Counterfeit Countess (3 page)

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Lynne Connolly

Faith blinked. “I didn’t think you’d want me at a business meeting.”

“Then you thought wrong. It’s your life too.” If she were his wife in truth, then he would want that. Besides, he wanted her nearby.

Less likely to bolt. And he wanted her to know what she’d come close to possessing before he denounced her. Oh, he’d use her, maybe even bed her, and she’d make a convenient shield for the next month or two, while he found his feet in this new life, but then he’d find a way of ridding himself of her. He wanted no part of her deception.

He was perfectly aware anger fuelled his decision, but he didn’t care. That this brave, beautiful woman he’d wasted years admiring from afar deceive his family in this way infuriated him. Had she taken him in too?

Her mouth opened, closed, then she said, “If you wish.”

What would she have said had they been alone? Probably the same. “I do. It’s better if you understand the ramifications of this shift in our lives. All of them, for that matter.”

“I’m still coping with the effects of not being a widow,” she snapped. Her eyes widened. Expressive eyes that revealed everything she was thinking.

“You would rather return to your sad state?” He didn’t wait for a reply. He didn’t want to hear her answer; since he feared it might not be one he desired. “I can sympathise with your confusion, my dear. I’ve had time to come to terms with the news. Two weeks since the storm that took both the previous earl and his brother.”

He caught the gaze of the woman opposite him—Charlotte, the oldest of the dowager’s daughters. For once, she’d lost the little-girl appearance and he saw the woman. Not for long, because the vapid expression returned. But he knew what she would have said. “What about me?”

At least she had money and a family. She didn’t have to rely on her wits alone to find a place in life. Or her body. Camp followers
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made themselves acceptable with bed privileges and by cooking and cleaning. He’d known them to take their man’s job when he’d been killed in battle to provide for the children, if another man didn’t offer them protection. Officers generally turned a blind eye to the practice, especially if they fell short of fighting men. He couldn’t imagine either Charlotte or Louisa thriving in those circumstances.

Faith, though. Ah, she was entirely different. He would discover why a woman he’d last known as the wife of another man had claimed to be his widow. For the money, perhaps, but she didn’t know exactly how much he was worth. Few people did. She’d have had access to his officer’s salary, a small annuity and a modest manor house in the country. And, it appeared, a house in Red Lion Square. He’d abandoned them all when he’d turned his back on Europe, but it seemed, someone else had not.

Her actions pointed at her taking advantage of opportunities that came her way in order to better her situation in life. On the other hand, she might well have taken the step from desperation.

Time to find out.

He got to his feet. “Come, my dear. We should retire. Events have exhausted you; do not attempt to deny it.” He could question her more effectively in private.

“I will have a meal conveyed to your chamber.” The dowager stood too, her bearing stiff, but then it always was. So far she’d shown little emotion when he’d given her the news he dreaded conveying, but God knew, as a serving soldier he’d had the experience in doing so. If she held off from that, then she’d hardly demonstrate any when given a setback. “However, I fear the earl’s chambers will not be ready for you until tomorrow.”

“Anywhere will do. We cannot turn you out of your own apartments.”

The dowager sent him a cold stare. “I moved out when my husband died. I have not occupied them for some years and they will need airing. I’m sure we may find a room for you tonight.”

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Lynne Connolly

“Thank you,” he said. Would Faith have the nerve to accompany him upstairs? After all, he hadn’t admitted to regaining his full memory. For all she knew, he believed they were married in truth.

Which gave him the benefits of a husband. Reconciliation had its physical implications.

Desire roared through him. He’d held off from her for years, but now she claimed to be his wife. He could claim his conjugal rights and who would stop him? If he continued to pretend he’d lost his recollection of events immediately before Waterloo, nobody would blame him for using this impostor any way he wanted to. Would she go along with it, or would she confess? Either way he would come out the winner. Finally bed the woman who had haunted him for years, or hear her confession.

He didn’t care which because he decided he’d have her either way.

