The Widowed Countess (5 page)

“Hmm. It was a nice day for a ride,” he said, leaning over to kiss her on the forehead. Clarinda closed her eyes and relished the sensation.

“Your mother is here.”

David nodded. “I saw.” After a time, he said, “She lacks subtlety, but she means well, Clare. If Daniel is stubborn, as I expect he may be, you may have to apply some ... feminine encouragement.”

Clarinda blinked, her brows furrowing. “What? What do you mean?”

David leaned over and kissed her on the nose. “I love you, Clare,” he said in a whisper.

Clarinda’s eyes closed as his lips took purchase on hers, the kiss so gentle it was almost ethereal. When her eyes opened again, David was gone.

Chapter 6

Impending Fatherhood Makes for a Fool in Love

Milton Grandby, Earl of Torrington, entered White’s at precisely seven o’clock. His arrival each night was so precisely timed, other gentlemen set their chronometers based on when he stepped into the men’s club. One of the club’s butlers was even spied resetting a mantle clock above a fireplace a moment after the earl took his usual seat.

Grandby’s visits, usually finished in forty-five minutes so that he might arrive home at precisely eight o’clock for dinner with his wife, afforded him an opportunity to enjoy a pre-dinner drink and a cheroot. He spent the time conferring with other members of the peerage, taking a peek at the betting books, and listening to the day’s gossip. Ensconced in his favorite overstuffed chair, he sipped a brandy as he surreptitiously listened to the conversation of some gentlemen at a card table. Although Grandby wasn’t a gossip monger, he still rather enjoyed hearing it whenever he had the chance.

“I have rather momentous news to share this evening,” Viscount Barrings was saying proudly as he finished shuffling a new deck of cards.

“Did your horse finally win a race?” Jeffrey Althorpe, Baron Sommers asked, his elevated eyebrow suggesting his comment was made in jest. Lord Barrings frowned. He dealt the cards as if he’d been doing it since he was in leading strings.

Lord Everly leaned in to pick up his cards, his lit cheroot sending tendrils of smoke in its wake. “Now, now, Jeffrey. Don’t be making fun of Barrings’ bay. That nag came in second last week,” the earl scolded. The adventurer had been in London only a fortnight, his most recent trip having been to the southernmost tip of Africa in search of tropical fish. His avocation – the study of natural sciences – had him traveling around the globe more often than he was home in London. The man could be forgiven his frequent explorations except he hadn’t yet seen to arranging a suitable marriage for his younger sister, Lady Evangeline. He promised himself he would see her settled before he took off on another trip. Grandby was quite certain a marriage was in the cards – as the girl’s godfather, he had made it clear to Everly that further delays would not be tolerated. If Everly didn’t have someone in mind soon and see to it a courtship was in the cards, Grandby would deck him.

Everly took a look at his cards and was about to scold Barrings for his bad deal when he decided he might be able to bluff his way through this hand.

“Thank you, Everly,” Barrings acknowledged the mention of his race horse’s recent success with a nod. “No, gentleman, my wife has seen to it I will be a father. Probably before Parliament reconvenes in the fall,” he stated proudly. He picked up his own cards, giving them a quick glance before looking up to accept congratulations from around the table.

“Mary will be relieved to hear of it,” Sir Richard commented, his attention on his cards. “Only last week, she claimed your wife looked as if she was eating a few too many cakes at tea.”

Grandby had to stifle a chuckle at the comment lest he be discovered listening. Just last week, he’d made a similar comment to Adele, although he was careful to add that he rather liked her with a bit more meat on her bones. She’d been far too thin when they married.

Barrings gave Sir Richard a nod. “Well, she is, at that, but she is eating for two now,” he commented, his proud grin never leaving his face, even as he was forced to fold.

“She’ll be in good company,” Sommers commented as he considered his hand and the growing pile of chips in the center of the table. “Seems there will be a crop of heirs born this fall.”

Everly looked up from his hand, deciding he might not be able to bluff his way through this hand. “That would be due to that nasty snowstorm we had last December, just after Christmas,” he stated with some authority.

Barrings made a sound that could best be described as a snort. “As I understand these matters, Everly, snow had nothing to do with it.”

The other three gentlemen guffawed in response. “Oh, yes it does. What else are you going to do when you’re trapped in your country estate for three straight days?” Sommers asked, making a rude gesture with his hands.

“And your wife complains of boredom and the cold?” Sir Richard added rhetorically, his eyebrows waggling suggestively.

“I daresay, I remember wishing I was married during that long week,” Sommers murmured as he pretended to study his cards, thinking he still wished he was married. All his friends were. And now they were about to become fathers.

In the middle to taking a sip of brandy, Grandby stilled his movements.
Sommers wished he was married. Lady Evangeline Everly needed a husband.

And there was that snowstorm. 

