Countess by Coincidence (20 page)

With Loosey Lucy, though, he was unexpectedly critical. Never before had it annoyed him when the tarts resorted to artifice or immodesty. Now, by contrast to the good woman he’d wed, he felt tainted just by standing there.

He was so stunned by that revelation that he could not concentrate on the words being spoken. Finally, Perry nudged him. “Ready to go to Mrs. Dankworth’s?”

“Certainly.”

To John’s astonishment, Loosey Lucy possessively settled her gloved hand on his sleeve. He could not help but feel the brush of her jiggly bits as she sidled up to him.
Dear God, I pray no one sees me with this woman.
Especially Aldridge. Or one of his spies.

The following day when she arrived back at Finchley House, an ill-dressed man awaited. "Are you sure he's here to see me, not his lordship?" she asked Sanford.

"He specifically said he wanted to speak to the countess."

She invited him into the library and indicated for him to be seated upon a chair.

"I'll stand, my lady. My business is short. I have a proposition to make to you."

Her brow quirked.

"My name's Peter Moore." He said the name as if it should bring recognition.

"You write for the
Morning Chronicle!
" More than any other publication, the Morning Chronicle thrived on printing notices of John's most shocking deeds.

He cracked a smile. "Indeed. I've just come from your husband. He’s engaged me to suppress certain of his activities from being printed. He will pay handsomely."

It stung that even though he was now married, John was still planning to engage in activities which needed to be suppressed from print. "I fail to see what this has to do with me."

"If you pay me less than a third of what your husband is paying, I'll allow you to have access to the items being suppressed."

Melancholy slammed into her like an avalanche. Raw emotions threatened to overpower her. Her heart sank. Her pulse pounded. When the odious man first spoke, she'd felt humiliated. Even stronger than her humiliation was her disappointment in her husband. By the time the slimy Mr. Moore had stated his proposition, rage tore through her.

"Leave my house." She glared at the ill-dressed reporter with more malice than she'd ever directed at another living soul.

"But, my lady- -"

"Leave, or I shall call my footmen to forcefully remove you."

He stumbled toward the door, muttering under his breath. "Ain't never had a wife refuse my services before."

Once he was gone and she'd heard the home's entry door slam shut, she collapsed onto the room's sofa. She felt soiled. How could anyone believe she would countenance spying on her husband in so devious a manner? Such an activity was contemptible. Even if her marriage had been based on love and affection, so vile a practice could rip apart the closest bonds.

An even heavier weight on her bruised heart was the knowledge that John was conducting himself in some kind of shameful manner of which her brother would never approve. Was it gambling losses? Excessive consumption of spirits? Oh, she thought, a thud in her heart, was it a loose woman?

Hadn't she been the one to suggest John use a portion of his newly acquired money to buy newspaper men's silence? Hadn't she insisted that their marriage would in no way change his lifestyle? Hadn't she said he could have a ladybird?

Then, words had come easily. She probably would have said anything to have him honor their marriage. Now, she could stand the loss of his fortune. Now, she could stand being married to a sot. Now, though, she did not know how she was going tolerate her husband keeping a ladybird.

Seeing how the widows of Trent Square were growing as close as the most affectionate of families and how dearly they loved their children and their children loved them impressed upon Margaret how lonely this marriage had made her. More often than not, she was rattling about this big, comfortable house with no one except servants. She missed Caro.

Perhaps a visit to her former home to be surrounded by those who loved her would dispel some of her gloom.

* * *

The only thing that made going to Almack's palatable was that Perry was going to be there too. They could suffer together. As John stole a sideways glance at Maggie, sitting beside him in the darkened coach, he realized there was one more thing to make so boring a night acceptable: he was honored to be escorting his lovely wife. What man did not enjoy entering a room with a beauty on his arm?

“A pity Grandmere won’t be at Almack’s tonight,” he said. “I think she’d be pleased to see how lovely the Finchley emeralds look upon the new countess.”

“They are lovely.”

As are you.
“Will I be obliged to stand up with each of your sisters?”

“Of course.” There was levity in her voice.

“I should prefer to waltz only with you.”

“You will always be my preferred partner for the waltz.”

