Countess by Coincidence (11 page)

"I fail to see what's wondrous about that," Caro snapped.

"She's to remarry. It seems one of the gentlemen in the village where she was raised was always smitten with her, and once he learned of her widowhood, he began calling on her. They're to marry after the banns have been posted, then he'll be taking her to her new home."

"I'm very happy for her," the duchess said. "And that will mean there will be room for one more family."

"We're all very happy for her. We understand her Mr. Miller has a bit of property and a solid old manor house."

"That is good news indeed," Margaret said. "It's my hope that all of you can find such happiness as Mrs. Nye."

Mrs. Hudson's brows lowered. "I should feel a traitor to my dear Harry."

Margaret stepped back and settled a reassuring hand upon the widow's shoulder. "From what I've learned of your late husband, I'm sure he would want you to find love again, to be happy. You and Louisa."

Surely Mrs. Hudson's loyalty to her dead husband was not the obstacle that was keeping her from finding happiness with Abraham. What a serious impediment it was to any budding romance with Abraham. She turned back and climbed the stairs.

* * *

"Now that you're in funds, old boy," Perry said, "What do you say to playing whist for twenty quid a rubber?"

John smiled. "It's been a while since I've been able to do that."

He and his three closest friends were sitting at their usual table at White's. Knowles' brows lowered, and he set a hand on John's arm. "Do you not think the Duke of Aldridge will learn of it? If I were you, I'd be more cautious. The duke's a man whose wrath you don't want."

"Don't listen to him," Perry said.

"It's not as if I'm going to lose the whole thirty thousand. What will it hurt to lose a few quid here and there? Besides," he said, flashing a smile to his most serious friend, "I could win."

Arlington regarded him with a quizzing expression. "You
have
paid back Lord Bastingham?"

John swallowed. He hated to think of the sizeable chunk of Maggie's dowry that had gone to repay Bastingham for former losses. He nodded gravely.

Perry called for pasteboards.

"Perhaps we should start a bit lower than twenty quid a rubber," John suggested.

Arlington chuckled. "I see marriage is already having a maturing effect upon Finch."

"Marriage has nothing to do with it," John spit out. "I just prefer not to alienate the Duke of Aldridge. I have reason to believe he despises me already."

"No one could ever despise you," Knowles said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "I remember how poor old Weatherford idolized you. He used to say you were the most down-to-earth, kindly aristocrat he'd ever known. He thought of you as a true friend."

"And I, him," John said over the huge lump in his throat.

"Enough maudlin talk," Perry snapped. "How about ten quid a rubber?"

Arlington shrugged. "How about five? It's a long way till quarter day."

"By the way," John said, "I shall expect to see each of you at my grandmother's ball Friday."

Perry rolled his eyes and frowned. "I'll be there."

"I wouldn't miss it," Knowles said. "I'm anxious to see this wife of yours."

"Me, too," Arlington chimed. "I have to see for myself. How could Finch have ended up with a lady of fortune
and
beauty? The woman obviously doesn't read the newspapers."

"Is she as tolerable looking as Perry says she is?" Knowles asked John.

John would be pleased if they found her comely. "I expect she's prettier." He was still puzzled at how such a fine lady would consider plighting her life to his. One with her attributes could have anyone she wanted.

* * *

The night of the ball arrived.

One night and one night only was Margaret assured of spending the evening with her husband, and she meant to make the best of it. As soon as John's grandmother had announced the ball, she and Caro had gone to the dressmaker's, where Margaret commissioned the loveliest gown she had ever possessed.

Madame Duvall had called it a bridal dress, which Margaret thought most appropriate. A striped French gauze fell gently over a white satin slip, and the bottom of the frock featured deep flounces of Brussels lace wreathed with pale pink satin roses. Margaret thought the bodice particularly flattering. As was the custom, it was very low—but not so low as to lose respectability—and it was embroidered with more of the pink flowers and elegant leaves. Her shoulders would be completely exposed, but she'd been told her shoulders were most graceful. She enjoyed the good fortune of possessing extremely pale skin that was free of blemishes, so she thought perhaps her flatterers had been right. Just off her shoulders the delicate fabric puffed over her upper arms like a pair of clouds.

