An Unconventional Countess (Regency Belles of Bath 1)

‘What for?’ Anna offered her a piece of toast, but Henrietta only looked contrite.

‘For something foolish I did a while ago. I lied to you about it, but I learnt my lesson and I’ll never do it again. I want to make something of myself, just like you.’ She took a deep breath, as if she were summoning her nerve for something. ‘And you know that my brother’s wife is having another baby? Well, it’s getting crowded at their house and I wondered whether you might let me move in here with you? I don’t mean upstairs. I could make a bed up in the kitchen every night so that I’d be here to help you bake in the mornings. If you can forgive me for lying, that is?’

‘Of course I forgive you...’ Anna smiled ‘...but I’m afraid I don’t have any spare money to pay you.’

‘You don’t have to. Just letting me stay would be enough. And I have some new ideas for the shop we could try, like taking a basket out every morning and selling biscuits outside the Pump Rooms or on Pulteney Bridge? Or inventing a new variety and making a big announcement about its arrival?’

‘Well...’ Anna looked from Henrietta to her mother and back again ‘...in that case, what can I say except yes? And no. That is, yes, you can stay here, but, no, you can’t sleep in the kitchen. You can share my room.’

‘Really?’ Henrietta hugged her so enthusiastically that Anna had to drop the toasting fork in order to avoid a painful accident. ‘Thank you. You won’t regret it, I promise.’

‘Of course we won’t.’ Her mother nodded approvingly. ‘And we’ll make the dress together. I’m sure there are still some tasks I can do.’

‘We’ll make the most beautiful dress you’ve ever set eyes on.’ Henrietta clasped her hands together dreamily. ‘It sounds just like a fairy tale. You’re going to a ball.’

‘An evening party, not a ball.’ Anna felt a fresh burst of anxiety at the thought. ‘What if someone recognises me from the shop?’

‘Then you’ll do as I do. Hold your head up high and be proud of who you are.’ Her mother tossed her curls as if to illustrate the point. ‘You’ll say that your name is Miss Annabelle Fortini, owner of a very successful confectionery business.’

‘They might say there’s a bad smell in the air.’

‘If they do, then I shall tell them what I think of them.’ Her mother’s eyes took on a martial gleam. ‘Then I’ll set Lady Jarrow on them, just for fun.’

‘I still don’t know...’ Anna bit down on her bottom lip. She wasn’t ashamed of who she was and she wasn’t really afraid of being insulted, not in the Baroness’s own house, but it all seemed so unbelievable. She was being invited back into society along with her mother. It was the opposite of anything she’d ever expected to happen, but perhaps her mother was right and she was only hurting herself by holding on to the past. Perhaps it was time to move on. And perhaps she wanted to see Captain Delaney again. Perhaps she could trust him, too?

Her heart gave a little leap at the thought.

Chapter Eleven

An evening party... Samuel groaned, his already depressed spirits sinking even lower as he descended the stairs of his grandparents’ house on the Circus. It wasn’t that he was inherently misanthropic, he reminded himself, just that he was altogether too aware of the whispers and curious glances that followed him whenever he appeared in public. As his grandmother had predicted, a number of ambitious parents had recently experienced an impulse to visit Bath before the start of the London Season, making a point of introducing him to their young and unattached daughters, all of whom expressed a profound admiration for the navy while being unable to name a single ship.

His mood that day hadn’t been helped by the receipt of two letters, one from his lawyer advising him, yet again, to visit Staunton, the other from his friend Harry Cartwright telling him, somewhat apologetically, that he’d just been awarded a new command and was preparing to sail from Plymouth. As happy as he’d been for his old comrade, to whom he’d immediately sent a letter of congratulation, Samuel still couldn’t help but feel jealous. If it hadn’t been for the whole damnable situation over his possible inheritance, then he might have been in a similar position, about to leave England on his own command, but the chances of that ever happening were receding more each day.

