The Decadent Countess Read online

  Considering the scene Mr Harmon had witnessed in London, this quite rightly confused him. Miranda had an expression on her face of high dudgeon, a lioness protecting her cub…or her lion king.

  Mr Harmon swiftly revised his plans. It appeared that Belford had wasted no time in paying court to his cousin’s wife—‘turning her up sweet’, as Mr Harmon called it. The dastardly plot idea was useless then, she wouldn’t believe it. But Freddie was yet to meet a woman in the first flush of love who completely trusted her beloved or the emotions he inspired. Who was not vulnerable to a little manipulation?

  He rallied, giving Miranda his most sorrowful and sincere smile.

  ‘Yes, he is good at dissembling. But I’m afraid the truth is that Belford is a libertine. “A loose fish”, as our dear Adela would say. It is not generally known, and I can see from your expression you find it difficult to accept but, believe me, it is so.’

  He leaned closer to deliver the coup de grâce, and watched his victim’s eyes grow still wider. ‘I have heard it said he has a particular weakness for redheads.’

  Miranda, who had listened to this recital in stunned silence, now spoke.

  ‘Mr Harmon, I am finding this very difficult! I have never met a gentleman more—more gentlemanlike than the Duke!’

  But even as she said the words, Miranda knew they were not altogether true. Leo had been very ungentlemanlike on several occasions since she had made his acquaintance. Miranda had put this down to his believing she was Adela and, more recently, to his having developed a tenderness for her. In short, he was in love with her. Now everything she had thought solid fact was shifting and shivering like quicksand. Was it possible, she wondered in dismay, that Leo treated all women in such a way?

  All redheads, that is.

  Mr Harmon, observing her growing disquiet, resumed injecting his poison.

  ‘What, has Belford never held your hand a little too long, or tried to kiss you?’ he demanded. ‘Knowing him as I do, I would be very surprised if he had not!’

  Miranda’s eyes widened, her mouth opened to argue in Leo’s defence, but the words that came out were not the ones she expected.

  ‘You know him well?’ she whispered. ‘I—I remember that evening at Armstrong’s he seemed to know you. I—I had forgot.’

  Freddie knew he had her. But instead of crowing in triumph, he softened his voice still more.

  ‘Yes, I know him well, although he does not like to admit to it. We were at school together, but he is too high in the instep to acknowledge me now. He was always…unreliable, when it came to the fair sex. He would have been sent down, if it were not for his family’s influence. These days, it is said among the ton, even among his friends, that he has no heart. My dear, do not allow his clever manners or his sincere address to persuade you differently. He feels no pity, and what he wants he will have. He sees it as his right.’

  Miranda lifted her hand to her lips, as if to stifle a cry. What had Julian said to her in Italy? The Fitzgibbons are determined to have their own way and usually do. The words could have been expressly written for Leo.

  Mr Harmon was still speaking.

  ‘I said that Adela had written to me. She fears you will fall under Belford’s spell. That you will be hooked like a pretty little fish, landed, and then discarded for the next catch. Believe me, Miranda, I am reluctant to tell you this, for I think it must give you pain, but it is so.’

  Miranda did not see how incongruous Mr Harmon’s story sounded. Confused and confounded by all that had passed since she returned to England, Miranda placed herself in Mr Harmon’s hands. At this particular moment she was remembering all her dreams and all the bright confidence in the future she had awoken with this morning, and how it now appeared to be leaking away, leaving her with a sensation of cold emptiness. A lifeless husk, in fact.

  How could he do this to her?

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ she whispered.

  But even as she protested, her practical voice was reminding her that everything the Duke had done and said could easily be read another way. Mr Harmon’s way. And if that were so, then all he really cared for was to conquer her.

  And yet…her honesty compelled her to admit that even if he was so wicked, the blame must be partially hers.

  Considering the game she had been playing with him, the lies she had led him to believe, how could he think other than that she would not be adverse to a little dalliance herself? She had willingly received his kisses on more than one occasion. She had even kissed him back!

  Yes, she was also at fault.

