Caricature of a Countess

by Melissa Soulliere

Genres: Historical Romance; Regency Romance

Synopsis

He’s drawn to her. She’s drawing him.

Miss Stella Denton is determined to make her mark on the world—in pen and ink. Under the pseudonym Mr. E. Starr, she captures the absurdities of the ton in print for all to see. A heated encounter with Daniel, the Earl of Beechingstoke leaves her breathless... and betrothed.

After years of working to reestablish the Beechingstoke name, Daniel cannot abide even a hint of scandal. To cut off his notorious heir, Daniel enlists the help of friends and family to find him the perfect bride and fast. When they suggest he marry Stella, he doesn’t know if it’s the worst idea, or the best.

A hasty marriage, fuelled by passion, burns bright between Stella and Daniel. Yet their love is at risk of fizzling out unless they learn to trust one another before their secrets and scandals are revealed.

Release date: April 28, 2021

Publisher: Melissa Sawyer

Print pages: 190

Content advisory: mention of assult (off page), mention of death of a mother and child (off page)

Sample

As he walked up the steps to Lord and Lady Winslow’s house, Daniel reminded himself for the third time, he never broke promises. Ever. And Iris, that crafty cousin of his, had caught him in a promise, curse her.

He handed his card, hat, and gloves to the footman at the door. The clock chimed the quarter hour. Perfect, he was late. Daniel stifled the urge to take back his hat and gloves and leave before going further into the house. Promise or no promise.

“This way, my lord.” The footman’s directive ended any hope of escape.

They crossed the hall and continued down the corridor towards the back of the house. Excited chatter and laughter echoed off of the polished marble floors, growing louder with every step. The footman handed his card to the butler.

“The earl of Beechingstoke.”

Chatter dimmed, and the weight of dozens of eyes pressed upon Daniel. He straightened his shoulders and entered the room, searching for a friendly face in a sea of sharp-clawed mothers and their eligible daughters.

Where the devil was Iris? A thought caused a sheen to break on his forehead. What if she tricked him and wasn’t even here? Oh lord, was it too late to escape?

“Beechingstoke, darling!”

Too late. The crowd parted as an elegant silver-haired lady in a fashionable primrose gown walked towards him. Daniel took comfort in the friendly call of his hostess. He caught her proffered gloved hand and bowed over it.

“Good afternoon, Lady Winslow. May I say, you are the loveliest thing in this room.”

With her free hand, Lady Winslow flicked open her fan and laughed. “You’d best not let the others hear that, Beechingstoke. Artists are temperamental creatures. Belittle their work at your peril.”

Daniel followed his hostess’s fan. Around him, landscapes, portraits, and other artwork of all sizes lined the walls of the room. People mingled around statues of animals, busts, and figures standing on pedestals. Good lord, it was as bad as the Royal Academy Exhibition. Was he expected to spend his afternoon admiring the dabbling of aristocrats who believed that their works were masterpieces, or their protégés who were just as bad, if not worse?

Cousin or not, he was going to kill Iris for forcing him to attend.

“There you are!” Speak of the devil. Iris, his maddening cousin, pushed her way through the crowd towards him, her exquisite blue dress fluttering in her wake. She may have been short in stature, but her commanding presence and the ridiculous blue peacock feathers poking out of her brown locks bounced and made her easier to track.

“Good afternoon, Lady Redwick.” Daniel kissed his cousin’s cheek.

She huffed. “You’re late, Beech.”

“It’s almost as if he chose to skulk in, show his face to us, and leave,” Lady Winslow drawled.

Daniel cleared his throat. Was he that transparent? “Well, I made a promise to attend, and here I am.”

Lady Winslow reached up and patted Daniel on the cheek as if he was a lad of eight instead of eight-and-twenty. “You’re humouring me, but I’ll allow it.”

The moment their hostess dismissed them, Iris threaded her arm into his and moved him across the room.

“You must see this painting.”

Daniel cocked a brow. Her tone was unnaturally loud, even for Iris. He started to speak, but she squeezed his arm, and he snapped his mouth shut. Evidently whatever they were to discuss would have to wait until they had a pretence of privacy. In this room, it was nigh on possible.

She led him to a smaller chamber at the opposite end of the hall, stuffed with more paintings than people. This art must lack wealthy patrons or be truly atrocious if they were banished to a side room.

“Alton’s been at it again.”

Daniel strained to hear her quiet tone, unaware Iris could talk so softly.

“What did he do this time? Gambling debts?” Daniel’s third cousin and current heir, Randolph Alton, was nothing but lazy and indolent.

The sway of the blue feather as Iris shook her head almost poked Daniel in the eye. “It’s much worse. He played false with a gentleman’s daughter.”

Daniel’s fists clenched. He abhorred those who preyed on women and then walked away once they’d had their amusements. “How is the lady? What has become of her?”

“I’ve seen to her welfare and that of the babe.”

Daniel exhaled. Iris, he knew, was involved in a charity that created safe havens for women who had nowhere else to go. Daniel provided her with whatever funds she requested.

