Romancing the Countess

I will send you a reply tomorrow. I found this two days ago, and thought of you. No matter what happens—I love you. “My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.”

The next day, Leah changed the structure of the house party. Instead of the group activities she had scheduled, she encouraged the men to go out and enjoy the more traditional amusements of a country house party: fishing, hunting, riding. She let them choose, as she didn’t care what they decided as long as it kept Sebastian far away from her. The ladies stayed mostly indoors: chatting, knitting, and playing instruments in the music room. When they did venture outside in the late afternoon, it was to take long walks in the gardens, areas where Leah knew the men would not be.

At dinner Leah urged the most talkative of the guests—Lady Elliot and Mr. Dunlop—to regale the rest of the table with gossip they’d heard toward the end of the Season, and bits that were currently making the rounds from house party to house party.

Afterward, when she suggested an evening of cards, Leah made certain she remained occupied on the opposite side of the room from Sebastian. Though they both knew she was avoiding him, he surprised her when he made no effort to stay close or even to make sure she didn’t have an opportunity to be alone with the guests.

The following morning, the day of the dinner party and the last day of the house party itself, Leah finally rose early enough to find everyone else still at breakfast. However, instead of having a plate readied for herself, she stood before the table and made an announcement.

“I apologize for my absence, but I’ve prepared a surprise for the dinner party tonight which requires me to journey to Swindon.”

“Unfortunately, I’ll be gone for several hours.” Leah motioned to Herrod. She gave him a list she’d penned the night of the tableaux vivants, one which had kept her busy from thinking of Sebastian’s words that evening . . . and the handsome tragedy he’d presented as Julius Caesar. “But I encourage you to look at the paper I’ve provided Herrod. It lists several more activities which Ian enjoyed.”

Though the expressions of the guests were curious, no one pressed her for further details. Even Sebastian abstained from questioning her, though she could feel his gaze on her back as she excused herself and walked out the door.

Once inside the coach, Leah tried to relax in the seat and prepare for the ride which would take well over an hour. She glanced across to the opposite side, where the black organza gown she’d never intended to wear in front of anyone else now lay neatly folded inside a long, rectangular box.

A test, that’s what she’d told Sebastian the other evening. The entire house party, from the beginning when she first thought of hosting it, to sending out the invitations, to planning events which pleased her and her alone, was meant to be a test to her new determination to live as she wanted. Her choice, to not bow to the expectations of others, but to find her own happiness through the independence she’d gained after Ian’s death.

And if she wanted to dance at her dinner party when most of society would agree that such a thing was wholly inappropriate for a widow in mourning, she would do it. And if she wanted to not only wear the black organza dress that was more a mockery of her widowhood than a symbol, but also to alter it into a scandalous style, then that was her choice. As she’d told Lady Elliot before, the happiness she created for herself now was for more important to her than the prison of her own reputation.

There would be consequences—she wasn’t naive to think she could escape unscathed—but for the first time in her life, Leah wasn’t afraid to discover what those consequences might be.

Watching the hills roll by, with the thickets of trees few and far between, Leah idly wondered at Sebastian’s response to the news that there would be dancing after dinner that evening.

She’d meant to tell everyone that morning, as she knew the ladies would be thrilled at the prospect, but after Sebastian’s kiss in the garden and their subsequently frayed relationship, she thought better of it. Instead, she would tell them later this afternoon, before they began preparing to dress for the meal. Then it would be too late for Sebastian to try to cancel the party, as the other guests from the surrounding area would already be preparing at their own houses.

The more interesting thought, of course, was what Sebastian would do when he realized she meant to dance along with the other guests, especially when he saw what she wore.

But no matter his reaction, she didn’t plan to dance for him, and she didn’t intend to wear the gown for him. If she’d learned nothing else from the garden incident and the way she kept running from Sebastian, it was that part of her was still locked away with Ian in the past. And tonight, at last, she meant to be free.

The coach swung roughly around a corner, sending the dress box sliding across the opposite seat. Leah stretched forward to save it from falling to the floor. Catching it with both hands, she dragged it onto her lap. It remained there, held tightly beneath her arms, until they reached Swindon.

The dressmaker, Mrs. Neville, met her at the door of the shop. Much smaller than any modiste’s shop in London, Mrs. Neville’s business had only one assistant, and Leah saw her head bent low over a skirt as the dressmaker escorted her into the back room.

Mrs. Neville looked Leah over from head to toe, taking in her veil, dusty black skirts, and no doubt wondering at her widow’s weeds. Soon, however, the dressmaker held out her arms. “I assume this is the gown you mentioned in your note?”

