Romancing the Countess (11 page)
Lady Elliot waved this away with her glass of champagne, the liquid swirling dangerously near the top. “You must go to the sea for at least a few weeks during the summer. Not Bath—it’s not quite the place it used to be. Lord Elliot and I thought about going to Italy this year, but someone told us there’s still a bit of unrest since the revolutions.”
Leah took another bite of custard. How wonderful it would be, to be able to explore the Continent at will—or even England for that matter. To choose where one wanted to go, not because so-and-so was hosting a party or because that’s where the fashionable set went on holiday, but simply because she was free to do as she pleased.
Perhaps she would do just that after the party ended. She could go to Cornwall, or Sussex, or even Northumberland. Ireland wasn’t very far away, either. And, oh, how her mother would have an apoplexy if she were to go to Ireland.
Beyond Mrs. Meyer’s shoulder, Miss Pettigrew stood from where she’d been engaged in conversation with Mrs. Thompson, Mr. Dunlop, and Lord Cooper-Giles. “I believe I’ll go for a walk,” she said. Although both gentlemen immediately rose to escort her, she turned toward Leah. “Mrs. George, would you mind accompanying me?”
With Cooper-Giles having moved from his position, Leah could see Lord Wriothesly once again, his arms stretched out behind him, idly chatting with Lord Elliot and Mr. Meyer. Even though he continued speaking to his companions, his eyes once again settled on her. That intense green gaze flickered over her face, studying her, as if he stared long enough he might understand all of her thoughts and secrets.
Leah stumbled a little as she stood. “A walk would be delightful, Miss Pettigrew.”
The girl was quiet as they strolled away from the picnic. She was probably only a couple of years younger, but Leah found it difficult to think of her as a woman with the soft innocence that seemed to permeate the air around her.
Once they’d walked for a few minutes, Miss Pettigrew stooped to pick a wildflower. “I meant to thank you for inviting me to your house party, Mrs. George. Linley Park is quite beautiful.”
“I’m pleased you came.”
With Miss Pettigrew carrying the flower in her hand, they meandered around the edges of the lake. “I’m sure it’s not
de rigueur
to say this, but this is the first house party I’ve ever been invited to.”
de rigueur
to say this, but this is the first house party I’ve ever been invited to.”
“That’s not unusual. If this is your first Season—”
“Third,” Miss Pettigrew muttered.
Leah blinked; they were actually of the same age.
“My father hired Mrs. Thompson as my companion, thinking that she’d be able to transform me into a proper gentlewoman. But all the
ton
ladies see is the daughter of a banker, and the fact that I’m wealthy does nothing to win their favor. Even Mrs. Thompson is barely able to conceal her dislike.”
ton
ladies see is the daughter of a banker, and the fact that I’m wealthy does nothing to win their favor. Even Mrs. Thompson is barely able to conceal her dislike.”
“Surely that’s not true,” Leah said. “I’ve seen her with you, and she—”
“Is a very good actress,” Miss Pettigrew finished, her gaze fixed on the water. “When we’re alone, she can hardly bring herself to speak to me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Leah said. She probably expected Leah to give her some sort of advice to help her change the situation. After all, hadn’t she spent the past twenty years being groomed and lectured on how to be a proper lady, how to become a desirable wife to a lord and a hostess that all the women envied? Leah tried to hide her amusement as Miss Pettigrew bent for another flower. Now she was more likely to suggest the young woman run off to explore Ireland with her, society be damned.
But Miss Pettigrew didn’t ask her advice; she only acknowledged Leah’s sympathy with a slight nod of her head. When she straightened and faced Leah, her blue eyes shone feverishly, a remarkable contrast to the paleness of her cheeks, the demure clasp of her hands. “I believe I might be in love, Mrs. George.”
“Oh.” Well, that hadn’t taken long. “With Mr. Dunlop?”
“No.”
“Baron Cooper-Giles?”
“Oh, no. No one suitable at all.” Miss Pettigrew darted a glance across the lake where the others were picnicking. Leah followed her gaze, curious at her silence.
