An Unexpected Countess
Finally, Mr Tattersall rapped his gavel. ‘What shall I say for this horse? Five hundred?’
Hart nodded slightly and Mr Tattersall acknowledged him. ‘Thank you, my lord. Five hundred guineas are offered for this splendid animal.’
‘Ten,’ came a voice from Hart’s left.
‘Thank you, sir. Five hundred and ten guineas.’
‘Ten,’ Hart said loud enough to reach the auctioneer.
‘Very good. Thank you, my lord. Five hundred and twenty guineas are bid.’
‘Ten,’ said the man again to Hart’s left.
This could take some time. Hart was about to raise the bidding by fifty guineas when a familiar strong voice from over to his right called out, ‘One hundred.’
Mr Tattersall nodded his acceptance before quickly glancing at Hart. ‘Thank you, my lord. Six hundred and twenty guineas are bid. Will any gentleman advance that sum?’
Julian leaned closer to him. ‘Were you aware your father would be here?’
‘Eighty,’ Hart shouted out before he could control the volume of his voice.
‘Thank you, my lord. We have seven hundred guineas bid on this horse.’
Hart turned his attention momentarily to Julian. ‘Of course I wasn’t aware he would be here. It’s not as if I’ve suddenly decided to speak with him,’ he bit out, unable to remain calm and rational where his father was concerned.
‘One hundred,’ that familiar voice called out. This time the bid was met with murmurs in the crowd. His father was never subtle.
‘Thank you, my lord. We have eight hundred guineas offered. Would any gentleman like to advance?’
Hart’s offer came out before his brain registered he had said anything. ‘One hundred.’
‘Thank you, my lord. We have—’
‘Two hundred.’
‘Two hundred fifty,’ Hart countered before Mr Tattersall could reply.
‘Three hundred.’
Dammit! His father was such a stubborn old fool! Hart leaned over to Julian’s ear. ‘I’ve lost count.’
‘Sixteen fifty. Far more than that animal is worth,’ Julian gritted out through his teeth. ‘Do not let him goad you. He has done it before. End this. You are better than he is.’
The problem was, Hart really did want that horse and he knew his father revelled in taking away anything he wanted. They had played this game before. And he was certain they would play it again. His brain told him to walk away, but he wouldn’t give in. If he let the man win, he’d hate himself.
Mr Tattersall’s voice broke his concentration. ‘For the last time, gentlemen, the price is sixteen hundred and fifty guineas.’
Men around them began to lay bets as to who would win the horse—the Marquess of Blackwood or his son. Hart stuck his hand into his pocket and rubbed his lucky guinea.
Julian leaned over. ‘Do not do it.’
‘Fifty,’ a voice that sounded very much like his own came out of Hart’s mouth. He closed his eyes and cursed his impetuous nature.
Julian let out an audible groan as voices around them grew louder. Hart was able to block out what they were saying. It was probably due to the fact he was calling his father every curse he knew in his head.
He looked at Mr Tattersall, who was trying to appear unaffected by the numbers being bid for this horse that was worth approximately half as much.
‘Thank you, my lord. Seventeen hundred guineas are offered. Will anyone advance?’ There was a pause. He looked at Hart’s father for an indication to counter.
Nausea and a sense of stupidity assailed him. He refused to look at the man whose blood he shared—a man upon whom he had wished death many a time. It was an absolute certainty he wore a smug smile. Had he finished toying with his son? Did he even realise the potential of the colt? Hart closed his eyes and filled his lungs with the smell of manure. He laughed to himself at the appropriateness of being around so much shit.
‘Seventeen hundred guineas are offered for this outstanding animal. Are there any other offers, gentlemen?’
It was the longest pause in Hart’s life. He stopped himself from squeezing his eyes shut. It was best to feign a look of quiet amusement.
The hammer fell.
What he wanted to do was let out the world’s longest breath. What he actually did was tip his hat to his father and smile. Let the man think Hart had enjoyed the game. He wasn’t about to show him how much it upset him. Families were worthless.
Within moments his father and Lord Palmer had disappeared into the crowd. If only that would be the last time he laid eyes on the man. Unfortunately, Hart knew he wasn’t that lucky. Why couldn’t his father have died instead of his mother? What further torture did that man have to inflict on him to fulfil his purpose in life? No, Katrina was wrong. Death just proved there was no sense in caring for anyone but yourself.