With a sense of stepping over an invisible line she’d only previously contemplated, Leah nodded and placed the box in Mrs. Neville’s hands. “Yes.”

“Helen,” Mrs. Neville called to the girl at the other end of the room. “Put down that skirt for now. Please help Mrs. George undress.”

At a table in a nearby corner, Mrs. Neville clucked her tongue appreciatively as she opened the box and lifted Leah’s gown out. She turned to Leah with a sly smile, her hands smoothing over the fabric. “I believe I’m beginning to understand what you wish, Mrs. George.”

Soon, with Helen’s help, they lowered the organza gown over her head. Even without the alterations made, Leah couldn’t help but be pleased as she glanced in a mirror set against the opposite wall. Although it was black like all of the other dresses she’d worn since the carriage accident, the customary white trimmings were missing from the high neck and around the wrists. The organza wasn’t crisp against her skin like bombazine or wrinkled like crepe; it was soft, the skirt shimmering blue with the light, fluid and supple in her hands. In contrast, the petticoats beneath felt too stiff, too restrictive.

Mrs. Neville began taking measurements around her waist. As she moved to the back, Leah could feel her fingers skimming over the long line of pearl buttons. “What would you like me to do with these, madam? I could sew them around the edge, if you like.”

Leah considered the mirror and the bold woman within. For the first time in a very long while, she met her own gaze without flinching away. “I think that’s a wonderful idea, Mrs. Neville.”

After half an hour, the dressmaker finished with the other measurements to the bodice and shoulders and stepped back. “Very good, Mrs. George. I don’t believe it will take me long. I’ll have it delivered to you by six.”

“She’s a fine mare, but no better than Lord Derryhow’s. I saw her at Ascot last year, when her left leg turned lame shortly after the first turn . . .” Any words Sebastian had meant to say next disappeared as Leah walked into the drawing room.

Sebastian blocked out the sound of the voice of Baron Cooper-Giles, who apparently hadn’t yet seen the beautiful woman who’d just entered.

A surprise that required her to leave her guests for most of the morning and early afternoon. Whatever she’d done, she appeared quite pleased about it, her eyes sparkling despite her attempt to match the somber tone of her mourning clothes. Sebastian turned his head, fingering the curtain of the window he leaned against as he glanced outside. No matter how much he’d tried to stay away from her yesterday, his memory teased him mercilessly with reminders of their kiss and the desire he’d witnessed in her eyes. Sebastian released the curtain to look at Leah. Or perhaps he’d only imagined the desire; he certainly hadn’t seen any evidence of it since.

“I apologize for not telling you before now,” she said, “but I wanted to make sure all the details were in place. Tonight, after dinner, I’ve arranged for musicians to come. We’ll finish both the dinner party and the house party with dancing.”

Although murmurs had risen when she appeared in the drawing room, guesses made regarding the surprise for the evening, her announcement about dancing withered every voice in the room. Each moment of silence pulsated with the question in everyone’s minds: would she dance as well?

Jaw clenched, Sebastian waited with them for the answer, although he already suspected the truth. While he understood Leah’s quest for freedom and might have encouraged it otherwise, if she did decide to dance, the rumors created in the wake of the scandal could escalate dangerously. It was possible they wouldn’t extend to Ian and Angela, nor then to Henry’s legitimacy. Possible, but Sebastian wasn’t comfortable with the idea of possible.

Leah inclined her head, the ribbons of her widow’s cap swaying with the motion. Her posture, her expression, every movement she made bespoke modesty and meekness. Sebastian crossed his arms and watched her, looking for any nuance that would give her thoughts away.

“As I said before, I know this isn’t a usual house party, but with this being the last night, I wanted to do something to express my appreciation for your presence. Ian always enjoyed dancing. Tonight, I hope you will, too.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. She focused on their enjoyment, their dancing, but she didn’t say she wouldn’t be joining them.

“Now, if you will excuse me, I believe our other guests will be arriving in a little over an hour. I must get ready for dinner.”

As Leah turned and exited the drawing room, he had to admit it was very well done. In only a few sentences, she’d been able to raise even more speculation: she would attend the dinner—that much was clear—but would she also attend the dancing? And if so, would she participate or simply observe?

It was the perfect way to heighten excitement about the evening. Unfortunately for her, it was also the perfect way to ensure he would corner her before the dinner began and discover her true intentions.

Almost as soon as Leah left, the other women departed for their own preparations. The men took the opportunity to lounge about and chat about horses and the upcoming fox hunting season before they had to return to their rooms as well.