He’d spent most of the afternoon riding over the Downs, trying to ease the feeling of restlessness that had seemed to grow stronger over the past couple of weeks. The purposeless hours were becoming harder and harder to bear, especially when his thoughts drifted so often towards a pair of brown eyes that both entranced and infuriated him in equal measure. Since he didn’t want to waste his days with idle pursuits and there was only so much reading a man could take, he’d started trying to fill them with exercise instead, though unfortunately, today’s ride had done nothing to soothe his spirits or distract his thoughts. He couldn’t even call himself tired. He felt trapped between two lives, two paths and purposes, and there was nothing at all he could do about any of it for another month and a half but wait.

He crossed the hall with the enthusiasm of a man about to run the gauntlet. By the sound of it, most of the guests had already arrived, a hundred of them at least, all apparently talking at once. When his grandmother decided to do something, she did it properly and she was relaunching the Fortinis back into society with a vengeance. Mrs Fortini, whom he liked and admired, and Miss Fortini, whom he did not.

Strictly speaking, of course, that wasn’t true. He did like her, only her prejudiced, prickly behaviour made it impossible to enjoy her company for long. As for admiring, well, obviously it was different from the way he admired her mother. Very different, in fact, and with a very different effect. The last time he’d seen her, he’d admired her legs and that brief glimpse of thigh so much that he’d found them impossible to forget. Typical that the one woman he was interested in was also the one most likely to spurn him!

He took a deep, fortifying breath outside the drawing room and then stopped abruptly, struck by the sight of the very legs in question. They were covered up, of course, but the light from the vast candelabrum behind her outlined the contours of what he now realised was a quite spectacular body. The gown she was wearing made a striking contrast to her practical shop clothes, in periwinkle-blue and with a fashionably high waist, a low scooped neckline, short puffed sleeves and wisps of delicate lace around the hem. Her arms, meanwhile, were encased in white, tight-fitting gloves and a pair of turquoise earrings hung suspended from her ears. With her dark hair fastened into a low knot at the back of her neck, though still with corkscrew ringlets framing the sides of her face, she somehow managed to look understated, ethereal and stunningly attractive all at the same time.

What the hell had he been thinking, avoiding her company for three whole weeks?

He cleared his throat, willing himself to look away, but his eyes refused to so much as blink. In a room filled with dozens upon dozens of people, he seemed unable to focus on anyone but her. His heart was hammering so fast he actually felt slightly winded, panting with a sudden onslaught of desire.

Despite that, he was aware of a feeling of irritation, too. After everything she’d said about the aristocracy, she appeared to be deep in conversation with Augustus Lambert—a marquess, no less. Not only that, but she was actually looking him in the eye and smiling. As if she were enjoying his company! As if she weren’t determined to argue at every available opportunity! As if she could smile at a marquess but not at a potential earl!

Her gaze shifted towards him suddenly, as if she’d somehow sensed the words in his head, her lips forming a small O shape and her skin flushing a dusky and becoming shade of pink. Even the tops of her breasts appeared to be blushing, he noticed, not that he

ought to have noticed, except that somehow he couldn’t help it. He felt as if his eyes were being dragged of their own volition down to the swell of her usually covered bosom. If he hadn’t known how he wanted to spend his free time before, he certainly did now and it involved taking her straight upstairs...

‘Samuel!’ For once he was glad of his grandmother’s booming voice, bringing him back to his senses. ‘Have your feet stopped working?’

‘Apologies, Grandmother.’ He forced himself to smile, though it was hard to know what expression to adopt when his body was strung so tight. ‘I thought you said this was a party, not a squash. No doubt the evening will be declared a great success.’

‘Harumph.’ His grandmother looked disgruntled by the compliment. Her own fashion choices were the direct opposite of understatement, a vision of copper-coloured fabric, diamond jewellery and tall peacock feathers. ‘I had no idea so much work was involved. I’ve had to clear out nearly all of my furniture, pull up the carpets and spend a small fortune on food and wine. And plants!’

‘Plants?’