The gentlemen around them offered their congratulations. Did they honestly believe he was happy to spend a small fortune for that horse? The worst part was, no matter the outcome, his father would have bested him either way.
Julian pulled the collar up on his coat. ‘Now, tell me you won’t be residing under my roof in the near future—along with that horse of yours.’
‘Residing? No. Although I could use some of that fine French brandy you have. The one locked away in your study.’ He began strolling past men exchanging money over bets on the outcome of his actions.
Julian followed directly behind. ‘How do you know about that bottle?’
‘I found it a month ago when you left me alone in there.’
His friend pulled Hart to a stop. ‘You searched my study?’
‘I had no other way to occupy myself. You were gone for quite a long time.’
‘You mean when Reynolds informed me my wife had delivered our child?’
‘Yes, that was it.’
‘I was seeing Augusta for the first time. Of course I was gone a long time.’
Why did it always seem that Julian couldn’t quite grasp how absurd he was at times? Hart had seen the baby. There was nothing interesting about her, aside from the fact she was the smallest human he had even seen. He waved his hand carelessly. ‘I still have no understanding why you wanted to witness the birth in the first place.’
Julian pinched his brow. ‘I wanted to be certain my wife survived. I was not happy she had me wait in my study with you.’
Did they really need to discuss childbirth? Weren’t his father’s actions today punishment enough? ‘In any event, I could use that brandy right about now.’
‘Very well, I suppose this afternoon warrants it.’
‘This afternoon warrants the entire bottle.’
Chapter Three
Sitting in Katrina’s carriage and hearing how desperately she needed to get home to nurse Augusta, was making Sarah wonder if a bottle of brandy was hidden close by for cold nights. As it stood, she was learning more than she wanted to know about how one nursed a baby.
Who knew if you went for too long between feedings, your breasts would become swollen and tender? Just the thought had Sarah crossing her arms over her chest to ease the imaginary pain. When had their leisurely day of shopping taken such a miserable turn? While she was happy for her friend at becoming a mother, she missed the days when their discussions had been primarily about men, fashion and American politics—and their shopping trips had lasted for hours.
‘Are we almost there?’ Katrina winced.
Sarah peered out of the window. They had turned off Piccadilly...that much was certain. ‘I haven’t any notion of the street, however we can’t be far.’
‘If we don’t arrive home soon, they’re bound to leak.’
‘Leak?’ Sarah did not want to know how. ‘That shouldn’t be possible.’
‘Well, it is!’
‘I realise that! I am simply stating my opinion.’
‘Your opinion isn’t helping. What should I do? The footmen are bound to notice.’ Suddenly she let out a low groan.
Oh, lud! ‘It’s too late, isn’t it?’
Katrina didn’t need to answer. The dark stain spreading across her beautiful blue spencer said it all. ‘What now?’ she pleaded, her cheeks turning scarlet.
The carriage jerked to a halt. They looked at each other with wide eyes. Just as the door began to open, Sarah shoved her white cotton bag containing her new beautiful pink silk slippers against Katrina’s chest.
Sarah had eyed those lovely slippers through the shop window for weeks. She really didn’t need another pair—her dressing room contained more shoes than any woman should own—but this pair was so beautiful—so perfect. They were in the Grecian style, with square toes and open tops that laced together with delicate pink satin ribbons. Her favourite part was the wider deeper pink silk ribbons that tied around her ankle.
She had waited weeks for them. When she’d finally tried them on an hour ago, it had felt as though she was wrapping herself in the finest present in all of London. They had cost a pretty penny of her pin money, but they were absolutely undeniably worth it. Or they had been before she had sacrificed them for her friend. She looked out the window, unable to watch Katrina clutch those exquisite ruined shoes to her milk-soaked spencer a minute longer. Sarah wasn’t certain who wanted to cry more, her or Katrina.
The moment the carriage steps were lowered, Katrina sprinted inside the house in a manner not at all befitting a duchess. ‘Do come inside,’ Katrina called from over her shoulder. ‘There’s something of great importance I need to discuss with you.’
