The Countess by Catherine Coulter

shade. How odd that you are dazzling every gentleman who happens by with this

display of flesh, but you refuse your husband.”

I couldn’t let all of that just go by. There was simply just too much to ignore.

My charm slipped. I was ready to do battle. “I like to dazzle gentlemen. I

rather thought, though, that my hair would be the focal point of my presentation

this evening, not my bosom. My husband says that my hair combines more colors

than all the autumn leaves he has ever seen, all of them mixed together. He

admires my hair. All the gentlemen are sure to admire my hair as well.” I paused

a moment, then sighed. “Although, to be perfectly honest, which is sometimes

difficult, I must say that I think you have the most beautiful hair I have ever

seen. It has given me some very uncomfortable moments, what with realizing that

I am jealous of you. Well, there you have it. I do hope you enjoy yourself this

evening. Are you coming to the drawing room?”

“In a while,” she said, those beautiful eyes of hers gleaming at me.

“Oh, yes, Lady Elizabeth. I was meaning to ask you, what do you think about

Napoleon’s size? His endowment?”

I thought she would burst her seams she sucked in so much air. She stared at me

as if I had just told her that there was lint in her eyebrows, then she started

laughing. Laughing until she was crying and hiccupping as she turned away and

walked gracefully up the stairs. I could still hear her laughter when she gained

the landing and turned into the west wing.

I only wished I knew exactly how and why I had managed to fell her.

It was perhaps the twentieth ball I had attended since my coming out, but it was

the very first ball where I had been in charge, from assembling the invitation

list, to checking that all the sheets were in prime shape for fifteen sets of

guests, to the cleaning of the huge ballroom. In many cases, I was cleaning

alongside the servants, something I had grown up doing at Deerfield Hall. The

servants were beaming on the day of the ball. They were pleased with themselves,

and they were pleased with me. Brantley never beamed, but he did nod to me, in

approval, several times during the evening.

I knew I would never remember all the courses served at dinner, even though I

had spent hours on the menu, several times actually arguing with Mrs. Redbreast

and Cook with a good deal of passion, which seemed to please both of them no end.

As I watched the endless stream of platters laid with great care along the huge

long table, I was nonetheless counting. There were to be forty-two dishes in all.

There were forty-three. Goodness, how had that happened?

There were platters of baked sole, oyster patties, game pies, garnished tongue,

crimped cod, pork cutlets, it just went on and on. Between the souffle of rice

and the Nesselrode pudding, there was something to please the most fickle palate.

I was too excited to eat, nearly floating two inches off my chair.

Everyone seemed to be having a fine time. The gentlemen did not remain in the

dining room because all our other guests were arriving for the ball. Lawrence

efficiently removed them from the brandy bottles and led them to the ballroom.

By ten o’clock that night, the ballroom held at least one hundred and twenty

persons, all of them talking, laughing, drinking more champagne punch than was

good for them, flirting and gossiping. The chandeliers glittered overhead, and

the scents of the winter flowers were sweet and seductive. There were so many

jewels clasped around throats and wrists and earlobes, a thief would have

believed he had died and gone to Heaven if he could have gotten his hands on

them. So many beautiful people, and they were here because I had invited them.

Well, I suppose I must also give Lawrence some credit.

The orchestra was in fine fettle. I was tapping my foot when John lightly

touched his hand to my arm. “A waltz, Andy. I particularly like the waltz. Will

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