The Countess by Catherine Coulter

covered with flowering roses, at least they would be in the spring.

I threw George’s favorite stick across the garden, and he was off, yapping until

he realized he needed all his breath to run after that stick.

I went over and sat down on a bench that was covered with a lovely white-painted

arbor. Ivy threaded through the overhead wooden slats.

I closed my eyes and breathed in the clean chill air. The sun beat warmly down

on my face. I began to feel a bit on the achy side, effects from my fall, no

doubt. Aches I didn’t mind, but the wretched mystery with Amelia was driving me

mad. I would learn the truth. Surely Amelia had to remember more than she was

telling. The thought that everyone believed that she had simply fallen to sleep

on the floor of an empty room was ridiculous.

I opened my eyes when George hit his stick against my knee. Once he was off

again, I closed my eyes, only to be startled down to my toes by a nearby

rustling noise. After that strange experience with Amelia, I was actually ready

to scream my head off. I opened my eyes, ready to take to my heels as fast as I

could, but there was nothing mysterious or frightening there, just a pretty

young girl of perhaps eleven or twelve standing a few feet away from me. She was

small, dainty as a little princess, her hair a rich blond with just a hint of

red in it. Her eyes were a lovely combination of a light blue and a dark gray.

“He’s wonderful. Who is he?” She was pointing at George, who, with the stick

clamped firmly between his jaws, was trotting back to me.

“His name is George. He’s a Dandie Dinmont terrier. I agree with you. He’s quite

the most wonderful, most beautiful dog in all of England.”

George stopped dead in his tracks about three feet from the girl. He dropped the

stick and began wagging his tail.

“I think he likes you. What is your name?”

“Oh, I’m Judith. Who are you?”

“Did you perchance lose a lemon-yellow glove?”

“Oh, yes. Miss Gillbank has scolded me for being so careless. I don’t know where

I dropped it, though.”

“In The Blue Room. George found it and brought it to me. I’m Andy. I now live

here.”

“Why? Who are you? That is a rather odd name, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps, but it quite suits me. I’m the Countess of Devbridge. The earl and I

arrived just yesterday evening.”

“How very odd,” Judith said, fell to her knees, ignored me then, and held out a

small white hand to George.

George obligingly sniffed her fingers then took a step closer. She turned to

look at me. “May I throw his stick?”

“Certainly, if you wish.”

I watched her hurl the stick as far as she could. She was strong. That stick

nearly hit the far garden wall.

George danced on his back paws and hared off.

I watched Judith jump to her feet and applaud him. There was something vaguely

familiar about her, but I couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

“Do you visit Devbridge Manor very often?”

She turned to me. She looked puzzled. At the same time George crashed into her

with the stick in his mouth. She went down, laughing, dirtying her gown, and not

caring. She was having a fine time. I said nothing more until George had been

petted to his heart’s content and went off to find a bush.

I said again, “Have you ever visited London?”

“Oh, no. Papa said I would only go to London when I was ready to find a husband.

I can’t imagine traveling anywhere just to get a husband. Husbands are just boys

who are grown up. And you know, boys are the very devil. Do you think that

changes?”

“Probably not. Who are you visiting here?”

“I’m not visiting,” she said, cocking her head at me. “I live here.”

I had no clue what was going on here. “Who is your mama?”

The girl straightened up and then sat down next to me on the bench. She began

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