less cheerful?’ his friend muttered sourly. ‘I do believe I am feeling a little delicate this morning.’
‘A self-inflicted delicacy!’ The two men had done the rounds of the drinking and gambling clubs yesterday evening—Sebastian had won, Gray had not—after which his friend had left to spend several hours in the bed of his current mistress, before returning to his home in the not-so-early hours.
‘You are in disgustingly good humour this morning, Seb.’ Gray gave another wince. ‘Have you taken a new mistress to replace Lady Hawtry?’
‘Not yet.’ Sebastian grinned wolfishly. ‘But I intend doing so in the next two weeks.’
‘Oh, I say!’ Gray’s interest quickened. ‘I hope you are not intending to try your luck with Dolly Bancroft during your stay at Banford Park? I warn you, next to your brother Lucian and yourself, Bancroft is the best swordsman in England!’
‘You may rest easy concerning both my interest in Dolly’s bedchamber and Bancroft’s prowess with the sword,’ Sebastian assured him dryly. ‘Dolly and I are no more than friends and never will be.’ Especially now that he knew Dolly had been bedded by both his brothers!
Gray arched a dark brow. ‘But you admit there is a lady involved in our uncharacteristic behaviour in attending a summer house party?’
‘Of course,’ Sebastian drawled, but he had no intention of sharing his particular interest in bedding the newly widowed Countess of Crestwood.
‘Tell me I do not see the parson’s mousetrap snapping at your booted heels …’ Gray mocked.
Sebastian gave a humourless laugh. ‘You most assuredly do not.’ He was even more determined to avoid that state after seeing both his brothers succumb over the last year.
‘I must say neither of your brothers seems to mind it so much.’ Gray’s thoughts travelled the same path. ‘I am not sure that I should mind, either, if I had one of their wives for my own!’
‘In that case, feel free to find your own wife, Gray,’ Sebastian jeered. ‘But for goodness’ sake, do not attempt to find one for me.’ His interest in any woman, Juliet Boyd included, did not include marriage!
‘Yes, Sebastian, she has arrived.’ Dolly answered his silent question once the greetings were over and Gray had departed to the library to share a glass of reviving brandy with his host. ‘She has asked for tea in her bedchamber, however, and has every intention of staying there until it is time to come down for dinner. But I have given you adjoining bedchambers. The balconies of your rooms are connected also,’ she confided warmly.
Sebastian smiled his satisfaction with the arrangement. ‘I trust I will be seated next to her at dinner too?’
‘Sebastian, I am not sure your interest in the Countess is altogether wise …’ Dolly suddenly looked troubled.
‘If it were “wise”, Dolly, I doubt I should wish to pursue it!’ he teased. ‘Now, if I have your permission, I believe I would like to retire to my own bedchamber and rest a little before dinner.’
‘Rest?’ His hostess’s brow arched speculatively.
‘I assure you I have no intention of intruding upon the privacy of the lady before we have even been formally introduced,’ he pointed out.
‘That will come later, one assumes?’ Dolly teased.
‘Hopefully, yes,’ Sebastian murmured.
There had been many rumours circulating about the Countess of Crestwood since her husband’s sudden death—most of them unpleasant, to say the least. But none of them had even hinted at her ever being involved in a liaison with another man, either before or during her marriage. Or, indeed, since her marriage had ended ….
So Sebastian spent the hours before dinner resting in his bedchamber, all the time aware that the beautiful but elusive Juliet Boyd was in the room adjoining his. All was silent behind the closed lace curtains at the windows, however, and the French doors into her bedchamber from the balcony remained firmly shut against the warmth of the day.
But she had accepted the invitation, as Dolly had said she would. And Juliet could not remain in her bedchamber for the whole of her stay here ….
Juliet had never felt so nervous as she stood hesitantly in the cavernous hallway of Banford Park, delaying her entrance into the drawing room, where the other guests of the Countess and Earl of Banford could be heard chattering and laughing together as they gathered before dinner.
Dolly Bancroft had been very welcoming upon Juliet’s arrival that afternoon. William Bancroft had been equally charming.
No, it was not her host and hostess’s lack of welcome that Juliet feared, but the reactions of their other guests, once they realised that Juliet Boyd, Countess of Crestwood, was amongst their number. For Dolly’s sake, Juliet sincerely hoped that none of those guests decided to depart once they realised they were to share their stay here with the ‘Black Widow’, as Juliet was all too aware she had been cruelly labelled after her husband’s death.
She should not have agreed to come here, Juliet told herself, for what had to be the hundredth time since accepting the invitation. Much as she might have wanted to give Helena a little treat after their long period of enforced mourning, Juliet knew she should not have allowed herself to be persuaded into believing that these two weeks at Banford Park was the means by which to do it.
Perhaps she would have felt differently if she had been able to have the fiercely protective Helena at her side. Instead Helena had done as she had said she would, and accompanied Juliet as her maid—a role her cousin seemed to be enjoying immensely. She had cheerfully left Juliet’s bedchamber a few minutes ago, after first dressing her hair and helping her into her gown, to go upstairs and gossip with the other maids.
‘Will you allow me the honour of escorting you into the drawing room, Lady Boyd?’
Juliet turned sharply, relaxing slightly when she saw that it was her host who stood solicitously beside her, proffering his arm. A tall and handsome man in his fifties, who now looked down at her with shrewd hazel eyes, the Earl reminded Juliet very much of her father.
‘I was just admiring this portrait.’ Juliet glanced up at the painting upon the wall which she had, in truth, only just noticed.
‘My great-grandfather—the seventh Earl of Banford.’ The Earl nodded. ‘A singularly ugly man, was he not?’ he drawled disparagingly.
Juliet could not help the chuckle that escaped her lips; the seventh Earl had indeed been a very unattractive man!
‘Shall we …?’ His great-grandson, the tenth earl, offered her his arm a second time.
‘Thank you,’ Juliet accepted shyly, and placed her gloved hand on top of that arm.
She had chosen to wear a fashionably high-waisted gown of dark grey silk this evening, with only the barest hint of Brussels lace at her bosom and around the edges of the short puffed sleeves. A row of pearls was entwined amongst her dark curls, her only other jewellery matching ear-bobs and the plain gold wedding band on her left hand.
Juliet would have liked to remove even this symbol of Edward’s ownership of her, but knew that would only add to the
