Read My Favorite Countess Online
Authors: Vanessa Kelly
My Favorite Countess (16 page)
As the two parties reached each other, Bathsheba tried to guide Lady Silverton past, but Lady Stiles planted herself directly in their path.
“Goodness!” she exclaimed. “I would never in a thousand years have expected to run into Lady Silverton and Lady Randolph rambling in Green Park together. It was worth dragging myself out of bed so early to see it. As you can imagine, I rarely go about at this time of day, but my darling Maria and I are on our way to the dairy to meet some of her friends. Quite a refreshing thing to do on such a hot day, don't you think?”
Bathsheba murmured a polite reply and once more tried to steer Lady Silverton toward the gate. Lady Stiles shifted to intercept them. Her small, pale blue eyes glittered with malice.
“Lady Silverton, I heard that you and the marquess had recently returned from the country. I'm astonished you would even think to wander about in your condition. Whatever would Lord Silverton sayâand your mama-in-law? She will be astounded, I have no doubt.”
Her daughter smirked at her mother and gave a nasty little titter.
Bathsheba felt a slight tremor pass through Lady Silverton's limbs. Everyone knew Silverton's mother had objected to her son's marriage to the commonly born Meredith Burnleyâquite vocally, by all accounts.
“Lady Stiles,” answered Bathsheba, injecting just the right note of boredom into her voice. “Don't let us keep you. After all, your daughter shouldn't be kept standing out here in the sun. Her complexion is quite ruined already. So many freckles. She obviously takes after you. I would suggest Denmark Lotion and crushed strawberries, but I suspect not even that will suffice. Such a pity.”
Lady Stiles and her daughter froze into twin pillars of outrage, glaring at Bathsheba as she and Thomas moved Lady Silverton up the path.
“Just a few more feet, Lady Silverton,” Bathsheba soothed, worried to feel the trembling in the other woman's body. “Then you'll be able to rest.”
“No,” the marchioness replied in a quavering voice. “I'm about to go into whoops.” And then she burst into laughter.
Bathsheba grinned as relief flowed through her veins. She found herself liking the marchioness a great deal.
“Oh, Lady Randolph, I wish I had your wit,” she wheezed as she began to recover. “I loathe that woman, but my tongue always ties into knots whenever I encounter her.”
“That's because you don't possess the killing instinct,” Bathsheba answered. “Fortunately, I have it in abundance.”
Lady Silverton gave her a startled glance but held her tongue. For that, Bathsheba was grateful. What had possessed her to blurt out such a remark in the first placeâespecially to a Stanton?
They reached the carriage, and Lady Silverton's servants rushed to attend to them. The steps were let down, and the marchioness was carefully hoisted inside. She smiled gratefully at Bathsheba and offered her hand.
“Thank you so much for taking care of me. I don't know what I would have done without you.”
Bathsheba brushed her hand aside and climbed up the steps into the carriage. Lady Silverton gaped at her as she settled onto the opposite seat.
“Lady Silverton, you must be mad if you think I'm leaving you. I won't be easy until I see you safely bestowed in your own house, and the doctor called to attend you.”
She ignored the other woman's protest, leaning out the door to speak to her footman.
“Thomas, you may take my carriage and return to Compton House. I'll be along later. And tell Lady Silverton's coachman to drive on.”
The carriage moved smoothly away from the park. Bathsheba looked at Lady Silverton, who was staring at her with a bemused expression on her lovely face.
Bathsheba lifted an eyebrow. “I know what you're thinkingâthe dreaded enemy helping a Stanton. But sometimes even a Randolph can rise to the occasion.”
Silence fell over the carriage during the short ride to Grosvenor Square but, oddly, Bathsheba didn't feel uncomfortable. Lady Silverton had stared at her thoughtfully, but didn't seem inclined to judge. And she radiated a sweet serenity, even in her physical discomfort, that felt neither cloying nor artificial. No wonder the Marquess of Silverton had been so intent on making her his wife.
After a few minutes, the marchioness stirred.
“Lady Randolph, I can't thank you enough for your help. My husband will be so grateful to you.”
Bathsheba very much doubted that, but held her fire. “It was nothing, my lady. I'm simply glad I was there to assist you.”
Lady Silverton seemed to hesitate, then gave her a rueful smile. “You must wonder what I was doing wandering around the park with only a maid to attend me.”
“A bit, yes.”
“I was raised in the country, where I much prefer to spend my time. But Lord Silverton insisted we return to London for my lying-in. My doctor is here, you see.” She grimaced. “I hate being so confined. I'm used to walking every day. My husband prefers that I take my walks in Grosvenor Square, but I can't bear the thought of all my neighbors watching me lumber about. I thought going to Green Park first thing in the morning would be more private, and a bit more like being home in the country.”
Bathsheba could certainly sympathize with her desire for privacy. “Does your husband know you went to Green Park this morning?”
Lady Silverton looked guilty. “No. I suspect he'll be quite annoyed with me.”
Bathsheba smiled. “Well, then I best come into the house with you. He can be annoyed with me, instead.”
“I would like that very much,” said Lady Silverton with enthusiasm.
Bathsheba laughed.
They drew to a halt in front of Silverton House, an imposing, three-story mansion on the northeast side of the square. Bathsheba had been there a few times with Reggie in the first years of her marriage, and she had always been struck by its expensive elegance.
Two footmen sprang into action as soon as the steps were let down. Along with Grace, they carefully helped Lady Silverton into the house. Bathsheba trailed behind as a calmfaced butler bowed her through the door.
Lady Silverton removed her bonnet and gloves with a sigh, handing them to her maid.
