Muriel, Countess of Claremont meets Sir Martin Powell
“Good evening, my lord, my lady.” The dowager countess smiled graciously at the Ormonds, and Martin thought her voice quite deep for a woman. The voice of authority. But those soft gray eyes suggested a kind heart beneath the finery and formal greeting. “So good of you to attend.”
“Countess,” Ormond said, bowing. “My wife and I were most pleased to accept your invitation.”
The woman paused for Ormond to finish then quickly turned her attention to Martin. Raising a bejeweled quizzing glass, she slowly perused him, as if inspecting a new horse for her stable, while directing her words to the marquess. “Who is this dashingly handsome man you’ve seen fit to bring with you tonight, Ormond? And where”—she paused with dramatic emphasis, allowing her quizzing glass to drop on its chain—“have you been keeping him?”
Martin chuckled. “Sir Martin Powell at your service, Countess. And, to answer your question, I have been living on the Continent. However, I am most grateful to be included in your lovely soirée this evening.”
“We can always use another knight to attend our many damsels, Sir Martin. I’m delighted you’ve come.” The countess raised a silver eyebrow. “Do I detect a hint of the French in your voice?”
“Very perceptive, my lady.” He gave her a mischievous grin. “Yes, you might.”
He said no more, and when it was clear he would not, the countess offered her hand. Without a word Martin took it and bowed low. When he glanced up, it was to see her eyes shining with apparent delight. He really did love older women of great character, and he suspected that the countess was one of these, formidable in all things with a well-hidden soft heart. The smile he gave her was sincere.
Straightening, he gave her a wink, to which she returned a “Humph.” At least, that’s what it sounded like. But the older woman seemed to enjoy his impudence, just as he’d thought she might.
“I must be off, children. See that you dance with the young maidens, Sir Martin. I expect they will all be gawking at you. Perhaps having been in France you can manage that new dance the Prince Regent introduced at Court last year, that outrageous waltz. I’ve avoided it as long as possible, but with all the fuss I’ve had to include it in tonight’s repertoire.” Then the countess dipped her head at the threesome and turned to leave. Glancing over her shoulder at Martin, she glided away just as he thought he heard another “Humph.”
“It appears you’ve made a conquest, Martin,” Lady Ormond said with a small laugh, “one that will serve you well in London society. If my eyes did not deceive me, our intimidating hostess was quite taken. It’s rare to see her so enamored with a man. Few impress her.”
“She reminds me of my mother, another grand lady,” Martin noted as he watched the countess sail smoothly away.
“Good evening, my lord, my lady.” The dowager countess smiled graciously at the Ormonds, and Martin thought her voice quite deep for a woman. The voice of authority. But those soft gray eyes suggested a kind heart beneath the finery and formal greeting. “So good of you to attend.”
“Countess,” Ormond said, bowing. “My wife and I were most pleased to accept your invitation.”
The woman paused for Ormond to finish then quickly turned her attention to Martin. Raising a bejeweled quizzing glass, she slowly perused him, as if inspecting a new horse for her stable, while directing her words to the marquess. “Who is this dashingly handsome man you’ve seen fit to bring with you tonight, Ormond? And where”—she paused with dramatic emphasis, allowing her quizzing glass to drop on its chain—“have you been keeping him?”
Martin chuckled. “Sir Martin Powell at your service, Countess. And, to answer your question, I have been living on the Continent. However, I am most grateful to be included in your lovely soirée this evening.”
“We can always use another knight to attend our many damsels, Sir Martin. I’m delighted you’ve come.” The countess raised a silver eyebrow. “Do I detect a hint of the French in your voice?”
“Very perceptive, my lady.” He gave her a mischievous grin. “Yes, you might.”
He said no more, and when it was clear he would not, the countess offered her hand. Without a word Martin took it and bowed low. When he glanced up, it was to see her eyes shining with apparent delight. He really did love older women of great character, and he suspected that the countess was one of these, formidable in all things with a well-hidden soft heart. The smile he gave her was sincere.
Straightening, he gave her a wink, to which she returned a “Humph.” At least, that’s what it sounded like. But the older woman seemed to enjoy his impudence, just as he’d thought she might.
“I must be off, children. See that you dance with the young maidens, Sir Martin. I expect they will all be gawking at you. Perhaps having been in France you can manage that new dance the Prince Regent introduced at Court last year, that outrageous waltz. I’ve avoided it as long as possible, but with all the fuss I’ve had to include it in tonight’s repertoire.” Then the countess dipped her head at the threesome and turned to leave. Glancing over her shoulder at Martin, she glided away just as he thought he heard another “Humph.”
“It appears you’ve made a conquest, Martin,” Lady Ormond said with a small laugh, “one that will serve you well in London society. If my eyes did not deceive me, our intimidating hostess was quite taken. It’s rare to see her so enamored with a man. Few impress her.”
“She reminds me of my mother, another grand lady,” Martin noted as he watched the countess sail smoothly away.
