His Countess For A Week

‘Mighty good of you!’ retorted Ran, grinning.

‘But where will you go?’ asked Deb. ‘Why not come back with us to Gilmorton? Little James and Randolph would like to meet their uncle, I am sure, and you might remain with us for the winter.’

‘Aye, but do not come merely for your nephews’ sake,’ added her husband. ‘We’d be delighted to have you stay. For as long as you wish.’

‘Thank you, but that must wait, I am afraid. I have estates of my own that I need to visit first.’

‘Ah, yes. You are a wealthy man now, Ran.’ Gil sat back, cradling his glass between his hands. ‘A fortune and a title—you have become something of a catch!’

‘Gil!’ Deb gasped, half-laughing, half-outraged. ‘And you said I was a matchmaker!’

The Viscount raised his brows at her.

‘What have I said that is not true? The society pages may be agog with the fact that the new Lord Westray is a pardoned felon, but let me tell you, Ran, it does not diminish your attraction with scheming mothers one jot!’

‘We do not know...’ Deborah glanced shyly at her brother. ‘Perhaps there is a lady, back in Australia.’

Ran shook his head. ‘There was little opportunity to meet ladies in Sydney Cove, or Airds. Besides, I was too busy making a life for myself. Now, I suppose, I must consider the idea of marriage.’

‘By heaven, Ran, you are taking your duties seriously indeed!’ exclaimed the Viscount.

‘There is the succession to be considered.’ He shrugged. ‘It should not be difficult. There must be any number of eligible ladies who would suit. I am not that particular. I only need someone who will make me a comfortable wife.’

Gil snorted. ‘There is nothing comfortable about falling in love, my friend. It can be joyous, but it is also painful.’ He grinned at his wife. ‘Believe me, it is anything but comfortable.’

‘Then I shall not fall in love,’ said Ran simply. ‘I am too old for that nonsense.’

‘At eight-and-twenty?’ Deborah gave a little trill of laughter. ‘You are perfectly poised to make a great fool of yourself over a woman!’

Ran was unoffended. ‘Perhaps, but I doubt I shall have much time for that sort of thing for a while, at least. I have told Chislett he may now write to the steward at the Earl’s—that is, at my principal seat, Westray Priors in Oxfordshire, telling him I am in England and that I intend to travel there in a few weeks. However, from the papers Chislett left with me yesterday, I realise there is a small property in Devon, Beaumount Hall. It is near Tavistock, I understand. It seems a pity not to see it, since I am so close.’

‘Close!’ Gil frowned. ‘Why, that must be all of a hundred and fifty miles from here and I wager the roads will be shocking.’

‘But I am not going by road,’ Ran replied. ‘I have my sea legs now, you know.’ He grinned. ‘Joseph and I have booked a passage with a local vessel sailing to Plymouth on the morning tide!’

The weather proved fair for Randolph and Joseph’s journey to Plymouth, where they hired a coach to take them to Beaumount Hall. Ran looked about him with interest.

‘I had forgotten how it is here in autumn,’ he murmured, ‘the blaze of colour before the trees lose their leaves in winter. And it is greener, too.’

A contentment settled over him. A feeling that he had come home.

As the Viscount had predicted, away from the towns the roads were not good and they were relieved when, after an hour’s bumpy travel, the carriage turned to pass between open gates and into a small park.

‘The drive appears to be in good order for a property that has been vacant for at least a year,’ remarked Ran. ‘Let us hope the house is similarly up together. Chislett said there were a handful of staff in residence. Now, what did he say was the name of the butler? Meavy. And his wife is housekeeper.’

‘I still think we should have sent word we were coming,’ muttered Joseph.

‘Devil a bit,’ replied the new Earl cheerfully.

‘You will look no-how if they can’t accommodate us and we have to find lodgings in Tavistock!’

‘Oh, I doubt it will come to that. We have slept under the stars before now.’

‘Aye, but that was on the other side of the world!’

Ran merely laughed at his companion’s retort and leaned forward, eager for a glimpse of Beaumount Hall. He was not disappointed. It had been a fine day and the sun was setting in a blaze of golden light as the carriage swung around a bend and the house came into view.

It was an impressive building over three floors. There was more than a hint of the baroque in the redbrick exterior with its creamy pilasters reaching to the roof line on the corners of the house. More pilasters flanked the door, which was topped by a stone hood, richly carved like a shell. Randolph grinned at his companion.

