Courting the Countess by Barbara Pierce

conscience.
    “Who do you wish to paint?” she asked, her earlier spirit subdued by his snub.
    Mallory gritted his teeth. Hurting her had not been part of the plan. Perhaps he did want to unsettle her a little, but he was not cruel. “Miss Hamblin. With your permission, naturally,” he said to the earl.
    “Well, Cousin, I see no reason to deny Mr. Claeg his muse. My sister will be departing with the dowager, so you will have a few days to indulge in your craft. What is your opinion, Lady A’Court?”
    “I believe your sister will be extremely flattered, since she admires Mr. Claeg’s … uh, talent,” she said, being diplomatic. “Even her departure for London in a few days will not be a hindrance, since Mr. Claeg had plans to return once his work here was concluded. There is nothing keeping you here, is there, sir?”
    He could not interpret her expression, but he wagered he would have hated her private thoughts. Instead of showing
envy or anger, the damn woman was just letting him go without a fight. Her emotions were muted, just like her dress and the boring life she had set up for herself. He wanted to shake her for that apathy.
    Mallory willed her to look him in the eyes. “You have it right, Countess. I will return to town once I have finished my work.”
    “That is what I thought.” She offered the earl her arm. “Let us go share the good news with the others.”
    Lord A’Court stilled. The hope brimming in his boyish face had Mallory tensing. “Does this mean—are you by chance giving your consent?”
    The earl’s anticipation shattered the mask of calm she had donned. She bowed her head. “I was referring to your sister’s good fortune, my lord. As for the other, you spoke of giving me time. If you cannot, I—”
    “No, no,” the man hastily cut off her refusal. “I was being thoughtless. Forgive me, dearest.”
    “Oh, Ham, so am I,” she said, her face poignant with regret. “If you both will excuse me.” The countess separated from the earl. Picking up her skirts, she ran toward the house.
    Watching her run away, Mallory figured both he and A’Court were at fault. He knew why he was feeling lousy, but he was very curious about Lord A’Court’s question. “I assume there was more news.”
    They continued in her wake, not making any effort to catch up to her. Mallory sensed the earl was deciding how much he should reveal. “The family wants her to return to London. She is … stubborn.”
    Yes, indeed. One could see it in her stance and the way she lifted her chin. She had not always been strong, so what she had become after her grief waned was all the more remarkable. Though one thing was certain: the countess was not about to let another man rule over her. Mallory was not about to presume that he understood the logic of the feminine
mind, but he had figured out that the past was tied to London. She had snipped those threads, and the decision had held for two years. With everyone clamoring for her to change her mind, the next few weeks were going to be interesting.
    “The countess has a rather fierce opinion about not returning to town. Why are you convinced you can succeed where her mother has failed?”
    “Her fears are groundless and I can prove it if she would just allow me the chance. As my bride—”
    “Bride,” Mallory silkily echoed. “She has accepted your proposal?” His intuition told him it was not true, but it seemed fair to hear A’Court’s denial before he murdered the man. How dare the man propose marriage to his soon-to-be mistress!
    “No.” He scrunched his face in disgust. “She was not ready to hear my declaration. In my haste, I had forgotten how fragile she is. I hate to speak ill of family, but my cousin Lyon was not a patient man. Anyone could see that his marriage to Lord Lanston’s daughter was destined to be an unhappy one. Her youth and effervescence were contrary to the exacting, somber nature of my older cousin. It was clear that she adored