He was already stirred by her ever-present rose scent, and now the thought of slipping an arm around her nearly overpowered him. “I’m confident you’re the only one who will not criticize my incompetence, especially when I trample your feet.”

She giggled. “But, you must own, your lack of skill—not that I’m accusing you of lacking dancing skill—is well compensated for by your good looks and agreeable height. You will always be a highly sought-after dancing partner.”

Had his wife just flattered him? The very notion sent his pulse racing. He felt as if he’d just grown two feet. “You’re much too kind.”

“I’d like to think myself kind, but my compliment was sincere.”

He took her hand and squeezed it. Then, for reasons not apparent to him, he continued holding her slender hand. It was bloody good that Knowles and Arlington weren’t coming tonight. He’d never hear the end of their teasing about being henpecked.

When they arrived at Almack’s, he was disappointed that Perry had not yet arrived. As a country set was about to begin, he asked the abrasive Lady Caroline to stand up with him, all in an effort to ingratiate himself with Maggie’s favorite sister.

As they moved to the dance floor, she looked up and smiled at him. A first. “Are you certain Mr. Perry is coming tonight?” she asked.

So the smile had been prompted by her thoughts of Perry. “He gave me his word, and in the two decades we’ve been friends he’s never gone back on his word.”

“So he’s honorable as well as handsome and wealthy.”

Good Lord, was Lady Caroline smitten with John’s oldest friend? Hadn’t everyone said she was holding out for a duke? Surely she was aware Perry was not from a noble family. Perhaps John had misjudged her. Perhaps she did share some of her sweet sister’s lack of affectation.

Throughout the dance, John could not dislodge his thoughts from a potential romance between these two. He rather fancied the idea of Perry getting shackled. What was the old saying? Misery loves company. They could suffer matrimony together.

In his wildest imaginings, though, John could not picture Perry in a domestic setting, could not fathom a time when monogamy would appeal to his friend. Perry without a mistress would be like England without a winter.

Midway through the dance, he observed Perry enter the chamber, stroll up to Maggie, and bow. Though John was no judge of men’s appearances, he knew enough about fashionable dress to understand that his friend cut a dashing figure. He wore all black, save for the snowy white of his shirt and well-starched cravat that had been tied to perfection. As it should be. Perry paid exorbitantly for the most skilled valet in all of London.

After the dance, Lady Caroline fairly flew toward the newcomer. The face she put to Perry was diametrically opposite to the rigid demeanor she presented to her sister’s UNfavored husband. “You did come!”

“Your wish is my command, my lady.” Perry swept into an exaggerated bow, then kissed her proffered hand in much the same way as Arlington had practically slobbered over Maggie’s the day they had met.

Lady Caroline—a most forward woman, to be sure—possessively linked her arm to Perry’s, smiled up at him, then lowered her voice. “You see my sister Clair is standing with Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley. She’s wearing an ivory gown.”

Perry nodded.

“I am counting on you to charm her.”

What the deuce was going on? John’s quizzing gaze shifted to Maggie.

“Caro has concocted a scheme to make Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley so jealous that he’ll come up to scratch with Clair,” Maggie whispered.

“Do you think Perry will do it?”

She shrugged. “He seems—like most of us—to be at Caro’s command.”

To John’s surprise, Perry nodded agreeably. “I will comply with my lady’s wishes—provided my lady will allow me to waltz with her this evening.”

Lady Caroline’s lashes lowered provocatively. “I should love it above all things.”

“Will Mr. Perry not have to make Clair’s acquaintance first, before being accorded the right to dance with her?” Maggie asked.

“I plan to rectify that right now.” Caro led Perry off to where Rothcomb-Smedley was standing.

John was stunned. Stunned by Perry’s capitulation to the arrogant sister, and even more stunned by the vast difference between the two sisters.

When the next set started, Perry swept into another exaggerated bow and asked that Lady Clair stand up with him. As Lady Caroline rejoined Maggie and him, Rothcomb-Smedley appeared stunned as he stood alone on the perimeter of the dance floor.

A devilish look in her eyes, Lady Caroline addressed John. “You would have been so proud of your friend.”

“Why?”