  And yet, for Miranda, those moments had been very special. How could it have been so different for Leo? She struggled briefly with the painful and bewildering possibility that the words and kisses they had exchanged had been nothing to Leo but meaningless little markers on his road to seduction.

  ‘I am sorry.’ Frederick Harmon was leaning even closer to her, his brown eyes filled with sympathy. ‘It is my fault. I have come too late. You have already grown a tendre for the Duke.’

  It was the sympathy that did it.

  Miranda’s head came up. She swallowed her tears. Pride was the thing. He…no one…he must never know how badly he had hurt her, how easily she had fallen in love with him. He must never realise his victory over her. As far as Leo knew she was the Decadent Countess—worldly, flighty, tough. And so she would remain.

  ‘No, indeed, sir!’ Miranda replied bracingly.

  Mr Harmon sat back hastily, disguising his wince with a thoughtful frown.

  ‘The Duke has been kind to me, but I have no special regard for him. Although I am very grateful to you for having warned me, Mr Harmon. I shall take special care not to allow such—such feelings as we have discussed possess me.’

  Mr Harmon nodded as if he believed her, while he was mentally rubbing his hands together. Belford had ruined his happiness, now with any luck he had ruined Belford’s. And there was still the matter of The Grange to be contested. Oh, yes, this was a happy day!

  A maid brought tea and Miranda concentrated on the familiar ceremony of pouring and serving. It seemed to help. The pain receded to a dull ache. When they were settled again, she asked quietly after Adela and listened, with a polite smile, as Frederick Harmon lied about the letter he had never received.

  ‘I am glad she is well and happy,’ was all Miranda said when he had finished.

  Frederick Harmon, realising his visit had came to an end, rose to his feet. ‘I am putting up in the village, at the Ivy and Rose. If you wish to contact me there, Mrs Fitzgibbon…Miranda, I am at your service.’

  Miranda smiled and nodded as if she understood his hint, but Frederick was almost certain she did not. He clarified the matter.

  ‘You may wish me to mediate between you and the Duke on the matter of The Grange. To stand between you, as it were, if things become uncomfortable.’

  Miranda looked surprised. ‘I had not thought…but I am not selling The Grange, Mr Harmon. Did you think I was?’

  ‘No, no, I just thought… Well…’ and he laughed with pretended relief ‘…I am glad you feel so settled here that you plan to stay. Still, if you should need me for any service, however small, I will be remaining at the Ivy and Rose for several more days. I am due a little holiday and have never been to this part of the country before. May I call on you again?’

  Miranda could hardly refuse him; indeed, he had been very kind. She could not blame the bearer of the bad news for the news itself. ‘Yes, of course, sir, I look forward to a future visit. Goodbye.’

  He took her hand, squeezed it gently, then took his leave.

  Miranda stood in the hall for some time after he had left, her thoughts filled with unpleasant images and unhappy imaginings. No, she decided, continuing on with her previous thoughts. It was not Mr Harmon’s fault this had happened. And she could not blame Adela for trying to protect her, Adela who, in her own ramshackle way, loved her.

  If it was anyone’s fault then it was Leo’s, for
simply being what he was. Certainly not the man of her dreams, not any more.

  Rather the man of her nightmares.

  What now? She was engaged to dine at Ormiston tonight, and she had promised herself she would tell Leo the truth. Should she continue with that plan and listen to his scornful laughter? Or should she play along with his belief that she was the Decadent Countess? Turn his game end upon end, and punish him for the terrible hurt he had caused her? Wait until the right moment, and then inform him she had known of his intentions all along, and was only likewise amusing herself. And that, after all—sorry!—she was no longer amused and no longer interested.

  It was tempting.

  Oh, yes, it was very tempting.

  Pendle coughed behind her.

  ‘You seem to be coming down with a cold, Pendle,’ Miranda said coolly. ‘I will have Cook prepare you a remedy.’

  ‘Yes, madam.’

  His meek reply so surprised her, Miranda turned to stare, but Pendle was already making his back the way he had come.

  Jack Lethbridge was dawdling along the country lane on his favourite horse. He had enjoyed a large and hearty breakfast, a joke with his sister, and his father had complimented him on his taste in riding boots.

