Countess by Coincidence (17 page)

Perry snorted. “Like standing up behind the stage curtains at Drury Lane.”

“That was you—not I!” John protested.

Smiling, Knowles nodded. “Or on top the coachman’s box between St. Albans and Oxford.”

John had to admit they’d all had a go at that
sport
on the night to which Knowles was referring. At least, that’s what John had been told the following morning. An overabundance of spirits had been involved.

“Then there’s the fountain at Tolford Abbey . . .” Perry eyed him with mirth.

Not amused, John held up a flattened palm. “Enough!” It embarrassed him to think of Maggie ever learning what unorthodox activities had been performed in the fountain at his country home.

Another case of too much strong spirits.

“Then prove it to us. Tomorrow night,” Perry said, “That you’re our same old, fun-loving friend. Act like you did before you got shackled.”

John’s brows lowered. “What do you propose?”

“You’re in the blunt now. Get yourself a lady-bird.”

“And Perry’s got just the one!” Arlington nodded. “The new buxom little redheaded dancer at the opera. If I weren’t under an agreement with Mrs. Flannagan, I’d take her myself.”

“It’s too soon after his marriage,” Knowles protested. “The Duke of Aldridge would not approve.”

John nodded enthusiastically. “He’s right. I can ill afford to behave in a manner that would increase the duke’s hostility toward me.”

Perry’s face was screwed up in thought. “Finch, did you not mention that now you’ve got funds, you can afford to bribe the gossip writers to keep your scandals out of the newspapers?”

“He most certainly did,” Arlington asserted.

Perry faced John, smiling. “There you have it! Come with us tomorrow night, and I'll introduce you to the gloriously top-heavy Loosey Lucy.”

“And,” Knowles added, “That’s L-o-o-s-e-y.”

“An apt description for the affectionate lady.” Perry grinned.

John could not have his friends thinking him henpecked. It was an affront to the agreeable woman he’d married. “Very well. Tomorrow night.”

Seeing Barrow's white hair when he swept open the door of her former home was as welcoming as a warm hug. She had seen the beloved old fellow every day of her life. Until she married. "Hello, Barrow."

His bushy white brows scrunched together. "Did you not move away, my lady?"

"You know very well I did, but I must visit my sisters. Are they here?" She was one of the few who understood—along with the footmen whom he supervised—that to be heard by Barrow, one must greatly elevate one's voice.

"Yes, Lady Clair and Lady Caroline are both in, but Lady Clair will be departing soon. Mr. Rotten-Smelly will be collecting her."

She tried not to burst out laughing at the butler's mispronunciation of Clair's suitor's name. She turned to scurry up the stairs. "Thank you, Barrow."

Both sisters were in Margaret's old bedchamber that she had shared with Caro. Clair was seated in front of Caro's dressing table, peering into the looking glass. "Can you not make my hair look like yours?" she said to Caro. "You've received eleven proposals of marriage, and I've not received a single one."

They turned when Margaret entered.

"But, my dear Clair," Margaret said, "You've never wanted but one proposal—and speaking of Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley, why is Barrow now under the delusion the poor man's name is Rotten-Smelly?"

Both sisters giggled. "That's because Aldridge took it upon himself to try to correct Barrow's mispronunciation of Rotten for Rothcomb," Caro explained, "and the poor old hard-of-hearing butler thought he'd got the Smedley part wrong. Barrow immediately changed the name to Rotten-Smelly, informing Aldridge he was a dutiful servant who intended to abide the master's wishes—even if he did not agree with them."

"And," Clair added, "Aldridge didn't have the heart to attempt to correct him a second time."

Margaret's gaze locked onto the image of her two sisters in the looking glass. Sadly, there was nothing Clair could do to be as pretty as Caro. The singular deviation in their appearance was their skin. Where Caroline's had the colour and luminosity of fresh cream, Clair's was dotted with freckles. Margaret did not find freckles at all offensive, but the comparison to Caro's completely unblemished skin was not to Clair's advantage.

"What does Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley think of dear Barrow's moniker?" Margaret asked.

