Page 26 of A Countess Captured for the Captain
“Of course he will want to see you. Why would he not wish to do so?” Catherine said, as the two of them sat together in Samantha’s chambers that afternoon taking tea.
“Oh, I do not know, but I have heard nothing from him, and how do I know I am not a mere fancy he has now cast off, just like so many other women in the ports?” Samantha replied.
She had brooded on the matter these days past, concluding that she had been foolish to fall so readily in love with Nox. She really knew little of him and had been so caught up in the excitement of their voyage and the possibility of escape. His escape had been hers and now that he had been thrust back into society, she too found herself full circle, right back where she did not wish to be. Without Nox, what hope was there in escaping this sad fate, and with his mind evidently on far greater things, she was losing hope.
“You risked everything for him, surely that must count for something. Do not be despondent, Samantha, we have a ball to ready ourselves for. Come now, let me help you choose your dress,” Catherine replied.
The two of them spent the rest of the afternoon about their preparations, but Samantha could not rid herself of the niggling doubts she held over Nox and his intentions. What would he say when he saw her on the arm of Reginald Spencer, and what hope was there of her father ever blessing a courtship with a man he had so recently had thrown in prison, however different his circumstances might now seem?
* * *
“Now my boy, tonight is an occasion of great importance,” Nox’s uncle said, slapping him heartily upon the back.
Nox had had barely a moment to himself in the days gone by since his arrival in Knightsbridge, and with the night of the ball now upon them, he felt as though he were being dragged along by wild horses, so constant was his uncle’s attention. His aunt too, was no better, and seemed to delight in offering him a never-ending stream of advice and instruction, as if the two of them were intent upon molding him into the very model of what they believed the Earl of Brimsey should be.
“But what is society to make of me? I have a past which is far from similar to their own,” Nox said, still worried about what would happen when he was recognized as the escapee from the prison, a wanted pirate on a dozen Caribbean islands.
“I have told you, it is of no importance. You have been the victim of sad and tragic circumstance. No one can blame a child for being caught up with his captors. You knew no better, and now you have regained your rightful place in society. The ton is fascinated by your story, you are the talk of London,” his uncle said, as the two of them made their way through the ballroom where liveried footman hurried back and forth, fetching and carrying in preparation for the ball that night.
Nox had ventured to ask if Samantha would be in attendance, though as much as he wished to see her, he knew that her presence would bring with it that of her father, a man he had no wish to see. It was for that reason that he had not contacted her, worried lest it create further trouble for her if her father was to learn that she had been involved in his escape. Imitating a priest was a serious matter, one for which Samantha could find herself in serious trouble.
It was Nox’s uncle who chose his attire for the evening, telling him that his father was always impeccably dressed, and that as the Earl of Brimsey he should be, too. Thus, as the clock struck seven, Nox found himself in a long frock coat, breeches and shirt, ruffed at the collar with a cravat, waiting in the hallway to greet their guests. He was nervous, far more so than he had ever been at sea. In that moment, he would gladly have swapped his position for a ship of marauding pirates rather than the army of aristocrats poised at the door.
“And remember that some ladies are more ladies than others,” his aunt whispered, as the footman opened the door to admit the first of the guests.
“The Lady Hortensia Abbott, and her daughter Claribel,” the footman announced, as a tall, thin woman, made taller by an enormous bouffant wig stepped over the threshold, followed by a short, dumpy girl of perhaps eighteen, with a large, prominent mole upon her nose.
“A lesser lady,” his aunt said, as his uncle stepped forward to greet their first guests.
After that, a steady stream of the great and the good crossed the threshold and all of them were eager to make Nox’s acquaintance.
“To think that you have spent your life at the mercy of such barbarians. One hears such terrible stories,” one of them women said, shaking her head.
“You must have had such adventures, I should dearly love to hear all about them,” another young woman said, fluttering her eyelids.
“Are they all like this?” Nox whispered to his uncle, having endured the flattery of one woman who practically threw herself upon him.
“You were thought dead for nearly fifteen years, and you are now practically the richest man in England. Is it so bad that there are so many women who would gladly throw themselves upon you?” his uncle asked, as yet another guest was introduced.
“The Lady Annabelle Thompson, and her daughters the Honorable Clarissa and Sevelia,” the footman announced.
A haughty looking woman in a peacock-blue gown now stepped forward, ushering with her two identical sisters, each with long blonde hair and blue eyes, which they fixed on Nox in fascination.
“We have been so eager to meet you, my Lord,” one of them said, as they each thrust their hands out simultaneously.
“I am sure I am delighted,” Nox said, glancing from one to the other and feeling like an animal caught in a trap.
“It is their first season,” their mother said, and Nox could only feel sorry for whichever gentleman it would be that would see their last and find himself their betrothed.
“We think it is ever so exciting that you lived with pirates all these years,” one of them said, for their mother had not distinguished them, and Nox did not know if he was speaking to Clarissa or Sevelia.
“Well, pirate is not so much a term–” he began, but immediately he was interrupted.
“You must tell us all about it,” one of them said, and with a dexterous move, they seized him, one on each arm, in a pincer movement evident of their mother’s design.
At that moment, the footman cleared his throat, announcing the arrival of another set of guests.
“His Grace, the Duke of Hampton, the Duchess Hampton, Lady Samantha Crawford, and Marquess Reginald Spencer,” he declared.