‘You may be easy, Joseph! The roof looks sound, so at the very worst we may sleep on the floor here tonight.’ The carriage stopped at the shallow steps and Ran jammed his hat on his head. ‘Come along, then. Let us see how Meavy reacts to our arrival.’

However, when they were admitted to the house the butler looked surprised to see the new Earl, but not as shocked as Randolph had expected. Joseph had the letter of introduction from Chislett ready to wave before any suspicious custodians, but the butler scarcely glanced at it.

‘Welcome, my lord,’ he said, bowing. ‘It is unfortunate we had no notice of your coming today.’

‘There was no time,’ replied Ran, handing over his hat and coat. ‘If there is anything to eat in the house, then bring it to the drawing room, if you please.’

‘Very good, my lord. And what will you drink?’

‘I doubt you have any coffee.’

‘Lord love you, of course we have coffee, my lord. And tea.’

‘A pot of coffee, then.’ He glanced at Joseph. ‘You will come with me.’

His valet maintained his silence only until Meavy had shown them into the drawing room and closed the door.

‘They will think it a pretty rum do, my lord, you taking refreshment with a servant.’

‘They will grow accustomed to it! And you are not a servant. You are my aide-de-camp. I have promoted you!’ He threw himself down into a chair beside the marble fireplace, where cheerful flames blazed. ‘Later I shall demand to know what the devil they are doing keeping fires burning here when there is no one in residence, but for now I am damned glad of it.’

‘Aye,’ said Joseph, sitting down. ‘Seems a strange set-up to me, however. Servants in livery and fires burning when they did not know the master was coming.’

‘Mayhap they light a fire occasionally to drive off the damp—’ Ran broke off as the door opened and Meavy came in with a tray of glasses and a decanter. He was followed by a plump woman in a white apron and with a snowy lace cap over her grey curls. She introduced herself as Mrs Meavy, the housekeeper.

‘The coffee will be ready in a trice, my lord, but I thought, in the meantime, you might like to take a glass of wine.’ She put a tray of cakes and biscuits down on a side table and turned back to the Earl. ‘Well, my lord, this is a to-do,’ she said cheerfully. ‘If I’d known you was coming, I’d have prepared a dinner for you, but with Her Ladyship being out for the day, all I have ready is an egg-and-bacon pie—’

‘Wait a moment.’ Ran raised one hand to stop the garrulous flow. ‘Her Ladyship?’

The old lady blinked at him. ‘Why, yes, my lord. The Countess.’

It was Ran’s turn to blink. ‘Countess? You mean the old Earl’s widow is in residence here?’

He swore silently. He had not considered that possibility. Damn Chislett for not warning him!

The housekeeper gave a fat chuckle. ‘Why, no, my lord. I means your Countess, o’ course!’

Randolph ignored the choking sound coming from Joseph and concentrated on concealing his own astonishment.

‘Ah, yes. Lady Westray,’ he said, not betraying himself by the flicker of an eyelid. ‘She is gone out, you say?’

‘Aye, my lord. She went off to Meon House this morning to ride out with Lady Meon and then she is to dine there and stay the night.’

‘Is she indeed?’ He felt a laugh bubbling up and grinned at Joseph, who was still red in the face from coughing. ‘Then we shall join her there, once we have eaten something. Please bring us some of that pie, Mrs Meavy, and after we have dined, Joseph, you had best unpack and brush my evening coat!’

Ran gazed at himself in the long mirror, taking in the black coat with its gold buttons bearing the Westray crest. He had looked at it askance when he had pulled it out of the trunk of clothes the Gilmortons had procured for him, but now he gave a nod of approval.

‘Deb and Gil have surpassed my expectations,’ he declared. ‘Coat, knee breeches, the finest linen shirt, even footwear! Everything that is needed to convince doubters that I am indeed the new Earl.’

He was in the master bedroom, where a fire had been hastily cobbled together. Joseph was tenderly brushing the new chapeau-bras that would complete his ensemble, but he threw his master a frowning look.

‘Aye, my lord, but who is this mysterious lady masquerading as your wife?’ He kept his voice low even though they were alone in the room. ‘I’ve asked a few questions, discreetly, of course, but all the servants can tell me is that she arrived two weeks ago along with her maid and took up residence. Gave some taradiddle about your being on business at t’other end of the country.’

‘And they believed it?’ Randolph fixed a diamond pin into the folds of his snowy cravat.

