Romancing the Countess

She pretends well. How happy she appeared tonight at your side. And yes, if you must know, how jealous I was to watch you together.

As he’d done every Sunday since returning to Hampshire, Sebastian sat on the front pew of the church and listened to the vicar’s sermon. Today, it was about adultery. Not particularly something that he wanted to hear, but they’d been going through the Ten Commandments for the past few weeks. Vicar Peters had seemed most enthused about taking the Lord’s name in vain, but today the topic of adultery managed to excite him to red-faced proportions.

His voice became louder and louder as he spoke, until Sebastian began cringing away. It was even difficult to allow his thoughts to drift with the man’s voice booming within the small confines of the church.

Sebastian straightened in the pew. If Henry were here, he’d no doubt be covering his ears by now. But after bringing the boy to church a few weeks ago, Sebastian had learned his lesson. Henry wasn’t frightened of Vicar Peters, Sebastian, or God, for every attempt at keeping him quiet and still had been ignored. No, he was at home. Blessed, peaceful home, with his nurse attending to him.

“And that is why the Lord God demands that we are faithful. For just as we are faithful to our spouses, He expects us to be faithful to Him. Was He not faithful on the cross? Did he not—”

Sebastian winced, ducking his head to avoid a further assault on his ears. Thankfully, the sermon was soon over, the completion of the remaining rituals signaling it was time to leave.

Standing, he took a breath and prepared to greet his fellow parishioners. Once the rumors had begun regarding an affair with Leah, he’d made every point of being friendly and polite, disregarding their curious glances and sly whispers.

Mr. Powell made a similar, inconsequential greeting in return, and Sebastian was about to turn away toward the Byars family when he saw Mrs. Powell shaking her head, tears in her eyes.

“Oh, Lord Wriothesly,” she said, reaching out but not quite touching him, her hand hovering above his arm. “I saw you over there in your pew. How today’s subject must have wounded you. If there’s anything Mr. Powell or I can do . . .”

Glancing at her husband who gave a short nod, she edged nearer, stood on her toes, and whispered—loudly. “We’ve all heard the news of Lady Wriothesly and Mr. George. Of their . . . being together.”

Sebastian stiffened. “Surely it can’t be recent news that my wife and my friend were together in the carriage accident which killed them both.” He stared at her, his jaw firm. “That is what you’re implying, is it not?”

“Martha,” Mr. Powell said, taking more heed to Sebastian’s warning than his wife appeared inclined to do, for she continued talking.

“But . . . if it isn’t true, my lord—which of course I now realize it couldn’t be. It’s just shameful how quickly such rumors can spread. Was Mr. Peters not speaking of the evil of gossip only a while ago?” She smiled, a faltering curve of her lips, and lowered herself from her toes. She shook her head ruefully. “But it’s just as well you know, my lord. So you can be prepared should someone else mention it.”

Mrs. Powell nodded slowly. She appeared as if she might add something else, but her husband took her elbow and began leading her away.

Goddamn it. How in the hell had the rumor started? How could he not have known about it earlier? Now it was clear why Vicar Peters had continued looking at him during his sermon—not because of the rumors of an affair with Leah, but because he, too, must have heard the gossip about Angela and Ian.

“Very well, thank you.” Sebastian looked at the girls, their names escaping his mind. Everything escaping except the reminder of Henry and the threat to him if the rumor about Angela and Ian was allowed to grow and mutate into something even darker. Thank God he hadn’t brought Henry, or the parishioners might have seen the blond boy sitting beside Sebastian and begun to wonder at the difference in their appearances.

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Harrell, but I must go. Henry isn’t feeling well, and although his nurse is taking care of him, I promised to look in after him as soon as the service was over.”

“Well, then.” Mrs. Harrell smiled politely, though her wrinkled brow attested to her confusion. “Please give him our best wishes. We will be praying for him.”

Damn it. Sebastian wove his way through the throng of churchgoers as he headed toward the doors, acknowledging various greetings with a dip of his head and a smile. Damn it. Where had the gossip spread by now? Surely James would have alerted him to it if he’d heard anything in London. Passing through the doors, Sebastian looked at the line of people waiting to say their farewells to the vicar. Cursing beneath his breath, he stepped to the side and walked past them.

