Lynne Connolly - Counterfeit Countess

“What friends?” he demanded savagely. “What do you think I am? I’m an earl by omission, my dear. I might have had august relatives, but I wasn’t part of their world. Ever.” He waited for the customary bitterness but it never came. Instead, he told her the facts. “I refused to live on expectation of the inheritance. After my parents died, I chose another path in life.” He propped himself on one elbow, gazing down at her face. “I never courted society or cared about it particularly. I’m an outsider. People will say it’s only what they expected. They’ll call me upstart, and then say I’m a fool for trusting a woman I knew nothing about. Until I belong to the elite in society, I need you.” The brutal truth. A poor relative turned earl. Except he wasn’t so poverty-stricken these days. Not that he had any intention of letting anyone know. At least, not yet.

“Society?” Her lips turned in a sneer. “You want that? Balls and court and parties in the country?”

He couldn’t blame her for thinking of society in such a superficial way—her life had never contained that kind of business before. And it was business. “The Earldom of Graywood is a wealthy and widespread one. There are investments, property, financial speculations. The Graywoods own mineral concerns, ships and a small street in London that makes a staggering amount in rent every year. All these concerns employ people and generate revenue, and I’m the hub, the figurehead. I have to be beyond reproach. More than that, I have to prove myself capable. Do you understand now?”

She stared at him, blue eyes wide and he watched, saw the comprehension creep in. “If you’re damaged, if society rejects you, it will mean the end of your investments?”

Relief flooded him when he realised she’d understood. “Exactly.

I don’t want to let those people down. The ones who work for me, and depend on me, not the ones who can take care of themselves.”

His personal bugbear, the one thing he refused to do in life. “I need the respectability of a wife. A scandal like the one you’re proposing to set up, hard on the heels of my inheriting the title, could ruin me, whether I was to blame or not.”

“Am I allowed to say no?” He relaxed, knowing she wouldn’t do that now. But she might not want to take part in his efforts. The thought of letting her go made him falter in his rapid assessment, but if she wanted it, he would do that. Just not let her run away.

“Not yet.” He would honour her truthfulness with the same.

She’d lied by omission, and he would discover her secrets, all of them, before he decided if he wanted to keep her. Already his opinion of her had shifted. With the disclosure of her dilemma had come comprehension of the reason she’d adopted his name reasonable. A penniless woman alone in the world faced a tough and probably short future. Governess at best, whore at worst, but the choices were limited. And she’d believed him dead. For that, he’d reconsider a few of his decisions. Not the principal one, though. He could use her and look nothing worse than a fool when she was exposed as a fraud, not his wife at all. Or he could consider the immediate future as an interview, a way of assessing her suitability as his wife in truth. In one way she had exceeded his expectations. He opened his hand, allowed himself the indulgence of caressing her silken skin.

He gave a wry smile. “You know I can’t stop you disappearing?”

She shook her head. “You could lock me up.”

“I suppose so.” The thought repulsed him. “But I won’t. I can’t watch you every hour of the day. I have to sleep. You should know that if you take that course, I’ll say you’re in the country, at one of my houses and I will hunt you down. So you’ll still be Lady Graywood.”

“No, no I won’t.”

One thing would hold her. If he had to choose between Faith and the two daughters of Lady Graywood, he knew which he would prefer. However, it had not come to that yet. “I want you to be my wife for a while. Give me time for me to elude the fate of marrying Charlotte or Louisa, to avoid the attention of the matchmakers.

They require the title and the wealth, not the man, and I have a strange, probably unsuitable desire to be wanted for myself. So will you marry me?”

Faith stared up at his face, unable to read anything there past the half smile quirking his lips. John was better at concealing his feelings than her, and she thought she’d done well in that. Certainly she’d lived as his widow for two years without anyone suspected anything. Mostly, she had to admit, because they didn’t care overmuch. She hadn’t mattered to them until today—yesterday.

“You mean really marry you?”

His smile melted her. The way the amusement broke the habitual solemnity of his face, revealing his vulnerability reached deep inside her. “Maybe. In time we could slip away and make the illusion real if we suit.”

She reached up and touched his chest. Immediately he covered it with his hand. Pressed her palm against him so she felt his heart thumping rhythmically. As if she had the power to stop that vital throb.

“It’s so complicated,” she said. He’d still be better off with someone else. Someone fertile. She wouldn’t lie to him about that, if he meant what he said about marrying her.

“You could have a fine life as a countess.”

“Don’t.” She almost turned from him. “If I do this, it won’t be to live the high life.”

“Not even a little?” Again, that smile that turned her heart over.

She thought of the lace gown she’d seen in a shop window last week, the one that was exquisite but well out of her price range and bit her lip. No, not even for that gown, which wouldn’t have suited her anyway. He laughed, the low sound of amusement he’d used earlier. Everything they did here in this bed was so intimate. “I can see you’re thinking of something.”

“What would I have to do?”

“Appear with me at key functions. The season will be starting in another couple of weeks, right after Easter. Lent is nothing but a breathing space to most of society, a chance to order the gowns and the rest of the armour they’ll need. Behave as my wife.”

His analogy made her chuckle. “Like preparing for battle?”

“Exactly like that. So you’d have to order new clothes and go through the family jewels.”

