Courting His Countess (A Historical Romance Novella) Read online

  She made a miffed sound through her nose and pointed her chin at him like a weapon. "Perhaps you should have explained your change of heart to her in plainer language," she said through white lips. "Last time I saw Lady Mossdale she seemed to be under the impression you had left the country because you were devastated that you had to marry me instead of her. She also said you'd written to her several times in the last few years to tell her you pined for her. She even produced a sonnet you'd penned about her."

  "A love poem! There's your first clue that she's lying. I cannot write poetry. I don't have a rhyming bone in my body."

  "Poetry doesn't need to rhyme."

  "See, I didn't even know that."

  "This is not a jest, Thomas. Everyone believes you have written letters of love to her." Her voice cracked. "Everyone"

  His heart ground to a halt. "I don't care what everyone else believes. Only you."

  She pushed past him, but not before he saw her eyes shining with tears. Hell and damnation. It was all his fault and nothing he could do or say would ease her sorrow and wipe away six years worth of painful memories. He could see that now.

  Six years ago, after seeing a similar bleakness in her eyes, he'd done what he thought would save her further humiliation and left England, but instead he'd left her to a pack of lions without a friend in the world.

  At least this time he would be by her side when they entered the lioness's gilded cage.

  CHAPTER 9

  Rose had never been to a court Christmas before, despite living only a few miles from Richmond Palace, the queen's favorite winter residence. The festivities were said to last until Twelfth Night and were already well under way when Rose, Thomas and her father arrived. The enormous hall was decorated with a dazzling array of candles and garlands of ivy and holly leaves swaddled the pillars, the tables and chairs. A mummery was in mid-performance at the end of the room. From her position at the rear of the onlookers, Rose caught glimpses of a makeshift hill covered in green matting and festooned with white paper roses. Morris dancers in white dresses danced gaily around the hill as a young woman with long red hair descended slowly. She was supposed to represent the queen with her crown of leaves and golden scepter. The real queen sat on her throne on the dais at the opposite end of the hall to Rose, too far away to know if she enjoyed the mummery.

  "Can you see?" Thomas asked her.

  "Well enough."

  "Let's go to the front." He took her arm but she resisted.

  "I think I'll retire. I have a headache."

  He frowned. "Can I get you anything? Wine? Something to eat?"

  She shook her head. "No, thank you. A little rest will do me good."

  "Let me walk you to your rooms. The palace can be difficult to navigate until you're used to it."

  So he knew his way around. How many times had he come to court here?

  He took her arm and led her through the crowd of courtiers. One by one, heads turned and soon whispers followed their progress. Some people paused to nod or greet Thomas but he didn't stop, telling them he would find them later. It wasn't until they were almost out that Rose saw Temperance, Lady Mossdale.

  The tall, dark-haired beauty didn't see Rose but her gaze clamped onto Thomas. Rose felt his arm tense beneath her hand. Lady Mossdale stood near the doorway and there was no way around her.

  "Thomas, darling," she said in a smooth, silky voice. She curtseyed and he bowed shallowly. "I didn't know you were back. When did you arrive on our soil?"

  "A few days ago."

  "In the middle of winter." She clicked her tongue. "Foolish man, what are you traveling in this weather for?"

  "I wanted to get home to my wife."

  "Who?" Lady Mossdale asked without missing a beat.

  Oh she was good. As good as the false queen descending the hill. She'd not once looked at Rose, hadn't even flicked those black lashes at anyone except Thomas.

  "Stop the play-acting, Temper," he said. "It's beneath you. You know very well the beautiful woman at my side is my wife, Lady Avondale. It seems you two have spoken on quite a number of occasions in the past."

  Lady Mossdale unfurled her fan and flapped it rapidly, but it didn't stop her cheeks flushing. No doubt she'd heard the anger threaded through Thomas's words, and realized he knew about her lies. Rose was quite certain that her husband had told the truth on Christmas Day and that he had not written above twice to his lover in the past six years. She also believed him when he said he no longer cared for Temperance. This barely civil exchange proved it.

