Michael’s father was devoted to certain political causes, and his anger could be terrible to behold when he faced a political setback. Conversely, when he achieved his political aims, his excitement could be infectious. At times it was almost too infectious, causing Michael or the Countess to become overexcited.
Michael had never been able to predict where the line was drawn between celebrating and becoming overexcited—nor, it seemed, could the Countess. Whenever the Earl told them over dinner of some act he had managed to pass through Parliament, he expected his wife and son to praise him for his accomplishment.
Not infrequently, though, the Earl would become angry with his family for overreacting, or praising him falsely. Once he went so far as to claim that the Countess was mocking him by saying that she was pleased about a particularly boring law. Michael could not remember what the law had been, but he would never forget the anger that flashed in his father’s face that night, nor the fear in his mother’s eyes.
All in all, Michael preferred to avoid the townhouse, and the memories contained therein whenever possible. Consequently, he was a regular overnight guest at the Bellingham Club, of which he had been a member for nearly a decade.
Michael could not, in all honesty, say that he was excited for the upcoming masquerade ball at Cublertone Manor. Still, knowing that he could not miss the event, he supposed that he ought to make the most of it. Perhaps Lady Paulina will be more willing to share something about herself if she is in costume.
So, when he awoke on Wednesday morning, he found himself in a comfortable four-poster bed, in a plain but handsome guest room at Bellingham’s. He rang for his breakfast, and while he waited for it to arrive, he considered what costume he might wear to the masquerade ball. He had not attended such an event in many years, and had no particular ideas.
After a few moments, there was a knock at the bedroom door. Michael got out of bed and put on his dressing gown before opening the door.
“Your breakfast, My Lord,” a servant said, holding a tray of toasted bread, soft boiled eggs, and sausages.
“Thank you,” Michael said, stepping aside to allow him in. He placed the tray on the table, alongside the morning’s newspaper, and pulled out the chair. Michael smiled briefly at the man before sitting down to eat. He skimmed the front page of the newspaper, but found that none of the headlines held his attention.
Michael was distracted as he ate his breakfast. He tried to imagine eating breakfast each morning with Lady Paulina for the rest of his life. He did not doubt that she would ensure that all meals were perfectly pleasant, perfectly following all rules of etiquette. However, try as he might, he could not deny that the prospect sounded exceptionally dull.
As he imagined this scene, an image of Lady Paulina’s maid came unbidden into his mind. He imagined her serving breakfast to the newlyweds, although he knew perfectly well that this would not be part of her role as his wife’s maid.
Improbable as the scenario was, he pictured the maid approaching him with a tray of sausages. He imagined her leaning over to serve him, and in his imagination, he stole a glimpse at the tops of her breasts, barely visible over the top of her gown. He imagined the way her creamy, white skin would feel, if he were to reach out and touch her.
Then all at once, he remembered that Lady Paulina, his wife, was sitting directly across the table from him throughout the entire scene. Just as suddenly, he recalled that the woman he was fantasizing about was a servant, a poor girl who could never be a Countess, whose reputation would be destroyed by a single touch of his hand.
Forcing his thoughts back to Lady Paulina, he imagined eating breakfast with her, without a pretty maid present. In his mind, they ate in near silence, exchanging only simple greetings. When he imagined their life together, he imagined himself spending many nights here at the club rather than at home.
Of course, this was not an unusual arrangement for a gentleman of his station. In fact, this was the primary purpose of gentlemen’s clubs, in his experience. I suppose I could live with such an arrangement—I do enjoy the time that I spend here, and there is no doubt that Lady Paulina is well prepared to fulfill the role of Countess. When he considered the importance of expanding his family’s land holdings, he supposed that perhaps this would be a worthwhile trade.
* * *
Later that day, Michael set out to the shops in Bond Street in search of a costume for the masquerade ball. The butler at the club had offered to hire a hackney for him, but the day was fine, and Michael preferred to walk. Many gentlemen did not like to see the hustle and bustle of London’s busy streets, but Michael found it invigorating.
As he walked eastward, toward the shopping district, he observed the many people around him. The sheer variety of people in London was fascinating to Michael. On the street he saw children running, women selling eggs, and pies, and ribbons, old men walked with canes, while strapping young sailors strolled along on shore leave.
Voices called out to one another over the clatter of hackneys and gigs. Michael recognized a few words of French here and there, and heard other languages he did not know. He heard people speaking English so quickly, and in a tone so harsh as to be nearly foreign to his ears.
Passing a vendor’s stall, Michael breathed in a delicious, savory smell. He stopped momentarily, breathing in, deeply.
“Steak pie, m’lord?” the old woman at the stall asked him. “Two for a penny!”
“Yes, madam,” Michael said, reaching into his pocket and producing a penny. “Thank you most kindly.”
The old woman handed Michael two small, flaky pastries, filled with steak and gravy. They smelled delicious and felt warm in his hands. When Michael took a bite of the first one, he found that it tasted even better than it smelled, and he sighed with pleasure.
