How I Met My Countess Read Free Page A

consequences.”
    So is standing about mooning over the Earl of Clifton, Lucy wanted to add. Instead, she said, “Please, Mrs. Clapp, stay where you are. I’ll have this matter sorted out forthwith.” She shot an apologetic look at the man before her.
    Her Gilby.
    The Earl of Clifton, she corrected herself. Never again her dearest Gilby. Hadn’t she given up on that foolish dream years ago? Hardly thought of him at all.
    Well, not if once a day wasn’t often.
    “I’m afraid I must—”
    “Yes, yes, you must see to your employer,” he said, taking a glance back at the carriage and coming to all the wrong conclusions. Of course he thought her poor, and thought that now that she had no one left, she must make do in the world on her own.
    Goosie, men like him never look at girls like you. Not in the way you fancy, her father’s warning echoed up from the past.
    The earl smiled politely at her. “I am heartened to see you well placed, Miss Ellyson.”
    Not Lucy. Not his Goosie. But Miss Ellyson.
    She planted her feet firmly on the steps to keep her boot from connecting with his shin.
    “If you ever have need of anything, you or Thomas-William,” he continued, “please do not hesitate to contact me. I owe a great debt to your father.”
    Not to her. To her father. Lucy pressed her lips together, the old hurt threatening to do something worse than causing a scene by booting him off the steps like a vagrant.
    No, definitely worse than that. Like making a regular watering pot out of her. Right here on Brook Street. In front of a good part of Mayfair.
    With that, he took her hand and shook it quickly. Then, just as hastily, he let it go, before tipping his hat slightly to Thomas-William and crossing the street to where a lad stood holding the reins of a great black horse.
    As he strode away, in that commanding pace of his, Lucy tried to breathe. Tried to still her racing heart.
    Call him back, Lucy. Tell him the truth. Set him straight. Tell him who you are. A widow. A marchioness, even. A real lady, worthy of being his …
    And then what? Watch him take everything else she loved away? Have him rip into pieces what was left of her heart? Besides, the nobleman who had just turned his back to her was more a stranger than the man she’d once known.
    Her hero. Her Gilby.
    Bah! He was, as her father had always said, one of them .
    The earl tossed a coin to the boy, got up on his horse in one smooth motion and rode down the street without taking a single glance back at her. Which was good, because before he was even halfway down the block, the door to her carriage opened up and a small figure tumbled out.
    “Lucy, who was that?” the six-year-old lad asked, as he made his way to her side and took her hand in his small one.
    Her other scandal. Her beloved little Mickey.
    She squeezed his fingers. “An old friend.”
    “Is he a toff?” the boy asked.
    “Mickey, you know how I feel about using such language! You sound like a coachman.”
    The boy set his jaws together, for she knew he thought growing up to be a coachman a far better thing than being a gentleman. “Well, is he?”
    “Yes,” she replied, trying to keep the sigh out of her voice.
    “A lofty one?”
    “Yes, an earl. Actually he’s a hero, Mickey. He helped Wellington in Spain.”
    “One of Papa Ellyson’s gentlemen?” Mickey asked, glancing back at the departing man with awe.
    “Yes,” she said. “Yes, he was.”
    “And he was your friend?” he asked, not quite believing her.
    “Yes.”
    “Is he still a friend?” Mickey sounded hopeful, for he was forever pestering the Duke of Hollindrake for stories of Spain, and now, perhaps, here was another man to regale him with tales of outwitting Napoleon and battles hard fought.
    “I fear not,” she told him.
    “Too bad,” the boy said, kicking at a loose stone on the cobbles. “That’s a fine piece of cattle he’s riding. And I rather liked the cut of his jib.”
    She didn’t correct his speech