  All was right with Jack’s world.

  As he approached the village of St Mary Mere, something caused him to glance up. Before him was a small and picturesque humped-back bridge straddling a small and picturesque stream. In the background rose the village, through which Jack had been about to ride, but that was not what caught his eye.

  There was a man standing upon the bridge gazing down into the water. It was a gentleman Jack knew well.

  Freddie Harmon!

  This realisation came as a most unpleasant shock. So unpleasant, in fact, that Jack drew up clumsily, causing his horse to rear and whinny and almost unseat him. The gentleman on the bridge turned to discover the source of the disturbance, and Jack saw that he was not mistaken, although he had briefly felt sure…hoped he must be.

  Raising his beaver top hat, Frederick Harmon nodded in Jack’s direction, giving Jack ample time to take in the details of his dress, before strolling nonchalantly away.

  Jack watched him go, feeling, as he afterwards said, ‘damned sick, all that bacon and sausage churning inside me’. Harmon in St Mary Mere! It was unthinkable, it was beyond belief. Could he have imagined it? But no, he had not even been thinking of Freddie Harmon when he recognised him.

  Jack turned and rode away, his mind an exhausting whirl of speculation. But one thing at least was very clear.

  He must speak to Leo, and at once.

  Leo was engaged with estate matters when he received Jack’s urgent message, and soon joined him in the library, where any notion that this was one of Jack’s starts was quickly dismissed.

  ‘What in God’s name is it, Jack? You’re as white as a sheet!’

  Jack gulped several times, but was only able to reply after a restorative glass of Leo’s excellent brandy.

  ‘I’ve seen him in the village, Leo! Large as life, he was, standing on that bridge. You know the one. Pretty, made of stone.’

  Leo had no more patience with Jack’s meanderings than he had with his Aunt Ellen’s.

  ‘Who have you seen, Jack?’

  But Jack was in no state to be hurried. ‘And do you know, Leo, I saw it plain as I see you now. He was wearing my waistcoat! Not mine…I don’t mean mine, I mean the one I had made up for me by Kipplington, in Bond Street. You remember? Cost me a small fortune. And now he’s got the exact same one! I’ll ask for my money back, so I will. Fair turned my stomach to see my waistcoat on that man. Thought I was about to cast up my accounts—’

  Leo could restrain himself no longer. ‘Who, Jack? For God’s sake, pull yourself together and tell me!’

  ‘Harmon!’ Jack gasped, and flopped down into a leather chair. The two dogs sprawled by the fireplace lifted their heads. ‘Freddie Harmon. He was standing there on that bridge large as life! Almost fell off m’horse!’

  Leo stared at him. His first reaction was to reject what his friend was telling him.

  ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘You must be mistaken. Why would Freddie Harmon come here? He knows he has no friends in this part of the country—the reverse, in fact—and he could hardly believe Sophie would look kindly upon him after what he did. Even he is not such a fool. No, Jack, it was someone like Harmon, that is all.’

  ‘It was him, Leo. Believe me.’ When the Duke still appeared unconvinced, he added, ‘Send one of your grooms to ask at the Rose and see if I’m not right!’

  Leo paced closer to the dogs and their tails thudded on the hearthrug. ‘But why would he come here?’

  Jack rose to pour himself a second glass of brandy. ‘Lord, I don’t know. I would have planted him a facer last time, if you hadn’t stopped me.’ Then a solution suddenly occurred him, and so pleased was he that he spoke it without thinking. ‘To see the Countess! They were pretty thick in London. I told you how it was at the time, and you went to see for yourself. Remember?’

  Jack turned to Leo as he spoke and then wished he could have pulled the words back. But it was too late. They hung in the air, and Leo’s silent, pensive gaze had a stricken quality.

  With an effort, Belford shook his head. No, he thought, she would not…would never… But even as he rejected the idea of Miranda and Freddie Harmon being connected in some way, her words of yesterday came sombrely into his head.

  I have done something very bad and very foolish.

  ‘Leo?’ Jack was watching him.

  Leo forced himself to assume the mantle of the Duke. His voice, when he spoke, was calm and level, his demeanour mildly enquiring. No one would ever know that, inside his cool exterior, his happiness had become a writhing, molten mass of doubt.

