Absolute Pleasure (23 page)

"No. For not telling you what was on my mind, though in my own defense, I must acknowledge that I wasn't sure myself. It took me a while to realize exactly what I wanted."

"And that was... ?”

"Will you marry me?"

Out of the blue! Just like that! With no warning!

"What did you say?' She began to shake, terrified that he meant it, terrified that he didn't

"You heard me, Mary Smith." He eased her onto her back so that he was directly over her as he professed his
intent. "I'm crazy about you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I don't presume I'm the best match you might have made, but I'll always provide for you, I'll always be faithful, and I'll never stop loving you."

He paused and cleared his throat, braced for her reply, hut she couldn't produce one, couldn't force out a single rejoinder. She tried, tried again, but nothing coherent emerged.

"This is where you reward me with an answer"—he swatted her on the rear—"and it had better be yes!"

Just then, the bedroom door swung open. They'd been so wrapped up in each other that neither had discerned any footsteps and, as she was aware, when they'd initially dashed in, John had been too preoccupied to turn the key in the lock.

Their heads swung around in tandem to discover the identity of their uninvited guest, and Gabriel strode in, not cognizant that his father was entertaining a naked woman.

"Father, I need to ...
Dio santo!
”
he exclaimed on witnessing their antics.

The three of them were paralyzed. Gabriel especially was stunned and shocked, and she took some small comfort in the fact that he obviously didn't often encounter his father in the throes of a sexual romp in their home in the middle of the morning.

Totally amazed, he peered from her to John, her and John, over and over, and she supposed they were a humorous tableau. She might have laughed if she hadn't been utterly mortified.

"Merde!"
John cursed in French, bringing them all back to their senses.

"Pardon me, Father, Miss Smith. I had no idea... I was simply... I was ..." Gabriel couldn't complete a sentence. His poise and. aplomb had vanished. Blushing, he hastily exited the chamber, slamming the door behind him.

They hesitated, listening to his speedy retreat. Then, John spun toward her, and when he did, he was smiling like the cat that had just eaten the canary.

"What?" she asked on observing the disturbing gleam in his eye.

"My son has impeccable timing."

"No he doesn't!" She was so embarrassed, and blushing so badly—much worse than poor Gabriel!—that she felt as if she might ignite from the shame. "What must he be thinking! Let me up! I've got to get out of here!"

But the odious cad simply chuckled and wouldn't budge. He was too heavy to dislodge, so she was trapped.

"You'll have to have me now, Mary girl. You can't say no."

"Just watch me!"

"If you decline my offer, my only child will conclude that I've been consorting with a lightskirt!"

"A lightskirt?" she sputtered.

"A virtual jezebel." He was gloating! "I'll have to unburden myself as to how you seduced me, how you wore me down with your feminine wiles."

"
I
seduced
you!
You insolent cad!"

"Yes," he mused irritatingly. "You'll have to make an honest man of me. To save my reputation."

"You bounder! You don't have a reputation worth saving!"

"Precisely, Mary." He stole a kiss, then another. "Now accept my proposal, and I'll be the happiest man in the world."

Charlotte sat in her chair at the foot of the table in the family dining room, purportedly a spot of prestige and distinction befitting her elevated status of countess. As usual, her husband of seven months sat at the other end, reading his paper and completely ignoring her.

Silently, she toyed with her breakfast as she raged over recent circumstances that had swirled out of her control, but she was powerless to rectify the situation.

The previous night's supper party—with the prime minister in attendance, no less!—had been an unqualified disaster. The food had been inedible and poorly served, the servants sloppy and inattentive. Even the seating chart had been incorrectly drafted, with a baron's son ahead of an earl's. She'd never been so humiliated; she'd never live it down!

Of course, the fiasco was that wretched housekeeper's fault. Mary Smith had had weeks to make ready for the grand event, and she'd failed unconditionally, leaving Charlotte dangling like a fool in front of her peers, and as she stared across at her contemptible spouse, she was seething.

On one prior occasion, she'd broached the subject of Mary Smith, awkwardly justifying why she wanted the housekeeper gone. The earl had declined to heed her complaint, but then, Charlotte had to admit that she'd done a shoddy job of clarifying the older woman's lack of initiative and supervisory skills.

She'd barely commenced with her list of grievances, when the earl had cut her off, informing her that Mary Smith would never be fired. He'd then had the gall to pronounce that Charlotte didn't know anything about running a large household, and that she needed all the expert guidance Mary Smith could bestow. Charlotte was prohibited from raising the topic of Miss Smith's aptitude—or dearth of it—again.

Well, Miss Smith had certainly fixed it for Charlotte! It seemed as if the servant had intentionally plotted to make Charlotte look bad. If that was her ploy, it had definitely succeeded!

The earl blamed the entire debacle on Charlotte, when she didn't comprehend how any of the disaster could be her fault. What was the housekeeper paid to do, if not to correctly manage their important entertaining? Why, from some clever eavesdropping, she'd learned that Smith wasn't even in the house most afternoons, evidently stealing the family carriage and gallivanting off to destinations unknown, returning at all hours with no explanation for her lengthy absences.

No wonder the house was in such disarray, the banquet such a calamity! But could Charlotte say anything in her own defense? Could she disabuse the earl as to the actual basis for the catastrophes? No, she could not! Heaven forbid that the lady of the manor make any disparaging comments about one of the employees!

After the guests had departed, the earl had come to her bed and had roughly slaked his manly needs, but not before giving her a potent tongue-lashing for the ruined supper. She'd stoically suffered through it all, and she was still extremely angry, yet she struggled to maintain a serene smile, a cultivated restraint She'd never permit the pompous ass to deduce how much he'd upset her.

