The Widowed Countess (4 page)

Chapter 5

The Dowager Countess Arrives

A dusty coach-and-four was parked in the semi-circular drive in front of Norwick House when Clarinda’s coach pulled up in front. The unmarked equipage looked as if it had arrived only moments before, a pair of footman appearing from the house to unload a trunk from the back while a stable boy held the horses. One of the Norwick House footmen had jumped from the box of Clarinda’s coach and was about to open her door when Clarinda realized the other coach must belong to the dowager countess. Surprised at its appearance so soon after David’s death, Clarinda wondered how the woman would have been able to reach London so quickly. Dorothea Fitzwilliam made her home near the southern coast, and Clarinda was sure the courier wouldn’t have reached the dowager’s house until early yesterday. If Lady Norwick was already here, it meant she would have traveled through the night, changing horses several times along the way. Or, she might have just arrived with the intention of paying a visit. This last thought had Clarinda panicked.

Allowing the coachman to hand her down, Clarinda gave him a nod and made her way to the front of the house, mindful of the footmen behind her who labored under the weight of the trunk they had just unloaded. Porter, the house’s majordomo, held the door for her and took her pelisse and bonnet. “Her ladyship has been shown to the Blue Room,” he said with a raised bushy eyebrow, as if he wondered about the suitability of that particular bedchamber.

“Thank you, Porter. It
is
the best room in the house,” Clarinda assured him as she dared a glance in a looking glass mounted near the front door, wincing at the sight of her hair. “I never imagined she would get here so quickly.”

Porter lifted his head a fraction. “I do not believe her ladyship was in residence in Bognor when the courier delivered the news of the earl’s death to his lordship,” he whispered.

Clarinda pushed a few stray hairs behind her ear and gave Porter a sharp glance. “Why not?” she wondered, nervously smoothing her bombazine skirts. “Was she at Norwick Park?”

The majordomo seemed suddenly embarrassed and did not respond. He was already aware of the dowager countess descending the main stairs. Clarinda took a deep breath and nodded in his direction, acknowledging his expert use of his eyebrows to warn her of Dorothea’s impending entrance. She made her way to the foot of the stairs. Sure enough, from the swish of silk skirts and petticoats, she could hear that Dorothea Wright Fitzwilliam was nearly down to the first staircase landing. Not wanting to have to look up at the formidable woman as she made her way down the second set of stairs, Clarinda gathered up her skirts and hurried up the steps to meet the woman on the lower landing. Her timing proved perfect as she reached the broad carpeted landing just as the Dowager Countess of Norwick was about to step onto the same landing.

“My lady,” Clarinda managed to get out before noticing her mother-in-law looked positively resplendent in a fashionable scarlet carriage gown.
Why isn’t she wearing black?
was the countess’ first thought, although she saw that Lady Norwick did at least have a black armband secured around the sleeve of her gown. She immediately sealed her lips, realizing she should have waited for the older woman to speak first. Performing a perfect curtsy, Clarinda waited for the dowager countess to make her greeting.

“Oh, Clare,” the woman said with a shake of her head. “You needn’t be so damned formal with me,” Dorothea claimed, moving to wrap her arms around the younger woman’s shoulders. “I am so very sorry for the both of us,” she murmured before she pulled away and stepped back, leaving her hands on Clarinda’s shoulders. Her gaze swept down her daughter-in-law’s dress, making a ‘tsk’ sound as she did so. “I promised myself after spending a year in mourning for Norwick that I would never again wear black. Or black and white. Makes me look like the living dead, and I fear it almost does the same to you. Although ...” She moved her gaze to Clarinda’s face. “You look ...” Her eyes suddenly widened. “You look ...”

“Like I’m with child?” Clarinda offered in a very quiet voice, hoping it was the sentiment the dowager countess was trying to vocalize.

“Oh!” Dorothea said as she stepped back, a hand pressed against her bosom as her face changed from shock to joy. “Oh, Clare. This is ... this is ...”

“Complicating, I know,” Clarinda said, not quite sure if it was what Dorothea was trying to say.

“That wasn’t
quite
what I was going to say,“ Dorothea protested with an arched eyebrow. ”But ... Oh, Clare!“ She pulled Clarinda into a heartfelt hug. “How long?” There was a hint of a hiss, as if her mother-in-law suddenly clenched her teeth before asking. Clarinda wondered if David had mentioned her previous miscarriage to his mother.