  ‘I find the idea of Harmon visiting the Countess almost as difficult to believe as his coming to renew his addresses to Sophie.’ His voice went on. ‘But I agree I must send a groom to discover if it is Harmon you saw on the bridge, and, if it is, what he is doing here.’

  ‘I say,’ Jack blurted out helpfully, ‘you’re very sure it ain’t him, Leo! I’m almost persuaded myself, except I saw him with my own eyes.’

  When the groom had been dispatched, Leo turned Jack’s thoughts to more pleasurable matters, and they conversed easily for some half an hour on subjects of which he could not afterwards recall a word. Jack would never have guessed how desperately his friend wanted him to be wrong.

  When the groom returned, however, it was to report that, yes, it was Frederick Harmon at the Ivy and Rose, and that he had told the landlord he was very friendly with the new Mrs Fitzgibbon up at The Grange, and would be visiting her. ‘And it were said,’ the groom muttered, red as a beet, ‘in the sort of way a man could not mistake. As if this Harmon and the lady were better ’an friends, sir.’

  Leo thought he made no movement, but the groom must have sensed something for he turned an even deeper shade of red.

  ‘Thank you, Mitchell, that will be all.’

  The door had hardly closed on the poor groom when Jack shook his head and declared, ‘Damn shame! I thought she was a lady. Fooled my father, too, and she’d have to be a knowing one to do that. He called her a “good woman”. Doesn’t even call my mother that. Sophie’s fond of her too. Don’t know how I’m going tell them this latest news.’

  ‘Then don’t.’

  He looked up and found Leo smiling at him, but it was a strange, humourless smile. The smile of a man about to run another through with his sword.

  ‘What do you mean “don’t”?’

  ‘Just that. Our beautiful harpy fooled my sister, too. So much so that Tina issued an invitation for her to dine with us this evening. I will deal with her then. Don’t worry, Jack, you will have nothing to explain. By tomorrow morning, the Countess will be packing in readiness to return to her villa in Italy. We will never see her again.’

  Jack nodded dubiously. ‘That a good thing, Le
o?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Jack. That is a very good thing indeed.’

  But Jack, watching the white, strained look about his friend’s mouth and eyes, did not think Leo was being entirely honest with him.

  Chapter Ten

  Ormiston had been built in the Palladian manner. A rectangular, somewhat austere house, with a central portico, it was far different from the jumble of styles which made up The Grange. Miranda could not help but wonder, as her carriage drew up before the great house, what it would be like to live in such a place.

  To be mistress of such a place.

  The subsequent pain in her chest felt very real, but she reminded herself that because she had never actually had Leo’s love in the first place, it had never been hers to lose. She repeated this to herself as she climbed one of two curving exterior staircases to the main front door.

  Surely a man like Leo was not worth mourning, and to do so would be an insult to herself and all womankind?

  Miranda continued to climb, her chin held high. She was looking her best and she knew it. After Mr Harmon’s visit, and a good cry in the privacy of her bedchamber, she had reappeared with a new resolve. Now, after several hours sorting through her wardrobe and primping at her dressing table, she had turned herself into a young woman of style and sophistication. And something more. There was an air of mystery, an elusiveness about her. Leo may look and covet, but he could no longer touch and he would never have!

  And, thus, it was in this frame of mind that she was greeted by Lady Clementina in a central hall which was a wonder in pink marble.

  For a moment Miranda forgot her humiliation and other grievances, and could only gape at her surroundings.

  Tina, looking very fine in a red velvet gown with a low décolletage, and with her dark hair sprinkled with pearls, laughed at her guest’s astonishment.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘it is rather amazing, isn’t it? I can’t imagine what my ancestors were thinking when they ordered all that pink marble!’

  ‘They were certainly enamoured of columns. It is quite breathtaking.’ Above her, painted birds cavorted and dived on the domed ceiling, their plumage more brilliant than that of any flesh-and-blood bird she had ever seen. There was an exotic feel to Ormiston which was quite strange in an English country house, and yet Miranda found herself liking it.