Panic made Faith’s breath short and she had to fight for control.

How could she go with him when he thought they were married?

She hadn’t missed his hot glance, understood exactly what it meant.

It had stirred her, moved her body to soften, ready itself for him, but she had never allowed herself to become a slave to her baser instincts. She refused to start now. She had to go home. On her own.

She’d known her masquerade couldn’t last forever but it had served its purpose. Maybe she could safely move on.

“I have no night things with me,” she said, “And I have to prepare for my removal here.” She pressed his hand. “You stay. I’ll be fine. I’ll come back in the morning.”

He cocked his head to one side. “You aren’t anxious for our reconciliation?” The warmth in his eyes seared her, but she feared letting him too close. She’d seen him at his most dangerous and she knew he was shielding his menace under a veneer of social respectability. He didn’t fool her.

She forced a smile, putting on the best act of her life, and she’d staged a few in the past. “I’m tired. I’m sorry, but I need to sleep and to think. I won’t be alone, I have a maid waiting up for me.”

He glanced away to where her companion sat cosily next to the dowager, a question in her eyes. “Amelia may remain here,” the older lady said. “I have need of a companion.” So the self-effacing duenna was taken care of. Matters could be worse. Maybe Faith would find herself in the same situation before long.

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Lynne Connolly

John nodded his agreement. “I will accompany Faith. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t ensure my own wife’s safety?”

She laughed, but even to her ears it didn’t sound natural. “It’s not far and I won’t have to cross an army encampment to get there.

You’re living too much in the past, Lieutenant Colonel.”

The way she said that jolted him. She watched his heavy lids lift once, and his brows rise before he assumed an expression of mild interest. “I wouldn’t dream of it. However, I will return here, if you wish me to.”

She’d known his frostiness before, but never directed at her. It made her feel chilled to her core, but she steeled her nerve and persisted. After tonight she need never see him again so she could afford to upset him now. “Y-yes, please. If you don’t mind.”

“Why would I object?”

His cool dismissal froze her too. His disinterest might prove worse than his anger. If, she reminded herself, she really did care, which naturally she did not. Not at all. “No reason in the world.

Thank you. I assure you, I’ll be fine.”

“Of course you will.”

If her luck held, they’d excuse her non-appearance tomorrow, giving her a clear chance to get away. Maybe he’d become too engrossed with Roker to concern himself much with her absence, until it became obvious she was not coming.

After giving her John a polite nod, she turned on her heel and walked away.

Her heart sank when she realised she’d have to say farewell to her comfortable life. Suddenly the boredom she’d felt when she’d awoken that morning seemed an indulgence, something a well-off woman might feel from time to time, but the likes of her had no business experiencing.

So far she had no idea where she would go, but she had a better idea than most society women. A better sense of self-preservation, too.

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She sat rigidly apart from John on the way home, not trying to speak. He appeared content to remain silent. At the end of the short journey he handed her out of the carriage and gave the back of her hand a kiss. “You are sure you don’t want me to come in?”

“N-not tonight.” She thought of another reason she might not want him. “To tell you the truth, I need to become accustomed to the notion of sh-sharing my bed again.” She lowered her gaze, glancing up at him shyly.

A slow smile crept over his lips. “I can help you with that. But it can wait. I have never forced a lady, and I don’t intend to do so now.” He paused. “Merely persuade her. Goodnight, my dear.”

He waited until she’d opened the door and let herself in before she heard the carriage draw away, the horses clip-clopping up the cobbled street.

She could hardly wait to get upstairs. Robinson had to help her out of her dress, because it laced up the back, and she’d worn stays she needed help with, too. It took an age. Her maid insisted on brushing her hair and bringing fresh water from the kitchen before she would consent to leave. Faith had to assure her she could wash without assistance. Then she wanted to bring her mistress a concoction for her headache.

“I’m fine,” Faith said. “Only tired. Please go, Robinson. I’ll see myself to bed. I need nothing more.” She didn’t mention the circumstances of the dinner tonight. After all, why should she? It would only delay Robinson leaving.