‘Why should they not?’ Joseph spread his hands. ‘They’d heard the new Earl had been found and summoned to come home and claim his inheritance. Nothing more.’

‘I suppose I had ordered Chislett not to blab,’ said Ran, fairly. ‘And the lady’s maid, the one person who might be able to tell us what is going on, has accompanied her mistress to Meon House.’ He took the hat from Joseph and adjusted it at a rakish angle on his fair head. ‘This could prove an interesting evening.’

‘Perhaps I should come with you, my lord. In case there is trouble.’

‘I do not anticipate needing your help, my friend. You stay here and make sure the sheets on the bed are properly aired. It was made up in a hurry and I don’t want to catch my death of cold.’

‘After everything we’ve been through, it would take more than a damp sheet to carry you off, my lord,’ muttered Joseph, as he opened the door for his master to go out.

Meon House was situated just a few miles from Beaumount Hall, but Randolph’s coachman was unfamiliar with the territory and took a wrong turn. It was therefore nearly nine o’clock before the carriage arrived at its destination. Light poured from every window and the number of carriages he could make out on the drive suggested there was something more than a quiet dinner in progress.

It had started to rain and Ran hurried up the steps to the door, which a servant was holding open for him. In the hall a cheerful fire burned and Ran could hear the buzz of voices coming from the rooms beyond. The footman looked a little bemused when Ran gave him his name, but a lady, crossing the hall, stopped and came forward. By the way she dismissed the servant, Ran guessed this was Lady Meon. She was on the shady side of thirty, but taking in the voluptuous figure sheathed in gold satin and the glossy dark curls piled on her head, she dressed to advantage. She was an attractive woman, he thought, and she was well aware of it.

‘Lord Westray, this is indeed a surprise.’ The smile on her full red lips and the appraising look in her dark eyes suggested it was not an unpleasant one.

‘Yes, I am Westray.’ He smiled at her. ‘I beg your pardon for coming unannounced, but I have just arrived at Beaumount and learned my wife is here. I hope I have not interrupted your dinner?’

Ran took her outstretched hand and bowed over it, then worried that perhaps it would be considered an old-fashioned gesture. To his relief, the lady was clearly charmed. Her smile grew.

‘No, no, we are quite finished and everyone is in the drawing room. I shall take you in myself. That is—’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Have you dined, Lord Westray? If not, I am sure we can—’

‘I dined at Beaumount, ma’am, thank you.’

‘Ah, good.’ She tucked her hand into his arm. ‘Come along, then, my lord. Let us go in. But I must warn you, it is only a little party, just a few neighbouring families, which is all the society this isolated place can provide. Lady Westray was eager to meet her neighbours and I was delighted to oblige her. Heavens, how pleased she will be to see you!’

‘Not nearly as pleased as I shall be to see her,’ murmured Ran.

He accompanied his hostess into an elegant drawing room full of glittering light from the chandeliers and the jewels that adorned the necks of the ladies present. It might be a small party, but it was clear the guests considered it an important occasion.

There were only about a dozen persons gathered there, but from the level of noise in the room Ran thought the wine had been flowing freely. Two elderly matrons conversed on a sofa by the fire and an aged gentleman dozed in a chair. Everyone else was gathered by the large window bay. Lady Meon led Ran across the room towards them. The group consisted of three ladies and double the number of gentlemen, their attention fixed upon a lady who had her back to the room. She was talking in an animated fashion that set the skirts of her red silk gown shimmering.

As they approached, Ran took the opportunity to observe her. Even from the back the view was attractive. She had an elegant figure and her shoulders rose in smooth, creamy slopes from a low-cut bodice. Her graceful neck was adorned with a diamond collar and above that fair curls were piled artlessly upon her head. They glinted with her every movement, like newly minted sovereigns.

Ran glanced at the two other females, both matronly and grey-haired. Too old to be his Countess. His lips twitched and he felt a sudden kick of pleasurable excitement as they drew closer. By heaven, surely this vision in the red gown could not be...

Lady Meon reached out and lightly touched one scarlet sleeve.

‘Well, well, Lady Westray, you do not know how delighted I am to be the bearer of good tidings, for here is your husband, arrived in Devon this very night and come to find you!’

The lady turned quickly and Ran was dazzled by her smile of delight. It quickly faded as her lips formed a little ‘oh’ of surprise. She regarded him with a shadow of fear in the depths of her emerald-green eyes. His own smile grew.

