The Countess' Lucky Charm (19 page)

“But what’s in it for you?” she said shrewdly.

“The occasion to bring home a woman of my choosing.”
And to assert myself.
The look on his mother’s face when he introduced Simone as his wife would be entertaining, to say the least. He leaned over and tapped her on the collarbone. “What do you say, Simone, shall we make it a partnership?”

He sat back on his heels and waited for her response. Nothing would give him more pleasure than to bring her to wife and the vehemence of his conviction surprised him. Of course his desire to wed Simone had everything to do with annoying his mother and less so with his feelings for her. Hadn’t it?

“Are you certain I’m who you want?” Her voice was puzzled. “As an earl, you can have your pick of eligible women and—”

“Any of them would bore me to tears in no time,” he interjected.

“What if they find out I’m nothing but a workhouse sod, a pickpocket? Does that not concern you?”

“The power of an earl is substantial,” he answered glibly. “A few well-placed words here and there, a few timely introductions and numerous denials if need be. No one would dare dispute me. Besides, it would be a bit of a lark, don’t you think? To play the part of countess?”

Face expressionless, she gazed at him, firstly perusing his features before letting her eyes wander up and down his body. It discomfited him a little, as if she were inspecting him for purchase rather than considering him for marriage. Much to his surprise, he found himself anxiously waiting her reply although, really, why would she turn him down?

“Very well,” she said at last. “I will marry you.

“Splendid!” The word shot out of his mouth, propelled by the breath of air he had been holding while waiting for her answer. He reached over and raised her hand to his lips. “You won’t regret it, I promise you.”

“Regret? I scarce think I shall be the one to regret this preposterous arrangement. Now you, on the other hand.” Simone’s voice trailed away but he was glad to see a familiar twinkle in her cerulean eyes.

“Yes?” He lifted an autocratic eyebrow.

“You may come to regret it. I intend to play the role fully.” A brilliant smile swept across her mouth. “And to the best of my ability.”

He laughed but that didn’t stop his loins from thickening at the image of her playing the part fully. Unclothed. In his bed.

“When? Everyone here already thinks we’re married.” Her question interrupted his pleasant thoughts.

“On board ship.”

“Oh, how romantic.” Simone clapped her hands.

“
Er
, of course.” Bloody hell, romantic. How did that signify? This was a partnership. In return for his protection, she would become his countess, no more, no less. Nonetheless he was pleased to see her mood had changed and he didn’t want to disabuse her of any notion that cast a happy glow on her face.

“Romantic,” he muttered. “Right.”

* * *

How had it happened? An incredulous Simone leaned against the door frame of the cabin she shared with Temple and looked out over the mundane, everyday activities in the yard of the outpost.

Baptiste gutted fish over by the gate, and Daniel was standing in the door of the warehouse while Musdoos and several other Indians walked away from him with their arms full of blankets. Lisette wrung out linens by the garden with a grubby faced Polly hanging onto her skirts. Out of sight, the crack of tortured timber rent the air as Temple chopped wood.

And she, Simone Dougherty, was going to become a countess. And not just any countess, but Temple’s countess. The thought stunned her. How had she, a workhouse orphan, come to this? What had compelled her to take refuge in Temple’s trunk? What had compelled her to offer the whereabouts of his package in return for him taking her with him to North America? Stranger still, what had compelled him to agree? And now, to offer her, a nobody, nay, worse than nobody, his name in marriage?

An unwelcome thought niggled its way into her mind. A lark, he had called it.

What if he had offered her marriage in order to disturb his family and disrupt their social circle? He would not stoop to something so low as to use her as a pawn? Would he? Nay, she decided, shoving away the unwanted idea, it could not be.

Oy
, Simone, ye be the luckiest chit on this bloody earth.

A giggle burst loose from her chest and drifted away on the air. Temple would be appalled at the diction of her thoughts after all his hard work. But they were her thoughts and couldn’t be heard by him or anybody. Furthermore, she would keep it that way. She may well be street rubbish but she vowed to do him proud.

And, dare she say it, she would be free to love him and earn his love back. There. She wanted his love and she would do all in her power to earn it.

She swept her deepest, very best curtsy to an imaginary Temple before going back inside to shake out the bed furs.

* * *

Darkness shadowed the cabin by the time Temple returned. Simone had lit the one and only oil lamp while she mended a pair of his breeches at the table and the insignificant flame barely conquered the shadowed corners of the room. It was a warm, homely little tableau and with a contented heart, he sat down across from her.

“Thanks to the voyageurs that came in yesterday, we are able to leave in several days. I must thank Daniel somehow for it’s his doing that we’re able to depart so quickly and avoid a long and tedious winter here.”

“It’s going to be a long journey,” she sighed, before biting off the thread.

“Well, actually, no. We’re not going through Montreal. We’ll head west, travelling down the Fraser River then over to the Columbia River to follow that to Fort Astoria, on the Pacific Ocean. Then we’ll sail to England around Cape Horn. We’ll be home by early summer.”

“Still a long journey, just not so much by land. Which suits me,” she added airily. “I don’t have a problem with sea sickness.”
Oy
, did she just tease him? How does one speak to an earl, anyway? Even a soon-to-be-her-husband earl.

“Right.” He shuddered. “Terrible stuff. Incidentally, I’ve changed my mind about marrying.” He stopped to lean over and brush a wood chip from his leg.

“Oh,” she squeaked.

The bottom dropped out of her heart. It hadn’t taken him long to change his mind. Of course, he had gotten his wits about him. Of course it had been a jest at her expense. Her face must have betrayed her because he jumped in right away with an explanation.