"He's been very polite when poor Barrow addresses him as such, but when others playfully call him
Rotten-Smelly
, he gets rather miffed," Clair said.

Caro shrugged. "As long as it doesn't come out in the newspapers, it makes for great fun."

The very mention of newspapers reminded Margaret of that odious newspaper man and his vile practices. "If the press did get a hold of that name and start using it—particularly in the political caricatures—it could be disastrous to Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley's Parliamentary aspirations."

"That has also occurred to me," Clair said, her voice troubled.

Caro adopted a unconcerned air. "I daresay it's too late now. That cat has been out of the bag a good long while. I believe if someone were going to pass that name on to the press, it would have occurred by now. And it's not as if we can erase memories of those who've already heard it."

"Caro does have a point." Margaret began to circle her seated sister. "Pray, dearest, what's all this fuss about copying Caro's hair in order to wrangle a marriage proposal?"

Clair pouted. "I'm desperate. It's been nearly a year now since Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley became my suitor. We are infinitely compatible with one another. We never tire of each other's companionship. Everyone in the
ton
has been expecting an announcement of our nuptials for several months. The only explanation must be that I'm not pretty enough."

"Nonsense!" Margaret said. "I have on more than one occasion heard Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley praise your beauty. Besides, you truly are pretty."

"I am aware that I'm not as lovely as you two."

"I have no doubts," Caro said authoritatively (but then, Caro said everything authoritatively), "that Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley admires you vastly. I have no doubts that a marriage between you two would be spectacularly successful. I do have doubts, though, about Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley's desire to be
shackled.
I believe he's likely petrified at the prospect of being tied down in marriage."

Just like John
. "Many men are."

"Then perhaps we need a scheme to make the man realize how much he wants to marry Clair," Caro announced.

"That sounds devious." Margaret's eyes narrowed as she regarded Caroline.

"That's because you're so beastly honest!"

"There's nothing beastly about being honest," Margaret defended. Though, she must own, she was hardly one to exemplify honesty, not with all the secrets she was harboring about her own marriage.

"You are absolutely sure that you desire to wed Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley?" Margaret asked.

Clair nodded. "I've never wanted anything more."

"That does it!" Caro flung down the comb she'd been using on Clair's hair. "I know exactly what is needed to coax a declaration."

Through their reflections in the looking glass Margaret saw Clair's eyes widen as she regarded Caro with skepticism.

"We must make him jealous."

Margaret and Clair both gawked at Caroline. "How does one do that?" Margaret asked.

Caro puckered her lips in thought. "I believe I have a plan, but first, Clair, before I can bring my plan to fruition, you must give me your word you will feign encouragement of another man's interest."

"I cannot possibly pledge to any such ridiculous scheme! Nothing could be more calculated to drive away Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley."

"She's right!" Margaret concurred. "Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley's a very proud man. If he thought for a moment Clair preferred another man over him, he'd bow out."

"Allow me to rethink this." Caro began to pace the carpet. After several moments, she turned around and eyed Clair, smiling brightly. "Then I propose you continue those things you do exclusively with Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley, things like your afternoons riding in the park, but at the more public functions, another man will give the impression to all that he's prostrate with love of you. He will need to be handsome. And rich. Otherwise Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley could never consider him a threat to his secure position in your affections. He will be so charming in public, and you will appear so flattered over his attentions, that Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley will hasten to secure your affections for himself."

Clair's jaw dropped. Margaret's eyes widened. Both stared at Caroline as if she'd started speaking in extinct tongues. "Where, may I ask," Clair demanded, "will you find such a
faux
suitor?"

Caro favored her sisters with a smug smile. "Actually, I met the man at the Finchley ball."

It was a moment before Margaret remembered she was Lady Finchley, and her sister was referring to
their
ball. On the night of The Kiss. Even before Caro told her who this man would be, Margaret knew.
Christopher Perry
. He was handsome. He was exceedingly wealthy. But he had scarcely noticed Clair. All his attentions had been on Caro.

"Pray tell, who?" Clair squinted at her sister.

"Mr. Christopher Perry."

"I've never heard of him."