He eyed the sky—a normal gray. Anytime. God would send a bolt of lightning down to strike him at any moment for lying to a clergyman. Perhaps two lightning bolts, since he’d also lied to Mrs. Harrell inside the church. Sebastian moved a little to the left, out of the shadow of the eave, creating a clear path from the heavens to where he stood. Then again, it could be a boon for God to strike him dead in front of the church, here before dozens of witnesses. That news, at least, might shift the attention away from Ian and Angela.

Vicar Peters frowned. “I understand,” he said. But his expression revealed more than godly concern; there was also pity there, deep in his gaze. He, too, believed the rumor about Ian and Angela.

Sebastian stared at the sketch he’d begun in the evergreen garden at Linley Park. The surrounding details were filled in and painted now, but her face was yet to be completed. Over the past two months he’d drawn the slender arch of her eyebrows, the firmness of her chin, the straight slope of her nose. But her eyes and lips remained invisible, his mind unable, or perhaps unwilling, to commit them to canvas.

Working on her portrait was the only time he allowed himself to think of her. These moments late at night when Henry was in bed and even all the servants had gone to sleep were the only ones where he allowed his doubts to surface, allowed his lingering thoughts of Angela to fade as he imagined talking with Leah, smiling with Leah . . . kissing Leah.

Although he didn’t know how the rumors had skipped from their supposed affair to the affair between Ian and Angela, he knew that Leah was tied in to that speculation. No one else knew that he hadn’t arranged for Ian to escort Angela to Hampshire; James only knew the truth because Sebastian had told him.

And while he’d been fairly sure the rumors about Leah and himself would die down—and they had, for the most part—he had no idea how long it would take, or what damages would be done, before the gossip about Ian and Angela had run its course.

Sebastian reached out to the unfinished portrait, his fingers hovering over the faint line of Leah’s cheek. Slowly, he withdrew his arm and let it hang again at his side.

There were several things he could do. He could ignore the rumors, as he’d done with the ones about Leah. He could also deny Ian and Angela’s affair. But neither of those routes would cease the gossip immediately. And each day it continued, there was a chance that the next extension of the rumors would turn to speculation about Henry’s parentage.

Before even acknowledging the third idea as a fully formed thought in his mind, Sebastian wondered if it was actually something valid that would help stop the rumors, or if it occurred to him only because he desired it as an excuse.

But no—why would he want to seek her out, when he had worked so hard to forget her? When she had made it clear more than once that his attentions weren’t welcome. When, although he’d tried to forget Angela as well, he was still wounded by her betrayal.

Yet of the three ideas which came to him, it was this last one which appealed to him the most. Sebastian sat in his chair and studied the portrait, his mind readily supplying Leah George’s extraordinary brown eyes and decadent mouth.

Leah smiled at the seamstress who had first showed her the organza. She didn’t even know her name, which she regretted now. Surely it would have been better to call her by something other than “Miss” when searching for employment.

“Good afternoon,” she said brightly, aware that the assistant probably believed she was there for another gown since she was wearing a day dress of green poplin—nothing so serviceable as a worker’s attire.

Perhaps she should have gone around back and knocked on the door there? Swallowing, Leah placed her hands on the counter, then lowered them to her waist.

“Of course, Mrs. George. We remember all of our clients.” The seamstress smiled politely. “How may I help you today?”

Leah sighed, smiling again. A friendly smile, not her polite smile which hid all of her teeth. “Yes. I would like to join your little shop as a seamstress.”

As soon as the words escaped her mouth, the assistant’s mouth narrowed, her eyes losing some of their kindness. Oh no. Had that seemed patronizing? Little shop?

“I’ve much admired your work in the past, and I think, with a little instruction, I could learn to make beautiful dresses.”

“And other things, of course. I needn’t be limited to gowns. I could make chemises and cloaks. Those wouldn’t be as hard, would they?”

“Yes.” Leah looked about the shop, at the piles of books, the cluttered bolts of cloth. Everything had appeared so clean before when she’d come to buy a dress, but now that she really looked, she could see how another hand could help organize the front better. And if the front was just a little messy, she couldn’t begin to imagine what the back of the shop must look like, where they did all the work. “Or I could clean,” she suggested. “Keep things tidy. More menial labor before I improved enough to become a seamstress.”

Leah tried to swallow, but a lump of pride caught in her throat. With an attempt at a smile, she turned toward the door. “Thank you, Miss—” She stopped and looked at the assistant. “Excuse me. What is your name?”