How she despised him! Her ire was so profound that, if she'd been a man, she might have lunged across the table and stabbed him with the butter knife! If he had a blade sticking out of his cold, black heart, he wouldn't be able to ignore her!

How dare he reproach her for Mary Smith's shortcomings! Would she be forever imputed for the chaos the inept retainer instigated?

In the months before her marriage, Charlotte had fantasized about how marvelous it would be to be a countess. How she'd be respected, esteemed. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that the reality would be so impossibly horrid!

If only her mother could come from Yorkshire! She'd put domestic matters in order straightaway! But the earl had rebuffed Charlotte's request for so much as a visit, let alone a lengthy stay.

Oh, what was she to do? How was she to gain control of her own home?

Gripping her teacup so tightly that she worried she might break the fragile handle, she determinedly set it on the saucer just as Elizabeth floated in. She was oddly attired for the chilly, dreary day, having donned a bright pink dress, with an off-the-shoulder neckline, frilly lace around the bodice, and a flowing, billowy skirt.

Her hair was unbound, hanging in lavishly curled ringlets. A straw hat, the wide brim trimmed with a green ribbon that matched the piping on her dress, drooped haphazardly from her fingers. A cheerful, delicate shawl was draped over her arm.

Charlotte examined Elizabeth carefully. Something strange was happening with her. She appeared younger, prettier, merrier, her hairstyles looser and less severe. She was spending a fortune on new clothes, the styles more colorful and fashionable, the tailoring and hues plainly picked to flatter her abundant figure. Decked out as she was, she was downright winsome, an occurrence that had Charlotte grievously irritated.

Each day brought about subtle transformations. Whereas Elizabeth used to be a housebound drudge, she now had places to go, people to see, things to do. Instead of moping about, lamenting her dire plight, she was bustling, constantly active, leaving early and arriving late, with nary a word of explication or apology to Charlotte for her truancy.

When Charlotte had first moved into the town house, she'd gloated over the fact that she so easily outshone stodgy, boring Elizabeth, that she'd usurped her role and responsibilities. Without question, Charlotte was more beautiful, more refined, and she had more aptitude in household transactions, more influence and visibility in society. She'd privately exulted over Elizabeth's loss of stature and influence.

Yet now, their fates had altered dramatically, and Charlotte wasn't sure why or how it had transpired. She and Elizabeth were in opposite trajectories. As Charlotte grew more gloomy, her disposition more doleful, Elizabeth was radiant, glowing, vivacious. She categorically bubbled with enthusiasm and excitement.

How Charlotte loathed her for the changes! Elizabeth hardly seemed to remember that Charlotte existed!

"Good morning, Charlotte," Elizabeth gushed.

Charlotte bristled, convinced there was an underlying sarcasm in Elizabeth's voice. She nodded regally. "Elizabeth."

"Isn't it a spectacular morning? Father, you're looking particularly dapper. Is that a new suit?"

The earl grumbled unintelligibly, and Charlotte was appeased when he didn't bother to glance up.

She couldn't help but chide, "You're costumed rather peculiarly, aren't you, Elizabeth?”

"I should say."

Elizabeth glided to the sideboard and filled a plate, and the footman assisted her without instruction or prodding. Charlotte bristled again. She had to beat the miscreants before they'd lift a finger on her behalf!

Sipping her morning chocolate, she pretended scant interest in Elizabeth's affairs, when in reality, they consumed her. "Are you invited to a garden fete in this weather?"

"Me? My heavens, no." Elizabeth pulled up a chair and dug into her meal as a starving sailor might, eating as though there was no tomorrow, totally shunning any feminine inclination toward daintiness. "I'm having my portrait done. I thought you knew."

A portrait? How exotic! How romantic! Just one more petty modification to abhor!

"No, I didn't." Her response was too petulant, but she detested it when incidents occurred in the house and she wasn't informed. How was she to remain in charge if no one apprised her of pertinent details?

Another sin to lay at Mary Smith's feet!

"I've been attending sessions for weeks. The artist has been sketching me, and he's finally ready to paint."

"In a party dress?" Charlotte scoffed.

"He's depicting me in a pastoral setting. On the steps of the gazebo at Norwich." The illustrious family estate Charlotte had yet to be granted permission to visit! "I
merely described the place, and he re-created it exactly. He's amazingly talented."

"What's his name?"

"Gabriel Cristofore."

"I've never heard of him."

"Really?" Elizabeth's condescension was palpable. "He's one of the premier artists in the city."

As if he could be that renowned when Charlotte didn't know of him! "It sounds quite fun. Perhaps when you're through, I'll have him paint me."

A queer noise gurgled from Elizabeth, and Charlotte was certain Elizabeth was laughing at her! The shrew!

"You do that, Charlotte. I'm sure he'd be more than eager to discuss a contract with you" Her repast gulped in haste, she shoved her plate aside, and stood. "I'm off to my appointment. Have a pleasant day."

For some reason, her
adieu
garnered the earl's attention. He lowered his newspaper and scrutinized her as though he didn't recognize her.

"Elizabeth, my ... but aren't you fetching!"

"Do you think so?" Gaily, she shifted back and form so that he could have a better glimpse of her ensemble.

"I've never seen you so pretty. I'm enchanted."

Charlotte nearly choked with outrage. In the entire year she and the earl had been acquainted, he'd never once uttered a flattery! Suddenly, he deigned to lavish a fawning attestation, but he directed it at another! The blackguard!

"Why, thank you, Father."

"You look just like your mother in that dress."

Elizabeth blushed becomingly, and with a start of astonishment, Charlotte realized that Elizabeth was positively striking, comely and graceful in a fashion Charlotte had never noted before.

"Are you going out?" the earl inquired, as if he was genuinely curious.