"That, my dear sister," Margaret said to Clair, "is because he's not in Parliament, and you are only interested in matters of government."

"He's a great friend of Lord Finchley. He's called on me once or twice. I'm persuaded that, as a favor to me, he would pretend to be infatuated with you. Shall I ask him?"

Margaret knew that Mr. Perry's interest in Caro on the night of the ball had been decidedly keen, but she'd not heard that he’d actually called on her sister since that night. How very novel! John and his friends had heretofore never been attracted to well-born ladies. "Would you tell Mr. Perry the truth?" Margaret asked.

"I don't know yet how much I will tell him. I'm not sure if I know him well enough to trust his confidentiality."

"Men are supposed to be better at keeping confidences than women," Margaret said.

There was a knock at Caroline's chamber door. "A caller for you, Lady Caroline," Barrow said. "Mr. Christopher Wren."

All sisters exchanged amused glances, then burst into giggles. No doubt, by the time poor old Barrow had hobbled up two flights of stairs he'd gotten Mr. Christopher Perry's name mixed up with London's most famed architect, who'd been dead for many years.

Caro turned to Margaret. "Won't you accompany me?"

It took no persuasion since Margaret was always happy to have the opportunity to visit with her husband's life-long friends.

Mr. Christopher Perry was pacing the drawing room when the two ladies entered. His gaze leapt from Margaret to settle upon Caro, and he effected a bow, first to Margaret before resting his admiring gaze upon her sister. "How remarkably you two beautiful ladies resemble one another."

"I declare, Mr. Perry, you shall make us blush," Caro said. "Pray, won't you take a seat?"

He waited until the ladies sat, then he lowered himself into the nearest chair.

"I'm surprised to see you here," Margaret said. "I assumed you were with my husband." Then she clapped a hand to her mouth. "I beg that you not think me a prying wife."

He shook his head. "Finch says you're one in million. If a man has to be shack- -" He coughed. "What I'm trying to impart is that Finch is most gratified that he's wed a woman of your good nature and understanding."

It did not escape Margaret's notice that Mr. Perry had failed to address her husband's whereabouts. Her heart sank. Was he with his ladybird? Had he been with his ladybird on all these afternoons she'd thought he was at White's or race meetings, or boxing mills with his friends?

"You have perfectly described my dearest sister," Caroline concurred. Then she batted her lashes at her caller. "It's such a remarkable coincidence that you've come just as my sisters and I were discussing you."

He strutted like the cock of the walk. "How honored I am, my lady. Permit me to ask in what manner I was being discussed."

"Our older sister, Clair, is in need of an exceedingly handsome man of means."

"I should think every unmarried woman in the Capital would aim for the same."

The sisters laughed. That was too true.

"How clever you are, Mr. Perry," Caro praised. "Actually, our sister's affections are already engaged, but the man she wishes to marry has failed to see how advantageous their union would be."

"How is it that I came to be discussed. I don't believe I've ever met your other sister, and I don't mean to be unkind, but I don't believe I'd like to offer for her, either."

"Oh, you haven't met her, and you needn't offer for her," Caro said. "I was just telling her that you're just the man to sweep in, pretend to woo her, and make Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley so jealous he'll be down on bended knee begging for her hand."

Mr. Perry's brows squeezed together. "Shouldn't like to alienate Rothcomb-Smedley. Finch says he's a young man who'll be ruling Britain before he's thirty."

"It's just that you are the only man in the kingdom possessed of so many attributes—manly attributes—that would make Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley jealous." Caro had adopted her sultry, flirty voice that never failed to reap results from her gentlemen callers. "I assure you, I've thought long and hard to select the perfect man, and no other man, save you, Mr. Perry, will do." More eyelash batting.

How could two sisters who looked so very much alike be so very different? Caro had most certainly
not
given the matter long consideration! And look at how completely flirtatious she was! No wonder she'd received eleven proposals of marriage. Caroline could manipulate men as easily as winding a clock. And, unlike Margaret, she had absolutely no compunction about stretching the truth to suit her needs.

What man could refuse after being flattered like that? Mr. Perry looked rather like a strutting peacock.