Page 39 of The Marchioness of his Desire
“But why come here at all? He was spurned; what could he want with you?” Samantha asked, and Catherine nodded as though they had already rehearsed their responses before arrival.
“It is a strange thing for a man to do, for surely he has lost his prize, and no man ever desires to come second,” Catherine said.
“He wishes friendship, that is all,” Rebecca replied, but both her friends now laughed out loud.
“Oh, Rebecca, you may have experienced the delights of marital union, but you are still as a child in your naivety. No man ever desires friendship, not when he makes frequent calls upon a woman following her marriage, and particularly when the man himself was so close to being the object of that union. If he were a clergyman, then perhaps, I could understand it, or a cousin who wishes the bonds of familial affection to continue, even if romance is out of the question. But this bears all the hallmarks of a man unable to relinquish what once he had. Be wary, Rebecca, for men are cunning and devious when it comes to matters of the heart,” Catherine said, wagging her finger at Rebecca, who sighed.
“I detect nothing but a desire for reconciliation,” Rebecca said, meaning it in all honesty, and Samantha raised her eyebrow.
“Then you are blinded by your own ability to see the good in everyone and ignore their faults. Edward Johnson is like a prowling lion, and you, dear Rebecca, are the lost lamb out of its pen, waiting to be devoured. Whatever does Nicholas say about all this?” she asked, and Rebecca blushed once again.
“He … well, he was not happy to know that Edward has been calling at the house, but we are reconciled in the fact that I can do nothing to prevent him from presenting himself. I do not court his presence, nor do I believe he wishes for anything more than friendship, whatever you might say. I have made it clear that I have chosen Nicholas and that is that,” Rebecca said.
She knew that the situation sounded odd, but in her heart, she could find no other intention in Edward than that which he expressed in his words. The toncould speculate all it wished, and those who wished to believe something that was false could do so. Rebecca would not be dissuaded, and she knew day by day her bond with Nicholas was growing stronger, not weaker.
“I only hope you know what you are doing,” Catherine said, helping herself to a macaroon.
“I know perfectly well what I am doing,” Rebecca replied, just as the sound of a knocking came at the door.
“Perhaps this is Edward now,” Samantha said, and the three women eyed the drawing room door with interest as Mrs. Thrip knocked and entered.
“There is a woman here, ma’am, a most excitable woman, who claims she must see his Lordship immediately,” the housekeeper said, and Rebecca looked at her in surprise.
“What woman? Does she present a card?” Mrs. Thrip shook her head.
“She is … a somewhat exotic type, ma’am,” the housekeeper replied, twisting her apron in her hands and looking nervous.
Just then, Mrs. Thrip was pushed aside, and a most extraordinary woman entered the drawing room, dressed in an exotic gown, a tiara upon her head, and a Romanesque look about her. She was heavily pregnant, her long black hair flowing down her shoulders, and her fingers covered in rings. She wore a golden necklace at her breast, with a pendant of peacock blue, and her eyes were aflame with passion.
“Goodness,” Catherine gasped as the woman advanced toward them.
“I am the Countess Elizaveta Ethelinda, and I have come to speak with the Marquess. Which of you is his wife?” she asked, fixing them each in turn with a searching gaze.
Catherine and Samantha pointed at Rebecca, for the woman’s formidable stare would not have been wished by anyone.
“I … I am,” Rebecca replied, rising from her chair, and attempting to summon her courage as the woman nodded.
“I see he has not chosen well,” the countess replied, and Samantha let out an exclamation.
“Now, just you listen to me you horrid woman. How dare you come bursting in here? Who are you, and what do you want with the Marquess and his wife?” Samantha asked, rising to her feet, and stepping between Rebecca and the woman, who looked at her with dismissive disdain.
“Are all English women the same?” she asked, waving her hand, and rolling her eyes.
“You will find us formidable enough opponents when one of our own is insulted,” Samantha replied, but the woman only laughed.
“I have come here for one simple reason, and that is because I am carrying a child, the child of the marquess himself,” she said, and with those words, Rebecca fainted.
Chapter Sixteen
It was the smelling salts which revived her, the bottle being wafted under her nose as she opened her eyes to find Catherine and Samantha looking over her. She was laid upon the chaise lounge by the window, and a cup of sweet tea was pressed to her lips as Samantha dabbed a cloth to her forehead.
“There, there, dear Rebecca, you have had a terrible shock,” Catherine said, squeezing her hand as Rebecca began to recall the events which had led to her current position.
“Where … what?” she began, but Samantha shushed her.
“There is no need to worry yourself,” she said, glancing behind her.
But Rebecca had already worried herself, and she sat up, glancing across the room to where the countess sat imperiously upon a chair by the fireplace.