The stench of manure took her breath away as she opened the door. Odd, but her senses had never seemed so overwhelmed by London before, when she had more money and a secure future. Now there was a beggar every few feet, their appearances only distinguishable by the limbs they were missing.

The sounds were louder as well: the jostling of horse harnesses, the hawking of the vendors. As Leah walked away from the shop, she recoiled at a drunken man who stepped into her path, the narrow slits of his eyes focused on her bodice. His breath reeked of spirits, his clothes of urine. He didn’t say anything, though, instead crossing the street without giving heed to where he was going. When an oncoming cart nearly trampled him, Leah flinched, her arms outstretching as if she could reach him and pull him to safety.

How had she been so blind before? Nothing had changed about her except her station in life. She still wore the clothes of a lady; she still moved and spoke with dignity. Nothing about her was different. . . .

Except now she had no one to wait on her, no one to assure her safety. Her world which had previously been one of wealth and privilege was now mired right along with the other less fortunates of the city.

On the lookout for the muck which would ruin her skirts, Leah kept her head down as she walked toward her next destination: the milliner’s where she’d once bought her hats. She’d taken only a few steps, however, when she collided with someone. A woman who, when compared to the other people crowding the area, smelled sweeter than a valley of daisies.

“I’m fine, thank you.” The other woman took her elbow and they edged to the side to allow a businessman to pass. “I’m wonderful, actually. Mrs. Thompson resigned from the post of companion two days ago.”

“Yes. Apparently she and Father had a discussion after we returned from Linley Park. After Father heard about . . .” Miss Pettigrew scrunched her nose.

“Well, yes. You. After Father heard about what you did the night of the dinner party, he said he couldn’t understand how a real lady could have advised her young charge to attend a house party hosted by a recent widow in the first place. They argued. Father threatened. I thought Mrs. Thompson meant to stay on. She tried, God knows, although I prayed every night she would leave.”

Leah smiled as Miss Pettigrew chattered on. The shy, pretty girl who had been so unsure of herself in Wiltshire had suddenly transformed into a lovely and vengeful chatterbox.

“Of course, Father accused me of deliberately misbehaving when I poured tea on Mrs. Thompson’s lap instead of into her teacup. But she wasn’t burnt! I wouldn’t have gone that far.”

“Miss Pettigrew,” Leah chastised. “I always suspected you had a mischievous streak.” Miss Pettigrew shrugged, her mouth curved slyly. “Yes, well, now Father’s made me return to London so he can find me another companion. And I’m so happy, Mrs. George. I’ve seen Will twice already in the past week.”

Ah, yes. The object of Miss Pettigrew’s affection. “Has your father hired another companion for you yet?” she asked, sending up a silent prayer.

“No, not yet.” Miss Pettigrew slid her arm through Leah’s and tugged her along. “There are interviews today and tomorrow, but I hope he doesn’t find one he likes for a while. I’d rather stay in London with a chance to see Will than be sent to the countryside to begin the tour of house parties again.”

“But it was only a dress,” Leah protested, even though she knew better. It was much more than a dress. It had been a denouncement of polite society.

Leah gave her a weak smile. “Thank you.” She paused, then added, “I don’t suppose he would ever consider me for the position of companion?”

Miss Pettigrew stopped and turned, clasping Leah’s free hand. “Oh, Mrs. George, that would be wonderful!” Then she frowned, letting go. “But no, I’m afraid he would never hire you. In fact, he’d probably throw a tirade just at the sight of you, and you’d have to stand there for half an hour as he ranted about impressionable young ladies—even though we’re practically the same age.”

“Yes. She’s a widow also, so she’s less likely to be as stringent. Her name is Mrs. Campbell. I’ve known her since I was a little girl. She’s one of my mother’s closest friends. Her husband owned a few of the textile mills in Birmingham.”

The Hartwell butler escorted Sebastian up the stairs and to the drawing room. From the rumors abounding about Leah, Sebastian knew that Viscount Rennell had required her to leave Linley Park and had disassociated himself from her completely, forcing her to move in with her family.

Sebastian’s gaze roamed the room but didn’t find Leah. Striding forward, he bowed over her mother’s hand, then her sister’s. “Mrs. Hartwell. Miss Beatrice.”

