Page 9 of The Rogue’s Countess

Even with the spectacles the woman wore and her hair pulled back in a severe bun, Constance would have wagered a heavy sum that the woman was Lady Helstone. She had the same large brown eyes, and the auburn highlights in the woman’s golden-brown hair were still visible despite the severity of her appearance. The only thing that seemed off was the woman’s cultured English accent. There wasn’t even a hint of the American dialect.

“Forgive me, but the resemblance is uncanny.” At Constance’s observation, something flashed in the clerk’s eyes before a wry smile tilted her lips upward as if she were enjoying a private joke.

“So I’ve been told, my lady. Even Lady Helstone has remarked on our similar likeness.” The woman’s ironic amusement vanished as Mrs. Hodges glanced over her shoulder at the curtain, hiding the workshop behind her. It was almost as if the woman was frightened someone might hear their conversation. “Let me find Madame Sabine for you, my lady.”

Constance frowned as the woman vanished through the curtains in search of the dressmaker. The woman was lying. She was certain of it. Even though the woman’s quiet voice held no trace of an American accent, Constance knew an excellent finishing school would have seen to that. The more she thought about it, the stronger her conviction became that Mrs. Hodges and the Viscountess Helstone was the same woman. But why? What in heaven’s name would make Viscountess Helstone deny who she was, let alone work in a dressmaker’s shop?

Constance paid little attention to gossip, but news of Lord Helstone being shot and killed by his mistress during a lover’s quarrel wasn’t a tidbit one quickly forgot. Even though it had been more than two years ago, the scandal had been in the news for months. The trial had been a spectacle, with Helstone’s mistress pleading self-defense and subsequently being acquitted. Her gaze drifted toward the bolts of cloth the woman had set down on the counter.

With just one touch, the an dara sealladh might tell her something about Mrs. Hodges. The gift of sight and royal blood of the Stewarts had flowed in her mother’s veins making Constance and her siblings far more unique than most people realized. Except for her brother Sebastian, all of her siblings had varying strengths of the an dara sealladh, but it wasn’t something they openly put on display.

While Lucien supported her assisting those who actually came to her for help, he objected strongly to Constance taking it upon herself to help people who didn’t ask for her assistance. She winced. Lucien didn’t just object to her interfering without someone’s permission. He was vehemently opposed to her meddling in the affairs of others, particularly when it involved matters of the heart. If he were here now, he would drag her out of the shop to prevent her from satisfying her curiosity. They seldom argued, but when they did, it made her feel awful.

Constance winced slightly as she remembered the argument they’d had two months ago in front of the family. The memory made her debate walking away from the counter, but a whisper in the back of her head protested strongly. Of course, the an dara sealladh might not even show her anything at all. This last thought ended her indecisiveness.

In a leisurely fashion, Constance walked along the counter and stopped in front of the material Mrs. Hodges had brought out from the back of the shop. As if she were merely examining the bolt of silk, Constance ran her hand over the spot that still bore the slight indentation from Mrs. Hodges’s chin.

Closing her eyes, Constance drew in a breath and waited. After more than a minute, she released a sigh of frustration. It seemed she would have to accept Mrs. Hodges’s story, after all. Constance slowly turned away from the counter and saw Madame Sabine at Louisa’s side, exclaiming with horror at the dress. She was about to rejoin her sisters when the bell over the shop entrance jingled. Constance turned her head toward the door to see Lady Wrotham walk into the dressmaker’s shop. The moment the marchioness saw Constance, a wide smile curved the older woman’s mouth.

“My dear Constance, how lovely to see you.” Lady Wrotham hurried forward to clasp Constance’s hands in hers in a warm greeting.

“It’s wonderful to see you as well, my lady,” Constance said as she bussed the woman’s cheek.

“How is the dowager? I heard she had taken ill a month ago.”

“Grandmama is recovering nicely. We’re fortunate she was in town when she became ill. She wanted to return to Lyndham Keep, but Lucien was adamant she remain here with us. He indulges her, and me, quite often, but this was one occasion when he refused to be swayed by Grandmama’s protests.”

“And how is that devilishly handsome husband of yours?”

