Lynne Connolly - Counterfeit Countess

At the door to her room, he drew her close for a sweet, tender kiss. She leaned her head on his shoulder, let him support her while he took his time licking into her mouth, his hand cupping her cheek, his arm holding her snugly. When she gave a small moan into his mouth, he drew away, gently parting their lips and lifting his head. “Sleep well, my love.”

“You aren’t—you don’t want to...?”

“More than anything else I can think of, but I don’t wish any opprobrium to come your way. We’re not out of the woods yet, sweetheart. From the moment I officially realised our marriage might be irregular to the time I meet you at the altar, I will not compromise you. I’ll sleep at my club, so we won’t even share the same roof until then.”

She wrapped her arms around him and held on tight. “I want you. Don’t make me sleep alone.”

“You won’t. Turvey is spending the next two nights with you.

After that, you will spend all your nights with me. All of them.” He growled low in his throat and bent to kiss her again. This time he ravaged her mouth with an intensity that left her in no doubt that he wanted her as much as she did him.

He would not relent, instead opening her bedroom door and gently urging her inside. She allowed her maid to undress and wash her, too tired to do anything for herself. Left to her own devices she’d probably have slumped on the bed fully dressed, fine gown and everything.

As it was, John was true to his word, and Turvey spent the following two nights in a truckle bed in Faith’s bedroom while he very publicly entered his club and slept in one of the bedrooms there, returning for breakfast the next day.

By then they knew their fate. John had Roker and Carlisle arrested, pending investigations. Although the scandal had rocked society, it graciously accepted that John’s wealth would cover the immediate debts. His reputation as a businessman and the emergence of a new, wealthy heir persuaded society that the crimes had not depleted the estate of too much of its resources. Its assets and the new business arrangements he was entering into with Edward ensured the future prosperity of the estate.

He would take care of the position he’d been trained for, that of land steward, until he found someone to replace Carlisle. He smiled as he recounted his decision to her over the breakfast table after 232 | Lynne Connolly

church that Sunday. “I never thought I’d be glad of those miserable summers at Graywood.”

The dowager, still arrayed in deepest mourning, nevertheless appeared calm and more settled. As she should be, since both her daughters had gained small courts of their own and bade fair to find husbands by the end of the season. “They were necessary. I had no idea Carlisle was making those visits uncomfortable for you, but I would have insisted on them in any case.”

“You wanted me to become the steward?”

“My husband considered the possibility. He told me Carlisle might not prove competent for the position. However, in time he seemed to cope. Not the best of stewards, it’s certain, but he managed. Or so I thought.” She paused. “However I must confess Roker totally fooled me.”

“He meant to.” John shook out his napkin and spread it across his lap before a servant could perform the task for him. “Unlike Carlisle, Roker was competent. Too greedy, though, and he wagered money that wasn’t his on risky ventures that never came to fruition.”

“Is that not what you did?” Lady Graywood suggested.

John shook his head. “Not precisely. I never did it with someone else’s money.”

The dowager sniffed. “He will get what he deserves. And with his disgrace dies that rumour.”

“I’m so glad.” She actually appeared so. “I never believed it, you know, and I’ve been refuting it wholeheartedly. Laughing at people who repeated it. Tonight I added that Roker originated the rumour. They will die. Already the news of the Princess’s pregnancy is becoming the latest news.”

Strangely touched, John blinked, reached out and touched her hand. “Thank you. There’s more, and these are things I can’t prove.

But I know them to be true.”

He waited until she gave a nod, then turned his attention to Faith. “Roker intended for the estate to revert to the Crown. In the ensuing confusion he could conceal his losses and nobody would enquire too deeply. Bad luck and economic depression would account for the poverty of the estate. Carlisle, full of resentment that I should inherit, went along with his plan. I think the scheme occurred to them after Vivian’s wife died without bearing him a child. They knew Stephen would never marry. I was their main concern, as I could marry and provide heirs. Edward had not contacted them after the initial letter, so they tried to obliterate that side of the family in the records. I do have proof. Besides, Carlisle hated me. They paid John Smith to kill me on the field at Waterloo.”

He went on, despite her strangled gasp. “He was behind Cockfosters getting your husband into debt and he used that to persuade him. It must have been a shock when you appeared in London as my widow. But when it became clear you knew nothing, as my widow you were no threat to the estate. Roker also obscured the connection that would have led to Edward Smith. Again, I have proof. As far as he knew, I was dead. It is fortunate that my first letter from Canada went astray, or he would have pursued me. Also fortunate I sent my second to Vivian in Vienna, instead of here because he would have made another attempt to have me killed.”

He curled his lip. “Not man enough to do it for himself.”

“My sons,” her ladyship said. For the first time Faith heard a note of vulnerability in her voice. “You said he paid someone to have you killed. Did he do the same for them?”

John swallowed and met her gaze directly. The dowager’s eyes gleamed with a trace of tears. “I don’t know,” he said honestly.

“Certainly Vivian’s death was an accident. I saw him slip and fall, too far from support to save himself. Stephen, I’m not so sure about. I didn’t see him fall, someone passed between him and me at the crucial moment. The storm was swift and violent, but I wouldn’t put it above him to have someone on board, waiting his chance.”

The dowager nodded. “Thank you for telling the truth,” she said quietly, once again in control of her emotions. Faith didn’t know whether to admire the dowager for her complete control, or pity her that she could not share her grief with the people she knew would not condemn her for it.

Shaken, Faith went about her duties quietly that day. She arranged for the sale of the house in Red Lion Square and performed the household tasks that were not so different to the ones she was used to, after all. At one point she lifted the old carpet bag in her room and glanced at her maid. “Have this put in storage, if you please.” It had served her well, but its time was over.

The tasks gave her time to come to terms with the fact that someone had tried to kill John. Not just someone, but her husband.

Her first husband. He hadn’t asked her if she knew anything about the matter, such was the trust between them now. He didn’t have to ask. He already knew.

The dowager wore regal purple when she attended the wedding the next day. Faith wore ivory. She could not bring herself to wear white, but she wouldn’t wear mourning on her wedding day. Today she didn’t even wear the discreet black armband.

Sophia and Charlotte, obedient as always wore grey and sat next to their mother, heads bowed, exchanging glances. But for Faith, one of them could have expected to marry John and become the Countess of Graywood. However, John couldn’t have made his choice more clear and Faith was past guilt now. He wanted her and he would have her.