“Lady Graywood will have most of those,” she pointed out.

“Then we’ll get new ones.”

She shook her head. “Why would I need jewels?”

He grimaced. “The earldom’s wealthy. We need to persuade people that the title and everything it represents is on sound footing, so we have to be confident. We’ll have to hold a gathering of our own. If we plan that, we can safely leave her ladyship to arrange it. If we agree to invite some potential suitors for her daughters, she’ll be content. And it will keep her busy.”

The prospect began to appeal to her. Rather than becoming a passive decoration, he was giving her something to do, offering her a chance to plan and manage the estate by his side. Asking for her help. A young girl, a fresh, fertile bride couldn’t do that. Neither could she stand up to the dowager, something she’d been doing for years.

His hand moved, swept up her flank to cup the underside of her breast. Such openness in bed was new to her. Heat washed through her body.

He smiled and bent to drop a kiss on her lips. “I like your blush.

It becomes you. Now will you do this?”

However illusionary, he’d given her the choice. They both knew he could compel her to do it, except she had the power of anonymity. Whatever he thought, she could hide from him. She knew how. Become another character, a different person, someone disregarded. That knowledge gave her strength, truly lent her the freedom to choose. “I’ll do it.” That was in the nature of paying off her debt to him. She’d ruin herself, wreck her character in the eyes of society when he finally repudiated her. He could continue with the notion that he didn’t remember their marriage.

Relief flooded his features. “Thank you. I’ll arrange matters first thing in the morning.” He lay down, drew her into his arms.

“Would you prefer to keep this house?”

“Yes.” Her instinctive response, to give herself a bolt-hole, somewhere she could retreat to if she needed it. She glanced at the shadowy silhouette of her old carpetbag still resting by the door.

His plan was better than hers, that was all. The fact that she could anticipate more nights like this didn’t hurt, either.

“I’d like a house like this,” he murmured, his voice soft with incipient slumber. “Big enough, not grandiose, not pretentious, not a naked marble statue anywhere. I’d prefer a wife like you, understanding, intelligent, someone with a realistic attitude to life.”

She hardly recognised herself.

“Go to sleep,” he said, his voice gravelly with exhaustion.

Lying still, trying not to disturb him seemed to work. She could lie here all night and worry. But she didn’t. Within the space of twenty minutes, she was asleep, too.

* * *

Morning came too soon, and with it, the sound of her maid gently tapping on her door. “Mrs. Smith, do you wish breakfast in bed?”

The latch rattled as she tried to open it, but sometime in the night John must have got up and slid the bolts across, so it was securely fastened.

“No, I’ll get up.”

Beside her, John murmured and drew her back down into the warmth of the bed. Although it was March, spring had taken its time this year, and the chill of the morning struck through her bones. Her naked upper arm pimpled.

“Madam, is there someone in there? Are you all right?”

Robinson sounded alarmed. Any minute she might start shouting for help.

“I’m fine. My husband is here. He called around late last night and didn’t want to disturb anyone.”

“Oh.” Then a much louder. “Oh! A boy arrived first thing enquiring after you. He told us the earl had returned. I should have thought of that. Sir, my lord, I didn’t mean to bother you. Only, time’s getting on, and cook wants to know what you want for dinner tonight before she goes to market.”

“Tell her nothing.” Cook could have decided that for herself.

She’d done it often enough. Faith suspected her maid’s curiosity had got the better of her, and she wanted to hear the remarkable incidents from the night before. “I’ll be up soon.”

“Sure about that?” John said that loud enough for anyone with sharp ears to detect, and Faith buried her head against his chest while he chuckled. They heard Robinson’s footsteps retreat along the landing and down the stairs. “All right, I’ll let you go and get dressed. Then we have to go to Grosvenor Square. As long as you promise me you won’t bolt.”

“You’ll take my promise?” After what she’d told him about lying her way into the family, why should he believe her?”

“I will.” His hands stroked her back in what should have been a soothing gesture, but felt like something entirely different.

Walking into the house in Grosvenor Square felt the same as it had yesterday, and it looked the same. Marble floors, grand clock ticking the hours away, two uncomfortable wooden hall chairs for the less fortunate visitor, a footman dressed in maroon and gold.

Faith wore one of her normal dresses, a day gown in a sensible shade of dark blue and a pelisse that, if she were honest, needed turning or replacing. But she held her head high and waited for someone to attend to her.

The footman at the door bowed low, a sign they knew who they were dealing with. Inside, the butler awaited them, taking her old pelisse without a twinge. Instinctively she wanted to move towards John, but she had to learn to cope with this grandeur on her own.

Worse. With a flurry of skirts the staff arrived. The upper servants and the lower, clattering up from the depths of the basement. They ranked in a line, and she reflected how crammed her house would be with this number of people. Faith blinked. John cleared his throat. “We’re pleased to see you. Thank you.”

At least she understood what they expected. She walked slowly down the line, allowing the butler to introduce each member of staff and fully aware of the snub Lady Graywood was subtly creating. Only when she had a word with each and dismissed them did she turn to the butler. “Hanson, where is the steward? I would have thought him anxious to meet my husband.”

Hanson didn’t reveal by a twitch that she had surprised him by her question but she caught a flash of awareness in his eyes. “Mar.