Sebastian didn’t wait, however. Excusing himself, he made his way to the opposite wing and shortly found the mistress’ bedchamber. Looking down both ends of the corridor to make sure no one saw him at Leah’s door, he knocked once, then twice more.

Grimacing, he knocked again, then stepped to the side when he heard footsteps near the door. Even though it was likely one of her maids, he didn’t want to take the chance of accidentally spying Leah in her undergarments. Or, God forbid, seeing even one inch of her bare skin beyond her face and hands.

He heard the door unlatch; then a round face peeked out at him from around the doorframe. Her lady’s maid blinked. “Yes, my lord? How may I be of assistance?”

There was a rustling sound, and soon the lady’s maid disappeared. Leah appeared in her place, wearing another of her ordinary black crepe mourning gowns. However, no widow’s cap covered her head. Instead, most of her hair was hanging down, as if the maid had just begun to work on it. Light brown locks gleaming like golden amber flowed over her shoulders and caressed the side of her face. The same locks he’d made the mistake of touching only a few nights ago.

Leah smiled as she looked at him, all of the vulnerability and insecurity she’d revealed to him before now hidden behind the curve of her lips. Sebastian suppressed the urge to reach out and touch her hair again, to stroke her mouth with his thumb, to see the pretense of her expression fade away.

“Are my thoughts so transparent?” He studied her face, willing himself to find Angela in the contrasts between their features. He could see Angela clearly when he was alone; though he tried to dismiss her memory, she was everywhere he looked. He would spy her profile in the pattern on the wallpaper, or imagine her reclined on his bed at night, the voluptuous curve of her back turned toward him. If he attempted to squeeze his eyes shut and block her from his thoughts, her image clung to the black slate of his vision, taunting him, refusing to let him forget her.

But the picture of Angela that came to his mind now was faint, less than a shadow, disappearing before it could fully form. All he saw was Leah, slender and pale, too exuberant and full of life to be suffocated by the expected mourning rituals. The rituals he would now ask her to continue observing.

“Have I?” he asked, searching her eyes to find the awareness she hid so well behind this disguise of polite cheer. If her maid weren’t there behind her, he would have backed her into the bedchamber and kissed her again.

“As to the question of whether I’ll be dancing tonight . . .” Her smile grew wider and she leaned in—only a few inches, but Sebastian felt the air quickly become thinner, her presence stealing the oxygen from his lungs. “The answer is yes,” she said, then turned and shut the door. The lock clicked loudly into place.

Sebastian stared at the door, gritted his teeth, and raised his fist to knock once more. No answer came. “Mrs. George,” he said quietly through the door, glancing down the corridor again. Still no answer. “Mrs. George,” he called, this time a little more loudly, his tone more strident. “Mrs. Geo—”

A noise came from somewhere toward the end of the hallway, and Sebastian stepped back. No good would come of him being caught outside Leah’s bedchamber, especially if it was a scandal he wanted to prevent.

With a final glare at her door, he pivoted and strode to his own guest chamber to prepare for the dinner. Leah might have convinced herself she would dance tonight, but she would find it impossible to do so when no partner offered his hand.

Dinner was a success. All of Leah’s guests were witty and charming, the women dressed in gorgeous gowns and the men handsome in their evening wear. When they moved to the salon for the dancing, the musicians played better than any she’d ever heard before. Even without her organza gown on yet, the night had taken on a glittering, dreamlike luster to Leah. It was a night that she had never imagined orchestrating, a night she’d never imagined at all, one in which she defied all the rules.

From the time she was a little girl, her mother had told her stories each night when she brushed her hair. These weren’t bedtime stories to fill a girl’s head with princes and princesses and happily ever afters. They were stories about other little girls, daughters of Adelaide’s friends who had done something wrong. One had been caught playing in the mud with her brothers, another hiding a puppy beneath her bedcovers. As the years passed, Leah learned not only what was expected of her, but also what was frowned upon by her mother, who seemed the moral representative of all of England.

One must not stare. One must not belch. A lady should brush her hair no more and no less than one hundred strokes every night. Never be alone with a gentleman. Always sit up straight. Wear white for your debutante ball and black for an entire year when in mourning. Maintain a proper figure—not too plump and not too skinny. Smile when you don’t feel like smiling, dance when you don’t feel like dancing—but no more than twice with the same man—and practice perfection until you achieve it.