Michael moved to the side of the road to eat his pies. He took great caution not to spill any gravy on his clothing as he continued to watch passersby. Michael enjoyed watching people going about their daily lives. He sometimes made a game of trying to imagine who they might be, and what their lives might be like.
He was especially fascinated by the ways in which their lives overlapped and fit together. Each individual in this huge, teeming city had a role to play that affected all of the other individuals in the city. They all worked together, without even realizing it, to make the city, and even the country, operate from day-to-day.
Before long, Michael had decided that the old woman who sold him the steak pies was the grandmother of the two young boys playing in the nearby alley. He imagined that their mother, the vendor’s daughter, was at home nearby, caring for a feverish infant, the boys’ younger sister.
He imagined the young mother, rocking her child and singing a lullaby, worrying about what might become of her daughter. Michael decided that her husband was a sailor, gone off to sea some three months earlier, and supposed that she must be worried about what would become of him as well.
Feeling that this story was becoming too melancholy, Michael decided that the pie vendor, long since widowed, had moved in with the family when her son-in-law went off to sea. The children loved their granny, and were delighted to have her living with them. Their mother was pleased to have the extra help at home, and her mother was pleased to have company once again.
Michael smiled to himself as he finished his pies, imagining the happy ending to this story when the sailor would come home and be reunited with his family. Feeling simultaneously happy for the imagined family, and jealous of their simple, fulfilling life, Michael decided that the time had come to continue his journey.
He walked further east, strolling at a leisurely pace, and considering various costume possibilities. He considered dressing as Zeus, but quickly dismissed this as impractical. He similarly dismissed the idea of a Sultan, a snake charmer, and a court jester. I must think of something that might impress Lady Paulina, but not so outlandish as to make me look absurd.
When Michael finally arrived at his tailor’s shop in
Bond Street he thought that he knew what he wanted.
“Welcome, My Lord,” the tailor, Mr. Cummings, said as Michael entered the shop. “What may I assist you with today?”
“Thank you, Cummings. I am in need of apparel for an upcoming masquerade ball.”
“I see. Well, I’m sure that we shall be able to find you just the right costume, My Lord. Is there something in particular that you had in mind?”
Michael explained to Mr. Cummings what he had imagined. He also explained the necessity of an impressive, but not outlandish costume. He was pleased to hear that Mr. Cummings would be able to provide exactly what he had hoped for in time for the ball.
While Mr. Cummings took Michael’s measurements, the two gentlemen talked amiably. Michael had been coming to this shop for his clothing for several years now and was on good terms with Mr. Cummings and all of his employees.
“Is there someone in particular that you are hoping to impress with this special costume, My Lord?” Mr. Cummings asked, with a roguish grin.
Michael returned his smile, hoping to seem nonchalant, “I suppose one could say that there is a particular young lady for whom I am dressing.”
“A very lucky young lady, indeed, My Lord!” Mr. Cummings said, with an air of such certainty that Michael nearly laughed to hear it.
“Oh, you flatter me, Mr. Cummings,” Michael said. “I’m sure there are quite a lot of people telling the young lady in question that I am a very lucky gentleman!”
“Well, perhaps you are, My Lord. Is the young lady in question a great beauty?”
“She is quite beautiful, yes.”
“And is she well regarded among the members of your social class?”
“Indeed,” Michael replied. “She is well-mannered and graceful. She is well-educated, and has all of the necessary qualities one could hope for in a wife.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Cummings said, as though the matter were well settled now. “It sounds to me as though you are a lucky fellow after all.”
“Yes…” Michael said, the hesitation in his voice impossible to hide, “I suppose that I am.”
Mr. Cummings looked at Michael inquiringly, one eyebrow raised. He seemed as though he wanted to ask more about the young lady in question, or about Michael’s feelings for her, but he did not. Mr. Cummings was well known for his discretion, a surprisingly important quality in a tailor, to whom many secrets were told.
Michael knew that he need not fear indiscretion on Mr. Cummings’ part, but he also knew that it would do no good to confide his misgivings. So it was quite a surprise to him when he began to speak, and found that he felt quite comfortable doing so.
“It is true that the young lady in question will make an ideal wife,” he said, wistfully. “But I cannot help but wonder, to whom? I do not think that the lady likes me very much, which is not what I had hoped for in a wife.”
“Surely not, My Lord!” Mr. Cummings said, sounding shocked. “What defect could the young lady possibly find in a gentleman such as yourself?”
Michael sighed deeply, examining himself in the mirror in front of him. “At the risk of sounding immodest, I have no idea what she might find objectionable about me. I have done my best to be charming whenever we meet.”
“Perhaps the young lady likes you more than she is letting on, not wishing to seem to forward, as it were, My Lord,” Mr. Cummings suggested. His voice was muffled, as he was holding several pins between his teeth, but sounded reassuring nevertheless.
