Counting on a Countess: The most outrageous Regency romance of 2019 that fans of Vanity Fair and Poldark will adore
know if I will ever be comfortable in this city.”
He fell into a stunned silence.
Oh, blast. They hadn’t worked out the details of where each of them would live, and now they had to tackle the logistics of how to make their marriage work. She could evade customs men while timing the tide on a moonless night, but the particulars of being married eluded her.
Finally, he said, “How about this—once you’re pregnant, you can live in Cornwall as long as you like.”
That would mean being away from Newcombe for what could be a long while. Could they manage without her? When she bought the house, she’d place Nessa in charge. At least until Tamsyn got with child.
“Ah, here we are,” Kit said eagerly, peering out the window as the carriage rolled to a stop.
The streets were utterly silent at this late hour. A chill mist obscured the sky and clung to the pavement.
A liveried footman opened the vehicle’s door and helped Tamsyn alight. Kit followed, and together they crossed the threshold of a large and elegant building.
She had a brief impression of rich fabrics and stylish furnishings in the empty lobby before a neatly dressed balding man rushed forward to meet them.
“Ah, Lord Blakemere and his new bride!” The man bowed. “I am Chapman, the night manager of our fine establishment. Welcome, my lord and lady, and felicitations. We have everything on hand to ensure you have a most pleasant night.”
“Much appreciated,” Kit answered politely, yet she could sense waves of impatience emanating from him as his gaze moved restively around the hotel entrance.
“You have a lovely establishment,” Tamsyn added.
The night manager beamed. “If you’ll follow me, I will show you to your rooms.” He waved them toward the stairs adorned with gilded railings and covered with plush deep red carpeting.
She tried to take in the details of the hotel. She’d never stayed in anything finer than an ordinary coaching inn, so to spend the night at one of London’s best hotels was a privilege she didn’t want to waste. The crystal lamps sparkled and the thick floor covering dampened the sound of her footsteps.
Kit didn’t appear to notice or care. He kept looking at her as though she was a sweetmeat he wanted to devour.
Her stomach fluttered in response.
After climbing two more sets of stairs, they at last arrived. Mr. Chapman unlocked the door and said, “We have smaller chambers nearby for your valet and maidservant. And, of course, our staff is available at all hours to accommodate your every need.”
Kit nodded distractedly, his mind clearly on something else.
Mr. Chapman opened the door and waved them inside. Kit waited as Tamsyn slowly entered, then he and the night manager followed her into the room.
It was a spacious chamber, the walls covered in floral wallpaper that surely came from France, and a row of curtained windows. A fire burned merrily in the grate, and candles had been lit in anticipation of Tamsyn and Kit’s arrival. Other furniture occupied the room, but all she saw was the substantial four-poster bed. It towered as large and looming as the Colossus of Rhodes.
Once you climb in me, it promised, there’s no going back.
“Is there anything you require?” Mr. Chapman was all solicitousness. “I can have refreshments brought up.”
“We have everything we need.” Kit hastily handed him a guinea.
“My gratitude, sir,” the night manager said with a bow. “I’ll just see myself out.”
Tamsyn’s heartbeat was thick in her throat when the door closed, leaving her alone with her new husband. She tore her gaze away from the bed to find him watching her with a careful, curious expression, as though she were a doe who had wandered into a ballroom.
“My valet and your maid should be here by now,” he said neutrally. “Shall I send her to you?”
To help her undress.
“Yes, please.” She tried to discreetly wipe her damp palms on her skirts. Damn these nerves! She had no reason to be afraid. Pain was merely pain—it came and it went. She could manage that kind of hurt.
A wound to her heart, however, was more difficult to heal.
After giving her a warm, encouraging smile, Kit left quietly.
She walked to the fire and watched the dancing flames, as if their shifting light could somehow ease her mind and calm her body.
A soft tap sounded on the door, and Nessa let herself into the room. Seeing her cheerful, familiar face in this decidedly unfamiliar place was a balm, and Tamsyn walked quickly over to lay her head on Nessa’s shoulder.
“Ah, child,” Nessa said, patting her back. “Here I am. Naught to worry about.”
“I’m not worried,” Tamsyn replied automatically.
“’Course you aren’t,” Nessa said in a soothing voice. “You’re a brave lass. Come on, then,” Nessa said, stepping back. “Can’t have you climbing into bed wearing all your clothes.”
Tamsyn nodded. With brisk, businesslike movements, Nessa began divesting her of her gown.
“He’s a handsome one, so it won’t be a chore,” Nessa noted in a matter-of-fact tone.
“He pleases my eye,” Tamsyn agreed. “That much is certain.”
Nessa’s fingers stilled on the fastenings running down the back of Tamsyn’s dress. “How much do you know?” she asked. “About what goes on between a man and a woman?”
“I understand the process.” Tamsyn couldn’t stop the heat that washed through her. “What goes into what and so forth.”
“That’s good.” Nessa’s fingers, well trained in the fixing of fishing nets, made short work of the gown’s fastenings. Once the silver dress had been removed, Nessa put it in the clothespress. “I was afraid I’d have to draw you pictures, and I’ve no skill with a pencil.”
“It’s one thing to understand how bodies fit together,” Tamsyn admitted. Blast, but she hated this nervousness. It wasn’t like her at all. “Another thing entirely to know what sex is truly like. What if I do something wrong? It’s supposed to hurt the first time.” It seemed like it had to, given what she’d seen of male parts. Like other girls of Newcombe, she’d spied on boys bathing in the sea—but Cornish waters were chilly, and, one girl said with confidence, that part shrank in the cold. It got bigger and harder when properly motivated.
“There’s some pain,” Nessa said plainly. She worked at Tamsyn’s stays. “Can’t be helped. But it’s not a forever pain. Remember when you fell off John Pricher’s wall and twisted your ankle?” When Tamsyn nodded, Nessa said, “That was far worse.”
“Ah,” Tamsyn said, struggling to quiet her anxiety.
Nessa patted Tamsyn’s cheek. “Oh, child, it’s not all pain. Tell me a time when something felt good.”
“There used to be a swing set my father put up in the big apple tree in the West Meadow,” Tamsyn recalled. “When I was small, I’d swing and swing, trying to get as high as I could. As though I could float away right up into the sky. I liked that an awful lot.”
“It’s better than that,” Nessa said decisively. She sighed wistfully. “I miss it, I do.”
Nessa had been married for a decade before her husband had drowned a few years back. But given the way village men circled around her after mass on Sundays, she didn’t have to be unmarried for long.
Perhaps it did feel good. Babes were born to unwed women all the time.
With her