Once Upon a Countess (Love And Devotion Book 2), page 4
Wexford knew in his heart his friend was right. Matilda had been fickle and had always done whatever might help her rise in status. Once, right after they married, she made it known that she could have done better than a mere earl. It mattered not how much money he had. She was lavish in her spending from the very start, and nothing he said brought her under control.
Not until he arranged an allowance for her and that became the only money she had for her fripperies. It was then that she began taunting him about his rank, just as she had the day she died.
“You wouldn’t have an issue with me courting her?” he asked, putting thoughts of Matilda aside.
“I think you are one of few men who could tame her, if Clare even can be tamed. I’ve watched her with you. Since your initial meeting, her demeanor toward you has changed. She no longer speaks with such an acid tongue to you. She seems relaxed in your company,” Clevedon said.
“That may all change this afternoon, I’m afraid,” Wexford murmured.
“As I said, give her time to grasp that her Frenchman has abandoned her without a word.” Clevedon added, “You must make no mention of this to Clare, but Bernas came to call on her right after she arrived, if you can believe that. He was informed she would not be receiving him, and told to leave immediately."
Wexford nodded. “That took a lot of nerve, showing up at your home unannounced.”
“Indeed.”
“Did your man send him away, or did you meet with him?”
“I happened to be walking to my study when I heard him demanding to see my cousin. It was I who told him he wasn’t welcome and that Clare would not ever be receiving him.”
Before Wexford could reply, an older man approached them. “If you are ready, a dining room has become available, Your Grace.”
Clevedon nodded to the man and rose from his chair. He peered at Wexford. “Shall we?”
“Yes. I must admit, I’m hungrier than I thought.”
The pair followed the man to a private dining room with burgundy-hued wallpaper with gold accents. A table was set up for them to one side. They sat, and a footman poured them each a glass of red wine.
“Steak all right with you?” Clevedon asked.
“Absolutely.”
“Two steaks, rare.”
The footman bowed before turning to leave the room.
When they were alone, Clevedon took a long swallow of wine. “I trust you’re going to the Duke of Liverpool’s ball?”
“I hadn’t planned on it, but I did receive an invitation, and Lady Clare mentioned she was accompanying you and the duchess.”
“Good. Reply to the invitation,” he said. “Be prepared. I expect a line of men wanting to sign her dance card once she arrives.”
“Not much I can do about that beyond requesting one or two dances.” The absurdity of polite society grated on him sometimes.
“Make sure one is the supper set.”
Wexford snorted as he picked up his wineglass. “Pray tell how I can make that happen with all the men lined up?”
“My wife is going to make the suggestion to my cousin to leave two spots open for you.”
“I keep liking your duchess more and more, Clevedon.”
Clevedon smiled briefly. “I wouldn’t exactly call her devious, but she’s determined to distract my cousin’s attentions.”
A few minutes later, their meal arrived. They discussed politics and horses while they dined. Once they finished, port was brought to them. It was an aged Portuguese port Wexford had sampled once before. He preferred good whiskey to port, but this was aged perfectly and went down smoothly.
“Speaking of your cousin, I need to depart. She will be waiting.”
“Yes, and don’t be late.”
“Which is why I’m leaving now.”
“I’ll be interested to learn of her response to the news.”
They parted at the door, each going their separate ways. Wexford headed to the mews where he stabled his horses while in London. There he found a stable boy giving his stallion a final brushing.
He thanked the young boy and led both his stallion and the mare he’d selected for Lady Clare outside. He handed the reins to the mare to the stable boy while he mounted and gathered the stallion’s reins. The black was eager for a run, and there were a couple of places in the park where they could do just that. He took the reins of the mare and made his way the four blocks to Clevedon’s London home.
Wexford stopped in front of the brick home, which rose three stories from the street. A black iron fence enclosed the house, making it quite a stunning structure. A stable boy came out of nowhere to take the horses, then the front door opened, and Lady Clare rushed out.
He dismounted and handed the reins to the stable boy so that he might help Lady Clare mount the mare. He suppressed a smile when she frowned at the sight of the side saddle.
“In the future, Lord Wexford, I don’t require a side saddle. I detest them and find they impede my riding abilities.”
This time, he did smile. “I’ll keep that in mind for the next time we ride.”
“Make sure you do,” she said tartly. For a second, he was afraid the old, acid-tongued Clare had returned.
“If you’re ready,” he said, “why don’t we get started.”
“Yes, let’s. It’s been a while since I’ve ridden.”
“Really? I would have thought your father, and certainly Clevedon would have let you ride.”
“Clevedon wanted to accompany me the first time I rode in the park. That’s all well and good, but he’s been busy since we arrived.”
“Then I take it I’ll make an acceptable substitute for your cousin?”
Her dark green eyes sparkled with mischief. “A far better substitute, my lord.”
“Then let’s go. The horses are anxious for some exercise.”
