The Notorious Countess. Liz Tyner

in England.

      But, perhaps a mistake had been made.

      He looked to the driver. ‘Are you sure this is the residence Fox mentioned?’

      The man nodded. ‘Yes. Foxworthy told me to see you to the servants’ entrance.’

      Andrew felt little hiccoughs of despair in his midsection. He hoped this woman was not someone he’d seen before or would be seeing again. He did not want to meet her and feel her embarrassment later when she recalled their conversation.

      He trekked the steps which led to the tradesmen’s entrance almost directly under the main door and was one level lower than the street.

      He’d barely knocked when the latch opened. A shadowed face stared at him.

      Blazes. This was Fox’s amour?

      She wore one of the little caps like his grandmother had worn and spectacles, and her hair escaped from under the cap and straggled around her face. The tiny candle she held gave her shadows he supposed he should be thankful for, and the dress—long-sleeved with hanging things and loopy frizzles around her neck. His grandmother would never have worn anything so frightfully odd looking.

      Surely she wasn’t—? ‘Tilly?’ he asked.

      She raised the candle up, then down, then up again. He’d never seen a candle follow the gaze so.

      ‘Dash it,’ she muttered and took a step forward, nearly singeing him with the flames. He stepped away from the tiny wick.

      ‘Tilly?’ he repeated, knowing without any hesitation she was Tilly.

      Andrew looked at the spinster, clamped his jaw and then opened his mouth, choosing his words delicately.

      She let out a whoosh of air, nearly putting the candle out. He stepped backwards and she lunged, grabbing his sleeve. ‘Inside. Quick.’

      He hardly had a choice—she was about to burn him with the flame. He puffed the candle out.

      Dragging him into the house by his arm, she muttered, ‘Dark. Pardon. Follow me. I know the way.’

      He kept his steps guarded, hoping not to trip over her skirts.

      ‘Oh, my,’ she muttered, moving towards a narrow band of stairs, pulling him along behind her.

      He planted his feet firmly at the base of the stairway used by the servants. ‘Fox is deeply distressed—’

      She turned to him, still gripping his sleeve. ‘Shh,’ she whispered. ‘We can talk in...’ she paused ‘...upstairs.’

      ‘Very well.’ He must accept that she had to guard her reputation.

      * * *

      She opened the door to a cramped room with a small bed, not big enough for his length. A wardrobe hulked over the space in the corner. A rather unappealing chamber, although it was hard to tell with only an insignificant candle lit—far from the bed. The room had cooled from the day’s heat.

      She lit a lamp and placed it beside the candle. Then she pulled the chair closer to the bed, pointing him towards the seat of it. She sat on the bed and held out her arm, indicating he sit. Next, she clasped both hands on her knees.

      This was not the shy, grief-stricken woman he’d expected. He sat. ‘You appear to be forgetting about my cousin rather well.’

      ‘Your cousin?’ She firmed her lips. ‘I am deeply distressed. Very sad.’

      ‘I thought you might be dejected by his loss of affection.’

      ‘Yesterday, I was,’ she said, ‘but this morning I woke up all afresh.’

      He stood. ‘I am pleased to hear that. I must be leaving—’

      She also rose, and then took his hand.

      ‘I am so desolate.’ Her shoulders slumped. ‘Beyond despair.’

      He stared at her and she smiled. ‘If it means a chance to keep you here longer,’ she added. ‘Once I saw you standing at the doorway, I completely recovered.’

      He examined her face. ‘So you have not really been sorrowful over the loss of Fox in your life.’

      ‘Fox? Lord Foxworthy?’ She leaned forward. ‘In truth, I danced with him once.’

      Andrew didn’t speak.

      ‘He’s a bit over-fond of himself, if you ask me,’ she said. ‘And wears those indigo waistcoats to make his eyes look bluer. Plus, he flutters his lashes too much when he’s talking.’

      ‘His mother buys those waistcoats for him and he wears them to please her. Underneath all that nonsense he spouts, he’s not a bad person. Though he has been complimented on his eyes about one hundred times too much for his own good.’

      ‘Personally...’ she leaned forward ‘...I like a nice brown in eye colour.’ She appraised him. ‘Though it’s hard to tell in this light.’

      ‘I think there’s been some mistake,’ he said.

      ‘No mistake,’ she said. ‘And you do not have to, um...’ She shrugged. ‘The earrings. Fox may keep them. I don’t want them. Meeting you is all the reward I need.’

      He took in a breath, his thoughts exploded and everything became very clear. ‘I am...so relieved.’ Fox! Andrew would let him choose what clothing he wished to be buried in, and then Andrew would assist with the final arrangement of his cousin’s body.

      She put a hand near her face and fanned as she stared at him. ‘I could see you as a knight, or a conqueror. Something majestic. But I am sure you hear that all the time.’

      He needed to make sure she knew this was not a transaction. Nor was it to be an adventure such as in the sordid tales Fox told. ‘I think you might have formed a wrong conclusion.’

      ‘Yes.’ In the dimly lit room her teeth flashed. ‘I thought you might be rather...um, unsightly. Rather old.’

      ‘Speaking of age...’ He stepped into the middle of the room. ‘How old are you?’ he asked.

      She moved farther from him. Her mouth opened, but she didn’t speak.

      ‘Age?’ he repeated.

      ‘Twenty-six. Barely.’

      ‘You jest.’ Maybe ten years ago.

      ‘I assure you,’ she plucked the spectacles from her face and leaned closer. Then she paused and her eyes remained on him, but her head turned to the side. Her voice softened. ‘You did not think I could be twenty-six?’

      Without the eyepiece, he could tell she was younger than he’d first thought. His courtesies did not desert him, although his honesty did. ‘I cannot believe you a day over twenty-three.’

      She placed the spectacles on the nightstand, then gave a pleased tilt of her head, smiling. ‘And your age?’

      ‘Two years older than you.’

      ‘Perfect,’ she said, touching a hand to her face.

      A spot of red darkness showed on her knuckles. Surely this lady had not injured herself over Fox? He could not pull his eyes away. ‘What is that?’

      She raised her hand, looking at the back. ‘Vermilion.’ She shrugged. ‘I painted this morning. Just a miniature I am working on. I have a few supplies here.’

      He breathed again.

      Her fingers reached out and clasped his.

      For a moment they both stood motionless, the room soundless.

      ‘I expected—’ She seemed to have trouble with her words. ‘I didn’t expect you to be so... Well, I thought you’d be more— You’re not—’

      At her appraisal, pleasure sparked in his body.