She smiled up at Sebastian, not because she felt like smiling but because she simply couldn’t help herself. Tonight she didn’t try to ignore the wonderful feeling that burned low in her stomach when his eyes held hers; she didn’t try to escape from his presence—at least, she wouldn’t right now. With one foot tapping the floor and the taste of the wine from dinner still sweet on her tongue, she felt as light as air. Happy. Free. And for once, she believed the lie in his eyes that said she was desirable. Tonight, it was the truth.

Leah laughed; he didn’t even try to hide the suspicion in his voice, although his words were lovely. “Is my company so appealing, then, my lord?’

His head turned from the dance floor, his gaze landing on her mouth before rising to her eyes. “It is everything about you that is appealing, Mrs. George.”

Leah pressed her lips together, ignoring the blush that was surely spreading all the way to her fingertips, She watched Miss Pettigrew dance with Mr. Dunlop. “You’re very handsome tonight, my lord.”

A corner of her mouth lifted, and she looked at him sideways beneath her lashes. “Perhaps I did. Or perhaps I’m finally being honest.”

Her words erased all amusement from his face. He leaned close, and she opened her mouth to warn him not to incite gossip, but he spoke first. “Be careful, Leah, or I’ll start being honest as well.”

Her pulse leapt as she remembered his speech on the stairs about wanting her. He stood so close now that his arm almost brushed against hers. Leah lifted her hand and pretended to wipe a fallen hair from his shoulder. Just a little touch to indulge herself—one that before she couldn’t even admit she needed. “I’ve been careful all my life. It’s begun to grow a bit dull, I’m afraid.”

Then she swept away just as Baron Cooper-Giles stopped to talk to Sebastian, knowing Sebastian would try to chase after her soon. Leah nodded at Lady Elliot and Mrs. Meyer as she walked past. Everyone else except for Mrs. Thompson was dancing, the skirts of the ladies swirling about their feet as the gentlemen led them through the patterns. Leah kept to the edge of the salon, their ballroom for the evening. Every minute or so, she caught a glimpse of Sebastian as she peered past the dancers. He may not be following her yet, but he was trailing her with his eyes.

As the reel ended, Leah saw Lord Elliot and Mr. Halladay walk toward Sebastian and Baron Cooper-Giles. Miss Pettigrew and Miss Sanders, the daughter of a third cousin twice removed of the Viscount Parbury, gathered around Leah.

“Leave?” Miss Pettigrew exclaimed, her cheeks flushed, a sheen of perspiration shining on her forehead. Leah nodded and lifted her skirt an inch off the floor to reveal the hem she’d first cut with scissors and then tore with her hands before dinner.

“Would you like some company while you get it repaired?” Miss Sanders asked, but her head was already turned, craning toward Baron Cooper-Giles who had left Sebastian’s side and was presently strolling in their direction.

“Oh, no. Thank you. Just keep dancing.” With a smile at Miss Pettigrew, Leah glanced again at Sebastian to make sure he wasn’t watching, then hurried out of the salon.

As her maid unlaced her crepe dress, Leah removed the pins from her widow’s cap to reveal the braids Agatha had worked to perfect earlier that evening. Looking in the mirror, Leah smoothed her fingers over a braid at the crown of her head. “I think this one is coming undone.”

Part of her hoped that Sebastian would be so stunned by the dress that he would forgive her for the scandal and ask her to waltz with him, regardless of the opinions of her other guests. But if he didn’t, the most important moment would be when she entered the salon in the organza gown, having made the decision to dance no matter the censure she would endure. If no one asked her to dance, she would still have successfully claimed her freedom, her new identity. She was no longer a slave to propriety, no longer obedient to another’s whims, no longer the slip of a girl who hid behind her mother’s criticisms and her husband’s infidelity.

Leah stepped out of the crepe dress, then walked toward the organza gown laid out on the bed. It was exquisite; Mrs. Neville had outdone herself. With the back open, the neck was wide enough for Agatha to slip the dress over Leah’s head without displacing any of her braids. Even though Mrs. Neville had taken her measurements and Leah knew it fit perfectly, the sensation of air at her back made the gown feel too loose, the material a sensual slide across her skin.

Leah sat at the dressing table and picked up the diamond pendant earrings. “I cannot believe I am doing this,” she whispered to her reflection as she put one earring on, then the other. She waited as Agatha slipped the matching diamond necklace around her neck. Compared to the free movement of the dress, the clasp felt heavy at her nape, the end of the silver chain cool at the top of her spine.

Her maid moved back, and Leah stood. As when she’d first bought the organza, she held out her arms and twirled, smiling. “Do you approve, Agatha?”

“Thank you,” Leah said, lowering her arms. But tonight it wasn’t important that she look beautiful. Tonight, all she wanted was to no longer look like a widow.