Reynolds, Katrina’s very proper butler, held the massive door to the majestic house open. It was obvious it was taking all his self-control not to stare after his mistress. He gave a respectful bow to Sarah as she entered the house. ‘Good day, Miss Forrester. Would you care to wait in the Gold Drawing Room?’
From past experience, Sarah knew Katrina would be a while. She handed her bonnet and spencer to Reynolds. ‘Might I wait for Her Grace in the library, Reynolds?’
‘Of course, miss. Shall I show you the way?’
Walking past him, she waved him off. ‘There’s no need. I know where it is.’
There was no sense sitting idly in a drawing room where she was sure to begin worrying about how she was going to get Lady Everill’s bracelet. It would be much better to be curled up with a book in the enormous library. Within minutes she was standing on the threshold, eyeing the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that covered all four walls. At the far end of the room, a massive carved fireplace and two bookshelves jutted into the room. For all its grandeur, it was still cosy and Sarah understood why it was one of Katrina’s favourite rooms in the house.
Floorboards creaked as she began to walk beside the shelves. There had to be books on interesting topics somewhere in the vast collection.
‘Is that my tea, Reynolds?’ From the far end of the room, behind a wall of books, the voice of the Duke’s grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Lyonsdale, rang out.
‘Forgive me, Your Grace, but it’s just me.’
A small head with grey hair visible under a fine white lace cap peaked from the edge of the bookshelf. Her diamond earrings sparkled in the sunlight. ‘Do you have my tea, Miss Forrester?’
Sarah curtsied. ‘No, Your Grace.’
‘Than why are you here?’
Sarah bit back a smile at the woman’s familiar, direct nature. ‘I am waiting for Katrina. She is attending to Augusta. I thought I’d find a good book with which to occupy myself until she is finished.’
Lyondale’s grandmother resided in Lyonsdale House during the Season and had kindly taken Katrina under her wing, becoming a grandmother to her as much as to the Duke. She was smart, direct and frequently appeared to be up to mischief. When Sarah’s hair turned grey, she wanted to be just like the Dowager.
The woman’s petite form moved from behind the shelves and she hobbled with a regal air towards Sarah. ‘Were you shopping?’
‘We were indeed.’
‘Did you have success?’
An image of the perfect pair of slippers almost made Sarah sigh. ‘A pair of slippers I ordered were finished and Katrina accompanied me to fetch them.’
‘A woman can never have too many pairs of slippers.’
‘I couldn’t agree more.’
‘If you’re searching for novels, they’re at the far end of the room, my dear. Once you find one, I suggest waiting for her in the Crimson Drawing Room. The light in there is lovely this time of day.’
Sarah knew the comment was more a direction than a suggestion. As long as she had something to occupy herself with during the wait, it didn’t matter what room she was in. ‘Thank you. I know it well.’
‘Capital.’ A smile brightened the Dowager’s face and made her eyes sparkle. ‘I need to see what is taking so long with my tea. I’m beginning to wonder if I must to sail to China myself to retrieve it.’ She walked to the door and tugged on the tapestry bell pull.
It didn’t take long for Sarah to find Waverley. The novel proved so engrossing it was a wonder she didn’t walk into a wall on her way down the hall. Upon entering the drawing room, she took the nearest chair and turned the page.
The sound of a throat clearing from her left made her jump. At the far end of the room Hartwick stood before the windows, a glass in his hand. He was dressed in his usual black attire, save for his snowy white shirt and cravat.
Oh, lud! She should have never left the library.
He strolled towards her until his shiny black Hessians almost touched the tips of her white kidskin boots. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been standing in the moonlight with his chiselled features glistening with drops of rain.
They stared into each other’s eyes, challenging the other to break the silence that stretched between them. He caved first.
‘Miss Forrester.’ It came out almost as a scold, as if he was annoyed she had interrupted his solitude.
‘Hartwick.’
‘I almost did not recognise you without your trews. Should I be concerned you’re developing a habit of showing up at unexpected times?’
‘No more so than my concern that you’re taking far too much pleasure in startling me.’
‘Touché.’ He tipped his head respectfully and motioned to the chair next to her. ‘May I?’
When she nodded her consent, he sat down and picked up her wrist with his ungloved hand to read the spine of her book. Tingles ran up and down her arm.
She pulled her hand away. ‘I’m waiting for Katrina.’
