Romancing the Countess (22 page)
After all, after having been taught to please others for so long, it was natural that she should feel discomfort at being the object of their criticism, wasn’t it?
Looking around, she spied Miss Pettigrew sneaking a glance at her. With a deep breath, Leah smiled wider. Miss Pettigrew answered with a glimmer of a smile and moved to step forward, but her arm was caught in the grip of Mrs. Thompson. The companion stared at Leah and murmured something to Miss Pettigrew. With an abashed gaze, Miss Pettigrew turned her back on Leah and began speaking with Miss Sanders.
So it was for the next half hour. Covert glances were thrown Leah’s way, but no one dared approach her, and the guests’ voices rose until it became clear none meant to shield their comments from her ears.
“I suspected she wasn’t truly sorry about his death . . .”
“It doesn’t matter if she was. She should have some sort of decency . . .”
Eventually the musicians stuttered to a halt, and the lead violinist caught her gaze. She nodded, and they played again. Not a dancing tune, but a performance piece. They’d been paid, after all, and at least the music would partially drown the overwhelming condemnation of her guests.
Finally Lady Elliot approached. “Mrs. George,” she acknowledged, arching her brow. “I thought you were to tell me before you created a scandal.”
Leah’s smile turned genuine at the viscountess’ admonition. “Please accept my apologies, my lady. I meant to surprise you.”
“Oh, you did, my dear. But you do know I have no intention of keeping this quiet, don’t you?”
“I rather suspected you wouldn’t.”
Lady Elliot nodded, her gaze approving. “Good for you,” she murmured. Then, more loudly, “I’m afraid Lord Elliot and I cannot stay throughout the evening. We won’t be leaving in the morning. We shall leave now.”
With one last look at Leah, she whirled and placed her hand on her husband’s arm. As the music played behind them and the other guests watched, Lord and Lady Elliot departed the drawing room.
Soon it became apparent that Lady Elliot would be the only one to even attempt to say good-bye. In the following minutes the others began trickling out, slowly at first, then with greater haste until a line formed to leave through the drawing room door.
Leah sighed, then moved across the room toward a settee which had been pushed against the wall. The quartet continued to play as she sat on the sofa. Her guests’ voices receded down the hall, and she listened to the wheels of their various conveyances rumble across the drive as they departed.
She might have predicted it would end this way. After all, if she had been one of the guests and her hostess had done something similar, Leah would have felt compelled to leave. Then again, with the hint of scandal surrounding such a house party, she probably wouldn’t have attended in the first place.
Yet even with Sebastian’s disappointment and the knowledge that she would soon become a social pariah, she felt no remorse. She’d broken the rules, did as she pleased, and for tonight at least, she would enjoy her freedom.
Every few miles Sebastian decided he would stop the carriage and have the coachman return to Linley Park. He would return to the salon, grab ahold of Leah, and demand that she return to her senses.
Then he would kiss her.
But even though he lifted his arm toward the roof of the carriage numerous times, he always ended up lowering it before he could pound on the ceiling and make his wishes known.
They had come to a standstill, he and Leah. She had made her decisions, and he must do what he could to now protect Henry from the consequences. Perhaps if he had stressed the importance of not creating a scandal before . . . but no, he’d tried. He simply hadn’t told her what the consequences would mean to him, or to Henry. Even if he had, he had no reason to believe it would have changed her actions, not when she’d so readily dismissed his concerns earlier tonight.
Goddamn it.
The coachman drove the carriage on, past the chalk hills, past the rolling lines of trees that were thick, tangled shadows beneath the moonless sky. Sebastian lowered his head into his hands, the image of Leah imprinted on his mind after she’d entered the salon. Her chin lifted, head held high, more regal than Queen Victoria herself.
And the absurdity of it all was, for an instant in the corridor, he’d been glad to see her—happy that finally, even though she was wearing black, it wasn’t the customary widow’s weeds. In that moment, she’d seemed free. He hadn’t felt guilty for wanting her so soon after Angela’s death, and he hadn’t felt guilty because she was Ian’s wife. Everything had seemed right, their future together unclear, but certainly something possible outside of his lust-filled fantasies.
Sebastian’s fist pounded at the roof before he had time to hesitate and retrieve it back to his side. The carriage slowed, the horses snuffling as the reins tightened.
His breath came faster, anticipation filling him at the prospect of turning around and returning to her. Soon the coachman climbed down and knocked on the door.
“You may open it.”
The coachman’s round face appeared, whiskers thickly striped along his jaw. “Ye signaled, milord?”
Sebastian inhaled. He thought of Leah.
He exhaled. And he thought of Henry.
“Never mind,” he said. “It was a mistake.” Turning his head, he stared out the window again. At the countryside that would soon disappear, changing into the city landscape, taking him closer to his son and farther away from Leah. “Drive on.”
Four days had passed since the infamous end of her country house party. All the guests had left the night of the dinner, so that when Leah woke the next morning it was to a quiet house, completely silent except for the movements of the servants around her. It was almost as it had been after Ian had first died, when she’d retreated to Linley Park in order to escape everyone.
Leah was in the flower garden, walking among the roses in the afternoon, when she heard the sound of a vehicle approaching on the drive. She already suspected who it would be. Out of all the people who might have been upset at her behavior the other night, it was the Viscount and Viscountess Rennell whom she regretted disappointing the most.
Clutching her skirts in her hands, she left the garden and walked through the doors of the conservatory, then into the hall, pausing to pat down her hair in a mirror as she passed. No widow’s cap. No veil. She’d even stopped wearing black. If they hadn’t heard the rumors, her appearance would tell them all they needed to know.