No one suitable. If not the two bachelors, then that left the married gentlemen, Mr. Meyer and Lord Elliot. While certainly inappropriate, Leah couldn’t believe that Miss Pettigrew would find either particularly charming or attractive. Not with Mr. Meyer’s thinning blond hair and slight lisp and Lord Elliot’s whale of a stomach.
Of course, a recent widower might be considered unsuitable . . .
True, Lord Wriothesly wasn’t bosom-heaving handsome in the way Ian had been, but Leah knew very well how easily he could mesmerize a woman with his eyes, creating an illusion of intimacy with nothing more than the touch of his gaze and the stroke of his voice. It was that illusion which made it easy to forget he’d designated her as his enemy, that intimacy which had made his earlier insults seem particularly vicious.
“I believe he’s still in love with his wife,” she told Miss Pettigrew.
“Who?”
“Lord Wriothesly.”
“Oh, it’s not him either,” Miss Pettigrew said with a little laugh. “No, that would be too convenient—loving someone my father might actually approve of. Shall I tell you my secret, Mrs. George? Will you promise not to tell anyone?”
Leah tore her gaze away from the picnickers. “If you truly wish—”
“His name is William Price. He’s one of Father’s clerks.”
“You’re right. I don’t suppose he’s very suitable at all, is he?”
Miss Pettigrew smiled sadly and stared down at the flowers. A short while later, she said, “I’d like to know how you did it.”
Leah lifted her skirts as they walked around a particularly muddy area toward the low end of the lake. “What did I do?”
“How you made Mr. George love you. That’s why I wanted to walk with you. And to thank you for inviting me here, of course. But the love you seemed to share—I’ve never heard of anyone doing something like this. You must have loved him very much, and he you. Tell me, how did you convince him to marry you?”
“I . . . I—” Leah looked ahead. Thank God. The picnic area was only a short distance away. “Honestly, I married him because it’s what my parents desired. And I believe his family wanted the match, also.”
“Oh.” Miss Pettigrew nodded glumly at her flowers. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. George, for being so forward. I’m afraid Mrs. Thompson would be quite embarrassed for me.”
“But I did love him,” Leah added. It felt like a hundred years ago . . . another time. Another Leah. But she had. She couldn’t deny it. He’d been the fulfillment of her girlhood dreams, her golden knight come to rescue her from her mother, from herself and her own fears that she’d never be enough. And she’d loved him for that, for making her enough. Just as much as she’d hated him for revealing her dreams to be nothing but lies.
“And he loved you,” Miss Pettigrew said, sighing wistfully.
It was a statement, not a question, for which Leah was thankful. Although she’d become rather adept at falsehoods of late, she couldn’t have attempted to answer that one . . . especially when even she didn’t know the truth.
As they climbed the hill back to the pavilion, Miss Pettigrew handed her one of the flowers she’d picked—a dainty pink cerise bud. “You won’t tell anyone of my secret, will you, Mrs. George?”
“No, I promise.”
“Thank you.”
Miss Pettigrew returned to Mrs. Thompson’s side, where Mr. Dunlop and Lord Cooper-Giles soon found her again. Clutching the flower in her hand, Leah headed toward the bucket of iced champagne for another glass. She smiled at the guests as she passed. They each smiled back, all except for Lord Wriothesly.
He stared at her until she looked away.
Sebastian lifted the heavy glass globe, shifted it from hand to hand, then replaced the paperweight on Ian’s desk.
No matter how many times he’d visited Linley Park, he’d never seen Ian in this study. He couldn’t even imagine him sitting behind the desk, his head bent to the estate accounts or some other paperwork. He knew Ian must have maintained his responsibilities at his father’s request, but he hadn’t enjoyed them. Instead, Ian had preferred to lend his mind and his charm toward other things, such as—
Sebastian pivoted away from the desk. Not tonight. He’d done enough dwelling on the subject; tonight, at least, he wouldn’t think of them together.
