The Accidental Countess

275 Pages·2016·0.94 MB·English

by  Willingham Michelle

He pulled off the poultice and glared at her. “Who are
you?”
She blanched. “You don’t remember me?” The question held sardonic disbelief.
“My name is Emily.” She leaned in, her gaze penetrating. Almost as if she were
waiting for him to say something.
Hazy bits of the past shifted together. Emily Barrow. My God. He hadn’t seen
her in nearly ten years. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here.” With an overbright smile, she added, “Don’t you remember your
wife?”
Her revelation stunned him into silence. His wife? What was she talking about?
He wasn’t married.
“You must be joking.” Stephen wasn’t an impulsive man. He planned every
moment of every day. Getting married to a woman he hadn’t seen in years
wasn’t at all something he would do.
She crossed her arms over her chest, drawing his gaze toward her silhouette. The
soft curve of her breasts caught his eye. The top button of her gown had come
loose, revealing a forbidden glimpse of skin. The fallen strand of golden hair
rested against the black serge, a coil of temptation, beckoning him to touch it.
She’d never been able to tame her hair, even as a girl. He’d helped her with
hairpins on more than one occasion, to help her avoid a scolding.
Now the task took on an intimacy, one more suited to a husband. Had he truly
married her? Had he unbuttoned her gowns, tasted the silk of her skin…?

The Accidental Countess
Harlequin® Historical
Author Note
I have always loved antique cookbooks, and my grandmother owned over a
hundred of them. I used to pore over old recipes and imagine the women who
had baked pies, cookies, cakes and special meals for their families. From these
recipes the character of Emily Barrow was born.
When she falls upon hard times Emily must cook for her own family, and she
finds her escape in creating wonderful dishes. After she elopes with the Earl of
Whitmore, Emily refuses to turn her back on her culinary pastime, no matter
how inappropriate it might be for a countess.
I hope you enjoy Emily’s tale and try out her recipe for ginger biscuits—I made
them for my own children this past Christmas. You can find more historical
recipes and behind-the-scenes information on my Web site,
www.michellewillingham.com. I love to hear from readers, and you may e-mail
me at [email protected] or write to me at: P.O. Box 2242,
Poquoson, VA 23662, U.S.A.
The Accidental Countess is the first in a Victorian duet. Look for The Accidental
Princess coming March 2010 from Harlequin Historical.
Warm wishes,
Michelle
The Accidental Countess
MICHELLE WILLINGHAM
Praise for Michelle Willingham
HER WARRIOR SLAVE
“Michelle Willingham writes characters that feel all too real to me. The tortured soul that is Kieran, really
pulled at my heartstrings. And Iseult’s unfailing search for her lost child made this book a truly emotional
read.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Willingham skillfully combines a cast of wonderfully original characters with a refreshingly different,
meticulously detailed setting to create a vivid tale of love and danger in medieval Ireland.”
—Chicago Tribune
HER WARRIOR KING
“The MacEgan tales just keep getting better. With Her Warrior King, Michelle Willingham has set a new
standard of excellence. We will all be impatiently awaiting the next novel.”
—Cataromance, 4.5 stars
THE WARRIOR’S TOUCH
“[A] thought-provoking tale of love in the second installment of The MacEgan Brothers.”
—RT Book Reviews, 4 stars
“I know we all wish we could have a MacEgan for our very own but since we cannot, be sure and pick up
this not-to-be-missed tale of The MacEgan Brothers, The Warrior’s Touch.”
—Cataromance, 4.5 stars
HER IRISH WARRIOR
“Willingham not only delves into medieval culture, she also tells the dark side of being a woman in that
era…The bright side is that in romantic fiction, a happy ending is expected, and it’s delivered in this
excellent, plot-driven, page-turner of a book.”
—RT Book Reviews, 4 stars
Acknowledgments:
With thanks to Dr. Deena Obrokta, Dr. Dawn Reese, and Dr. T for your
invaluable consultation on amnesia and post-traumatic stress syndrome. Endless
thanks to my fabulous editor Joanne Grant for your amazing eye for detail and
your hard work. I couldn’t do it without you!
To my mother Pat, for your unfailing support, for
your belief in me, and for watching the kids when I
desperately needed your help.
You’ve been behind me 100% from the very beginning,
and I’ll always be grateful.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
Chapter One
When selecting poultry for cooking, choose a chicken with soft yellow
feet, short thick legs, and a plump breast. First, kill the chicken by
wringing its neck…
—Emily Barrow’s Cook Book
Falkirk House, England—1850
C
ool hands sponged his forehead. Stephen Chesterfield fought against the
darkness that threatened to pull him into oblivion once more. Pain lashed his
skull, ripping through him in violent waves. His mouth felt lined with cotton
wool, and his body ached with vicious pain.
‘Drink,’ a woman said, lifting a cup of warm tea to his mouth. It tasted bitter,
but he swallowed. ‘You’re very lucky, you know.’
Lucky? He felt as though someone had cracked his skull in two. He hadn’t
even the strength to open his eyes to see who was tending him.
‘How am I lucky?’ he managed to whisper. Lucky to be alive, she’d
probably say.
‘You’re lucky I haven’t got any arsenic for this tea,’ she remarked. ‘Or
another poison, for that matter. Otherwise, you’d be dead by now.’ A warm
poultice dropped across his forehead, scented with herbs.
‘I beg your pardon?’ His knuckles clenched around the bedcovers, and he
forced his eyes open. The room blurred, and he tried to grasp his surroundings.
Where was he? And who was this woman?
The creature intending to murder him had the face of an angel. Her hair, the
color of warm honey, was pulled back into a loose chignon. Long strands framed