“What a pleasure it is to have you visit us, Lord Wriothesly,” Mrs. Hartwell said, smiling. It was the same polite smile he’d seen Leah use when she was nervous or lying. Nothing at all like the wide, uninhibited smile he’d become accustomed to.

“I’m glad to see you again,” Sebastian said, following her gesture to sit down. He and the Hartwells had never had much interaction, even though they moved in the same social circles. If not for Ian’s affiliation with them through Leah, he probably wouldn’t have known them out of the other hundreds of distant relations to the aristocracy.

At that moment, a maid entered with a tea service. Sebastian watched and waited patiently as Mrs. Hartwell poured the tea. “I don’t believe I’ve had the chance to tell you, my lord, but you have our deepest sympathies for the loss of your wife.”

Sebastian inclined his head. “Thank you,” he said, then added, “Neither,” when she motioned to the pots of cream and sugar.

Mrs. Hartwell nodded toward Leah’s sister, who sat pretty and quiet on the sofa beside her. “This past Season was dear Beatrice’s first. Were you aware, my lord, that she’s already had two offers of marriage?”

“Indeed, I was not,” Sebastian answered, his hand beginning to tap against his thigh. He stilled it. “As you know, I was at the Linley Park country house party.”

Mrs. Hartwell’s lips thinned. “I must apologize for my elder daughter’s behavior, my lord. Grief seems to have changed her more than I would like.”

“I was wondering if Mrs. George will be joining us. I’d like to speak to her, to make certain she’s all right. As you know, Ian was one of my closest friends. Although her behavior has certainly seemed strange, I feel a duty to see—”

Sebastian paused, staring. If she was no longer being granted Rennell’s hospitality, and she wasn’t staying with her family . . . “Would you mind telling me where she’s gone?”

Mrs. Hartwell bent her head and poured another two spoons of sugar into her tea. Even though she stirred it vigorously, the surplus of white grains swirled at the top of the liquid. “I’m afraid I can’t.”

Sebastian frowned. “If you would, Mrs. Hartwell, she—” He thought of the letters. “She has something which I believe belongs to me.”

“No, not at all. She has something which was in Ian’s possession, something which she once offered to give me and I refused. Besides making sure she’s all right, I’d like to take it now.”

Mrs. Hartwell lifted the teacup to her lips and sipped, her eyes lowered. “I’m afraid, my lord,” she said, looking up to meet his gaze, “it’s not a matter of refusing your request. I do not know where my daughter has gone.”

“No. As you know, she’s been acting quite oddly of late. She didn’t see fit to tell me her destination when she left.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. There was something in the way she said it that made him believe Leah’s mother had a part in her disappearance. “I see,” he said. Setting down his cup, he rose to his feet and bowed. “I do apologize for leaving so soon, but I must go now.”

Both Mrs. Hartwell and Miss Beatrice stood. “We would love to have you stay for dinner,” Leah’s mother said. “And afterward, Beatrice could play a tune for you. She truly is quite lovely on the pianoforte.”

“Thank you, but I can’t stay.” With a brisk nod, he turned and quit the drawing room. He descended the stairs and was heading toward the front door when he heard a pattering of footsteps behind him.

He halted and turned to find Leah’s sister hurrying toward him. She came to a stop three feet away, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. “Leah is in London,” she half whispered, sending a glance over her shoulder. “She ran away after Mother threatened to make her marry the village butcher.”

Her sister leaned forward. “She’s a companion to Mrs. Campbell. She walks her dog, a little spaniel named Minnie, and . . .”

“How do you know this? Is she corresponding with you?” Sebastian motioned toward the nearby footman. He put on his hat and overcoat.

“Yes. Mother knows, but she won’t admit that her daughter must work. Sometimes it seems she’d rather assume she’s dead, actually. No, I didn’t mean that—”

Miss Beatrice began to nod, then stopped, blushing. “I’m sure Mother would never purposefully deceive you, my lord.”

Leah loved her days off. Not that she was entirely free on Sundays. She was still required to attend church with Mrs. Campbell in the morning, and she still had to take Minnie for a walk in the morning when the spaniel had to “do her duty,” as Mrs. Campbell called it, and then again in the evening before the sun set.

It had been odd at first going out with no footman or maid to accompany her, but the walks with Minnie soon became Leah’s favorite part of the day. When she was alone except for the dog, it was the greatest amount of independence she had. But now the morning walk was done, the church service ended an hour ago, and Mrs. Campbell consulted to see if she required anything else of her for the afternoon.