‘I gathered as much.’
‘This is an odd location to find you at this time of day...alone.’
‘I, too, am waiting for my friend. He’s attending to matters with his secretary. I imagine he will be returning shortly.’
‘Returning? I always thought you and Lyonsdale met in his study.’
‘Apparently he no longer wants me in that room.’ He took a sip from the amber liquid in his glass. ‘I believe banned was the word he used.’
His nonchalant manner made her smile. ‘I can’t imagine why.’
He looked off into the distance, then focused back on her. ‘Some nonsense about brandy.’
That was not what she’d expected to hear and she glanced pointedly at his glass.
‘He accompanied me to purchase a horse today at Tattersall’s. I’m imbibing as a celebration of sorts. And you, Miss Forrester, what brings you to this stupendously decorated room today?’
‘Katrina and I were shopping. She’s attending to Augusta. I suppose she will not be long.’
He took another drink, eyeing her over the glass. ‘I assume you were on the hunt for a new pair of slippers.’
It vexed her that, from the few times they had spoken, he knew her so well. ‘Why would you assume that?’
He arched his brow and smirked. ‘Is it truly necessary to ask that question?’
She snapped the book shut. ‘We might have been shopping for bonnets or ribbons or gowns.’
‘Very true.’ He nodded sagely and took another sip of brandy. ‘What did you purchase?’
‘Slippers,’ she replied, glancing away.
‘Sorry, I didn’t catch that.’
She looked directly into those aquamarine eyes that were rimmed by thick, dark lashes. It was unfair God had given a man eyes like that. ‘I said I purchased slippers.’
‘How surprising.’
‘And how surprising of you to purchase a horse. How many of them do you own now?’
He sat up straighter. ‘I don’t see how that is relevant. And where are these new slippers of yours? Do not tell me you are wearing them already.’
Her mouth dropped into a defeated frown. ‘They’re ruined. The perfect pair of pink slippers that I have wanted forever are ruined, never to grace a ballroom or garden party,’ she admitted wistfully. It was so sad.
‘Ruined? But you just purchased them. What happened?’
‘It’s a long story,’ she said with a sigh. ‘What breed of horse did you purchase?’
‘A four-year-old thoroughbred colt.’
‘That sounds promising. You must be very pleased.’
‘I suppose.’
‘You don’t sound very pleased.’
‘It’s a long story.’ He raised his glass slowly and the crystal touched his lips. For a moment he savoured the taste before his Adam’s apple slid up and down with his swallow.
Her stomach did an odd little flip. It happened now and then, whenever she witnessed him doing the most mundane things. When he was not consciously trying to charm people, he was magnificent to watch.
‘Speaking of things we’d rather forget,’ he continued, ‘reassure me you will not be traipsing about any rooftops in the near future. If I hadn’t been up there to grab you, you would have fallen to your death.’
‘If you hadn’t been up there, I wouldn’t have been startled enough to slip. You owe me an apology.’ She wished he’d forgotten about their encounter. The last thing she needed was Lord Hartwick poking into her affairs.
‘An apology?’ he replied indignantly. ‘I saved you!’
‘Which would not have been necessary if you had simply ignored me.’
‘I didn’t know it was you. If I had, I most certainly would have ignored you. Since you have yet to thank me for saving you, I’ll accept your unspoken gratitude and say it was my pleasure.’ He smirked at her and cocked his head.
There were times it was impossible not to roll her eyes at him.
‘And that is the response I’m given. I see. Well, the next time I find you in need of assistance, I will ignore you. Is that to your liking, Miss Forrester?’
‘That would suit my needs very well, my lord.’
* * *
The problem was, as much as Hart hated to admit it to himself, he enjoyed matching wits with Miss Forrester and had no desire to ignore her. Women fell into one of two camps. Either they would throw themselves at him or run the other way, afraid of his rakish reputation. Sarah Forrester was different. He had no idea how to charm her and he wasn’t completely certain she even liked him. Not that it should matter if she did. Which it did not. It absolutely did not. But he was discovering how much fun it was to provoke a reaction from her.
He should excuse himself and return to his place across the room, from where he had been contemplating how to steal Lady Everill’s bracelet. Placing that much physical distance between them was the proper thing to do, considering they were both unmarried. Instead he gave her his most charming smile, settled back into the red brocade cushions and waited.