  Lady Mossdale turned a tight smile on Rose and nodded a greeting.

  "You should curtsey," Thomas said. "My wife does outrank you."

  The viscountess hesitated, her dark eyes narrowed to slits. Finally, she gave them both a beaming smile and dropped to the floor in a ridiculous parody of a curtsey. Several onlookers smothered giggles.

  Rose resisted the urge to run off and hide in her room until New Years Eve. She would face up to Lady Mossdale this time, and make her see she was not afraid of her. Her husband may not be in love with Rose, but he certainly wasn't in love with Temperance anymore. It didn't give Rose any more power, but it meant Temperance had far less.

  "Oh do get up, Lady Mossdale," Rose said. "Anyone here might mistake you for a sycophant and I would hate for them to think that of you."

  Lady Mossdale straightened to her full height which was considerably taller than Rose but a little less than Thomas. She towered over all the women at court, making it easy to spot her with her coal-black hair and creamy skin. She was a true beauty. In many ways it was a shame she had to marry an aged viscount who suffered from gout and bad breath. Rose almost felt sorry for her.

  "Now, if you'll excuse us," Thomas said. "We're retiring."

  "Already?" Lady Mossdale blurted out. "Both of you?"

  Thomas leaned in. "I find it's more fun with two," he said so quietly only Lady Mossdale and Rose could hear.

  Lady Mossdale's face colored again and her gaze drifted off.

  "That woman has turned into a viper these last six years," Thomas said when they were out of earshot.

  "She wasn't always like that?"

  "No. Her wit used to be funny, not bitter. I don't know why she's changed so. Life has become easy for her since she married. She never has to worry about money like she used to."

  "Maybe being married to Lord Mossdale is not what she expected." Or perhaps she was more in love with Thomas than he was with her.

  Rose knew precisely how that felt. An unexpected sympathy for Lady Mossdale welled inside her as they walked through room after room lit by torches. At the door to Rose's rooms, Thomas paused and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand.

  "May I come in?" he asked, his voice deeply melodious. "I've missed you."

  She'd missed him too. They had not made love since Christmas Eve four days ago. The Christmas day quarrel had ended their intimacy and Rose had avoided being alone with him, even though he'd tried to speak to her many times. She knew he wanted to apologize again, but she couldn't bear to hear another. They were heartfelt, yet made no difference.

  Perhaps her father was right and she was a stupid fool. She had a handsome husband who claimed to love no other, a fortune at her disposal, and a home she adored.

  Yet Thomas had not claimed to love her either. He had not come home to England to be with Rose but to simply get her with child. That was the difference. No amount of apologies or sweet words would change that or make her believe there was anything between them except obligation and duty. As to love, it was only in one direction—from her to him. Anything else was merely Thomas attempting to get into her good graces and her bed.

  "Not tonight," she said. "I don't feel at ease here, not enough to receive you."

  "Very well." His hand dropped away and he opened the door. "But court is the perfect place for assignations. Every lady will be receiving a gentleman during her stay, just not usually her own husband." He leaned against the doorframe
and smiled wickedly. "Get some rest. I will return for you later when the revelries begin again tonight. If you're feeling well enough, the queen will expect us to join in."

  He left and she closed the door. Annie, her maid, had unpacked but must have joined the other servants elsewhere in the vast palace, thinking her mistress occupied. The bedchamber was large but not extravagant. A canopied bed took up most of the space, and a small table and dresser completed the simple arrangement. Annie had pushed the traveling chests under the bed since they wouldn't be required again until their departure on New Year's Day. Another door led into a private parlor barely big enough for the table, desk and chair that occupying it. Both rooms looked out onto a busy courtyard below. Grooms received guests in the large square while courtiers chatted and servants rushed about, muddying the snow.