He held the brandy on his tongue for a very long time, finally swallowing when the alcohol threatened to burn a hole his mouth. He remembered that snowstorm quite clearly. Remembered where he was during the second and third days of it. Remembered where Adele had been – usually under him, although there had been those rather delightful times when she was on top of him – and he suddenly realized why it was she looked as if she’d been eating a few too many cakes at tea.

Lord Everly, having taken a sudden interest in Jeffrey Althorpe’s quiet declaration that he wished he was married, decided his bluff definitely wouldn’t work and folded. He turned to the baron and lowered his voice. “If I might have a word with you when we’re done here tonight?” When Sommers gave him a noncommittal shrug in response, Everly piped up and said, “Be prepared to bed your wife more frequently, Barrings. Her appetite for your favors will be insatiable. At least, it is for most of the females of our species when they are breeding.” A hearty round of laughter erupted from the table as Barrings’ back was slapped and pounded.

Grandby’s heart pounded in his chest. His pulse pounded in his head.
How did Everly know such things?
He wasn’t married. Grandby’s breaths came a bit too quickly. He stared at his cheroot as if he didn’t recognize it.
I’m going to be a father
. The words, barely formed in his mind, repeated themselves with a bit more certainty.

Downing the rest of his brandy as if he’d spent a week in the desert, he stubbed out his cheroot and quickly made his way to his coach, his early exit from the club causing one of the butlers to pick up and study a mantle clock to ensure it still worked. The footman on the back of his coach did a double-take. “My lord?” he managed to get out as he moved to open the door and set down the steps.

“Stedman and Vardon in Bond Street, and make it fast,” Grandby ordered, stepping into his coach. He was barely seated when the coach lurched forward to make its way up St. James Street. He took the opportunity to breathe, feeling rather proud that he had enough sense to stop at a jewelers to secure a rather expensive bauble before heading home for dinner.
I’m going to be a father
, he thought again. For a man of his age – he was in his forties – to marry a widow – who, as near as he could tell was in her thirties – to discover he was going to be a father, was, well, it wasn’t exactly a miracle, he knew. Lord Seward had fathered his fourth son when he was in his seventies, and although some claimed he’d had a bit of help in that regard (there had been rumors he’d been cuckolded by his wife), the boy was the spitting image of him.
Poor child.

But for Grandby to think of himself as a father was ... unthinkable. He was the godfather to the
ton’s
sons and daughters, not a
father
.

Adele, bless her heart
.

Why hadn’t she said anything? Was she afraid he wouldn’t want a child? She must have known he needed an heir. Was she waiting for the right time to tell him? Perhaps she intended to tell him tonight during dinner. She’d said something about arranging for his favorite meal to be served that evening. Or did she even know she was expecting?

That last thought had him pausing suddenly. There was something different, he was sure now. It wasn’t just that she had put on a few pounds. She was ... more beautiful, to be sure, her smile more radiant. And she was certainly more willing to be bedded. Christ, she’d been in his bed as much as he’d been in hers this past month or so!

What had Everly said?

Be prepared to bed your wife more frequently. Her appetite for your favors will be insatiable
.

He was still ruminating on insatiable appetites when the coach came to a stop in front of the goldsmith’s shop. He was out of the coach before the footman could even move to get the door open, hurrying into the shop at Number 36. Scanning one of the display cases, he wondered what would be appropriate. He’d never bought jewelry for a an expectant wife before. Necklace? Bracelet? Ear bobs? Brooch? All of the above? And with what gemstone?

“May I be of assistance, my lord?” Mr. Stedman wondered, stepping up to the counter where Grandby’s attention was directed at a collection of necklaces displayed on black velvet.

When Grandby looked up, a panicked expression on his face, one of Stedman’s eyebrows lifted. “Have you forgotten a special occasion, perhaps?” he asked sotto voce. The jeweler noted Grandby’s nervousness. “Or, is there one about to occur?”

“Yes,” Grandby replied with a quick nod of his head. Not knowing if Stedman could be trusted to keep a secret, Grandby was trying to decide how to broach the subject of an appropriate gift.

“Does it involve your ... wife?” Stedman ventured. He had to be careful – too many men of the
ton
purchased baubles for their mistresses – usually of better quality than the ones they purchased for their wives.

“Yes.”

Stedman nodded, pulling a tray of necklaces from another drawer. “Does she look better in blue or red?” he asked then, showing him a display of sapphire and ruby necklaces featuring his signature gold filigree chains and settings. He pulled out another tray, this one showing two rather ornate diamond necklaces. “Or white?”

Grandby pondered the questions, thinking she looked her very best when she was wearing nothing at all. Was there any reason he had to
choose
a color? Why not all of them? “I’ll take one of each,” he announced, pointing in turn at one of each that he supposed would look especially lovely on his naked, expectant wife.

Mr. Stedman’s eyebrows lifted so they nearly joined his hairline. “Very good, my lord,” he answered with a nod, secretly wondering what momentous occasion could induce a gentleman to purchase
three
necklaces for his wife. Had he been caught with another woman? “Should I have them ... delivered?”

