Meet the Earl at Midnight (Midnight Meetings) (20 page)

“Right here, my lady,” Lydia called from the doorway, her voice breezy and light.

She clutched her brown shawl around her shoulders as her skirts swung from long, purposeful strides. Miss Montgomery walked over to the hearth to face the half circle of people, but lowered herself in a deep curtsy to his mother first, even before Edward began the introduction. Good. She innately understood that appeasement protocol.

“Pleased to meet you, my lady. My lord.” She nodded at Edward and gave Jonas a shallow dip, finishing with measured caution. “Mr. Bacon. How nice to see you again.”

Miss Montgomery planted herself on the brown-and-green-striped settee, wiggling her back into the corner, adjusting loose pillows for comfort. The furniture shook a little from her movements, and her hem was wet with bits of grass clinging to some threads unraveling there.

His mother’s stern stare grazed Miss Montgomery’s simple, outdated attire, faded from years of wash and wear. She lingered on the brown shawl peppered with holes. The countess gave the woolen wrap the distaste one saves for an awful, hideous insect. His mother hummed a disapproving sound in her throat, and crossed elegantly shod feet at the ankles, allowing artful red ribbons to show under her pristine silk hem.

“
This
is to be the next Countess of Greenwich? Tell me you jest. You cannot marry her.” She shook her head, and cylindrical gold curls bounced from the emphatic quake. “She’s terribly inappropriate for the position. Just look at her.”

“You don’t have a say in that,” Edward said, leaning into the chair’s wide back, but all of his body tensed for the inevitable attack. He braced himself over a more pressing question: What would be Miss Montgomery’s response? “And Miss Montgomery’s not filling a post. She’s becoming my wife. Big difference.”

The countess snorted, really a slight huff, since women in her position made no such indelicate sounds. His mother harbored a differing opinion on the role of countess.

“Have you no regard for the lineage?” she sniped.

From the doorway, Claire entered, followed by Rogers and another footman. Both men were wide-armed with trays laden with tea and finger foods, but at least the distraction spared him a moment of battle. Good.

“And here’s Miss Mayhew with some tea,” he said, smiling at his ally-in-arms.

A flicker of malevolence crossed Claire’s face before she pasted on her serene housekeeper’s mask.

“And yes, Mother, I’m familiar with family history. The desirable and undesirable parts.”

His mother failed to acknowledge Claire, as the housekeeper whispered instructions to the servants. The countess’s tourmaline-blue gaze slid from the silent Jonas and Miss Montgomery back to him.

“Edward, I would rather we take tea
en
prive
.” One golden eyebrow arced with suggestive command as to how emphatic her preference.

“No. Miss Montgomery is very much a part of this, and Jonas, like you, has just journeyed here and is no doubt hungry and thirsty.” He tipped his head toward the dish-covered desktop. “And he comes bearing gifts, for which I’d very much like to hear your thoughts, as well as Miss Montgomery’s.”

That he sought her judgment on something appeased the countess, at least he assumed so by the flash of surprise in her eyes. Alas, the peace was short-lived.

“I’m glad you seek my opinion in some matters, but this plan of yours…” His mother’s rouged lips pursed so hard, tiny lines sketched the outline of her mouth.

The footmen set the trays on the wide oval table before the settee. And Miss Montgomery leaned too far forward to retrieve the delicate rose-painted teapot, but her hands stopped short of touching the porcelain.

“Shall I serve, my lady?”

“Oh, please do,” his mother said with an unkind gleam in her eye. She turned to Edward, and her accusing glare spoke volumes:
Watch
her
inept
skills
at
tea.

Edward couldn’t be bothered with Society’s ridiculous requirement that women present themselves well at tea. The notion that tea service ranked high in marital requirements struck him as absurd, an idea he voiced a time or two in the past. To drive home her point on this salient issue, the countess wore the closest thing to a sneer as Miss Montgomery clinked and banged her way around fine china, demonstrating finesse on par with Jonas’s ham-handed talents in serving refreshments.

But the winning salvo belonged to Miss Montgomery.

“I, for one, would like to express my enthusiasm for his lordship’s plans of procreation,” she said, her perceptive green gaze sweeping from him to the countess. “Consider me an eager and willing partner to carry on the family lineage.”

