The Countess' Lucky Charm (34 page)

She sensed rather than saw Temple sitting by the bed and turned her head to look at him.

He sat with legs extended, eyes closed, dark head propped on a book, chin lifting and lowering slightly with each breath. He had taken the time to wash, shave and change into a clean shirt. The collar lay open, exposing the crisp black curls of chest hair. She longed to run her fingers through it and of its own volition, her hand reached toward him.

The small movement woke him and his head jerked upright.

“Hello,” she whispered.

“Hello,” he whispered back, leaning over to drop a kiss on her forehead. “How do you feel?”

“Famished,” she admitted wryly. She struggled to sit and he helped her, throwing one firm arm about her shoulders and shifting her knees with the other. He pulled up the bedclothes, patting them into place.

“I have just the ticket,” he said, reaching for the tray on the night stand and placing it carefully on her knees. “Eat,” he commanded as he whipped off the linen cloth covering the tray, “or the cook shall be sorely disappointed.”

She briefly contemplated chiding him for his overbearing manner but decided against it as the tantalizing odour of soup, roast beef and freshly baked bread hit her nostrils. Manners be damned, she thought, and she tackled the tray with gusto, not stopping until every last crumb was eaten.

“That was lovely,” she sighed, licking a bit of butter from her fingers. “Although not a display a lady of quality would put on.”

Because I’m not one
, she added to herself,
and somehow I must make Temple understand that.

“I shouldn’t worry about ladies of quality, if I were you. Only about regaining your strength.”

Simone snorted. “Who are we fooling, my lord? I am what I am.” Her full belly made her bold and so she continued. “I don’t belong in your world and we both know that.”

“Now who came up with that conclusion? Certainly not I.”

Her heart leapt at his brash assertion. However, she must not allow herself to be dissuaded from the decision that had formed in her mind over the past days and weeks. She simply did not fit in the upper class and never would.

Furthermore, she wouldn’t hold him to their poorly conceived marriage. If she left now, before he knew of her pregnancy, she could have his baby. It would be hers and hers alone and at least she would have something of him.

She sucked in a deep breath. “I do not wish to embarrass you further,” she blurted. “Perhaps we could have our marriage annulled.”

“Annulled? I vow that is the most scatter-brained suggestion I have ever heard. Besides, how would you explain the child?”

“The child?” Her head spun at his words. “How do you know of that?”

“The doctor told me.” He looked at her as if she had grown two heads. “How else do you think I would know? Which brings me to another matter.” He tapped her on her nose with a well-manicured index finger. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

He knew. He knew about the baby.

Her dreams came crashing to the ground and, defeated, she hung her head. She clutched the sheets in her fists to quell the trembling before lifting her face to look at him. “Because I do not wish you to be ashamed of your child’s mother,” she cried out at length.

“Ashamed? Of you? Wherever did you get that notion?”

“I’ve been in Newgate. How could you explain that?”

“Why do I have to? No one knows. All we shall say is you’ve been at the country house.”

“But all of London knows I grew up in a workhouse. I am a common thief. That, my lord, is beyond explanation.”

“
Pffft
,” he snorted. “The next incident has already taken hold of the wagging tongues. Not to disappoint you,” he tickled her under her chin, “but you’re not the scandal of the moment anymore. I do believe it is Lord Wrigley being discovered on the street outside of White’s naked as the day he was born.”

His calm, matter of fact manner irked her. He simply did not, or would not, understand.

She threw out her last argument. “But what of your mother? She dislikes me intensely.”

“My mother?” He rolled his eyes. “How does my mother enter into the conversation?”

“She snubbed me at the Belmont’s ball. Her social clout is enormous.”

“No more so than yours. May I remind you, Simone, you are now the Countess of Leavenby.”

“But she doesn’t like me,” she wailed. “In all likelihood, she never will.”

“You are guilty simply by association with me.” Hurt flashed through his eyes to be replaced by contempt. His lips twisted. “My mother despises me, ergo she despises you.”

 
Surprise at his words blazed through her. “Why is that,” she prodded. The hurt she could understand. But contempt?

“My crime? I’m not Richard. She never wanted me, never wanted more than one child.” He stopped for a minute, looking up to the ceiling in an obvious effort to collect his thoughts. “She denied my father his rights as a husband,” he continued, battling his emotions. “She claims he took her against her will one night and I was the product.” He stopped again to swallow hard. “When I realized that nothing I did would ever change her opinion of me, I decided I may as well live up to, or down to, as the case may be, her expectations of me. I simply did not care anymore.”

“What of your father? Surely he could see the unfairness of it all.”

“No.” A harsh smile twisted his lips. “I was a reminder to my father of his unhappy marriage. He couldn’t wait to be rid of me the second I was old enough to be shipped to boarding school.”

In a blinding instant she knew: he craved his parents’ acceptance. She held her tongue, knowing nothing she could say would ease the hurt of a child neglected.

He must have seen the sympathy in her eyes for his manner changed abruptly.

 
“She may or may not come around regarding me,” he said brusquely. “But I have the suspicion an impending heir would do a lot for changing her opinion of you.”

Of course. He did not wish the marriage annulled to protect his first born child. It had nothing to do with her. Her mouth turned to ash.

It was as if he read her thoughts. “Do you think I don’t wish our marriage annulled to stop my son from being born a bastard? Don’t be daft.”