Besides, it was thoughts of Henry which had kept him awake. This in itself surprised him. He hadn’t expected the longing to see his son’s face, to discover which new words Henry had learned while he was gone. He’d been away from Henry before, of course, for weeks at a time. But not since Angela’s death. And somehow although it had seemed fine before for a little boy to spend all day with his nurse, now Sebastian was jealous of those moments. He wanted to see his son, to play with him . . . to be reassured when he threw his arms around Sebastian’s neck that yes, Henry did belong to him. But instead of being able to return to Henry now, Sebastian was forced to watch over Ian’s widow.
A faint light flickered in the corridor outside the study. Sebastian moved to pull the door completely shut; it was well past midnight, and he didn’t want anyone to enter and ask questions about his intrusion into Ian’s private office. Even he wasn’t sure why he’d chosen to come here. There was nothing to find, no papers or clue to indicate why Ian had betrayed him. Everything was neat and orderly. Clean. Unused.
He paused before the door could latch. Perhaps it was intuition, or he’d somehow smelled her particular scent, but he opened the door again and quietly slipped out, certain he would find Leah doing something she shouldn’t.
As he crept down the corridor, the light fled before him, until he was no longer chasing the light but the shadows it cast on the wall in its wake. Footsteps sounded on the staircase, and he rounded the corner to see her climbing to the next floor, the lamp swaying in her grip.
She wore no widow’s cap or veil, and her cloak was a deep royal blue instead of black, but still he knew it was her. He’d spent enough time watching her today, searching to discover the secrets she refused to reveal. From their time at the lake, at dinner, and through two tedious hours of charades afterward, he’d studied her until he could have closed his eyes and envisioned her face, could have predicted the nervous habit she had of rubbing her third finger and thumb together on her right hand.
And now Sebastian knew the truth. He should have realized it before, from the first time he saw Leah after Ian’s funeral. She’d been almost happy to see him, although at the time he’d attributed it to a sordid relief that Ian was dead.
Again at the George town house, when she’d invited him to look through Ian’s things, she might have been in good spirits when he arrived, but she didn’t smile until she saw him.
And earlier today, among her guests at the picnic, her face lit up when in conversation with the ladies sitting around her. She jested and laughed, offered her opinions and even roused the others to join her in what she declared was Ian’s favorite song. That is, when she wasn’t stealing glances at Sebastian, trying to see if he still stared at her.
But he did stare—and he studied her. He was rewarded that evening during the charades, when he finally realized that Leah’s attentiveness to her guests was something he’d never noticed before. All the times in the past when he and Angela had visited the George residence for a party or dance, Leah had stayed in the background, only speaking when someone addressed her. But now she purposefully engaged others, and the quiet wallflower he’d once known shone like a rare diamond, newly polished and cleaned.
Why would a recent widow who’d never before violated any rule of etiquette suddenly invite all manner of rumors by defying society’s unspoken rules? Instead of the expected flirtations and outrageous behavior, why would she invite respectable men and women to her country house party and try to justify it as a celebration of her dead husband’s life?
The answer was obvious; Sebastian had simply needed to wait for her to reveal herself.
Leah George was lonely.
Three months spent isolated in her widow’s weeds, following a year of keeping the secret burden of Ian and Angela’s affair all to herself. No wonder she scoffed at his lecture on obedience being better than recklessness; she’d nearly been entombed in her own adherence to society’s expectations.
He might have been inclined to feel sympathy for her, or to applaud her courage, if not for the fact that she threatened both Sebastian and Henry with her actions. But he understood her better now, which meant that as long as he could help assuage her loneliness, he might be able to keep her from further scandal.
The only question that remained now was why she refused to admit it to him.
Sebastian stepped forward, his foot landing on the first stair as Leah reached the top. He started to call out.
But though his tongue touched the roof of his mouth for the first syllable of her name, no sound emerged. He let her escape without even demanding to know where she’d been, or where she was going. Instead, he remained frozen on the bottom step, the air where she’d just passed swirling around him, surrounding him.
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