How many people knew the earl and his brother had died, with only his second cousin to succeed him? Once they realised that, they’d beat a path to the door of this house, unfashionable or not.

The size of the house made it impractical for gatherings of more than ten people at a time. The thought of the great and the good gracing her modest reception room gave her a smile. Even now absurdity would do that. Despite her fears, her horror and her guilt she could still see the scene in her mind’s eye.

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Lynne Connolly

After the maid had left, Faith climbed out of bed and went to her chest of drawers, the uneven floorboards shifting under her feet in a comforting, familiar pattern. She rifled through the underwear drawer and found the papers John would need. She held them for a moment and glanced through them. Here were her dreams, laid out. Dead.

She put the sheaf on her dressing table, where he or whomever he sent wouldn’t fail to find them. Just to make certain, she weighted them down with a pincushion. She’d had that trinket for most of her life, but she’d sacrifice it. It had a union flag on it, in pins so old they’d have rusted through the pad, were it not for the emery inside that kept the steel clean.

No time to dream, she had to hurry. She had all night. Not enough. Not nearly enough. Even though she had some things ready. She’d always kept her bag half packed. Sometimes they had to up-sticks and move at a moment’s notice. Normal in the army.

Dragging the battered carpetbag from under the bed gave her pause. She’d told the maids it contained souvenirs from her husband, but of course it had no such thing. Inside she rediscovered her old, worn stays. She’d made the outfit last for years by turning the material every six months and remaking it, so when the colour faded, it had done so everywhere. Now they were a warm olive, where they used to be a sharp bottle green. Plain but serviceable, respectable and respectful. Just like she’d have to learn to become.

With a sigh she opened her clothes press and stared at the costumes she’d amassed since arriving here. Pretty things, relatively new. Now they seemed as unattainable as the diamonds Lady Graywood had sported tonight.

If she stayed, she’d have to order a lot of black. She’d never liked black.

She reached inside the press and fingered the fabric of the walking dress. Fine, and good quality, the kind of fabric she could never afford before. She’d make amends by leaving everything
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behind, and considering it a loan. True, she couldn’t pay any interest, but she’d return what she’d taken. This house hadn’t been in such an excellent state of repair when she’d bought it. She’d renovated it. With his money, but surely her care counted for something.

A Lieutenant Colonel’s pension, plus his private income had amounted to more than she’d supposed and she’d enjoyed it. While the dowager considered it a pittance, Faith had never had so much money in her life. She couldn’t give that back, or the quiet time she’d so badly needed to recover after the battle and the turbulence that had accompanied it.

She’d borrow a few items. Just to keep her respectable until she could get a position somewhere. She daren’t try to get a job in London. Even this city wouldn’t be big enough to hide her if he chose to come searching for her. Perhaps if she left a note, something appalling, telling him she relished fooling him and his family—no, he’d consider that a challenge and hunt her down. She knew enough about him to be absolutely sure of that. But if he thought her a damsel in distress he’d come, too, if only to satisfy his ridiculous male sense of honour. As if he hadn’t seen plenty of evidence of the rarity of honour these days.

Towel, a cake of soap, her toothbrush. He wouldn’t mind her taking those. Some clean linen, the plainest she could find. And a pair of shoes, the sturdiest ones she possessed, apart from the worn, many-times mended pair already in the bag.

She couldn’t carry any more. She might have to walk miles.

Wait, what was that place? Two inns on High Holborn, big coaching inns. If she could get there and take the first stagecoach, she’d get out of London at the crack of dawn. She could change for another at the first or second inn, and then he wouldn’t find her.

Her heart sank. She liked London, enjoyed the anonymity and the security of knowing most people she passed in the street didn’t care about her. Not that she was notorious. She probably would
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Lynne Connolly

become so, once word got out, and people knew the truth about the sham Countess of Graywood. Tears stung her eyes but she blinked them back. No time for that.