“More than three months,” Clarinda whispered, remembering how many times she had consulted a calendar in the eleven weeks since she’d missed her monthly courses. The hug got a bit harder.

“That’s a relief, then,” Dorothea said as she pulled away again. “Or not,” she suddenly said as her face lost its joy. She took Clarinda’s arm in hers and steered them to the stairs.

Clarinda rolled her eyes. “I don’t know
how
I’m going to tell Daniel,” she said as she descended the steps with Dorothea. They made their way to the parlor and Clarinda rang for tea. “I fear he already despises me, and I cannot imagine how this news will help his opinion of me.”

Dorothea regarded Clarinda with another arched eyebrow before taking a seat in the chair her son usually used. “When do you suppose you lost his good opinion? I ask only because ...” She paused for a moment and regarded her daughter-in-law with furrowed brows. “I have not heard an unkind word of you from his lips.” She thought for a moment and bounced her head back and forth a bit. “Of course, that’s probably because he knows I would box his ears if he ever said an unkind word of you,” she added with a hint of humor.

How can she be so damned flippant at a time like this?
Clarinda wondered. But the woman’s words surprised her. “We have not spoken to one another for two years, my lady,” she said as she remembered the last time she’d ever even
seen
Daniel Fitzwilliam. At Christmastime in Bognor. He was there for a dinner party, but avoided Clarinda the entire evening, his seating at the table preventing them from conversing. And then he had departed before the men had finished their port and cheroots and joined the ladies in the drawing room. It was as if Daniel had deliberately avoided her that evening.

Dorothea huffed, holding back her retort until the maid had set the tea tray on the low table between them. Once the girl bobbed a curtsy and left, the dowager countess leaned forward.  “
Why
haven’t you two spoken?” she asked, taking over the tea pouring before Clarinda could reach over to do it. “And where’s the brandy? I do think something a bit stronger is called for, don’t you?”

Stunned at the woman’s comment, Clarinda hardly knew what to say. She stood up and hurried to a cart set off to one side of the room. Grabbing a crystal decanter of amber liquid, she returned to her chair and set it down, a bit harder than she intended. “Your younger son thinks me a fortune hunter. He accused me of marrying David for his money and title.” At Dorothea’s surprised expression, Clarinda added, “I would have thought he knew I had some fortune of my own coming to me on my twenty-fifth birthday,” the comment suddenly reminding her that David had actually never claimed the money due her when she reached her majority. “And I could have afforded to live a very comfortable life as a spinster if I wished.”

This last was delivered with enough venom that Dorothea arched that elegant eyebrow again. Clarinda thought that eyebrow a rather effective weapon. She imagined if it were made of iron, the woman could detach it and throw it like a boomerang, its pointed ends knocking out an opponent with one fell swoop before she would calmly reclaim it and reattach it above her eye.

Clarinda closed her eyes and shook her head. “I apologize, my lady,” she said in a quiet voice. “I married David because ... because our fathers practically arranged a betrothal ...”

“Which could have easily been broken,” Dorothea interrupted.

“And because he
asked
me, and I ... I
wanted
to marry him,” Clarinda finished, ignoring Dorothea’s comment about the worthlessness of marriage contracts.

The dowager countess regarded her daughter-in-law for a very long time before pouring brandy into a teacup and lifting it toward Clarinda. The younger woman shook her head, so Dorothea brought the cup to her lips and sipped delicately. When she set the cup down onto a saucer, she tilted her head to one side. “Even though you were in love with Daniel,” she said with a kind of certainty that wasn’t to be questioned. She leaned over to pour a cup of tea for Clarinda. The statement was almost a rhetorical question, but it caught Clarinda completely off-guard.

“What? Yes. No.
No
!” Clarinda claimed as she shook her head, her jaw slack. “I was never in love with
Daniel
,” she claimed, her head shaking back and forth. She regarded the decanter of brandy for a moment, thinking perhaps she
should
add a dollop or two to her tea.

Not looking the least bit convinced, Dorothea took another sip of brandy. “Could you be, do you suppose?” she wondered then, her manner quite matter-of-fact. “In love with Daniel, I mean.”

Clarinda blinked. And blinked again. “Wh ...What?”

Shaking her head, Dorothea set down her cup and saucer on the table and leaned back in the chair, looking every bit the aristocrat she was. “Really, Clare. It would make this whole situation so much easier if you and Daniel would settle whatever differences you have and marry. He’ll have to provide protection for you anyway, and should you carry a son, it will still be heir to the title,” she explained with a wave of her hand. “I can speak with him about it if you’d like ...”