His own brows furrowing, as if they had to even out Stedman’s still mighty high brows, Grandby shook his head. “Heavens, no. I wish to give them to her tonight.”

“
All
of them, my lord?” the jeweler replied, obviously astonished by Grandby’s proclamation.

“Yes. Of course. After dinner. Or maybe one during dinner and one during dessert and the other one after dinner.” He checked his Breguet. “Which is scheduled to start in fifteen minutes,” he said in a voice filled with enough warning that Mr. Stedman was motivated to move the selected necklaces into black velvet-lined boxes with great speed.

“Thank you,” the earl stated as he collected the three necklace boxes and headed for the door. “Wish me luck.”

Rather happy to have made such a large sale, and to such an esteemed gentleman as the Earl of Torrington, the jeweler stared at the door to his shop for a long time after the earl had departed. “I might have wished him luck if he had
paid
for his purchases,” Stedman grumbled to the now empty shop. He took out a large sheet of parchment and prepared to complete a bill of sale to have sent to Grandby’s home.

Adele Grandby descended the central stairs in Worthington House, her shoulders pulled back and her head held as high as she dared. Glancing down, she was a bit dismayed to discover she couldn’t see the next step down. At least her lack of vision wasn’t due to her swelling abdomen, which wasn’t really that swollen.

Yet.

Her ample bosom was the culprit. Tonight, thanks to her maid having tugged on her corset strings a bit more than usual, the swells of her breasts were mounded well above the neckline of her low-cut gown. The deep sapphire blue silk brought out the violet of her eyes and contrasted beautifully with her golden blonde hair, its streaks of gray indicating just the barest hint of her age. Her hair was caught up in an elegant coiffure featuring a series of curls across the front and a chignon in the back. Tiny sapphire ear bobs hung from her ears, bouncing against her neck as she took each step.

At the sound of the front door opening, she paused, hoping her husband had finally returned from White’s. He was late tonight – not especially so, but enough so that the flutterbies in Adele’s stomach had more time to fly about. After her walk with Clarinda, she had decided tonight was the night she would tell him her news. She still hadn’t quite figured out
how
she would tell him, but she would.

Maybe during the soup course.

No, that wouldn’t do
. If he was too stunned or upset at the news, he might leave the dining room and order the rest of his dinner be taken to his apartment.

Perhaps during the fish course. Her stomach roiled at the thought of fish, and she remembered her instructions to the cook that no fish be served that evening.

Dessert
, she decided. She would tell him over dessert.

Holding her pose on the steps, Adele waited patiently as she heard the butler welcome the earl. She heard her husband ask about dinner. She imagined Milton removing his great coat, imagined him giving Bernard his top hat and cane. She imagined him looking slightly tousled and ever so confident and calm and collected ...

She blinked as she realized she was suddenly staring down at him. Grandby had come from the vestibule  – no, he had
shot
out of the vestibule, as if from a canon, his eyes wild, his hair even more so, his hands filled with small black boxes. He had been running, and when he was halfway to the dining room, he had attempted to stop, his Hessians sliding on the marble floors and leaving black streaks in their wake until he could turn around and retrace his steps. He had finally come to a dead stop at the bottom of the stairs.

“Hallo,” he managed to say as he stared up at her, his mouth hanging wide open, his arms dropped to his sides, the flat boxes barely held by his long, tapered fingers. When he closed his mouth, his cheeks puffed out a bit, and then he opened his mouth again, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Adele had to stifle a giggle when she was reminded of one of Lord Everly’s tropical fish.

“Good evening, Milton,” she answered, resuming her regal descent down the stairs. When she reached the last one, she curtsied.

Moving all the boxes he held to the crook of one arm, Grandby bowed and brought her hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles. “Are you ... are you going somewhere?” he wondered, his voice very quiet.

Adele arched an elegant eyebrow. “I am.” She motioned toward the dining room. “Would you care to join me?”

Grandby swallowed, his gaze taking her in from the tips of her satin slippers to the top of her curls, pausing briefly on her décolletage. Adele found herself wondering if he had misinterpreted her invitation and intended to join her
there
by planting his face between her breasts. “I would, my lady,” he replied, his casual and confident demeanor having just then returned. He held out his available arm and Adele placed a hand on it, giving him a tentative smile as they followed his black streak marks to the dining room.

“I bought you a gift,” Grandby stated as he indicated the boxes barely held in the crook of his arm. 

Adele angled her head, intrigued by the way he said the words. “
A
gift?” she repeated, giving the slim boxes a pointed glance. Adele knew from experience what they contained. “Is assembly required?”

Grandby placed the slim boxes on the table between where they would be sitting that evening. “A bit,” he answered, his mischievous grin appearing. He lifted one of the boxes and peeked inside, quickly shutting it and setting it aside. “Wrong color,” he murmured, lifting another box. He barely opened it and his eyebrows cocked. He glanced in her direction, shaking his head before closing that box. He set it atop the other one. Without looking inside, he gave the last box to her.