Counterfeit Countess by Lynne Connolly Page A

that damned carpet bag in her powder room. She still appeared skittish. She needed settling. He smiled when he thought of the best way of doing that. He didn’t want her disappearing overnight.
    “My lord?”
    So lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard his valet come in, he nearly dropped the brush he’d just picked up. Kelly swanned 78 | Lynne Connolly
    forward, elegant as if he’d never seen more than a speck of blood in his life, and took the item from his fingers. He’d watched the man efficiently skin a bear in less than ten minutes, but nobody would believe that if he told them now. “I beg your pardon, I didn’t intend to disturb you. I wondered if you required any help dressing.”
    “Kelly, don’t ‘my lord’ me in private, if you would.” They’d love Kelly’s gentle Canadian accent below stairs. It would probably gain him a host of female admirers. Although just the wrong side of forty, Kelly was an upright man with a severe classical appearance that begged a woman to thaw him out. John had reason to know that his valet had great success with women. He’d had to smooth over the problems when two maids had come to blows in the kitchen over him in his house back in Halifax. That would not happen again, not if Kelly wished to remain with him, and considering his new position in society, he’d bet Kelly would prefer to do that.
    “Kelly, where would one find a lady’s maid?”
    “I know of several excellent register offices in the City, my—sir, but if sometimes the staff come from personal referrals.”
    “I have the feeling her ladyship will need one. Someone who can handle the grande toilette . She’s lived quietly up to this point and Robinson won’t be up to the standard her ladyship needs now.”
    “I see, sir. Would she know of your decision?”
    He glanced away guiltily. “Not yet. I’ll tell her later. I thought I’d better initiate enquiries.”
    “A wise move, sir. I’ll certainly put them in train for you.”
    Kelly added a polish that John couldn’t achieve on his own. In a few minutes he made the gentleman an earl in truth, and although he watched, John still didn’t know how he achieved it. He smiled his thanks and left the room in search of his wife. On the way down to dinner, he made her aware that he’d enquired for a maid for her.
    When she protested that she had Robinson, he reminded her gently that she’d be required to dress for balls and court. “An excellent COUNTERFEIT COUNTESS | 79
    lady’s maid can create the kind of show we’ll need,” he said. “Our campaign.”
    She leaned closer as they reached the landing on the first floor and turned to enter the drawing room. “It is a campaign, isn’t it?”
    “It is indeed.” He loved the way her eyes danced when she answered him, their conspiracy safe. “We’ll discuss tactics later.” He left her in no doubt of his intent.
    Irritation filled him when he saw the liveried footman waiting to throw open the drawing room door, as if incapable of doing it on his own. He decided to take stock before he changed everything.
    Considering the dowager had lost her sons, he would remember that, and allow her some leeway. Only when she crossed the line would he mention the fact. Because compassion was one thing, but he knew that if he gave her too much, she’d take it and a little extra, making it harder to regain ground. The damned footman could stay, even for family dinners, if she wanted that.
    He exchanged a glance with Faith and realised his aggravation hadn’t transmitted to her. Her eyes were brimful of mirth. Her expression forced his mood away, so it disappeared in the face of her amusement. If the footman amused her, she would have him for every meal.
    However, when they entered the drawing room, it became obvious they were not to dine en famille . A man stood to greet them, his head slightly bowed. Of moderate height, with smooth, dark hair brushed back tidily, no pretension to high fashion, and a