“Because he was positively exorbitant in his praise of Clair’s beauty.”

“I did think Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley looked vexed,” Maggie said in her meek little voice.

They all turned at once and regarded the distinguished Parliamentarian. Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley, did indeed look lost. When he finally looked in their direction, he began to stumble across the dance floor to join them.

They all exchanged greetings. Maggie had perfectly summed up Rothcomb-Smedley’s mental state. He was vexed.

He glared at John. “I don’t recall ever seeing you and your friend at Almack’s before.”

John decided to aid the sisters’ scheme to the best of his ability. “We’ve been remiss all these years, not realizing this is the place where one finds the prettiest ladies.” He eyed his wife, then took her hand. “And the type of lady one wishes to settle down with.”

To John’s astonishment, Maggie took up the gauntlet and continued laying it on thickly for Rothcomb-Smedley’s sake. “My husband says that Mr. Perry has always strived to emulate him, and now that my Lord Finchley has married, Mr. Perry is likely wishing to settle down.”

“And,” Caroline added wickedly, “He’s obviously found much to admire in Clair.”

“Now see here,” Rothcomb-Smedley boomed. “The man can’t just waltz in here and try to claim the woman everyone knows is practically spoken for.”

Caroline drilled Clair’s suitor with an unflinching stare. “My dear sir, a woman is fair game until such time as she is
actually
spoken for. I am not aware that anyone has offered for my sister.”

Rothcomb-Smedley clamped shut his mouth. His face had reddened with anger.

John decided that the evening was proving to be anything but boring. Rothcomb-Smedley was a good enough sort. His commitment to duty was commendable, but the fellow was a bore. It was good to see him squirm like this.

Obviously attempting to soften the man’s ill humor, dear Maggie introduced a topic upon which Rothcomb-Smedley enjoyed expostulating. “You must tell us, Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley, how goes the tax bill you and my brother have worked so hard to pass.”

His whole demeanor brightened. “As you know, it failed by a mere ten votes last year, and I’m happy to report that six of the those men have been persuaded to join with us and support the tax increase.”

“That’s good news, indeed,” Maggie said.

“Aldridge must be thrilled,” Caroline commented.

John nodded. “It’s good that we’ve got dedicated men like yourself and Aldridge seeing to our interests.” Even before his marriage to the duke's sister, John had been persuaded to favor the tax increase after hearing Aldridge explain at White’s why the monies were needed to defeat the French.

Eying Caroline, John added, “Mr. Rothcomb-Smedley expends all his energies on his duties. Doesn’t know how to have a good time like Perry and me.”

“Now that you’ve wed,” Rothcomb-Smedley said to John, “Why do you not take your seat in the House of Lords?”

Why would I want to do that?
“I’m flattered that you might think I could contribute, but I assure you, it’s not for me.”

Maggie moved closer to him and set her hand on his arm. “I support my Lord Finchley in every decision he makes, but I do believe his non-participation in Parliament is our loss.”

What had she just done? Without asking that he do so, his wife had just—in her own sugary way—told him she thought he should serve in the House of Lords. By Jove! She was more clever than anyone else in this room!

Of course, he still had no intentions in serving. Not even to please Maggie.

Other powerful leaders of the House of Commons were eager to speak and to be seen with Rothcomb-Smedley, and their circle soon ballooned in size.

When the set was finished, Perry escorted Lady Clair back to their group and continued to stand beside her. Even after Rothcomb-Smedley moved to stand at her other side, Perry continued to toss out a plethora of praises on Lady Clare’s beauty. “How is it that I am seven and twenty and have failed to cross paths with you before, Lady Clair?”

Before she could answer, a glaring Rothcomb-Smedley did in an icy voice. “You and your circle of friends have never before expressed an interest in
polite
Society. I don’t recall ever before seeing you at Almack’s.”

Perry’s sparkling black eyes met John’s. “Surely we must have come here before?”

John shrugged. As much as he liked making Rothcomb-Smedley uncomfortable, Rothcomb-Smedley was making John uncomfortable. Two months ago John would happily claim his well-earned reputation as a dissipated rake, but now—in the presence of this able Parliamentarian—John's hedonistic lifestyle embarrassed him.