Amusement sparkled in the older woman’s gray eyes. The marchioness had been a friend of Aunt Matilda’s for years, and Constance had accompanied her aunt to Lady Wrotham’s house on many occasions. The woman had buried three husbands, and Constance had always marveled at the woman’s indomitable spirit in the face of so much grief. She wasn’t sure she would be able to find such strength to go on if anything happened to Lucien. An image of her husband’s face filled her head, and she smiled at the marchioness’s question.

“Other than experiencing frustration with me from time to time, Lucien is quite well. And you?”

“Desolate,” Alva sighed with obvious frustration. “My secretary decided to run off to Gretna Green and marry a school teacher, so I decided a new dress would cheer me up.”

“I’m so sorry. How long had she been with you?”

“Almost six years. It has come at a most unfortunate time too.” The marchioness released another sigh. “The charity ball for St. Catherine’s is little more than a month away, and Lydia’s skill with numbers made her invaluable. I placed an advertisement in the Times this morning, but I fear finding a new secretary will prove quite difficult.”

The marchioness’s voice became a distant sound as the an dara sealladh pulled Constance down into a familiar darkness. Like a theater curtain being pulled open to reveal the stage, she found herself standing in a cold, uninviting room. A shiver skimmed through her as the chilly air slid across her skin. Twilight filtered through a small window, but it barely illuminated her surroundings.

Small fragments of charred wood were scattered about in the hearth, which made Constance believe there had not been a fire in the hearth for some time. The bed in one corner appeared less than sturdy, while a table was pressed against the opposite wall. A ladder-back chair was angled away from the table as if someone had left their place with great haste. Against another wall was a wardrobe. It was a bleak room filled with the weight of defeat.

The emotion eased slightly as a soft glow on top of the table caught her attention. The light surrounded a stack of papers, but it shone brightly on the name written on the top sheet. P. Currer. For some odd reason, the light engulfing the papers was as if a ray of hope had found its way into this grim, dreary room. Behind her, a door creaked open, and she turned toward the sound. She barely had time to register Mrs. Hodge’s face when she was hurtled forward into a well-lit room where smoke created a haze in the air.

Her brothers, Percy and Sebastian, were seated at a card table with their friend, the Earl of Chelmsford, and another man. Although she couldn’t hear what they were saying, her brothers were grinning like cats who had swallowed a handful of canaries. In a split-second, she was standing behind the patriarch of the Rockwoods. Sebastian pointed toward the pile of banknotes in the center of the table as Gideon shook his head in disgust.

A movement to her left caught Constance’s attention. The sight of Mrs. Hodges moving to stand beside Gideon took her by surprise. As the woman reached out to touch his cheek, Mrs. Hodges’s expression was one of confusion, longing, and another emotion that puzzled Constance.

Suddenly, she heard a quiet sound that she recognized as laughter. Constance jerked her head toward Percy, who was grinning with triumph as he reached toward the middle of the table to collect his winnings. As he did so, the bank notes dissolved into a mist to become a sheaf of papers.

Constance instantly recognized the papers as she watched the last sheet fall onto the stack with a soft light shining down on the author’s name, P. Currer. Amused resignation swept across Gideon’s face. With a wry twist of his lips, the earl dropped his cards onto the baize-covered tabletop. The cards fell downward in slow-motion, and the an dara sealladh threw her back into the present.

The transition was more abrupt than usual, and she swayed on her feet. Immediately, a firm hand cupped her elbow, and she recognized Patience’s soft voice expressing concern. Incapable of responding, Constance kept her eyes closed for a moment as she struggled to maintain her balance.

The an dara sealladh always left her drained emotionally and physically for a short period, but this time it was more debilitating than usual. Everyone in the family experienced different physical reactions when they emerged from their visions. They were all well-acquainted with the signs of the an dara sealladh as well as each other’s unique type of after-effects from their visions.

Normally she was seated when she emerged from her visions, but this time she was deeply grateful for Patience’s firm grip as her sister wrapped her arm around Constance’s waist. If not for Patience, she was certain she would have collapsed to the floor. As the remnants of the an dara sealladh faded away, Constance opened her eyes to see Alva, her sisters, and Madame Sabine gathered around her with varying levels of concern and understanding on their faces.