She let out a long, exasperated sigh, which caused her breasts to rise and fall in her yellow-and-white-striped gown. He took another sip of brandy.
‘Must we continue to converse?’ she moaned.
He laughed at the audacity of that statement by an American to a peer of the realm. ‘We don’t have to. We could sit in companionable silence. I’ll enjoy my brandy and you can read your book.’
Those keen brown eyes of hers, which he knew missed very little, narrowed. ‘I cannot imagine you could remain silent for very long.’
As hard as he tried to prevent it, a small smile snuck out. ‘I find one can learn many things about a person when neither is speaking.’
‘I imagine you can. However, in this instance, the both of us are clothed.’
He almost spat his brandy back into his glass. He knew she was looking for a reaction and, dammit, he had given her one. This round went to Miss Forrester.
Katrina poked her head into the room, breaking their game. ‘Sarah, I’m terribly sorry about—Oh... Good day, Hartwick.’ She walked towards them and waved him off when he began to stand. ‘I wasn’t aware you were here today.’
‘I was instructed to wait in here,’ Miss Forrester blurted out.
Heaven forbid Katrina think she wanted to spend time with him. Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. ‘I doubt Katrina assumed you were spending time with me by choice...alone...in a room.’
‘I am simply clarifying the situation.’
Just then, Julian stepped into the room and raised his brows at the sight of the women. Perhaps cowbells were in order in this house to keep track of everyone. Earlier, he had encountered the Dowager Duchess. Was she to walk in next?
‘You’re back from shopping already?’ Julian asked.
Katrina glanced at Miss Forrester in an apologetic way. ‘I fear my shopping trips will be brief for some time.’
Some silent communication passed between the couple, before Julian nodded in understanding. Was Julian suffering from financial difficulties? He wished his friend had come to him if he needed funds. Hart would be happy to help him.
The thought of money had him recalling the debacle at Tattersall’s. He took a large gulp of brandy, finishing off the glass.
Katrina turned back to them with a bright smile. ‘It’s actually a happy coincidence we have the two of you together. There is something we wanted to ask you.’
Miss Forrester placed her book on the table beside her and looked as perplexed as he felt.
‘It’s about Augusta,’ Katrina continued.
He knew absolutely nothing about children. He had been one once, of course, but he was an only child and had never even seen a baby before Augusta. What in the world could they want to ask him?
It was obvious Katrina was being polite. She must want Miss Forrester’s opinion on something and didn’t want him to feel slighted. That was just like her. He turned to the woman next to him who was looking at her friend like a startled deer. Apparently Miss Forrester was not at all comfortable with the turn of this conversation either.
‘Go on, Katrina,’ she said before licking those soft, pink, full lips of hers.
He brought his glass to his lips. Bloody hell, he needed more brandy.
Katrina looked to Julian, who stepped up to her side and slid his arm around her waist. ‘Katrina and I were wondering if you would do us the honour of serving as Augusta’s godparents.’
Hart’s brow wrinkled in confusion. ‘Exactly who are you asking?’
‘Both of you,’ Katrina replied, looking between them.
He turned to Miss Forrester, who had grown unusually mute. There were tears in her eyes—actual tears.
‘Katrina, you do not have to... I will buy another—’
‘Sarah, don’t be foolish. I’ve wanted to ask you this since the day Augusta was born. You are like a sister to me.’
‘You’re certain?’
‘Of course, we both are.’ She looked to Julian, who gave Miss Forrester a reassuring smile.
The women hugged and now it appeared Katrina was tearing up, as well. Oh, hell, he hated to see women cry! He sat back with a sigh and looked across at a life-size portrait of one of Julian’s ancient relatives. From the man’s expression, it appeared he couldn’t abide crying women either. Could he leave now, without causing offence?
Eager to get away from the emotional display, Hart stood and walked to his friend. ‘I don’t exactly understand your choice,’ he said, shaking his head.
Julian leaned closer. ‘Katrina insisted on Miss Forrester. They are very close. I couldn’t say no.’
‘That wasn’t what I—’
Julian arched an amused brow, telling him he understood. ‘I think she will be good for you.’
Hart almost swallowed his tongue. ‘Miss Forrester? I assure you I have no designs—’