Counting on a Countess: The most outrageous Regency romance of 2019 that fans of Vanity Fair and Poldark will adore
the bride and groom,” Langdon said, lifting his glass. His look was practically devilish. “May the marriage be as fruitful as it is prosperous.”
Greyland and his wife lifted their own glasses and said, “To the bride and groom.”
Everyone merrily drank. Then Greyland pulled the duchess into his arms and waltzed her around the room, as Langdon tapped his foot and Tamsyn clapped her hands in time with the music.
Kit couldn’t tear his gaze from her. Despite the stressors of the day, she glowed with a radiance he’d seldom seen before, and it drew him like a wolf edging closer and closer to a welcome fire.
She was his wife now, and whatever the future held, tonight belonged to them.
The clock chimed midnight.
“Good night! Good night! Try not to make the morning newspapers!”
With these questionable words, Lord Langdon, Lord Greyland, and Lady Greyland waved Tamsyn and Lord Blakemere—Kit, she reminded herself—off as their carriage pulled away.
She’d married a man who hated lawbreakers. Good God.
Not only that, soon, she and Kit would spend their first night together. By morning, she’d no longer be a virgin.
Tamsyn tried to grasp the fact that she was now a married woman, with a wife’s duty to her husband in the home, and in bed. Everything in her life had changed. She was no longer Tamsyn Pearce, but Tamsyn Ellingsworth, the Countess of Blakemere, and inside half a day, she would be wealthy—well, her husband would be wealthy, but she’d likely be given a substantial allowance.
She had plans for that money and knew precisely what to do with it. But when it came to the mysteries of the nuptial bed, she had little experience. Men wanted to marry virgins but they preferred a courtesan in the bedchamber—or so she’d been told. Almost everything she knew about sex was relayed to her by the women of Newcombe. Fortunately, the village women were outspoken and opinionated.
Through her lowered lashes, she studied Kit. They had never been truly alone until this moment. He wasn’t an especially big man, but he was strapping and hale and irrefutably masculine. Nothing buffered the small space between them, and each breath felt shallow due to his nearness.
He filled the silence and darkness of the carriage with easy conversation.
“Greyland’s cook turned out a repast that would put Prinny’s banquets to shame,” he said idly. “I think my brother Franklin ate a dozen seed cakes. He never had to be coaxed into cleaning his plate. I wouldn’t have been surprised if his wife filled her reticule with sugared fruit. Pamela is parsimonious to the point of agony. You wouldn’t believe she stood to become a viscountess upon the passing of my father. Given the long lives enjoyed by Ellingsworth men, I can see the point of her concern.”
“They must have been proud of you today,” she replied.
He wryly quirked his lips. “Relieved of their responsibility, more like. I’m not certain if pride is quite the feeling they’ve ever had where I was concerned.” He sounded fatalistic about being dismissed by his kin, as though he never expected otherwise.
There was no affection between Tamsyn and her aunt and uncle, yet when her parents had been alive, she had been treasured and loved. She clung to memories of their care, using it to sustain herself in darker moments.
But to never have had that—as Kit seemed to—seemed lonely and cold.
“Surely they felt pride when you were given an earldom for your service,” she objected.
“They thought my role in the army was merely decorative,” he answered. “No one in my family has any idea what war is like.” The brightness around him dimmed as memories seemed to swarm behind his eyes.
“Did you fight in many battles?” There had been men in Newcombe who’d gone off to fight. Either they hadn’t returned, or many of them bore terrible injuries. Few had been willing to talk about what they’d seen. Katie Davis told Tamsyn that her husband came back without any visible scars, but he couldn’t sleep in a dark room, and often woke Katie with his nightmare-induced screams.
He shrugged. “A few.”
“You were decorated,” she recalled.
He waved that aside like an invisible insect. “They dole out medals with a liberal hand.”
His modesty intrigued her. Most men would savor the opportunity to extol their own virtues.
“You cannot say the same about your earldom,” she noted. “Not many received the same honor. Clearly, your heroics deserved approbation.”
He glanced away. “Lord Somerby was a good man. It was only because of his efforts that I was given the title.”
His unwillingness to discuss his commendations tugged at her. Was he being modest? Were his recollections too horrific to speak of? Would he ever entrust her with his memories?
She reminded herself that she couldn’t afford to have her and Kit reach that point of trust and intimacy. The more they were apart, physically and emotionally, the easier it would be for her to keep her secrets safe.
However, she wondered, perhaps Kit slept with a light burning, too. Maybe his dreams pulled him back to bloodstained battlefields. Yet she would never know, because she would never let them grow that close.
“It’s our wedding night,” he said, clapping his hands together, “and I won’t bore you with tales of the War. Let’s talk of something more pleasant. You wanted to see more of London’s amusements, and now you shall, loosened from the yoke of Lady Daleford’s aversion to frivolity. Let’s start right away with Vauxhall. Sadly, Ranelagh closed years ago, but it was said to rival Vauxhall for spectacle.”
“We had traveling fairs come through Newcombe,” she said with a smile. “There were games where we could win ribbons or toys, jugglers and acrobats, and pig races.”
“Ah, you see! You know the joy that can only be felt at such places. Though,” he added drily, “I’ve not yet experienced the bliss that is pig racing.” He reached across the narrow space of the carriage and took her ungloved hand in his. Eyes bright with humor, he added, “Perhaps someday we can share in that delight together.”
She tried to share in his droll humor, but the feel of his touch made her breath scarce and head light. With just a brush of skin against skin, her senses flew into disarray.
Having heard the blunt and earthy talk of the village women, Tamsyn understood that the first time would likely be uncomfortable or even painful. But then it got better—provided a husband was attentive enough.
The way some women back home talked, having sex was the greatest pleasure they’d ever experienced.
It would soon be hers. He would be hers.
But what if she liked sex with Kit so much she wanted him all the time? Even more alarming, how would she stand it when he left her bed to find satisfaction with another woman?
“Perhaps,” she said, trying to keep her voice sounding as light and easy as his.
He let go of her hand, yet his heat continued to linger in her flesh. “Tomorrow morning,” he said, “we’ll tour our new home. It’s temporary until we can find a permanent residence in London. The Blakemere estate in Northumberland is rather in need of attention, but you’ll have free rein to renovate and improve it.”
She wasn’t certain how to broach this important topic. Best to just say what she thought and get it over with. “Cornwall is where I’d like to spend most of my time,” she ventured. “At my family home.”
The interior of