Page 34 of More or Less a Countess
Nick managed to paste a stiff smile onto his lips while Lady Covington and his aunt struggled through another half hour of stilted conversation, but both he and Louisa maintained a deafening silence. Louisa looked as if she didn’t dare breathe a word for fear of bursting into tears, and Nick was struggling to hold his hurt and anger in check until the inevitable confrontation with his aunt.
By the time Louisa and Lady Covington took their leave, his smile had cracked and fallen in splinters from his lips.
He didn’t mince words. “I believe I made my sentiments regarding Louisa Covington perfectly clear, Aunt. If you’re trying to tempt me into a hasty marriage, you’ve made a rather bad start.”
His aunt faced him, her back straight and her hands folded neatly in her lap. “And yet it’s a start just the same, Nicholas, and far more of one than you’ve made on your own, I’m afraid. Unless you consider lying about in your bedchamber all day and trifling with Lady Uplands every night a start.”
Ah. His aunt had found out about Lady Uplands. Well, that explained Louisa’s sudden appearance here today. Either he found a wife sooner rather than later, or his aunt would find one for him, and she’d made it clear who she’d choose.
Panic gripped him in a tight fist—so tight his mouth popped open, and words began to spill from it. “On the contrary, Aunt. I’ve made far more progress than you give me credit for. Despite the lack of available young ladies in London, I’ve managed to unearth a likely countess, and I’ve already begun courting her.”
His aunt’s eyes went wide, then narrowed with suspicion. “So soon? An actress, or one of your former mistresses, I assume. I warn you, Nicholas—”
“Not to worry, Aunt. Evenyoucouldn’t find anything to disapprove of in this young lady.”
Aside from the madness, that is.
“Indeed? Who is she?”
“Hyacinth Somerset. She’s one of Lady Chase’s granddaughters, and I assure you, you won’t find a lovelier young lady in London.”
It was true enough. Hyacinth Somersetwaslovely, and if Nick could overlook a touch of insanity, then surely his aunt could, as well.
“Hyacinth Somerset.” Lady Westcott cocked her head to the side, considering. “I don’t know the young lady, but if she’s one of Lady Chase’s granddaughters—”
“She is, indeed. Impeccable bloodlines, intelligent, with ah…lively manners, and she’s a perfect English rose, as well.” Nick rose to his feet. “I’m on my way to call on her even now.”
Lady Westcott gave him a cautious smile. “Well, if she’s everything you say she is—”
“Oh, she is.” And more, too. Much more, but after that painful half hour with the Covingtons, Nick found he wasn’t much concerned with Miss Somerset’s sanity anymore.
It was, after all, nothing in comparison to his own.
* * * *
The cobwebs were gone.
This was, oddly, Nick’s first thought when Miss Somerset swept into the drawing room to receive him. Her fair hair was brushed smoothly back from her forehead and gathered into a simple knot at the back of her neck, and if an errant cobweb still lurked among those gleaming locks, Nick couldn’t see it.
“Good afternoon, Lord Dare.” A sweet smile lit her face, and she dipped into a polite curtsy before him. “It’s kind of you to call on me today.”
Nick had risen to his feet when she entered, but now he stood awkwardly in the middle of the drawing room, staring at her and worrying the brim of his top hat between his fingers. She’d exchanged the dingy pinafore and faded gown for a fresh bright blue one that brought out the color of her eyes.
For one baffling moment, disappointment stabbed at his chest. She looked very much as she had the first night he’d seen her, when he’d watched her play the pianoforte, and there was no denying she was lovely, but without realizing he’d done so, he’d grown rather fond of her rough edges.
For God’s sake, he must have lost his mind, because he actually missed the cobwebs.
“Lord Dare?” She gave him an uncertain look when he still didn’t respond, then held out her hand to him. “Are you quite well?”
Nick reached to take her hand, and a smile rose to his lips. There, on her index finger, was a faded smear of black ink.
“Ah. For a moment I feared some other young lady had come in your place, but I see you’re here after all, Miss Somerset, hidden under all the elegant trappings.” He took her hand and held it up, tracing his thumb from the base of her finger to the tip. “Ink,” he added, at her startled look. “I see you’ve tried to scrub it away, but I confess I’m glad you didn’t succeed, or I might not have recognized you.”
“Oh.” She seemed not to know what else to say, and fell silent. Color rose into her cheeks when he didn’t release her hand, and she watched, mesmerized, as he caressed her fingers with slow, gentle strokes. “I, ah…” She jerked her gaze from their joined hands to his face, and whatever she saw there made her blush harder. “The ink never seems to come off entirely.”
By the time she drew her hand away, Nick had gone breathless, but he cleared his throat and attempted a normal tone of voice. “I won’t ask if you’ve recovered from your ordeal last night, because I can see you have.” His gaze swept over her, and he didn’t bother to hide his appreciation. He preferred her when she was a trifle disheveled, but she looked as lovely as a spring day, and a man couldn’t help but be refreshed looking at her, given the gray, dreary sky still holding London captive.
She gestured him toward a settee and took the one opposite him. “I have indeed recovered, so much so I feel quite restless. Shall we take another drive today, my lord? I’d prefer it to a dull afternoon in the drawing room, wouldn’t you?”
