Counterfeit Countess

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Instead of a warmly anticipated cosy dinner with friends, Faith Dalkington-Smythe had to dig out her finery, such as it was, and call her maid to help her dress. She could not ignore the summons from her exalted relative by marriage, the Countess of Graywood. It would have to be the Pomona green gown that had seen several outings to Grosvenor Square. Lady Graywood wanted relatives en masse to celebrate the return of her two sons from an extended visit abroad, one of them the current Earl. Nobody would pay attention to her. To the Dalkington-Smythes she was an embarrassment, a leftover from the war, the widow of a distant relative.

Her maid Robinson twirled and set the curls on Faith’s cropped hair, carefully put the decorative clips into place and then picked up the rouge pot.

“No.” Faith had only had recourse to it a few times and she didn’t intend to use it now. She might appear a little pale, but nothing more. The company could put up with that.

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