“
No
!” Clarinda countered, her mouth now wide open. “My lady,” she added on seeing Dorothea’s look of shock. “No. I cannot marry a man who ... who
despises
me,” she spoke in a much softer voice. “And I do not think you could compel him to consider such an arrangement.”
David must be spinning in his grave!
she thought in horror, his mother’s discussion of marriage quite improper considering a year was the proper amount of time for mourning a dead husband.

And then she realized why this talk was
really
improper. David couldn’t be spinning in his grave.
He wasn’t even buried yet!

Dorothea drained her brandy, arching her eyebrow as if Clarinda had dropped a gauntlet at her feet. But the older woman’s countenance suddenly softened. She leaned back into the chair, as if her backbone was suddenly gone. Tears welled in her eyes. “I apologize. I ... You carry my grandchild. I want to be sure I am allowed to spoil it,” she whispered sadly.

Clarinda dipped her head, wondering if Dorothea’s tears were real or if they were meant to elicit sympathy from her. “And you shall, of course, my lady. I promise. And I would offer a hanky, but mine are quite drenched,” she added as she pulled one out of the pocket of her gown and held up the damp linen.

“Mine, too,” Dorothea replied, holding up her own damp hanky. She gave her daughter-in-law a wan smile before sighing. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?” she murmured with a sigh.

Clarinda offered a wan smile in reply. Then her brows furrowed. “How is it you were able to get to London so quickly?” she wondered, thinking the dowager countess and Daniel would be arriving together the following day.

Catching her lower lip with a tooth, Dorothea sighed again. “I was attending a house party in Kent. Daniel had a courier sent up with the news moments after it reached him. I expect he’ll be here on the morrow.” Her gaze settled on Clarinda again. “Do afford him all the courtesy you would your earl,” she said in a quiet voice. At Clarinda’s surprised expression, she added, “Well, except for the conjugal visits, I suppose.”

Clarinda’s eyes widened even more. “You mean, have him move into the earl’s apartments?” she asked in surprise. David had only been dead a couple of days. She was sure his belongings were still where he’d left them, although she intended to spend some time with his valet determining what should be done with some of his more personal things that probably wouldn’t be included in his will. There were paintings meant for David’s eyes only. And the bed. Well, David hadn’t slept in
that
bed for some time, she realized, remembering how wonderful it had been to have him sleep with her in her bed this past week.

“Yes. Even if you carry David’s heir, Daniel will still have to run the earldom until the little bastard is old enough to take over.” At the sound of Clarinda’s audible gasp at her mother-in-law’s use of  the word ‘bastard,’ Dorothea shook her head. “I meant that in the most
loving
way, I assure you,” she stated with a nod, not even bothering to apologize. When Clarinda’s eyebrows didn’t come down from their record heights, though, she added, “I almost called him a ‘little bugger,’ my dear,” she claimed, as if that would have been worse.

Somehow, the comment, or perhaps just the tone of voice in which it was made, was absurd enough that Clarinda had to allow a smile. “I can hear you now, calling your grandson, ‘Bugger’,” she replied, her smile of amusement genuine. The smile slowly faded as tears began dripping down her cheeks. Before long, Dorothea’s cheeks were just as wet.

Later that night, after a casual dinner with her mother-in-law and an evening in the parlor reviewing plans for David’s funeral service, Clarinda dismissed her maid and climbed into bed. Settling herself into one of the pillows, she was struck by the scent of David that suddenly wafted over her. She closed her eyes and breathed in the familiar fragrances; sandalwood and citrus, and the musk he gave off when they had just finished making love.

“I always wondered if you liked that particular scent,” David said in a whisper. “I still can’t decide if I do.”

Smiling, Clarinda reached up as if to cup her hand along his jaw, sure she could feel the rough texture of his unshaven face. “I do like it, David. I always have,” she answered in a whisper. “In fact, I’m thinking of forbidding the maid to ever wash these pillow coverings,” she said with a grin.

“Ewww,” David replied with a frown. “There’s a bottle of cologne in my room. If you like it that much, simply sprinkle it on your linens ...”

“I like it on
you
, silly man,” Clarinda interrupted him. They shared several moments of silence. “I saw you in the park today,” she said then, her voice quieter. The hand against his face moved up so her fingers could slide through his dark, silken hair.