A Scandalous Countess: A Novel of the Malloren World (10 page)

“I’d
make a better Odysseus than a Telemachus.”

She’d turned toward the house again, but she swiveled back. “I don’t understand that.”

“You haven’t been classically educated.”

“Lud, no!”

He laughed. “Such horror at the prospect. I too didn’t get the usual tutoring past twelve, but I’ve always enjoyed the stories of the
Iliad
and
Odyssey
. Mentor was Odysseus’s friend, not teacher. He was teacher to his young son, Telemachus. Odysseus himself was advised by goddesses, sirens, and enchantresses. More suitable, wouldn’t you say, in our case?”

Georgia flicked open her fan again, wary of the currents beneath this exchange. “Didn’t one enchantress turn Odysseus and his men into swine?”

“Circe,” he agreed.

“My purpose is the exact opposite.”

“The swine will be humbly grateful.”

Perdition, her cheeks were flaming. “I didn’t mean…!”

“I was only teasing.”

“But my words were careless.” When had she last been so maladroit? “There’s nothing swinish about you, Lord Dracy. Lud, that makes it worse! Oh, dear.…We’d best go in.”

She turned to the doors but realized that they’d paused to one side, out of sight of those inside. How had that happened?

“Stay a moment,” he said. “I’ve upset you, and your father might wonder what I’ve done.”

She turned back to face him. “My father might have seen you tossing me around. Why did you come out here? I don’t believe you’re afraid of anything.”

“Perhaps I simply have a fondness for fresh air.”

“You mean fresh sea air? Was it very difficult to leave the navy?”

A sudden blankness told her she’d hit a spot.

“You’re
the first person to ask that, Lady Maybury.”

“And the answer?” She very much wanted to know.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “It was my free choice.”

“Was it? You had no choice about inheriting the title. Your cousin’s death sealed your fate there, and you would be expected to take up your responsibilities. A death ripped you from your familiar life.” Too late, she realized she was speaking of herself as much as him. “Come. We’ll cause talk, lingering out here.”

She plunged into the Terrace Room as if it were escape.

Dracy followed Lady Maybury into the room, feeling the shift in the wind. Conversation ceased and all eyes turned to them. Everyone here had already seen his face, so the reaction was to the entrance of the Scandalous Countess. He had to fight the instinct to step in front of her as a shield.

Was this Lady Maybury’s first appearance before the company? She might have joined him on the terrace through another door. If so, what he’d been told of her scandal wasn’t false or overstated.

One blond lady’s glance might as well have been an arrow tipped with spite. Ah yes, Miss Cardross, sister of Lady Pranksworth, the heir’s wife. She clearly considered herself fine goods, but she’d shown otherwise by curling her lip at his appearance.

Would Lady Maybury be frozen out, here in her father’s house?

No. Talk resumed, two women inclined their heads to her, if coolly, and here came two eager gentlemen. One was the young Duke of Beaufort, eyes bright. There was her destiny, to be sure. She’d make a stunning duchess.

Dracy searched his memory for the name of the other swain. He’d attended the race, but he hadn’t encountered the man at any other race meeting.

Ah, Sellerby.

The Earl of Sellerby, but not quite at ease in this company. Whereas Beaufort’s brown country wear looked well-worn, Sellerby’s might rarely see daylight. Given that his conversation was all on London matters, he perhaps rarely ventured into the countryside.

A Town man to the core, and Lady Maybury was treating him like an old friend, thanking him for letters but chiding him for unsuitable gifts, all in a playful way. Perhaps he, not the duke, was her choice.

“Glad to see you on good terms with my daughter, Dracy.”

Dracy turned to the earl. “She’s a charming lady, Hernescroft.”

“Aye.” But the earl said it as if Dracy had said she had the plague. “I’ll thank you not to make more talk about her.”

“Talk?”

“Hefting her around as if she were a sack of grain.”

“I hope I was somewhat more careful, sir, but I apologize. I merely sought to spare her gown.”

Hernescroft leered. “And to get a feel of her, I’ll be bound. Satisfied?”

He really couldn’t punch his host. Aware of ears nearby, he spoke softly. “The Duke of Beaufort seems enamored, sir. I can’t compete with him on any level.”

“A fine match, but it’d leave our business unsettled.”

“It’s easily settled by cash.”

“Damn me…”

“Now, now, gentlemen.” Here came Lady Hernescroft, smiling tightly. “The race is run,” she said loudly enough to be overheard by all. “You must not continue to argue over the virtues of the horses.”

“Or fillies,” some lady said, causing a titter from someone and a further tightening in Lady Hernescroft’s smile.

What the devil did that mean?

Lady Maybury seemed happily unaware as she
enjoyed the admiration of three swains, for Sir Charles Bunbury had joined the group. Not a suitor, for he was married, but no wonder the other ladies looked sour.

Why didn’t she do the sensible thing and sit with them to talk of housekeeping or fashion or whatever women talked about between themselves? Was she perhaps as wicked and wanton as rumor whispered?

Dracy made himself look away. “I asked Lady Maybury about the perfume near the terrace, Lady Hernescroft, and she said it was a form of tobacco.”

The countess’s smile became a little more genuine. “Ah, yes. Delightful, is it not? You are interested in gardens, Dracy?”