They walked beside each other, and when they arrived at the park, Wexford led her to one of the horse paths. There were a number of riders, mainly gentlemen riding their fine horses. They were there to be seen as they acknowledged and spoke with peers or young ladies out for a stroll.
“Can we go for a good gallop?”
Wexford shook his head. “Not here. There’s a section coming up where there should be less traffic. We can gallop them there. Just remember there might be fewer horses and people, and some don’t adhere to rules of the park, as it were.”
“Rules of the park? Are you kidding?”
“I never joke about such matters. Some men do whatever they like without regard to others.”
“Yes, of course,” she replied. “You must forgive me. It’s been quite a while since I’ve ridden in a park.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for.”
Several gentlemen tipped their hats to them, some of the men’s gazes taking in Lady Clare. She did look stunning in her hunter-green riding outfit. But then anything would look good on this beauty. The sight of other men paying her attention sent a twinge of jealousy through him.
Finally, they cantered for a good while, stopping near a rather large pond. Wexford knew he now needed to have the conversation he’d been dreading. He was surprised she hadn’t pounced on him the moment they entered the park.
He turned to face her. “I’m afraid I have news of your young man.”
“What have you learned?” she asked. “From the look on your face, it can’t be good.”
“I’m afraid not. It seems he’s left London for America.”
She clearly fought to keep her eyes from tearing up, but she was losing. “I won’t ask you for any details. It’s over, then. I’m sure I won’t be hearing from him again.”
“Perhaps, once he’s settled somewhere.”
She sat up, her back ramrod straight. “Don’t patronize me, my lord. He would have been in touch if he truly wanted me to know he was leaving. He would have told me he’d send for me later, but he didn’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I should have never been so foolish as to think he hadn’t come to London with alternative plans which didn’t include me.”
He took one of her gloved hands in his. “Lady Clare, you’re not foolish, and you will come out of this for the better.”
“I am most grateful for your confidence in my abilities, my lord.”
“Wexford. Please call me Wexford.”
She blinked back tears. “Very well, Wexford. You may call me Clare if you wish, but only when we’re alone,” she replied. “May I be so bold as to ask what your given name is?”
“I’m known only as Wexford, or Parr by a few select individuals. My given name is horrid.”
“A family name?”
He smiled. “Yes, dating back to the first earl.”
“What does your family call you?”
“Wexford or Parr.”
“If it’s not too painful, may I inquire as to what Matilda called you?”
His eyes were cast down. “Wexford, unless she was angry, and then she called me by my given name, Milford.”
She brightened. “Very well, Parr or Wexford it is, then.”
He nodded. “Would you care to ride some more?”
“I would. This mare is lovely. She has a soft mouth and an easy canter. This has been a wonderful diversion. Thank you.”
His lips twitched as he tried to hold back a smile. “I’m happy to be of assistance.”
The earl wouldn’t have been her first choice for a husband, but now that she was getting to know him better, she was eager to learn more. Her cousin had told her Wexford kept his relationship with Lady Matilda to himself. Today had been the first time she’d been bold enough to inquire into his personal world by daring to ask him what his late wife called him. Surprisingly, he’d told her.
Francois had proven to be a disappointment, leaving England without so much as a brief note. Wexford was right about this, and though right now she felt her heart had been ripped from her chest, Clare knew she would continue on.
She was also smart enough to know that her father was planning on marrying her off. She would never allow that to happen. She would never be in a loveless marriage, made possible because of her sizeable dowry.
Wexford was looking more appealing each time she met him. He had done her a great service finding out what had become of Francois. Through his own tragedy, he’d stepped forward to offer her some closure to an impossible situation. Perhaps the earl was worthy of her attention.
The horse he’d brought for her to ride today was spectacular, a joy to ride. And when they’d had the discussion regarding side saddles, the earl—Parr—never treated her as an object with no mind of her own. He listened when she spoke, something rare among men of noble birth. Most thought women should stay at home or make them look good at public events, have an heir or two, and never, ever question their husband. Most importantly, she must have a sizeable dowry.
But that was when a man was pursuing a woman for a wife, and she wasn’t sure Wexford was after a wife. In fact, she thought him to be undecided in the matter. Perhaps it was because his own wounds were still raw.
The Duke and Duchess of Liverpool’s ball was coming up. It was a large affair, she’d been told, and she could use the night to review her choices. She hoped Wexford would be at the top of her list before the evening was over.
He interrupted her musings when he gestured toward a couple approaching them. “The Viscount and Viscountess of Hertford are right ahead. She will want to stop and talk.”
“Why?”
He smiled wickedly. “Because she believes her younger sister, Lady Henrietta, would be perfect as my bride.”
“And would she?” Clare inquired.
He leaned over to whisper, “I’ve never even met the chit.”
“Oh my.”
“Yes, I’m afraid it’s rather embarrassing how my friends are lining up their relations, trying to get me to choose.”
“Then don’t choose. Not until you’re ready.”
As predicted, the viscount and his wife stopped to one side and beckoned them over. Introductions were made, and Clare felt herself being scrutinized by the viscountess.