  Rose lay on the bed and stared up at the canopy. Court unsettled her, made her skin itch and her limbs restless. She wanted to be away from there, away from all the bright, false smiles, the color and pomp and richness. It was like eating marchpane, sweet and tasty at first but it quickly became sickly. Next to the other ladies, Rose felt positively dreary. Her gowns, while practical for winter, were outdated and had never been on the same extravagant scale. Ah well, she would just have to shut her ears to the sniggers and thinly veiled remarks about her "unusual" attire.

  Oh, how pretty you look in that, Lady Avondale. I haven't seen such an interesting style in an age.

  Perhaps it would be different with Thomas at her side. Perhaps they wouldn't call her the Ice Maiden behind her back or arch disdainful eyebrows when she joined their conversation. He seemed quite popular at court. Several of the gentlemen had tried to engage him in talk, and there'd been no mistaking the flirtatious smiles of the ladies.

  Had he returned to speak to them? To Lady Mossdale?

  Rose drifted into sleep despite her troubled thoughts and was woken some time later by Annie moving about the room, lighting candles.

  "Sorry to wake you, my lady," the maid said, blowing out the taper. "I've brought supper. You must be starving."

  "I am a little hungry." Rose sat up and received the tray. That's when she noticed the clothes laid across the foot of the bed. "What's that?"

  "Underskirts, bodice and overskirt. Oh, and sleeves to match. Lord Avondale said they should fit." Annie lifted one of the sleeves for Rose to see. It was white and embroidered with green leaves. It matched the underskirt which would be seen as a triangular forepart at her front. The overskirt and bodice were of a deep green velvet of the same shade as the leaves. "Isn't it beautiful?"

  It was. "Where did he get it?"

  Annie shrugged. "His lordship didn't say. He just said it's yours and you should wear it tonight. Oh, and that there'll be more to come, a new gown for each night we are here."

  "But that's three nights! Where is he finding these gowns at such short notice? And how does he know they'll fit?"

  "I expect he knows your size, my lady." Annie's sweet oval face crinkled into a decidedly mischievous smirk.

  Rose ate her supper of cold beef and contemplated how her husband could have found such a beautiful gown so soon after arriving. By the time she'd finished, she'd come to the conclusion he must have bought it off another lady of similar size.

  Annie inspected the overskirt as Rose washed, then helped her dress. The bodice was a little large but with a few pins, it was tight across her bust and waist. The skirts and sleeves were pinned into place and teamed with a pair of Rose's own velvet shoes.

  "Oh, my lady, you look like a princess," Annie said, stepping back to admire Rose. "Now, for your hair."

  Annie spent a long time on Rose's hair, pinning it up and sliding combs into place so that she felt like a pin-cushion.

  "There now, my lady, you're ready. Will you wait for Lord Avondale?"

  "No. I'll go find him." And see what court was like for Lady Avondale without her husband at her side.

  She found her way back to the great hall by following the hum of the voices. At the arched entrance, she paused to get her bearings. The hall's decorations hadn't changed but the makeshift hill from the afternoon's performance had been removed for dancing. Long tables at the hall's perimeter were laden with trenchers and jugs, and decorated with large silver candelabras and garlands of bay leaves.

  Clusters of courtiers mingled at the tables, or chatted in warm corners, and Rose spotted her father talking to Lord Burghley. He would be pleased to have trapped the chief adviser and Lord Burghley himself looked very interested in what her father had to say. She thought about making her way over to them until she saw Thomas on the far side of the great hall. He had his back to her but she knew it was him. No one else had a back like that, broad at the top and lean at the base, and no one else held themselves with such self-assuredness. Then he moved and she saw who he was talking to and her heart sank to her toes.

  Lady Mossdale, and she was looking very pleased with herself.

  CHAPTER 10

  Temperance wasn't as beautiful as Thomas remembered. She still had the dark hair and creamy skin but her features were sharper, her eyes harder, and he felt no temptation to kiss her lips like he used to. Particularly when those lips uttered such foolish comments as: "How fortunate that you became rich while you were away."

  It had taken him all of three beats to recover from that one. "One of the benefits of serving Her Majesty," he said, extricating his arm from her claws.