Hernescroft grunted and left them to it, and Dracy found himself enjoying the conversation, even if it was mostly a lesson on how to improve the Dracy gardens. People have many sides. He really should remember that.

“I will send you seeds, Dracy, and instructions for your gardeners.”

His “gardener” at the moment was an old man who kept the overgrowth within bounds, where the sheep left any standing, but he thanked her. Perhaps he’d have time and money for a flower garden soon.

When he had a wife.

He glanced at Lady Maybury again. She’d acquired a fourth swain—another duke. Portland.

“Like moths to the flame,” Lady Hernescroft said.

“You disapprove of your daughter’s charms, ma’am?”

“Moths die in the flames, Dracy, and my daughter needs no more tragedies in her life.”

Dinner was announced. Lady Hernescroft steered him over to her daughter. “I’ll ask you to take Lady Maybury through, Dracy. Take good care of her.”

“It will be my honor, ma’am. No matter what the storms.”

Lady Hernescroft stared at him but then took the
other gentlemen away. Why the devil were the Hernescrofts so determined to bring about this unlikely marriage? The money couldn’t be an insuperable obstacle, and a union with Beaufort was too grand to be brushed aside.

“Storms?” Lady Maybury asked, and he looked back at her, struck again by the perfection of her face. A mask on a she-devil?

“A sailor learns to sense the wind, ma’am,” he said as she took his arm. No one else was nearby, so he added, “I heard that there was some scandal blowing around you and now I see it’s true. Unwise, perhaps, to snare four men for yourself?”

“You are not supposed to be tutoring me, my lord!” Then she surprised him by saying, “You’re correct, however. It was simply that the men seemed more welcoming.”

“You must be used to stirring jealousy in women.”

She frowned slightly. “But I was married then, and it makes a difference.”

“It does. Your road would be easier if you were less beautiful.”

Unlike any woman he’d ever known, she didn’t react to the description. Clearly she’d lived with it all her life.

“Yes,” she said as they joined the procession to the dining room, “but I’d not willingly lose my looks, you know.”

Oh, her wretched tongue. How had she said such a thing to a man so ruined in appearance? This event was straining her more than she’d thought. He was right about her behavior too, though he had no right to speak his thoughts on that.

As they walked to the dining room, she glanced at him but saw no reaction to her faux pas.

Her unfortunate words had risen out of an earlier moment. Before her mother had brought him over, she’d
seen him in profile, from his left, his unblemished side, and she’d realized that he was beautiful. That he had been beautiful. An odd word to describe a military man, but his face at that moment had seemed classically perfect.

Perhaps he’d felt her gaze, for he’d turned and looked at her, shattering the illusion most horribly.

She’d returned her attention to her companions, trying to hide her distress. What had it been like to have a glorious appearance and then lose it? To look into a mirror one day and see oneself so horribly changed? Even as she thought it, she’d known her horror was all about herself.

Such a thing could never happen to her. She wasn’t going into battle. There were other ways to lose one’s looks, however. Smallpox could ruin a complexion, if it didn’t kill you. Anyone could be scarred in a carriage accident. Burns didn’t happen only in war. Poor Henrietta Wrothley had passed too close to a fire and her skirts had caught. The flames had been extinguished, but it was said she was horribly scarred all along one side of her body. She’d not been seen in society since.

“Why so silent?” Dracy asked quietly as they entered the family dining room, the one that seated thirty at most.

“Apprehension,” she said honestly. “This is proving more challenging than I’d expected.”

“Remember, I’m by your side.”

When he took his seat to her left, Georgia wasn’t sure whether to be glad or sorry that she could see only the ruination of his face. It was probably easier than a constant reminder of what had been.

And, oh dear, Eloisa Cardross sat opposite, alert for any misstep she could report back to her sister. At least Sellerby was at Eloisa’s side. An eligible earl should distract her from her malice.

A glance around the table was less reassuring.
Waveney was leering at her, which was causing his pudgy wife to steam with fury. Mistress Fayne showed a greater appetite for scandal than for her soup, and she was a notorious gossip. Had she made that comment about fillies, and what had the resulting titter meant?

Throat tight with apprehension, Georgia merely stirred her soup and turned to the Duke of Portland, hoping for calm and boring conversation.

Chapter 6

“I
t was as if the cats wanted to dine on her!” Dracy exploded as he entered the private parlor he and Tom Knowlton had taken at the Bull. All the way there, he’d burned over the poisoned darts some of the women had thrown at Lady Maybury during the meal.

“That Cardross woman, saying that a nunlike appearance looked odd on her. And Lady Waveney adding that it became her more than goddess garb. Why that caused smirks, I don’t know, but it was foul. Poisonous snakes, the lot of ’em, and it didn’t help that she had admirers. The Duke of Beaufort, the Earl of Sellerby, even Waveney was smiling at her in a way calculated to make his wife seethe. No wonder Lady Waveney came up with something about the theater. Did the damn woman appear on stage in breeches?”

“Lady Waveney? I haven’t had the pleasure. Have some ale, Dracy.”

“There’d be no pleasure, I assure you. A lazy, doughy sort of woman.” Dracy filled a tankard from the pitcher. “But I meant Lady Maybury. Surely she’s not in the habit of acting on stage?”

“Ah, I do remember something.”

“A private theatrical?”