“On board ship. Rather, I believe we’ll be able to find an Anglican priest in Fort Astoria.”

Her heart started beating again. She sucked in a huge, life-giving breath and fanned her face.

“You thought I was going to change my mind? Not on your life. I may be a scoundrel but I do keep my word.” He chuckled, a humourless sound sending chills up her back. “No, Mother will have far less quarrel with my marriage if it’s actually performed in the Church of England. I am taking secure measures, is all.”

Simone nodded as she took a long appraising look at his shadowed face. With the fire light dancing on it, he looked saturnine, cold, a creature of the night. It was as if his impending return to civilization brought out the wild beast in him rather than the other way around. She shivered. This was a part of Temple she hadn’t seen at all.

She wasn’t sure she liked it.

Chapter Fifteen

True to his word, upon their arrival in Fort Astoria six weeks later, Temple tracked down a Vicar Williams.

Within a matter of hours, Simone found herself standing, clad in her rumpled, soiled dress and muddy boots, in the common room of a local inn that doubled as a church. The only thing remotely clean about her was her shawl, which she draped over her shoulders in an effort to hide as much of the travel stains as she could. Two of the six voyageurs who had travelled with them from Stuart Lake Outpost, Alain and Guillaume, acted as witnesses, while the others stood behind. All in all, a bedraggled little group but sincere nonetheless.

“Dearly beloved,” began the vicar, “we are gathered here in the sight of God.”

She focused her gaze on the man, trying to follow the ceremony but the dreamlike situation, not his words, held her attention. While Vicar Williams droned on about the responsibilities of marriage through thick lips and stained teeth, all she could think was that this was some kind of joke and that Temple would call a halt to the proceedings once he came to his senses.

She peeked at Temple, standing so solemnly beside her. His face was a stone mask, as if he listened intently to every word and took them to heart. At the movement of her head, he glanced down at her. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly and his eyes crinkled in the beginnings of a smile but his sombre expression returned at the priest’s next words.

“Do you,
er
,” the man fumbled with the prayer book in his hand, searching for the paper with their names, “
er
, Temple Wellington, take this woman to be your wife,”

Simone held her breath. This was his chance to deny her and to walk away. Would he?

“I do.”

The simple declaration shattered the air and her doubts. The conviction with which Temple said the words boosted her confidence and she turned back to face the priest.

“Do you, Simone Dougherty, take this man to be your husband.”

“I do,” she whispered. “I do,” she repeated, louder this time so that all within the little inn could hear her. Her lips quivered and she tried to still them, squeezing them tightly together.

The vicar began droning on again. Simone had difficulty following him, so full of disbelief was she over the phrase she had just uttered.
I do.
Two small words yet enormous in their implication.

“Do you have the ring?” Vicar Williams asked, the abrupt question bringing Simone back to the proceedings at hand.

The ring. Simone cast a horrified look to Temple only to see him pull a gold signet ring out of his pocket.

He slid it on her finger. It was big and heavy and no sooner had he placed it than it swivelled around so that it hung upside down. She squeezed her fingers around it, a solid and reassuring lump nestled in the crease between her palm and fingers.

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

To the cheers and whistles of their companions, Temple leaned over and placed a chaste little kiss on her cheek. Bemused, Simone gazed around the rough room with its hand hewn flooring and log walls, plank tables and backless benches. It certainly didn’t resemble the churches at home, but then had she ever expected to be married in a church.

Or married, period.

She looked back up to her groom. Much to her astonishment, he radiated happiness. It swirled about him in an ever-increasing cloud that soon enveloped her too. Her heart swelled and her lips broke into a smile.

Grinning like an idiot, she stood there and lost herself in the endless depths of his eyes. Eyes beckoning to her, promising her a lifetime together. Fanciful thoughts, to be sure, but marriage was forever, was it not? Had those words not crawled through her consciousness during Vicar Williams’ ramblings—until death do you part?

They stood for what felt an eternity although in reality perhaps only one or two moments passed before Alain poked Temple in the ribs.

“Monsieur, you devour your wife with your eyes but may I suggest you save that for later? The inn keeper’s wife comes now with your wedding feast, and we are hungry,
oui
?”

Temple
held her gaze for one last second before he turned away to shout, “Ale to all! Come, Madame Innkeeper, come with your finest ale. Fill the cups and keep them full until not one man is left standing.”

Cheers filled the rafters and the wedding feast began.

* * *

“Come,” Temple whispered in Simone’s ear several hours later. “I tire of these rapscallions, charming though they be.” He squeezed her hand. “Come, Madame Innkeeper assures me our room is ready and a bath awaits.”

“A bath?” Simone echoed stupidly, glancing down at the unusual sight of her small head grasped within his very large one.

“Aye, a bath. You know, a tub filled with warm water accompanied by soap and towels?” Temple’s droll voice made her giggle. “Oh, and usually a maid or some such helpmeet but sadly, I will have to suffice,” he added.

“A bath,” she repeated.

“I assure you, a bath can be a pleasant diversion.”

“Of course.” It wasn’t the idea of a bath filling her with apprehension. It was what would follow. Don’t be silly, she chided herself. He’s had you already. Despite her nervousness, she thrilled with the thought of feeling him again, of feeling him plunge into her, taking her to the very precipice of wonder.

“You go ahead. We have the room on the left.” He gave her a gentle nudge toward the steep staircase leading up to the sleeping quarters. “I’ll divert our guests so no one will take note of your departure.”