Jonas coughed behind his balled fist.

The retreating footmen banged into each other behind Jonas’s chair as they stared bug-eyed at Miss Montgomery.

And the countess inhaled sharply. His mother failed to anticipate her adversary sharing the settee. Edward could almost read his mother’s mind as she tried to weigh Miss Montgomery: Is the young woman soft in the head? Or a complete brazen? He pressed his lips together, holding back his grin at the unexpected conversation twist.

His Miss Montgomery, one hand gripping the embellished handle of the teapot, turned a careful eye on the stream of tea pouring into another rose-petal cup. The pitcher went horizontal for a moment, and she smiled with an insouciant light in her eyes.

“You know, my lady, his lordship interviewed me extensively, and in a manner of speaking, I’m quite appropriate for the…
position
—”

Jonas doubled over with another loud cough but managed to say, “You sound very congenial to me.”

“Oh, dear, Mr. Bacon. Please, drink some tea for that cough,” she said with some concern, passing a cup and saucer.

“Thank you, miss.” His hulking friend accepted the proffered tea with a jovial smile.

Edward shot Jonas a stern glance. He didn’t need another voice fanning flames of conflict by dumping earlier, privately stated words into the arena. Jonas was never a big talker, so that quip of his came as a surprise. But the best way to shut the man’s mouth was with food and drink. Miss Montgomery became an accidental ally by quickly delivering tea to Jonas, but then she turned her focus back on the countess.

“His lordship found I’m more than adequate for the task.” One corner of her hoyden’s mouth curved up as she verbally caressed that final word. She tipped the pot, and finished splashing tea into the last cup with only a dribble hitting the tray. “Of course, you would have concerns about this, it’s only natural.”

Edward watched her play hostess, holding back the odd mixture of mirth and reproof that played in his head. He wasn’t sure if he should kiss or scold the minx the first moment they found themselves
en
prive
. The idea of his lips touching hers brought a new spark to this uncomfortable venue. But her brazen innuendo set the countess back. Good, Miss Montgomery could hold her own doing battle with his mother, and her quick reconnaissance of the situation, along with her choice to adroitly stand her ground, impressed him.

Both footmen, however, lingered in the background too long as they gawked. Claire’s polite cough came from the doorway, and they quit the room in haste.

Claire frowned at the lads, who were sure to get a set down once out of sight. Miss Montgomery needed just such a scolding, if he could deliver it straight-faced, but he’d give her the lead for now and see how far this went. That his mother was momentarily speechless, near gulping hot tea, was a battle coup, and judging from the paleness of her features under her powder, she raised a tentative white flag of surrender.

“I can see my son finds you most entertaining. He has a penchant for surrounding himself with”—his mother paused and gave a pointed look at Jonas with his braided beard—“unique and colorful people not of his station. I do not deceive myself. You are simply another one of the oddities with which he surrounds himself.” The countess held her cup elegantly and finished, “But what, pray tell, will happen when you go out into Society?”

His mother replaced her cup with a triumphant clink. The regrouping had already begun.

Miss Montgomery fidgeted on the settee, and drops of tea splashed her fingers and skirt. “Lud, but I hadn’t anticipated that.” She kept her eyes glued to the offending liquid, setting her cup down with a rattle and clank, to snatch a napkin. “Perhaps you can give me some guidance? Daughters of the nobility are taught proper decorum. Why not me?”

His mother’s blue eyes glittered as she watched the napkin unravel from its careful fold. The cloth flopped about like a helpless fish on land as Miss Montgomery wiped her fingers and rubbed the napkin across two coin-sized spots on her skirt.

“We speak of young ladies of noble birth.” She huffed again as the corners of her mouth drooped. “Their training takes
years
, and begins early in their upbringing. And you, my dear, are not fresh from the schoolroom.” His mother’s small nostrils flared as she delivered that thinly veiled set down.

“Then my maturity works in our favor, doesn’t it? Because I’m a fast learner.” Miss Montgomery winked at the countess and reached for a petit-four with her fingers. A crumb fell into her lap as she popped the tiny delicacy into her mouth, then she brushed the crumb onto the floor.

