Page 13 of More or Less a Countess
Nick leapt to his feet with renewed energy, grabbed his hat, and ordered the carriage brought around. In less than half an hour he’d secured Lady Chase’s address from Fulton, Lord Derrick’s butler, and was thumping on her ladyship’s door, one foot tapping impatiently as he waited for someone to come open it.
Now that he’d chosen the lady, he’d just as soon get on with it.
After what seemed an eternity, Nick heard the sound of slow, measured footsteps, and in the next moment the door creaked open to reveal a dusty old relic of at least a thousand years of age, with a face that made Gibbs look cheerful.
The old man shuffled backwards and pulled the door open wider. “Good afternoon, sir.”
Nick stepped into the entryway. “Good afternoon. Lord Dare, calling on Lady Chase.”
“Lady Chase is not at home this afternoon.” The butler retrieved a silver tray from the hall table and waved it under Nick’s chin. “Will you leave your card, my lord?”
Not at home? Devil take it. “Miss Somerset, then.” Nick couldn’t abide even a day’s delay, and it wasn’t as if the old man knew he and Miss Somerset hadn’t been properly introduced.
The butler swept a critical gaze over Nick and his thin lips twitched with disapproval, but he must have drawn the line at refusing to admit the Earl of Dare, because he took Nick’s hat and walking stick and ushered him into the drawing room. “If you’ll wait here, my lord, I’ll fetch Miss Somerset.”
The butler shuffled across the room at a glacial pace. When he gained the door at last, Nick threw himself into a chair with an impatient sigh.
Christ, courtship was tedious.
He could only hope Miss Somerset would be reasonable about it. He’d seen very little of her last night, but she hadn’t struck him as the type of lady who’d drag out a courtship by feigning maidenly confusion at every turn. He had a vague impression of fair hair, rather remarkable dark blue eyes, and modest, elegant manners—
“What in the world areyoudoing here?”
Nick shot to his feet, turned to face his future betrothed, and stumbled back a step, his mouth falling open in shock.
Miss Somerset stood halfway between him and the drawing room door, her hands on her hips, glaring at him. She was dressed in a faded blue gown, and her hair was bundled into an untidy knot at the back of her neck. She was covered from head to toe with dust, her fingers were smeared with black ink, there was a smudge of dirt on her nose, and…
Was that a cobweb in her hair?
Nick stared at her, aghast.
Thiswas Miss Somerset? Dear God, how much wine had he had to drink last night? She looked like a maidservant who’d spent all afternoon cleaning the chimneys.
“Lord Dare? I beg your pardon, but I can’t account for your presence here today. Have you forgotten we were never introduced at Lord Derrick’s dinner party last night?”
Nick was striving mightily to collect his wits—or at the very least to close his mouth—but for God’s sake, even his stalwart aunt would fall into a swoon if he presented a lady covered in cobwebs as the future Countess of Dare.
But it couldn’t be denied Miss Somerset had a significant advantage over any other potential wives:
She washere, and ripe for the plucking.
Nick straightened his spine and pasted his most charming smile on his lips. “No, I didn’t forget, Miss Somerset, but I was so charmed by your company last night nothing would do but for me to call on you today. I beg your pardon for doing so without a formal introduction. Can you ever forgive me?”
She would, of course. Ladies tended to be quite forgiving of even his most serious transgressions.
Miss Somerset assessed him for a moment, her brows drawn together, but then a tiny grin lifted one corner of her mouth.
Ah, there it was. Where the ladies were concerned, a grin was inevitably followed by a simper, and then unconditional forgiveness. Now, if he could just find a way to rid her of the cobwebs before she met his aunt, all might still be well—
“Tell me, Lord Dare. Does that usually work?”
Nick blinked. “Does what work?”
She waved a hand at him, from the top of his head to his perfectly shined boots. “Oh, you know, the exquisitely tailored clothing, the flattering speech, the charming smile, and so forth.”
She wasn’t mocking him, or asking sarcastically. She seemed genuinely curious, as if she really wished to know, and much to his dismay, her forthright manner startled the truth into leaping from Nick’s lips. “Generally speaking, yes.”
“Oh. How interesting.” She regarded him for a long moment, her head cocked as if she were attempting to measure the impact of his charm, then she shrugged. “It doesn’t with me.”