A son. His assumption that the child would be a boy amused her bitterly. She squared her shoulders before replying. “I understand,” she declared over the lump in her throat. “I understand because I never had a mama and a papa. I had Mrs Dougherty, oh, and I had Gentry Ted,” she added, thinking of him and his never failing gift of an orange, “he looked out for me but it’s not the same as having a mama and a papa.”

“Staying together is not because of the baby.” He leaned over and took her hands in his. “You make me want to be a better person. I don’t want our marriage annulled because I love you, Simone. It’s a simple as that.”

Speechless, she looked at him. “You—you love me?”

“Yes. Be prepared, for my purpose right now is to make you love me too, even if it takes me the rest of my life.

“That battle is already won, Temple,” she whispered shyly, looking at him with adoring eyes. “I love you too. I’ve loved you since that morning we first saw North America. I realized then I wanted to be with you, no matter where your adventures took us.”

“Simone, my life is different with you at my side. You’re jolly good company and fun to be with. You care nothing for the material trappings and you care nothing for my title. You are happy to be warm and clean and safe.”

She held her silence and considered what he said. He thought her fun, enjoyed her company. And he loved her. How could that be, she of the workhouse upbringing? But he had declared himself so it must be so. The idea made her light headed with joy; a smile crept across her lips.

“Anyway,” he continued without waiting for her response, “the doctor has suggested we retire to the country house away from London’s foul air.”

“Yes, I should like that.” Still she smiled. She must look a fool, bemused by his admission as she was, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Incidentally, I have something for you.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a velvet pouch. “I had it polished and a new chain put on.”

Simone took the pouch and released the draw strings, tipping it over so its contents fell onto her lap. It was her medallion.

“Where … how did you get this?” Startled, her grin dissipated; she turned her gaze to him. “I traded it away for the note.”

“I happened to notice it around the neck of one of the guards. I passed him a few guineas and he was more than happy enough to part with it.” He snagged it from her lap and draped it around her neck. “I couldn’t leave it, it’s the only clue we have of your identity.”

“You shall help me?”

“Of course. Everyone deserves to know from whence they came.”

She looked down at the medallion then raised her gaze to his. “What of Mortimer-Rae?” she blurted. “I hope you are not angry with me but I left the package behind in exchange for you. I know how important it was to you but I had hoped it would dissuade Mortimer-Rae from pursuing you further.”

“It’s not important to me anymore.” He gave her a crooked smile. “That part of my life is over. As far as Mortimer-Rae, he may have retrieved it, I don’t know. However, it’s another good reason to leave London for a time. I have the constables looking for him and I provided the necessary information regarding his nefarious activities. It shall be he who spends his time in Newgate.”

“Good.” She nodded her head. “It is what he deserves.”

“On a better note, Joanna is here and anxious to see you. I told her she must curb her impatience until the morning,” he chuckled, “which made her rather cross with me. And,” he squeezed her hand, “I told Mother she would not be needed. She is away on an indefinite visit to her cousins in Northumbria.”

Relief flashed through her. Facing Lady Frederica was not a task she wished to undertake just yet.

A blaze of the setting sun pierced the gloom, shining bronze into the room, illuminating a glass bowl on the mantle.

A bowl piled high with oranges.

Surprised, her gaze darted about the room. There were oranges everywhere—baskets of them, on the floor, on the hearth, even oranges made into a bouquet on the side table.

“
Oy
,” she managed to gasp before tears began to slide in earnest down her cheeks. “For me?”

“Aye,” he nodded his head. “For you.” He reached down and plucked one from the basket by the side of the bed. “They are your lucky charm, are they not,” he said as he handed it to her.

She took it, cupping it in both hands. A tremulous smile broke through the glistening tears. “You are my lucky charm now, Temple. I love you.”

“And I you.” He leaned over to kiss her very, very thoroughly.

As she flung her arms about Temple’s neck the orange dropped from Simone’s hands to land in her lap. It lay there nestled securely in the bed clothes, next to the life growing within her.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Are we there?” Simone couldn’t keep the excitement from her voice. At last, she would see Leavenby Manor, where Temple had spent his childhood. Dr Simon had not given his permission for her to travel until she was well into her fifth month of pregnancy; the wait had been unbearable. “Is it very grand?”

“You shall see soon enough. I vow, you are like a child awaiting Father Christmas,” Temple chuckled. “Look, there are the gates, just ahead.”

Simone poked her head out of the carriage. “I don’t see any gates,” she complained, settling back against the squabs. “You are teasing me, I know.”

“You looked in the wrong direction.” He pointed out the other side. “See, there are the gates to Leavenby Manor now.”

Simone half rose to poke her head out again. Temple resisted the urge to pinch her very attractive, very proximate, bottom. He opted instead to pull her onto his lap.

“Scoundrel,” she pouted. “You could leave a girl alone.” She swatted him with her fan and wriggled off to sit beside him.

“A girl, yes,” he agreed mildly. “But my girl? Never.”

“
Oy
,” she said, fanning herself vigorously. “I saw the house. It is ever so large.”

“A bit more comfortable than Stuart Lake Outpost,” he remarked. “Nonetheless, the lifestyle here is much more relaxed than the season in London.”

But she wasn’t so sure about that when the carriage finally rocked to a stop on the gravelled drive in front. After Temple helped her from the carriage, she stood back to look, massaging her aching back as she did so.

The house was every bit as grand as the town house, in fact much more so for it was at least double in size. Two mismatched wings, both of mellow red brick, spread out from the central block of light-coloured stone. Marble steps ran the entire front width, centred by panelled mahogany doors. By her estimation and judging by the array of mullioned windows, there must be dozens of rooms inside.