune will grace me again with your presence.”

  The blush rose in her cheeks once more. She raised a thin eyebrow at him. “I rather think that your sojourn on the Continent was spent not in repentance but in perfecting your charms, Lord Barclay.”

  “You are a woman after mine own heart,” he noted of her ability to compliment and critique in the same stroke.

  She fluttered her fan before her with a little more vigor. He offered her his arm and escorted her from the dining hall. Across the room, Alexander was engrossed in a conversation with another gentleman, leaving his wife alone to walk behind him.

  Mrs. Pemberly must have noticed the same for she said, “Did you not wish to make the acquaintance of the Countess of Lowry?”

  Phineas bowed to his dinner companion and made his way towards the Countess.

  “Lady Lowry,” he addressed.

  She had begun to walk away from the crowd, perhaps attempting to steal away to some haven of solitude, and was obviously startled that someone had called to her. When she turned to face him, he saw that she was not as plain as when seen from afar. Her cheeks had a natural blush, and though her eyes were not the large sparkles of color that graced the physiognomy of her sister-in-law, they possessed more depth. Unlike the shallow waters of Sarah Farrington, the verdant eyes of the Countess intrigued him.

  They stared at him in displeasure.

  Undaunted, he introduced himself with a bow. “I am Phineas Barclay, a relation of the Farringtons.”

  “I am aware that you are a distant relation,” she replied coolly.

  He had the feeling that even though she had to crane her neck to meet his gaze, she was attempting to look down at him. Perhaps she shared the sentiments of her husband towards the Barclays.

  “A much belated congratulations on your nuptials.”

  Her frown deepened. He would have not have been surprised to hear her tell him that congratulations were unnecessary from him as he had not been invited to the wedding.

  “Yes,” she said, mustering more hauteur into her expression, “I was told you had been banished to France.”

  Her dislike of him, which was becoming increasingly palpable, amused him, as did most of the disdain people would have towards him. The son of parents who shocked gentle society with their wanton spirit and numerous illicit affairs, he had become immune at a tender age to what others thought.

  “You put it harshly, madam. I like to think of my time there as a holiday,” he replied. “I had occasion to travel to the Côte-d'Or and would highly recommend the region. The wines there are par excellence.”

  He could tell his impudence riled her.

  “Ah, then you will be taking yourself back there?”

  He nearly chuckled at her juvenile attempt to rid herself of his company. “I shall be staying in England for some time. I have come across a pursuit of great interest to me.”

  “Yes, I know,” she said wryly.

  “You do?”

  She faltered, “I mean...naturally you will have missed much of what England has to offer, perhaps not the same quality of wine that you would find in France, but perhaps a rousing game of cricket or warm Yorkshire pudding on a cool winter morning, and certainly friends and family, from whom I will keep you no longer.”

  She turned to leave. He refrained from specifying that she was now family.

  “Before you leave, Lady Lowry,” he said, stopping her in her tracks. “I believe this to be yours.”

  He held out the earring. Her eyes widened upon seeing it. She hesitated, as if she contemplated denying ownership, but it was obvious that her one ear was missing its adornment. When she reached for the earring, he deftly reached for her with his free hand, pulling her closer. Though the nearest guest was not within earshot, he meant his words for her ears alone.

  “Next t
ime, feel free to join us, Countess,” he murmured as he pressed the earring into her hand.

  She burned brightly to the tips of her ears. Grasping the earring, she turned on her heel and hurried away from him.

  Chapter Three

  “YOU APPEAR PERTURBED, my dear. Are you well?” asked Penelope Botreaux.

  Gertie realized she had been staring into the distance, clenching and unclenching her crop, as she stood at the top of the stairs that descended into the Ballroom.

  “No—I mean to say yes, I am well, thank you,” Gertie hastened to reply.

  “That is a remarkable corset. I have never seen the likes of it before.”

  Penelope held up her quizzing glass to admire the scarlet satin. Gertie had fashioned the corset over a year ago but had never had the bravado to don it till tonight. She wore it over a black chemise, also an unorthodox article of her own making; her customary black boots; and a black satin mask decorated with three slender plumes emerging from its centre.

  “Your gentleman awaits you,” Penelope informed with an eccentric smile and a tone of...impatience.

  Gertie nodded. Though she had hoped he would not return, tonight she felt differently. Tonight she was ready for him. Tonight she was Lady Athena. Strong and powerful. Not the pitiful Lady Lowry who had cried over an undeserving husband and flushed before a presumptuous rake. The mortification she had felt at the Bennington ball after her encounter with Lord Barclay had turned into anger. She had never met such an insolent and despicable person. That he should not be rotting in Fleet for having murdered young Jonathan Weston in that duel was a travesty of justice.

  Yes, murdered. In the court of her opinion, she had tried and found him guilty. No matter that the seconds, his and that of Weston, all refused to elaborate on what had occurred, as if they had taken a vow of silence. Rumors had it that Weston, having been made a cuckold by Barclay, had challenged the latter. That Barclay had been tumbling Mrs. Weston was apparently common knowledge.