Rosemary
Morris’s most recent novel The Captain and the Countess has received 5* reviews
and is available as an e-book for 77p from www.amazon.co.uk and for $0.99
from https://museituppublishing.com until midnight
on the 17th August.
Exract fromThe
Captain and The Countess
London 1706
Edward,
the Right Honourable Captain Howard, dressed in blue and white, which some of
the officers in Queen Anne’s navy favoured, strode into Mrs Radcliffe’s
spacious house near St James Park.
Perkins, his godmother’s butler, took his
hat and cloak. “Madam wants you to join her immediately.”
Instead of going
upstairs to the rooms his godmother had provided for him during his spell on
half pay—the result of a dispute with a senior officer—Edward entered the
salon. He sighed. When would his sixty-one year old godmother accept that at
the age of twenty-two he was not yet ready to wed?
He made his way across
the elegant, many windowed room through a crowd of expensively garbed callers.
When Frances Radcliffe
noticed him, she turned to the pretty young lady seated beside her. “Mistress
Martyn, allow me to introduce you to my godson, Captain Howard.”
Blushes stained Mistress
Martyn’s cheeks as she stood to make her curtsey.
Edward bowed, indifferent to yet another of
his grandmother’s protégées. Conversation ceased. All eyes focussed on the
threshold.
“Lady Sinclair,” someone
murmured.
Edward turned. He gazed
without blinking at the acclaimed beauty, whose sobriquet was ‘The Fatal
Widow’.
The countess remained in
the doorway, her cool blue eyes speculative.
Edward whistled low.
Could her shocking reputation be no more than tittle-tattle? His artist’s eyes observed
her. Rumour did not lie about her Saxon beauty.
Her ladyship was not a slave to fashion. She
did not wear a wig, and her hair was not curled and stiffened with sugar water.
Instead, her flaxen plaits were wound around the crown of her head to form a
coronet. The style suited her. So did the latest Paris fashion, an outrageous wisp of a lace
cap, which replaced the tall, fan-shaped fontage most ladies continued to wear
perched on their heads.
Did the countess have
the devil-may-care attitude gossips attributed to her? If she did, it explained why some respectable
members of society shunned her. Indeed, if Lady Sinclair were not the
granddaughter of his godmother’s deceased friend, she might not be received in
this house.
The lady’s fair charms
did not entirely explain what drew many gallants to her side. After all, there
were several younger beauties present that the gentlemen did not flock around
so avidly.
He advanced toward the
countess, conscious of the sound of his footsteps on the wooden floor, the
muted noise of coaches and drays through the closed windows and, from the
fireplace, the crackle of burning logs which relieved the chill of early
spring.
The buzz of conversation
resumed. Her ladyship scrutinised him. Did she approve of his appearance? A
smile curved her heart-shaped mouth. He repressed his amusement. Edward
suspected the widow’s rosy lips owed more to artifice than nature.
“How do you do, sir,”
she said when he stood before her. “I think we have not met previously. Her
eyes assessed him dispassionately. My name is Sinclair, Katherine Sinclair. I
dislike formality. You may call me Kate.”
“Captain Howard at your
service, Countess.” Shocked but amused by boldness more suited to a tavern
wench than a great lady, Edward paid homage with a low bow before he spoke
again. “Despite your permission, I am not presumptuous enough to call you Kate,
yet I shall say that had we already met, I would remember you.”
“You are gallant, sir,
but you are young to have achieved so high a rank in Her Majesty’s navy.”
“An unexpected promotion
earned in battle which the navy did not subsequently commute.”
“You are to be
congratulated on what, I can only assume, were acts of bravery.”
“Thank you, Countess.”
The depths of her
ladyship’s sapphire cross and earrings blazed, matching his sudden fierce
desire.
Kate, some four inches
shorter than Edward, looked up at him.
He leaned forward. The
customary greeting of a kiss on her lips lingered longer than etiquette
dictated. Her eyes widened before she permitted him to lead her across the room
to the sopha on which his godmother sat with Mistress Martyn.
With a hint of amusement
in her eyes, Kate regarded Mrs Radcliffe. “My apologies, madam, I suspect my
visit is untimely.”
Her melodious voice sent
shivers up and down his spine, nevertheless, Edward laughed. Had the countess
guessed his godmother, who enjoyed match-making, wanted him to marry Mistress
Martyn? No, he was being too fanciful. How could she have guessed?
“You are most welcome,
Lady Sinclair. Please take a seat and
partake of a glass of cherry ratafia.” Frances said.
“Perhaps, milady prefers red viana,”
Edward suggested
“Captain, you read my
mind, sweet wine is not to my taste.”
In response to the
lady’s provocative smile, heat seared his cheeks.
Kate smoothed the
gleaming folds of her turquoise blue silk gown. The lady knew how to dress to
make the utmost of her natural beauty. Her gown and petticoat, not to mention
sleeves and under-sleeves, as well as her bodice and stays, relied for effect
on simple design and fine fabrics. He approved of her ensemble, the elegance of
which did not depend on either a riot of colours or a multitude of bows and
other trimmings. Later, he would sketch her from memory.
Kate inclined her head
to his godmother. “Will you not warn your godson I am unsound, wild, and a bad
influence on the young?”
Edward gazed into Kate’s
eyes. Before his demise, had her husband
banished her to a manor deep in the country? If it was true, why did he do so?
Kate’s eyebrows slanted
down at the inner corners. She stared back at him. He laughed, raised her hands to his lips and
kissed each in turn. “I look forward to furthering my acquaintance with you.”
“High-handed.” Kate
gurgled with laughter. “Captain, please release me.”
What did he care if she were some ten years
his elder? He wanted to get to know her better. Edward bowed. “Your slightest
wish is my command.”
A frozen glimpse of despair in her eyes
unsettled Edward. Did he imagine it? He could not speak. Why should a lady like
the countess despair?
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