“A Scotswoman. How fascinating,” the viscountess trilled. The look on the woman’s face told Clare she was anything but fascinated.
“Lady Clare is a cousin of Clevedon. She’s visiting while her parents are on the continent,” Wexford explained.
The woman arched a brow at the use of the duke’s name. “I see. Are you enjoying your stay in London, Lady Clare?”
“Yes, I am. Wexford has been a dear to take me out riding and show me the sights.”
Apparently sensing his wife’s disapproval, the viscount joined in. “Will you be attending the Duke of Liverpool’s ball?”
Uncertain to whom the viscount was directing his question, Clare quickly responded. “Yes, I’ll be attending with Clevedon and the duchess.”
“Ah yes, the American duchess. I haven’t had the pleasure,” Viscountess Hertford replied. She turned shrewd brown eyes back to Wexford. “What about you, Lord Wexford? Will you be attending? My sister, Lady Henrietta, will be there as well.”
“I plan to attend, my lady.”
“Excellent. I trust you’ll sign Lady Henrietta’s dance card?”
“I’m sure I’ll sign many dance cards that evening,” Wexford replied graciously.
A few awkward moments later, Hertford and his wife departed, the viscountess’s narrowed eyes watching Clare closely. She was obviously not liking what she saw, and Clare knew she viewed her as unwanted competition for her sister.
“You better watch yourself, Parr. Lady Hertford has eyes on you for her sister, and she doesn’t appear to be a lady who takes a refusal well.”
“Then Lady Hertford will need to learn to be quite disappointed,” he said lowly.
“She certainly will,” Clare agreed.
“Let’s do something a little different. Don’t let anyone sign your dance card for the supper set. I would very much like to dance with you then.” He tipped his head, waiting for her answer.
“I’ll be sure to pencil you in for two dances, my lord.”
“I look forward to them.”
She granted him a smile. “As do I, Parr.”
Her heart should be exploding with grief at the news he’d brought her concerning Francois, but it wasn’t. Had she not loved him as she once thought she had? Or had it been a case of simple infatuation, a means to get even with her father? Whatever the case, she felt herself drawn to the handsome man riding beside her.
She studied him for a moment as they rode along the path, his blond hair tousled from their vigorous gallops. He obviously enjoyed the outdoors, because his coloring was darker than most men. He was a faint bronze from his hours in the sun, riding or taking care of estate matters.
Her body betrayed her as goose flesh appeared on her arms, and a queer feeling had her stomach knotted up. She was indeed drawn to Wexford, far more than she’d ever intended, but now that her tendre had started, she had no desire to break it off. She wanted to see where it led.
Wexford might not think he was ready for a wife, or even a relationship, but Clare was certain if she kept his interest, he might eventually change his mind. For now, he interrupted her train of thought, not wanting her to stray too far from whatever it was they were talking about. He was doing his best to keep her mind off Francois, and she respected him for putting forth the effort.
“I suppose I should be getting you back,” he said.
She nodded. “Yes. I must say, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed riding this fine mare.”
“I’ll remember that next time. She’s one I purchased from Clevedon.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. He has exquisite taste in horses.”
He shifted his weight in his saddle as they walked back toward the park entrance. “I understand I didn’t bring you the news you wanted today, but I knew you would want to hear it from me.”
“I am grateful, my lord. I was foolish. I realize that now, and I must move on.”
“We all look back on mistakes we’ve made and wonder what we were thinking at the time. It makes us a better person.”
She inclined her head. “Yes, yes, it does.”
A short ride later, Clare dismounted the mare with Wexford’s assistance. “Will I see you at the theater this evening?” Clevedon had secured a box for the season from a childhood friend who was visiting India. There was a Shakespeare work being presented, and the duke wished to see it. Clare also knew her cousin was using the evening to get her seen by the ton, and perhaps by a suitable match.
“My sister Alexandria insisted I should get out more, so yes, I will be in attendance.”
She smiled demurely. “Then I hope to see you there, Wexford. My cousin has a box. Perhaps you’ll come say hello to Clevedon.”
“I shall make a point of doing so,” he replied.
5
Wexford had wanted to be anywhere but at the theater with his sister and her husband, Viscount Sansbury. His sister was not one to be easily put off. She was resolved he should get out more socially, but Wexford saw right through Alexandria. Her mothering instincts had kicked in, and she was determined to see him married again.
She and her husband had been invited to the Viscount and Viscountess of Hertford’s box. Dread enveloped Wexford as he remembered the viscountess had been quite adamant about introducing him to her sister, Lady Henrietta Smith.
He followed his sister and the viscount into the box. Lady Hertford smiled the moment she saw him, dragging behind her a mousy young woman who had to be her sister.
Introductions were made, and the viscountess, eager to make a match for her sister was sure to seat them together in the front where everyone would of course see them. Wexford accepted a glass of champagne being served. Lady Henrietta took a glass of punch and fidgeted, looking terrified at the thought of a man seated so closely.
