Page 40 of The Marchioness of his Desire
“So, I was not dreaming,” Rebecca whispered, and her two friends glanced at one another.
“Unfortunately, not,” Catherine replied, just as the door burst open for the second time that day, and Duchess Sinclair entered, followed by Waltham, who scurried to draw a chair up for her mistress.
If Rebecca was not temperamentally suited for an encounter with a Romany countess, then it could be said that Duchess Sinclair was entirely suited to such a meeting, and she fixed the woman with a hard stare, each as formidable an opponent as the other.
“What is the meaning of this disruption to the house? I return from Bond Street to find the servants are in uproar, and a woman I have never encountered before is sitting in my drawing room. I demand an explanation. Why is Rebecca lying there as though she has just fainted?” Duchess Sinclair said as Rebecca struggled to regain her composure.
“Because she has just fainted, Your Grace,” Catherine said, and Rebecca’s mother-in-law fixed them all in turn with a hard stare.
“And why is that?” she asked, turning to the countess, who merely drew herself up and fixed Duchess Sinclair with an equally hard stare.
“And you must be the dragon I have heard so much about. Nicholas told me about you,” she said, and Duchess Sinclair’s eyes burned with rage.
“How dare you speak to me like that! I am the Duchess of Sinclair; ours is one of the oldest and noblest houses in all of England. Who are you? I demand to know, else I shall have you thrown out of this house immediately,” Duchess Sinclair replied.
“I am the woman who carries your grandchild,” the countess replied, and now it was Duchess Sinclair’s turn to look shocked, though unlike Rebecca, she maintained her composure and did not fall backwards in her chair, but rather looked the countess up and down in astonishment.
“And what, pray, gives you the right to make such a claim?” she asked.
The countess smiled, rising to her feet, and glancing across at Rebecca, who flinched and drew back as Samantha put a protective arm around her.
“Your son, the marquess, and I knew one another in the New World. We knew one another very well, and this is the result,” she said, pointing at her stomach.
“How dare you speak in such terms,” Duchess Sinclair said. “I refuse to believe it.”
“Your son was in the Caribbean, on the island of Martinique. It was there that we first met, at a party hosted by the governor of the island. I have never known a man like him, and we feel immediately in love. But now I come to England in search of him, and I discover he has taken this pitiful creature as his wife,” she said, glancing at Rebecca with an angry glare.
“And we are to believe this tale? I suppose it is money that you want,” Duchess Sinclair said, but the countess only laughed.
“I have all the money I need, but I will have satisfaction for my child, the legitimate heir of the title.” She placed her hands over her stomach, smiling.
Duchess Sinclair now looked at Rebecca who felt fit to faint again at these astonishing revelations. She knew of Nicholas’ ways, of his affairs in the colonies, and despite the repulsion she felt at the woman’s presence, she could not help but believe that her words may be true.
“A child born out of wedlock is no heir,” Duchess Sinclair replied coldly, but the countess only smiled.
“But a child born out of wedlockisenough to bring down a family and sully its reputation for generations to come. Where is the marquess? I would speak with him,” she cried.
“He is not here, and I want you to leave,” Rebecca said, suddenly finding her courage once again.
“I am going nowhere until I have the satisfaction of speaking with the marquess. Nicholas will hear me,” the countess replied.
“Waltham, fetch the footman. Tell him to go to Nicholas’ club and make enquiries. He must be brought home immediately,” Duchess Sinclair said, and her maid nodded and hurried out into the hallway.
But at that moment, Rebecca saw from the corner of her eye a carriage pulling up outside the house. It was Nicholas, and her heart skipped a beat at the thought of what might now be revealed. Would he deny his involvement with the woman, or would he break down and admit it all to be true? She felt sick at the thought and clutched at Samantha as though fearing that the countess would strike her or offer further wicked revelation.
A moment later, Nicholas entered the drawing room, gazing around him in astonishment at the scene. Rebecca was still lying back on the chaise lounge, flanked by Catherine and Samantha. Duchess Sinclair was presiding from a chair in the center of the room, asserting her authority with Waltham at her side, and standing by the fireplace was the countess, who now fixed Nicholas with a hard stare and drew herself up as though in preparation for an act of great oratory, the passion evident in her eyes.
“What is all this? Rebecca? Are you all right?” he asked, but the countess stepped forward.
“You dishonor yourself by showing me no recognition, Nicholas,” she cried, and Nicholas turned to her in astonishment.
“Madam, I have never seen you before in my life.” The countess gasped.
“Then I mean nothing to you? Does our child mean nothing to you?” she said, advancing toward Nicholas and seizing him by the hand.
It had been Nicholas’ first reaction that Rebecca was watching for. Would there be a small sign of recognition, the glance of familiarity, followed by a pretense at distancing himself from the affair? But no such look had come across his face, and it seemed that Nicholas was as genuinely confused by the presence of the countess as Rebecca and Duchess Sinclair.
“Child? I assure you, madam … what is your name? I know nothing of any child, nor of you,” Nicholas replied.