“Hammond,” she said to the butler, “Lady Randolph is joining me for tea. Would you please bring it to the morning room?”
Servants scurried off in several directions and, minutes later, Bathsheba found herself ensconced in a very pretty and comfortable sitting room at the back of the house. The butler and a footman set up the tea service, then withdrew.
“Would you mind pouring?” asked the marchioness. “This blasted stomach of mine gets in the way of everything.”
Bathsheba fixed her a cup and put a few delicate sandwiches and cakes on a plate for her.
“You should eat, Lady Silverton,” she said. “It will make you feel more like yourself.”
The marchioness accepted the plate with a sigh. “I've forgotten what it feels like to be myself. You mustn't think I'm not happy to be having a babyâI'm delighted. But my pregnancy has been difficult. I haven't felt well in months.”
“What does your doctor say?”
Lady Silverton frowned. “Not much of anything, really. He takes my pulse, and he's a great advocate of bloodletting. Each time he bled me I felt worse, so I finally refused to allow him to do it anymore. Since then, whenever I complain of discomfort he tells me that it's natural for women to suffer in pregnancy. Apparently, as daughters of Eve, it's our lot in life,” she finished dryly.
Bathsheba nearly choked on her tea. “He sounds like an ass! Who is he?”
“Dr. Steele. Supposedly the best accoucheur in London.”
Bathsheba had met Steele at several social occasions. He had always struck her as an ambitious and arrogant man.
“You're frowning,” said Lady Silverton. “Do you know him?”
“Slightly.”
“What do you think of him?”
Bathsheba paused, but the marchioness looked at her intently, seeming to want a truthful answer.
“I really do think he's an ass.”
“So do I,” said Lady Silverton, looking unhappy, “but I don't know what to do about it.”
“Have you discussed this with Lord Silverton?”
“Yes. He's concerned, but everyone swears Dr. Steele is the best. And I don't want my husband to worry any more than he already is.”
Bathsheba started to reply, then fell silent. What right had she to interfere? Besides, it would be dangerous beyond all imagining if she were toâ
“Lady Randolph, what are you thinking?”
She looked up to meet Lady Silverton's smoky silver gaze, the color so similar to John's that she could almost believe she was staring into his eyes. Only a fool would do this, but the anxious vulnerability on the other woman's face touched a reluctant chord of sympathy in Bathsheba's heart. Or at least that's what she told herself.
“I know of another physician in Londonâan accoucheurâwho is very accomplished. He's younger than Dr. Steele, and from what I understand he has trained at the best schools, both in Scotland and on the Continent. Perhaps he might be persuaded to consult with you.”
“Do you think you could speak to him for me?” Lady Silverton asked eagerly. “I realize he might be reluctant to offend Dr. Steele, but . . .”
Bathsheba smiled, trying and failing to hold back a tangled surge of emotionsâexcitement, anxiety, and, oddly, relief. She would surely hate herself later, but the prospect of seeing John again made her spirits soar.
“I'll be happy to speak to him on your behalf, my lady. If he agrees, I'll ask him to call on you at your earliest convenience.”
The marchioness closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, Bathsheba was surprised to see tears glimmering in the gray depths.
“Thank you. That would greatly relieve my mind. And please,” she said rather shyly, “call me Meredith. It seems foolish to use titles after today.”
“I would be delighted. And you must call me Bathsheba.”
Meredith gave her a dazzling grin, and Bathsheba couldn't help feeling touched. It had been years since she made a new friend, especially one who seemed unaffected by the cynical sophistication that characterized so many inhabitants of their social circles.
“You're nothing like I imagined,” Meredith blurted out. “You always frightened me a bit. You seemed so . . .”
“Hard?” Bathsheba finished the sentence for her.
“I hope I haven't offended you.”
She sighed. “No. It's the truth. I wasn't always like that, but the years in London have changed me.”
Meredith looked curious now, leaning back in her soft, overstuffed armchair, her slender hands resting protectively on her belly.
“You didn't grow up in London?”
“No. I am from Yorkshire. My father didn't like city ways, and my mother was often too ill to travel. I had only one Season when I was nineteen, and I didn't take.”
Meredith's jaw dropped. “How is that possible?”
Bathsheba shrugged. “No dowry. My father was an impecunious viscount.”
“But you married an earl.”
“I met him a year later, in Yorkshire. Lord Randolph didn't care about money. He wanted something else,” she finished, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
“Did you find it difficultâleaving the country behind?” Meredith sounded wistful.
“Yes, at first. Then I got used to it. You will, too.”
“I don't think so. You were born into the nobility, so the ton accepts you as one of their own. That has not been the case with me. I don't think I'll ever fit in.”
She broke off and wrinkled her nose. “That sounds horrible, doesn't it? As if I'm a spoiled child. I have a husband and family who love me, and I live in luxury. What could I possibly have to complain about?”
Bathsheba repressed an irksome flash of envy. “One also wishes to be accepted,” she said. “To feel that one belongs.”
Meredith nodded. “Yes. That's why I prefer the country. I do feel I belong there. In London . . .”
Bathsheba gave a sympathetic little snort. “Lady Stiles and her ilk.”
“Exactly. No one has the nerve to snub me in front of my husband, or General and Lady Stanton. But, as you saw today, it does still happen. I never mention it to Silverton, though. It makes him furious.”
“Lady Stiles is a bitch, as are her friends,” Bathsheba replied, raising her Sèvres teacup to take a delicate sip. “You should ignore her.”
Meredith stared at her in shock, then a grin lit up her elegant features. “Oh, I do like you, despite whatâ” She clamped her lips shut, looking suddenly uncomfortable.
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