Page 36 of Captivating the Countess
Disgruntled, one of Rain’s friends poured himself a brandy and stood beside him. “If she’s holding herself out for you, Rainford, just say so, and we’ll back off.”
“She’s already told me in no uncertain terms that I’m manipulative and rude.” Rain swirled the brandy in his glass while he watched Bell sit quietly on a settee and listen to the parrots around her—the male ones, not the fowl ones belonging to his aunt.
“Well, you are that.” Harry sipped his drink and watched the ladies. “But I’m not. I offered flattery. I offered archery and books and talked flowers and a ride in the snow and...”
Rain glanced down at his friend’s fair head and snorted inelegantly. “She’s a Malcolm and values honesty. Since when have you ever been interested in archery, books, or flowers?”
“Well, since never, of course. But she’s a fetching thing, and my father’s been after me to settle down. She’s short, so she’ll fit well on my arm when we enter a room. I know you, so I’m not afraid of Malcolms. Good family to know, actually. And as I understand it, she has no interfering dowager or pater to breathe fire down my neck.”
“Well, that’s honesty.” Rainford chuckled. “I’m fairly certain she’ll be unimpressed. Why don’t you set your sights on one of the sweet young things eyeing us ravenously? They’re of good family, and some even have dowries. Lady Craigmore has only a barren estate in Inverness and is more interested in accounts than ballrooms.”
“Accounts? Women don’t do math. My sisters barely know the meaning of a shilling. Can you imagine discussing the value of a pound over the dinner table? Should I try?” Harry appeared intrigued.
Rainford contemplating telling his thick-headed friend that the countess was haunted, but she sat there looking so demure, serious, and interested in the talk of others, that he figured no one would believe him. Bell was entitled to her secrets.
“Try talking mathematics to the countess? Certainly, be my guest. Expand your conversational repertoire.”
Harry looked at him with suspicion. “You’re having me on. But I’ll try, just the same. Lord knows, it’s tiring enough coming up with ways to compliment a woman’s eyes.”
“While pretending the flattered miss doesn’t have a mole on her nose. I should imagine ladies must be equally weary of the foolishness, except for the very young ones. Or the silly ones,” Rain added, although he didn’t believe his sisters had invited silly women. Teddy’s guests now... suited the non-marriage-minded bachelors well.
He gritted his teeth as Harry crossed the room to sit beside Bell. Rainford accepted that it was lust fixating his interest on his steward. He had no right to be jealous of her attentions—unless she agreed to be his mistress.
That would certainly put a damper on any relationship with any lady he wished to court. Out of respect, he’d deliberately surrendered his mistress when he’d begun courting Araminta.
He needed to beat up a punching bag.
Bell wasaware of Rainford glowering in her direction. She was also aware of his reputation as an undemonstrative ice king, and that she was the only subject for his scowls. She actually basked in his attention. She’d developed all sorts of perversities since moving to Castle Yates—or perhaps the castle offered opportunities she’d never experienced before.
When the marquess’s friend joined her on the settee to discuss investments, she almost laughed in delight. Rainford had sent the poor man to her. Sir Harrison was a pleasant man with a boyish round face and a superficial knowledge of finance superior to her own. She only understood pounds and shillings.
But she agreed with his statements, asked questions where she could, and he seemed pleased. She did need to learn intelligent conversation, she supposed, if she meant to dine frequently with this family.
It was only when a young widow stopped to speak with Rainford that Bell understood the fallacy of that particular dream for the future. Rainford must marry. His wife would not necessarily welcome her to his table.
She needed her own life.
Teddy entered the drawing room with his latest conquest, a wraith of a woman draped in gauzy shawls and filmy fabrics lacking appropriate undergarments. He steered her over to Bell.
“I’ve been telling Lady Pamela of your vision. She’s interested in ghosts, says one has haunted her all her life, ain’t that right, my dear?”
Bell recalled being told the woman was an actress, the daughter of a bankrupt earl, although the last part may have been exaggerated. But she’d been assured Lady Pamela was so famous that she was accepted in all drawing rooms.
“A weeping woman,” the actress said in a faint voice that would never carry a theater. “It is most distressing. Sometimes, I weep with her.”
“As one must,” Bell murmured solemnly.
“You are so sympathetic, my lady! Those of us sensitive to the other side must weep for the long forgotten. Teddy, my dear, would you fetch me a small glass of wine?”
“You mean ratafia?” Teddy looked perplexed at the request. Ladies did not generally drink anything stronger before dinner.
His lady wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Champagne, Chablis, something French, preferably.”
Hiding a smile, Bell rose. “I’ll find some.” Any excuse to escape. Teddy’s artistic instincts did not lead to wise choices of companions.
She knew how to quietly order servants to do a guest’s bidding. She might be unprepossessing. She might prefer sitting down for fear of keeling over. But she’d run her own estate for years. Guests were simple.
Glowering hosts, not so much. Even though Rainford was working his way around the room, politely speaking with everyone—she could feel his gaze following her.