Humming to herself, Leah changed from her nicer black church dress to one that was easier to walk about in. She sighed, thinking how lovely it would be to go for a ride in the park. Most of the leaves had fallen to the ground and there was a brisk chill to the air, but the sun was out and shining, providing enough warmth to make it a beautiful autumn day. Although she and Mrs. Campbell got along quite well, there was a fine line between them as mistress and companion. Though she might look longingly toward the mews, Leah imagined it would be a while before she asked if she could borrow one of the horses.

Instead, today she planned to go shopping, something it felt like she hadn’t done in ages. She’d been paid her first wages, and she was itching to join the great mass of people who descended upon the shops on Sunday afternoons.

“Leah? Are you ready?” Christine, Mrs. Campbell’s lady’s maid, knocked and opened the door. Most of the female servants had to share small, cramped bedchambers, but Leah, Christine, and Mrs. Beesley all had their own rooms—although those were also small and cramped.

Shoving a pin into her black bonnet to keep it in place, Leah pulled her veil over her face and turned. “I feel like buying something ridiculously frivolous today.”

Christine, who came from a middle-class family in Yorkshire, gave her a disbelieving look. “Something frivolous? You?”

“Yes, I know.” Even though Mrs. Campbell had called Leah a friend once Miss Pettigrew introduced them, she’d made it clear that she’d heard the rumors of Leah’s behavior and expected her to behave with all propriety as her companion. Though she’d been born of the lower class, Mrs. Campbell acted like the women of the aristocracy. She kept Leah at a distance and never engaged her in conversations beyond the subject of Minnie. They never spoke of their previous lives, their dead husbands, or of widowhood. If not for Christine, Leah would have been lonelier than she’d been when Ian was alive.

Shutting the door behind her, she walked beside Christine as they went down the servants’ stairs. The only time she used the front portion of the house was in the company of Mrs. Campbell.

Christine nodded and held the back door open for her. They walked along the side of the house, toward the public path at the front.

Leah gave Christine a sly look. “There’s also the hat. I’m sure Robert would appreciate it when you go walking later.”

Christine blushed at the mention of the first footman. “He’s only a friend. As I’ve told you before. A hundred times.”

They began to walk along the street, away from the house. A carriage passed by. “And that’s why you’re blushing, of course.”

They heard the coachman of the carriage call the horses to halt behind them. Leah glanced over her shoulder, though she couldn’t make out the crest on the side. “Overton again?” she asked.

A voice that had become as familiar as Ian’s once was. A voice that, in truth, she never thought to hear again. Leah paused midstep, her gaze pinned on the street ahead.

Christine wasn’t as discreet. She looked behind again. “Leah,” she whispered. “It’s the man from the carriage. Not Trahern. He’s looking at you.”

Leah swallowed. Indeed, she could hear his footsteps, so sure and steady, purposeful. Only she had no idea why he would seek her out, not after he’d said he would never acknowledge her again.

Leah slowly turned toward him, lifting her chin and her pride along with it. She didn’t bother to curtsy. “What do you want?”

Leah didn’t know what she expected Sebastian to do; she wanted to make him angry, or see him put on a show of arrogance at the public slight. Anything to keep him from witnessing the vulnerability that had suddenly surfaced upon hearing his voice, the pleasure that nearly stole her breath at seeing him again.

Oh, but how she wanted to drown in his gaze, to bury herself against him as his green eyes roved over her face. He was handsome, terribly so, taller than she remembered and very well-dressed. The fine fit of his gray trousers and jacket, the silken cloth of his navy waistcoat, all served to remind her of the present differences in their stations. He was still a lord, an earl, but she was no longer a lady.

Leah glanced away. Surely he wouldn’t be able to see that she’d once been weak. That once she’d walked Minnie to the park across from his London town house and stood watching it for what seemed like hours. Knowing he wouldn’t be there, but wishing he was all the same.

She couldn’t help but look at him. She wanted him to treat her coldly, to give her a greater reason than the ones she’d created to dismiss him from her memory. But he had to be contrary. Instead of frowning or glaring at her, he smiled.

He inclined his head, his mouth still curved at the ends. “As you wish.” Then he stepped forward, took one of her hands, looked into her eyes, and said, “Mrs. George, would you please do me the honor of becoming my wife?”