“I’ll have my man of business look into Alton and see how we can set him straight.” The last thing Daniel needed was another scandal attached to the Beechingstoke name.

“That’s all I ask.” Iris patted Daniel’s arm, then froze. A frown flickered across her face as something behind him caught her eye. “Oh. Excuse me, Beech. There’s someone I must speak with.”

Alone again, Daniel shook his head and stepped back to survey his surroundings.

What the room lacked in people, it made up for in art. Paintings and drawings filled every square inch so that it was difficult to determine the colour of the walls beneath the pieces. There were large portraits, vast landscapes, and miniature pictures, all competing for the viewer’s regard. It was overwhelming. Daniel craved the sedate and orderly gallery at his estate. At least in his gallery, he could examine every painting without the others begging for his attention.

His gaze roamed desperately for something of substance to catch his eye. He had no desire to return to the larger, crowded hall, and it was still too soon to leave.

A pencil sketch inserted in a corner, almost as if it was placed there solely because it fit, captured his attention.

He sauntered across the room to get a better look. The sketch was of a young mother and baby. The mother was in profile to the artist, her hand curled protectively around her baby. In her other hand, she held a rattle. The baby’s chubby fists were outstretched, reaching for the toy.

He smiled, memories floating to the surface of his mind of Iris holding one of her children in a similar position. What was something as exquisite as this doing in this room, without a place of prominence? Daniel shook his head. There was no accounting for taste.

The sound of a familiar feminine laugh in the outer chambers caught his interest. Iris rarely laughed with such gusto in public. Curious, Daniel had one last look at the sketch before seeking out his cousin. What could be so funny that she forgot herself?

Between the statues, full walls, and crush of people, Daniel struggled to maintain his composure. Glimpsing a blue feather, Daniel skirted around the edge of the room, practically knocking over a sculpture on a pedestal in his effort to find Iris.

He set the sculpture to rights, grateful that it wasn’t broken, lest he be forced to purchase the ugly object, but his cousin had disappeared again. He scanned the hall, his gaze pausing on Iris before landing on a lady beside her. His breath hitched.

She was the loveliest woman he’d ever seen. A riot of russet hair was tamed with hair pins and ribbons into a semblance of respectability. Several curls danced on her nape where the skin met the top of a pale blue gown. She stood beside his cousin, slightly taller than Iris. She’d fit just under his chin.

The lady smiled at something as her gaze found his. The world melted away, sounds of debates and laughter drowned out by the pounding of his heart in his ears. Daniel took a step forward, then another. He was halfway towards her before he was aware he’d even moved.

“Beech!” Iris’s happy call tore Daniel’s gaze from the lady. What spell had she cast upon him? His cheeks heated. Good god, was he blushing like a school boy?

“Come meet a dear friend.” Iris gestured between them. “Lord Beechingstoke, may I present Miss Denton, the daughter of Viscount Lynd. Miss Denton, my cousin, the Earl of Beechingstoke.”

Daniel bent over the offered hand. “A pleasure, Miss Denton.”

“Is it?” A grin teased at her lips. “You certainly didn’t think so the last time we met.”

Daniel’s smile faltered. He searched his memory. When would he have met this glorious woman? “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”

“The Griffins’ wedding breakfast.” She waited expectantly.

Griffin was his best friend, and Daniel had stood up with him at the wedding three years prior. It was a small wedding breakfast, primarily made up of family and close neighbours. There were several young misses present. Griffin had insisted Daniel dance with them all.

Recognition dawned on Daniel. He’d just finished dancing with the new Mrs. Griffin and went to fetch her a drink. A young chit scarcely out of the schoolroom had collided with him, and the punch she carried had spilled all over the two of them. “You’re the one who spilled punch all over me.”

She bristled. “I did not! You bumped into me.”

“You ought to have been more careful.”

“And you ought to have watched where you were going.”

Iris cleared her throat.

Daniel looked up to find several people were watching them. His ears burned. It was bad enough that he was here, but he abhorred drawing attention to himself. He offered the ladies each an arm. “I’m certain there’s something you wanted me to see, dear cousin…”

Iris tucked her arm in his. Miss Denton hesitated. Her eyes met his. Her lips pressed firmly together, she looped her arm into his with as little contact as possible.

Daniel listened with half an ear as Iris pointed out several pictures she thought were worth a notice. They then ambled back into the smaller chamber. Miss Denton dropped his arm the moment the crowds thinned. She clasped her hands behind her back and went to study the paintings.

“Ah, this is the one I admire.” Iris pointed at the mother and baby sketch Daniel had admired earlier.

He smiled. “As did I. It is charming, unlike that one.” He waved a dismissive hand at the portrait of the lady staring off into the distance, a single rose with sharp thorns pinched precariously between two fingers. “It’s sentimental rubbish. The lady clearly needs to be more cautious of her attire and the flower. She’ll cut herself on the thorns.”

“Or perhaps it’s a warning of how precarious a woman’s value is in our society.” Miss Denton huffed.