The countess’s perfectly plucked eyebrows pressed together at the ill-mannered display, but Jonas kept a stoic face in his corner of the arena.

Lydia chewed the tiny confection quickly and swallowed. “I’m putty in your hands, my lady. I ask only that I have an hour or two to sketch for his lordship and a few hours to paint for my own pleasure, and then I’m yours for countess training.”

Miss Montgomery reached for a larger pastry, balancing the flaky crust on her jumbled napkin. His mother’s eyes narrowed on the continued evidence of rustic manners.

“Painting?” The countess lifted a small plate and pinched silver tongs on a miniature biscuit. “You do watercolor? I’ve enjoyed a bit of painting from time to time.”

“Watercolor? No, I work strictly in oils.” She took a healthy bite, and apple filling squished out the side onto the napkin. She chewed, swallowed, and swiped a corner of her mouth. “Such a blasted mess I’m making. Tea was much simpler with my great-aunt, what with the smaller tray and simpler food.”

Jonas chuckled softly from his corner and nodded his agreement before taking a healthy swallow of tea. The Countess’s stiff spine went straighter, though he didn’t think that possible. She sipped slowly from her cup and watched the fire in silence, her face a mask of decorum and stillness.

The unfolding play turned from skirmish to truce, but Edward, setting his teacup back in its saucer, didn’t trust his mother’s slight, amicable shift in conversation; this was a change in tactics. She didn’t come all this way to give up in one meeting. No, she’d come at Miss Montgomery or him or both with new armaments. He’d never known his mother to quit easily, but then, Miss Montgomery deserved praise for courage under fire. The fact that she was not a simpering country miss probably set the countess into another momentary retreat.

“Oils.” Jonas spoke into the arena, reaching for a plate and heaping it high with the table’s offerings. “I thought only portraitists and professional painters used oils.”

And then Miss Montgomery dropped an altogether different salvo into the theater of battle.

“After we’re married, I plan to sell my artwork. In London. The sooner the better.” Miss Montgomery set her becrumbed napkin on the closest tray and licked her lips. “It’s what I’ve been working for these past three years.”

“What have you been working for? Selling your art? Or marriage?” Jonas asked, selecting a biscuit from the mound of food on his too small plate.

“My art, of course.”

Another facet revealed itself from the diamond in the rough known as Miss Montgomery. Edward glanced at Jonas, whom he expected to be full of mirth at the pronouncement, but instead, a different light shone in his friend’s eyes. His man of business tipped his head in something of an admiring salute. Miss Montgomery may not have garnered Jonas’s friendship, but she’d surely won his respect. Work was not a dirty word to his friend. His mother, however, let decorum slip when her jaw near unhinged. Of course, that moment was short-lived, for she needed full use of her mouth to heap words of malcontent.

“Edward! She can’t be serious. Did you know about this crude merchant’s behavior?” His mother asked the question but charged ahead, not waiting for his reply. “That will besmirch our good name. People of our class purchase goods. We
don’t
hawk them on roadways like street urchins.”

“Of course, I’ll not
hawk
them
as you say on street corners, my lady.” Miss Montgomery made that statement as if she were the voice of reason. “I’ll be discreet and sell them through a solicitor in your London town house when I host an art salon.”

“What?” The countess gasped, and her head swiveled from Miss Montgomery to Edward. “You cannot allow your future wife to engage in anything so, so vulgar as…
commerce
.” She spoke that last word as if it were vile on her tongue. “This plan of yours to marry a commoner is folly.” Her chin pointed as high as her neck would allow. “I’ll not stand for it.”

Edward’s elbows pressed into the chair’s plush leather arms. He didn’t answer right away. His mind ticked, mulling over this new side of Miss Montgomery. Fundamentally, he had nothing against commerce; business simply failed to hold his interest compared to science. Mercantile endeavors provided minimal appeal but had become a financial necessity. That a
woman
could engage in such a practice bore careful consideration.

Weren’t there plenty of English wives of the craftsman and artisan class who partnered with their husbands, thus adding to family coffers? Logic supported this notion. But none of those women were the Countess of Greenwich, a factor that carried some weight.