Caro had been exceedingly jealous. "It is quite the prettiest dress I have ever beheld. There's nothing for it but I shall have to marry and commission a so-called
bridal
dress every bit as beautiful."

"A very poor reason to marry," Margaret had said with disdain.

Now Caro was back at Aldridge House getting ready for the ball, and Margaret and her maid had spent hours on her toilette. She had slipped into white satin slippers and long white gloves made of French kid. She smiled as she unfurled the beautiful hand-painted fan Elizabeth had given her as a wedding gift. Dear, thoughtful Elizabeth. It was the only wedding gift she had received, she lamented. She hated that her family was so opposed to John.

Perhaps tonight he could sway their opinions in a more positive direction.

Even more important, perhaps she could sway
his
attentions in a more desirable direction.

"Oh, my dear Annie," she said to her maid, "I do believe my hair has never looked so lovely."

"Thank you, my lady. I tried to make it look exactly like the lady in Akermann's."

Margaret's gaze went to a torn sheet from last August's Akermann's that featured a beautifully coiffed lady of fashion. For some time she had been saving that picture, wanting to have her hair styled in the very same fashion, but she had been waiting for an important event.

Nothing could be more important than tonight.

Then she eyed her reflection in the looking glass, comparing it to the Akermann's image. Annie was a true gem. She had pinned up Margaret's hair in the exact same fashion, and it was most becoming with its irregular curls in the Eastern style and bound with a strand of tiny pink flowers made of silk.

She chose simple pearls for her necklace and earrings.

Will he even notice me?
She stood and peered into her looking glass. If he did not admire her tonight, the man was hopeless. Though normally modest, tonight Margaret thought herself exceedingly handsome. She found herself wondering, what did his opera dancers have that she did not.

Well . . . it did not bear contemplation. She had told him he was free to cavort with women of that sort, but she had not countenanced how painful to her it would be if he did so.

She heard heavy footsteps in the corridor outside her bedchamber, then a solid knock. Whoever could it be? "Yes?" she asked.

"It's Finchley, er, I mean John Edward, or John."

Her heartbeat pounded. Her palms went wet. Her throat dried. "Come in," she managed in a shaky voice.

Already dressed for the evening's festivities and sinfully handsome in jet black, he strolled into her chamber, a velvet box in his hands. He was looking down at the box rather than at her. "I've brought you some of the Finchley jewels Grandmere sent over this afternoon." Then he looked up at her.

He stopped in his stride as if he'd suddenly become rooted to the floral carpet, and he gawked at her with widened eyes.

She felt the slow, lingering sweep of his gaze and could not have felt more mortified had she been standing there stripped of every article of her clothing. Why was he so silent? Would he see how terribly she trembled?

She was powerless to keep her own gaze from perusing him. Though there was still something of the carefree youth about him, tonight he exuded a manliness with his imposing height and his lantern jaw that was ever so lightly shadowed with dark stubble. He would have made a splendid dark knight of yore.

He seemed so imposing. Especially here in this feminine bedchamber. Her heartbeat thundered at the very notion that he was actually standing in her bedchamber.

Another barrier destroyed, another brick laid.

Finally he spoke again. "By Jove, Maggie, you look awfully fetching tonight."

And she felt the air swish from where it had been trapped in her lungs.

She looked like Maggie, yet she didn’t. The elegant woman standing there rendered him nearly speechless. When he’d strolled into her bedchamber, he'd been much more interested in seeing her reaction to the jewels than in seeing her. He hadn’t a thought in his head about how she might appear.

He'd known she was possessed of tolerable good looks and excellent taste in clothing, but he’d not considered how much different one looked in a pastel morning frock than one looked in an exquisite ball gown. He was completely unprepared to gawk upon those creamy ivory shoulders, but that is exactly what he found himself doing. And he was powerless to stop from gazing at the heavenly swell of breasts that dipped into the fragile silk of her stunning dress.