Daniel gaped. Did Miss Denton just discuss a woman’s virtue with him, a stranger? What an odd creature. “You shock me with such a speech, madam! I don’t know how you can see that.”

“It’s clear, Beech.” Iris swept a hand at the composition. “The flower has both beauty and danger. She’s struggling to keep hold of her beauty, her reputation, but if she’s not vigilant, the thorns will cut her. Just like society will cut any lady who dares not satisfy their high standards.”

“Iris, you’re bamming me.” Daniel shook his head. “It’s just a woman and a flower. The artist wants you to think more so that he’ll drive up the value.”

Iris clucked her tongue. “Beech, dear, that’s rude.”

“No, it’s not.” He warmed to his subject. “These artists need to find a patron and make a living. Some poor fool will overhear your commentary and snap the painting up at an inflated cost. I bet the painter, whoever he is, is rubbing his hands with glee, anticipating the sale. It doubtless has a ridiculous title, too.”

Daniel stepped forward, determined to make his point to the ladies and read aloud the painting’s title. “A Rose among Thorns, by S. Denton.”

Iris drew in a sharp breath. Daniel stepped back from the painting to regard his cousin. Her features paled, unlike the firm set of her companion’s jaw, Miss Denton.

“Oh, I say. I hope this isn’t a relative, is it, Miss Denton?” Daniel rubbed the hairs that picked up on the back of his neck.

“No, my lord. S. Denton isn’t a relation.” Her beautiful brown eyes narrowed at him.

“Well, that’s good…”

“I am S. Denton.” She gestured from the painting and back to herself. “This is my work. As is the sketch you and Lady Redwick were admiring.”

Oh, bloody hell. Now he’d gone and done it.

Daniel cleared his throat. Heat rose up his neck, and he suspected he was blushing like a schoolboy awaiting punishment from his governess. “Miss Denton, I…”

She raised a hand, cutting off his apology. “No need to apologize, my lord. It’s evident you don’t understand art.”

Daniel bristled at the disdain in her tone. “Who is to say someone is an expert at art? Just because you can paint doesn’t make you an expert on art.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Daniel knew he’d gone too far. He stepped back. Horror and bile filled his throat. How could he suggest such things to a gentlewoman? He cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon, madam. That was most uncivil of me. You are more of an authority of art than I am. Please accept my most sincere apologies.”

Her colour high, Miss Denton refused to look at him. She focused her attention on Iris. “If you’ll pardon me, my lady. I am feeling unwell and I wish to find my party and return home.”

“Of course,” Iris muttered, glaring at Daniel. “Shall I escort you to your mother before I beat my cousin?”

A laugh escaped Miss Denton’s lips, and her shoulders eased. “No, I shall leave at once so you can commence your beating. Good day, my lady.”

They watched her leave the room.

“Do I need to send you back to the nursery, Beech?” Iris hissed.

Daniel rubbed his face and sighed. “I doubt it will do me any good.”

#

The contents of the drawer shifted and clattered as Stella yanked at it with such force she nearly pulled it off of its rail. She rummaged through its contents, pulling out a penknife, ponte-crayons, and pencils.

She sat on a stool at the mahogany drawing board, a large masculine desk that looked out of place in her otherwise feminine room. Stella adjusted the angle of the writing surface, running her hand across the smooth leather, removing anything that would mar the paper she laid atop the desk. She set her materials to her right on the ledge that extended from the right drawer.

A sharpened pencil in hand, Stella sketched several shapes. Slowly, the light lines of ovals, circles, and triangles altered, changing from shapes to a forehead, eyes, and lips. Strong masculine features escaped her pencil, settling themselves on to the page.

With a huff of air, Stella set the sheet aside and drew out a fresh one, the previous form being too elegant. It wasn’t the man himself she sought to capture, but his character.

Her next attempt was better. A lip twisted into a supercilious sneer below an exaggerated nose. The rest of the man was too strong, too handsome, too…

“Drat!”

Her pencil danced across the work surface before rolling to a stop beside an inkwell. Stella sat back on the stool and crossed her arms, surveying the drawing with a critical eye.

A sardonic Lord Beechingstoke smirked back at her.

“He must have made quite the impression on you.”

Stella jumped, her hand clutching her chest. She took a deep breath to steady her racing pulse. “Must you sneak up on a person, Laurette?”

“It’s not sneaking when one is expected.” The door hinges of the clothes press creaked as Laurette, her maid, opened the door. “Are you wearing your pink or your green dress to dinner?”

A quick glance at the clock had Stella scrambling to tidy her desk. She’d been drawing longer than expected.

“I’ll wear the green.” Stella surveyed her pencil-smudged hands with a frown. She crossed the room to the pitcher and basin of water. The scent of lavender and roses teased her senses as she worked up a lather to remove all traces of her activities.

“Who is he?”

“The earl of Beechingstoke.” Stella immersed her hands in the water and closed her eyes. If only she could wash away her encounter with him the same way. “He’s someone worth drawing.”