  Sometime during the previous six years, Temperance had turned into a viper. She used her tongue as a weapon, and a deadly one at that. Had she always been this way and hidden it from him, or had something changed her? Was he to blame?

  Fie. Another thing to add to his conscience. The list was growing, but Rose still held onto first place.

  Temperance's tongue licked her top lip in what he supposed was meant to be a seductive move but only made her look desperate. "What a shame you weren't showered with accolades earlier and saved yourself the hardship of Ireland and marriage." She flicked her fan over his left shoulder. He turned and saw Rose watching. She quickly looked away, but not before he saw the vulnerability in her eyes. As if she were lost.

  He stiffened. "I'm sorry you find marriage a hardship, Temper. I, fortunately, do not." He moved off but she caught his arm again.

  "If that is the case, you would not have asked to go to Ireland in the first place," she hissed.

  He pulled free and wound his way through the glittering courtiers, his wife firmly in his sights and one thought repeating itself over and over in his head. Temperance was right. Six years ago he'd wanted to get away from Rose. He'd liked her enough to want to save her from the further cruelties he knew he'd inflict upon her if he stayed. Hatred for her father had consumed him and she was the unintended victim of his ill-thought-out revenge.

  Thomas had wanted to make Wallan pay. Unfortunately, he'd chosen the wrong way to do it. He'd betrayed Rose on their wedding night and humiliated her by sleeping with his mistress and ensuring everyone knew about it so it would reach her father's ears. But Wallan never cared for his daughter's feelings or her honor.

  Nobody had, and that made Thomas's actions so much worse.

  It tore his heart to think she'd gone six years not knowing how much he regretted that night. It would have been longer if his father hadn't died. The queen had agreed to end his assignment because he needed an heir, but he'd come home to find he needed his wife more. If he had stayed in England all those years ago, he might have realized much earlier how lucky he was to have married Rose.

  He might have realized much earlier that he loved her.

  His heart rolled and lurched like an out-of-control cart. His step faltered. Someone caught his elbow to steady him and up ahead, Rose took a step in his direction. So she had been watching his progress out of the corner of her eye after all. He had wondered. Hoped.

  He thanked the person who'd aided him and forged on. To his wife, to the woman he loved.

  "My dear Rose,"
he said when he reached her side. He caught her hand and kissed the back of it. She smelled like lavender. "You are a vision and I am completely and utterly smitten."

  She blushed and he kissed one pink cheek to see if she felt warm there. She did. Warm and soft and delicious.

  "Thank you for the gown," she said with a small curtsey that took her cheek away from his lips. "Where did you get it?"

  "Lady Harbrooke is about your size and has more clothes than sense. She was in dire need of some quick coin. I hope you don't mind wearing them but there wasn't time to have something made."

  "I don't mind. And thank you. It's a beautiful gown."

  "It is far more beautiful on you than on Lady Harbrooke."

  She arched an eyebrow. "You've seen her wear it in the few hours that we've been here?"

  He laughed. "You've caught me out."

  Her smile was small and humorless and his laughter died. Something was wrong. "Temperance is a leech," he said, leaning in closely. "You have nothing to fear from her."

  Her breath hitched. "Are you sure?" she asked, looking away. "She's talking to my father now and I trust neither of them."

  He followed her gaze to see Temperance and Wallan in deep conversation, their heads bent. Six years ago, Temper had hated Wallan with as much vehemence as Thomas had. So why was she talking to him in earnest now?

  "Forget them," he said. "Forget everyone. Rose." He took her hands. "I want to talk to you in private. Come with me."

  But before she could say anything, an old friend interrupted and they fell into conversation. Then another joined, and another, and Thomas couldn't get away. Everyone wanted to hear about Ireland and they all suddenly wanted to meet his "lovely wife". How could he say no when she seemed to be enjoying their company? Her eyes shone and she smiled more than he'd ever seen her smile since his return. His words could wait. They weren't going to alter. Seeing her so happy was all the balm he needed for now.