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“I have every intention of helping the countess. And convincing the duke to give his support to the Omega Property Rights Act. That is the reason I entered his employ.” I kept my eyes focussed on her face. I caught the flash of surprise when I revealed my motivation for approaching the duke. “I dressed as an alpha, because he would not meet me as an omega.”
“And how do you intend to help the countess while you are persuading him of your politics?”
“I haven’t thought of a solution,” I lied. “Perhaps I will encourage her to consider his proposal. I can go as myself.”
Mrs Markham threw back her head and laughed. “So lie to him and pray that your plan will just emerge? You are a greater fool than your sisters combined, and believe me when I say that they are fools of the highest order.”
“I am not a fool!”
“Why not seduce him as yourself? He is quite a catch,” she smirked. I nearly rolled my eyes at her absurd understatement.
“I have no plan to marry or mate him. He is… I am his secretary.” The words were no sooner out of my mouth than I saw an image of the duke as he looked at me when I was myself.
“Heavens save me from alphas and omegas both,” she shook her head.
I fiddled with the collar of my dress. “You don’t understand…”
“I understand well enough. Certainly well enough to know anything I say shall only strengthen your resolve to go along with this harebrained idea.”
“Will you help me to woo Lady Clare for him?” I asked.
“Marrying Lady Clare to the Duke of Orley? After what I have learnt today? No, I cannot support that match. Both of them would be miserable. I would like you to sit for me, though. I’ve a mind to catch your portrait before the world knows your face.”
Not help me?Oh, I wanted to scream. I could not understand how her mind worked! “Who are you? There is something illogical about how you jump from here to there with no—“
“I want to be your friend. And help you in any way I can… I couldn’t help Beatrice,” she said as if that explained everything. The clock chimed the hour. “I must be off. But fear not. Consider the matter of whether you need my help or not. Come visit me Thursday next.”
* * *
The next day was a bitterly cold Saturday, but somehow I convinced my aunt to take me along with her to sit with the countess. My aunt had insisted I wear a yellow silk that made me look anaemic, but if that was the price to be granted a meeting with the Countess of Kellingham, so be it.
That Lady Clare would reside at Kellingham House for the entirety of her period of mourning was a boon for her. That the grand residence was directly across from Orley House, courted disaster. If His Grace the Duke of Orley, Marquess of Darenth, Viscount Mote (and many more titles I’d yet to memorise) saw me, chose to greet me, thinking I was Iris, only for my aunt or another member of our acquaintance to contradict him… What then? My lie would be exposed and in the most horridly public manner, embarrassing all, but most especially that proud alpha I’d come to admire so much. I had not appreciated the dangers of visiting the countess when the duke could easily see me in dresses and assume that I was Iris in disguise. But it would be necessary, and surely he would not forever be on the lookout to see who was coming and going. Besides, the square was large enough that he would not know if it was me or merely another nameless omega. It gave me a headache to consider all the possibilities. I’d reached no conclusion when the butler opened the drawing room door and announced us.
“Mrs Florey and Miss Hartwell, your ladyship.”
The countess was a young woman, not quite three and twenty, with fair hair and rich brown eyes, unattractively dulled and made unbeautiful by the dark circles beneath them. Still, her lady’s maid had done what she could, and the countess wore a little rouge on her lips and cheeks. The attempt at livening her complexion was ruined less by the Lady’s looks than by the fact she remained in deep mourning blacks despite the Earl having died nearly a twelvemonth before. If she had been in health, I knew she would be the example of omega perfection. And even in grief, her voice had that magical quality omegas cultivated from their first heat.
“My niece wished to meet you,” my aunt murmured. She’d not been pleased when I’d suggested making the call, and played with her handkerchief more than usual. When the countess did no more than offer a tentative smile, my aunt added. “She is the youngest of my dearly departed brother, Charles Hartwell. Perhaps you have heard of him?”
“I’m sure I have but cannot remember. What is the name again?” came the artless and frankly stupid response.
“Hartwell. My father was Charles Hartwell,” I tried to smile but couldn’t hold it for long. This was the omega the duke had chosen? That Mrs Markham had suggested? Other than her beauty, there was nothing to recommend her. Though I now recognised how my own prejudices coloured my opinion, could the duke, a man of substance and a deep thinker, really be happy with her? Did he desire a stupid bride? One who’d defer to him in all things? We argued daily. I admired how quickly and effortlessly he could produce precedents where some liberal bill had led to setbacks in omega rights. It grated, yet I found my own thoughts sharpening with each battle of wills we engaged in. But many alphas would prefer a stupid omega…He only wants her to breed and give him alpha children, I chided myself. No reason to feel annoyed with his taste, when his reasons for marrying the woman in front of me were to save her from the legal injustices omegas faced.
It took near an hour before I found the opportunity to sit with her and quickly realised how poorly I had judged her. While her understanding was not great, she blossomed in more private settings, making it a simple matter to direct the conversation to the possibility of her marrying again or looking for a mate. The precariousness of her position had been beaten into her, and she demonstrated a kind of quiet resolve when she spoke of finding her place in society. This strength flickered on and off as if sunlight through clouds. I determined to bolster this by increasing her belief that her life could have meaning, that she could find a mate despite the recent tragedy. If not a mate, a careful husband who would give her kindness and respect.
“The Earl married me because he thought I would give him an heir. Not because he loved me,” she said in a small voice. “My father, a beta… He…”
“Do not distress yourself,” I begged.
“Hesoldme,” she whispered, distress colour her voice and her scent turning bitter. “The Earl did not love me. Love is not necessary in marriages among the aristocracy...”
“And what would you think of an alpha who did love you?” I asked unsure how hard I should push the clearly distressed woman in front of me.
“An alpha? Oh? I mean. If the alpha was as kind as you have been… Not that you are an alpha,” she offered me a trembling smile. “But alphas are not kind.”
“They can be,” I gave in to instinct and reached for her hand. “My Mama and sister are kind. I… my sister works for the duke of Orley and says he is the best of alphas.”
“Oh,” tears sparkled in her eyes. “Lord Clare… I will not speak ill of the dead. I am sure he did not mean to be unkind. I am weak and stupid. I did not give him an heir.”