Herrod appeared at the top of the stairs as she started her ascent. “Madam, Lord Rennell—”
“In the drawing room?”
He inclined his head. “Yes, madam. The viscount has already requested tea and biscuits.”
“Of course. And send in those cherry tarts his lordship is so fond of as well.”
Bowing deeply, Herrod disappeared. Leah climbed the stairs to the drawing room. Her hands trembled at her sides as she paused outside the doorway. She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, then walked in.
“My lord Rennell. My la—” She paused, frozen in the middle of her curtsy. Lady Rennell was not present.
The viscount came to his feet and gave a perfunctory bow. “Leah, please. Have a seat.”
Thirty seconds. That’s all it took for it to be clear that he was the master of Linley Park, that she was at his mercy for her shelter, her food, and her amusements.
Leah sat.
A maid entered at that moment with the tea service, and neither spoke as she arranged the tray between them. When she left, Leah leaned forward and poured two cups of tea. “Milk and sugar as usual, my lord?” she asked.
“Yes, thank you. And I see you sent for cherry tarts.” A small smile crossed his mouth as he selected one of the pastries.
Leah passed him the cup of tea, proud of the surety of her hands. Not one ripple marred the surface of the liquid. However, when she stirred in her own sugar and removed her own cup of tea from the tray, it nearly tipped over and scalded her lap.
“I’ve come to request that you leave Linley Park within a fortnight,” Lord Rennell said a moment later. “I will give you a small purse of coin—”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“—but afterward, you will no longer be welcome at any of our homes, nor will we continue to support your livelihood.”
Leah met his eyes, then looked down. She nodded. “I understand.”
A few elongated, terrible moments of silence followed, in which she alternated between sipping at her tea and listening to the sound of Lord Rennell eating his cherry tart.
Finally, she heard him set his cup on the tray. “Leah,” he said softly. She glanced up. “Do you think that we didn’t know?”
She stared. “The party . . . You did receive my letter, didn’t you?”
“Not the party. About Ian. He was our son. And you, even in such a short time, have become like our daughter.”
“My lord . . . I’m sorry—”
“No, don’t apologize.” His mouth quirked, and it reminded her of Ian. “We both know you wouldn’t mean it, anyway. I daresay you deserve to be happy now. God knows Lady Rennell and I both regretted seeing you so downtrodden with Ian’s faithlessness.”
“How long did you know?” she asked, her grip tightening on her teacup. The wonderful part of keeping her husband’s affair a secret was her belief that no one else had been privy to her humiliation. She realized her own strength and confidence now, but the viscount and viscountess must have witnessed her at her worst: small and weak, stripped of her pride.
“Something changed in you. You ceased looking at Ian as if he were a king and became more reserved, even toward us.” He paused. “We would have liked you to continue as our daughter, if only in name. We do care for you, my dear, and would have done anything for you. But now . . .”
She nodded.
“We cannot ignore the rumors. It would make us appear ignorant and foolish. Also, I suspect you knew the consequences of your actions before you carried them out.”
“I did, although I regret bringing shame upon you and Lady Rennell.”
The viscount waved a hand. “It’s done now.” He stood, and she followed. He smiled across at her, then reached out to take her hand. Leah lowered her gaze, watched as he enfolded it between his. It was one of the most comforting gestures she had ever known and, not for the first time, she found herself jealous of Ian for having the sort of parents she’d always dreamed of.
“We wish you the best, Leah.” The viscount withdrew his hands. “You have a fortnight. No more. I will see that the purse I spoke of is delivered to Herrod shortly.” He gave her another bow. “Good day, Mrs. George.”
Leah curtsied. “Good day, my lord.” She watched him walk away, and just before he strode from the room, added, “And thank you.”
“Be careful,” Sebastian warned.
Henry paid no heed, teetering on the bench before the pianoforte as he leaned over and banged on the keys. Grinning, he looked at Sebastian and said, “Play, play, play!” before turning back and once again serenading Sebastian with his masterpiece.
Sebastian shifted, his elbows moving to his knees, his hands open and ready to catch Henry if he should fall.
Henry swiped his hand down the pianoforte and pivoted toward Sebastian, moving his hands up and down in the air on an invisible instrument. His foot slid to the edge of the bench and Sebastian swept forward, his arms outstretched and his heart beating madly in his chest as he tried to catch his son.
But Henry righted his balance and turned back to the pianoforte, unconcerned.
“Sit down,” Sebastian said, pointing to the bench. Henry didn’t respond.
Scooping his legs out from under him, Sebastian planted Henry on the seat, then scooted beside him. His arm supported Henry’s back in case he decided to fall sideways and scare Sebastian again.
Henry grinned up at Sebastian and pointed to the pianoforte. “Papa play.”
Sebastian smiled and touched one key, leaving his hand at rest until the note died. Then, as Henry watched, he moved his finger over each key, all the way down and back up, faster and faster.
“Hooray!” Henry shouted when he was finished, clapping his hands.
“Hooray!” Sebastian echoed, glancing at the half-open door to the music room, his voice not quite as loud.
He feared that was as well as he could do; he’d never been offered music lessons, and he’d never had any interest in playing the pianoforte. For some reason, though, he was fairly certain Leah knew how to play the instrument, if not many others. She was capable, intelligent, trained to act the perfect Victorian lady; it seemed only natural that she would excel at nearly everything.
A week had passed, and though it seemed the rest of the
ton
had deserted London in favor of their country estates, Sebastian had kept Henry in the city.
ton
had deserted London in favor of their country estates, Sebastian had kept Henry in the city.
Why?
It was a question he asked himself at least ten times a day.
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