He had become startlingly aware of her as a woman. And it made him feel deuced uncomfortable to be in the lady's bedchamber.

Though he’d been incapable of speech, his slow perusal of her detected a slight trembling. Was she nervous? Their eyes connected. He’d never seen so vulnerable an expression as hers at that moment. It suddenly occurred to him she needed to be told how beautiful she looked. How could she possibly doubt it? Only a blind person could fail to see her exceptional loveliness tonight. So he'd blurted out how lovely she looked. He'd never spoken more true words, yet they made him feel awkward.

“Thank you,” she shyly responded.

All thoughts of his own temporary discomfort vanished with his concern for her. “I say, Maggie, you’ll be the absolute belle of the ball.”

“It
is
our ball. I wanted a special gown just for it.”

“I’ve never seen anything prettier.”
Than you
. Of course, he had to own, his experience with ball dress was limited, owing to his long-standing absence from such activities. “Now, shall we see if these Finchley jewels will do it justice? Will you allow me to remove the pearls?”

“Please do.” Her gaze whisked to the velvet box.

“Permit me to show you the diamonds first.” He opened the box.

She gushed her enthusiasm. After many declarations on their loveliness, she said, “How honored I shall be to wear something so exquisite.”

“Grandmere says these are the best of the lot, and she was hoping you’d wear them tonight.”

Her eyes widened. “I'm incredibly honored.” She did not sound one bit like the haughty daughter of a duke.

He unfastened the pearl necklace as she removed the earrings. “It’s I who am honored,” he said. “I shall be escorting the most beautiful woman at the ball.” He suddenly realized he meant every word. In fact, he was greatly looking forward to introducing the lovely lady to Arlington and Knowles. And even if Perry had seen her before, John knew Perry would be dazzled by the way she looked tonight. He rather fancied moving about Grandmere’s ballroom with so lovely a creature on his arm.

He fastened the magnificent diamond necklace at her elegant neck and stood back to observe.

Thank God that vulnerable look of a frightened child had been replaced by one of happiness. Was it the diamonds or his flattery that was responsible for the transformation?

“They’re beautiful,” she said in almost a reverent whisper.

He found himself clasping her by her elegant shoulders and peering into her eyes. “Not nearly as beautiful as you.”

Their eyes briefly locked. Neither said another word. He was self conscious over his praise of her. In his six-and-twenty years he had never uttered those words to another woman. He’d certainly never thought to utter them to a duke’s daughter! But, as always, he was guided by honesty.

He offered his arm. “Come, Lady Finchley. My grandmother has sent her carriage. She wanted us to arrive shortly before the guests.”

* * *

It was the most wonderful ball ever! How proud she was to stand at the base of the dowager’s broad staircase with the elderly lady at one side and John at the other as the three of them greeted their guests. How proud she was that all the
ton
knew he was her husband. How proud she was that her husband—at least in her eyes—was the most handsome man at the ball.
Their ball.

She could not deny that John’s lavish praise of her looks greatly contributed to her happiness. Knowing that he did not lie made his compliments even more treasured. She was thankful, too, that so many of the Aldridge and Haverstock family members came, including the Marchioness of Haverstock, whose babe was expected any day.

“How happy I am that you came,” she said to Lady Haverstock. Margaret was far too shy to comment on the lady’s impending confinement, even though she wished to tell her how much prospective motherhood complemented her already legendary beauty. Lady Haverstock's huge dark eyes sparkled, and the happiness she exuded extended to all around her.

The Marquess could not conceal his delight with his wife. Settling a gentle arm about his marchioness's shoulders, he murmured as they walked away. "Come, my dearest, we must find a place for you to sit down."

Next up was Margaret’s sister-in-law. The duchess and her spouse often accompanied her brother—Haverstock—along with his spouse. The small bump beneath the duchess's softly draped gown would not be discernible to those who had no knowledge the Aldridges were to be parents. As always, the Duchess of Aldridge was gracious, especially to John. “Welcome into the family, Lord Finchley. You are a most fortunate man to have secured Margaret’s hand.”