Michael considered this possibility, and thought that Mr. Cummings’s assessment might be correct. Lady Paulina would never do anything so scandalous as to declare any feelings of affection openly. The young ladies of the ton were well trained to express their romantic interests in more subtle ways, but perhaps Lady Paulina’s ways were so subtle as to be undetectable.
“Do you know, I think that you may be on to something, Mr. Cummings!” Michael said, cheerfully. The idea that Lady Paulina might like him rather more than she had let on did nothing to change the fact that Michael felt no particular affection for her. However, it did make him feel rather more optimistic that such feelings might develop in time.
Chapter 10
The staff at Cublertone Manor had been given strict instructions that the upcoming masquerade ball must be perfect in every way. The housekeeper, Mrs. Campbell, had been rather harsher with some of the chamber maids than usual, causing one of them to dissolve into fits of tears over an improperly dusted bookcase.
Betsey had gone into the library to retrieve a book for Lady Paulina and found the poor girl, Grace, crying in the corner. She had done her best to comfort Grace, having only a few moments to spare.
“Now, Grace,” Betsey said, kindly. “You mustn’t let Mrs. Campbell upset you so.”
“I cannot afford to be sacked,” the poor girl had sobbed. “And I think that the Earl is angry with me, though I do not know why! He is always staring at me so intensely.”
Grace was young, Betsey supposed fifteen or sixteen years old, and new to Cublertone. In spite of her age, Betsey could see that she was exactly the type the Earl would be inclined to stare at—tall and slender, with a sweet face and a handsome figure.
“Grace,” Betsey firmly, “You must listen to me.”
“Y-yes, miss,” Grace said, taking a deep breath and stifling her cries.
“Mrs. Campbell is worried about the masquerade ball, and her anxiety has caused her to be cross with you. By tomorrow she will have forgotten all about it. It will be best for everyone if you have forgotten about it as well. Get yourself calm, and focus on your work.”
Grace wiped her eyes and gave Betsey a watery smile. “Thank you, Miss,” she said. “And… the Earl?”
“The Earl is not angry with you. He is a gentleman who enjoys staring at pretty maids.”
At these words, Grace’s pale cheeks turned an alluring shade of pink, and she looked down at her lap, batting her dark eyelashes.
“You must take care never to be alone with him,” Betsey whispered to Grace. They were quite alone, but it was still best to be cautious when speaking like this.
“I swear, Miss, I have done nothing to draw his attention! I have never been alone with him. He stares at me no matter who else is in the room with us,” Grace was whispering as well, following Betsey’s example, but her voice was beginning to sound frantic.
“Shh…” Betsey warned her. “I know, Grace, I am quite sure that you did nothing to invite the Earl’s attentions. But the fact remains that you are quite pretty and the Earl stares at you. If you are never alone together, he will do nothing more than stare, and you must do your best to ignore it when he does.”
Grace nodded at this, and stood up. She smoothed her skirts and adjusted her apron before returning to her work. With one last sniff, she said, “Thank you, Miss.”
Betsey smiled at Grace, hoping that the poor girl would be able to maintain her composure and keep her position. She will need to develop a thicker skin if she is to remain at Cublertone. Walking across the room, Betsey retrieved a handsome, leatherbound volume from the shelf, leaving Grace alone to finish her cleaning.
Lady Paulina had been feeling poorly ever since her conversation with her father. She had, for the most part, kept to her bed, weeping often, except for when she joined her father for meals. In the past few days she had been less melancholy, but still refused to get out of bed much of the time.
Betsey worried terribly about her mistress, but could not help feeling some frustration with her as well. Betsey had been reading aloud to her when she was not occupied with other work, but Lady Paulina barely responded.
Today Betsey hoped to lure Lady Paulina out of bed with a reading of her favorite poet, Anna Seward. She needed Lady Paulina to rise from her bed so that she could begin work on her costume for the masquerade ball. In truth, she ought to have started work on it several days ago, but Lady Paulina had refused.
Betsey would simply have chosen a theme and made the costume w
ithout Lady Paulina’s input, but when she mentioned the idea, Lady Paulina had come out of her stupor just long enough to vehemently object. She had insisted that she must be involved in the process of deciding on her costume, but had given no further input on the matter.
Returning to Lady Paulina’s bedchamber, Betsey knocked gently on the door before entering. She found her mistress in bed, but sitting upright where earlier she had been lying down. This is a good thing—perhaps her melancholy is beginning to subside.
“Lady Paulina, I am so glad to see you awake!” Betsey said, her voice bright.
“Hello, Betsey. What have you got there?” Lady Paulina asked. Her voice was quiet, but Betsey thought the fact that her mistress was talking at all was a promising sign.
Betsey held up the book in her hand to show Lady Paulina, “I’ve brought a book of your favorite poetry, My Lady. I thought that perhaps you might like me to read some of it to you?”
The Viscount Who Seduced Her (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 8