‘Well, my dear, I believe I have surprised you.’

He reached for her hand, but even as he clasped her fingers she collapsed into a dead faint.

Ran did not hesitate. He scooped her up, the red silk skirts sliding with a whisper over his arm.

One of the matrons laughed. ‘There now, no one can doubt her astonishment! Poor little thing. Take her somewhere quiet, my lord, until she has recovered herself. We will happily wait for the pleasure of an introduction!’

‘Yes, yes, this way,’ cried Lady Meon, leading him away from the group. ‘There is a little room across the passage. Here we are.’ She opened a door and Ran stepped into a comfortable sitting room, where candles were already burning and there was a small fire in the hearth. ‘Lay her on the sofa, my lord. I shall send for her maid.’

‘No. No need for that.’ Ran put his burden down gently and sat on the edge of the sofa, beside her. ‘I shall take care of her now.’

‘Ah, of course you will. Who better to do so than her own husband?’

His hostess looked on with approval as he began to chafe the little hands and Ran shot her a smile.

‘No need for any fuss, Lady Meon. Her pulse has already grown steadier. Pray go back to your guests and assure them my lady has merely fainted. We shall join you again very soon.’

‘Very well, my lord. I shall leave you to look after your wife. I can see she is stirring. Good, good. But you must ring if there is anything you need, anything at all.’

Lady Meon departed, leaving Randolph alone with his lady.

Arabella surfaced from the dead faint, but kept very still, afraid the pain behind her eyes would be worse if she opened them. Someone was rubbing her hands, and a deep voice, rich with amusement, was speaking to her.

‘Gently now, my lady. You are safe.’

Safe! Her heart began to pound as memory returned. She was at Meon House and had been regaling her new acquaintances with some tale. Then Lady Meon had said her husband was there. For one brief, blissful moment she had forgotten that George was no longer alive. She had turned eagerly, only to find herself looking into the face of a stranger. That had been a cruel blow. Shock, heartbreaking disappointment and alarm had combined to render her senseless, but now she was awake and all too aware that she was in trouble.

The pain in her head had faded and she risked opening her eyes. The stranger was still there, holding her hands in a firm, sustaining clasp. He was nothing like George. He was older and his hair was fair, not brown. It was lighter than her own and, unlike George in those last months, this man positively glowed with health and vigour.

He smiled and something twisted, deep inside. She wanted to smile back at this handsome stranger, to lie still and enjoy his ministrations for a little longer. She quickly closed her eyes again. Heavens, what an alarming thought!

‘We are quite alone,’ he said. ‘There is no need for pretence.’

‘My fainting was no pretence,’ she told him crossly as she struggled to sit up. ‘Who are you?’

‘I am Westray,’ he told her. ‘More to the point, madam, who are you?’

She bit her lip. He was dressed fashionably and a diamond twinkled from the folds of his neckcloth, but he wore no other jewellery save for a gold signet ring. Could he really be the missing Earl? A felon. True, the reports said he had received a full pardon and she knew that people were transported for crimes as trivial as stealing a length of cloth, but he was a convict nevertheless.

She looked at him now, the candlelight gleaming on his mane of fair hair, his skin glowing with the golden tan of a man who spent his time out of doors. Or on a long sea voyage.

‘Well?’ he said, when she did not speak. ‘Personation, that is, pretending to be someone you are not, is a crime, you know. I think I am entitled to an explanation. Let us begin with your name.’

She looked at him defiantly and wanted to retort that he was the criminal, she had read about him in the newspapers. He was waiting patiently for her to respond and her defiance faltered. He did not look like a villain. Yet whatever he had done to earn his pardon, it did not mean she could trust him.

He appeared relaxed, even amused, but there was a steely strength about him. She knew he would not be fobbed off with anything less than the truth. She had no choice but to answer.

‘I am Arabella Roffey.’

‘Go on.’

His blue-green eyes were glinting with laughter but they were not unkind. She said impulsively, ‘I needed to be here. It is very important. Pray do not expose me!’

She moved to the end of the sofa, not trusting her legs to support her if she tried to stand. He shifted his position to face her, sitting back, his arms folded and smiling as if he was completely at his ease, but a second glance confirmed her original thought: he was as relaxed as a cat watching its prey.

‘How intriguing,’ he said cheerfully. ‘You had best explain it to me.’

‘I...’ She clasped her hands, squeezing them together to steady her nerves and gazing down at the white knuckles. ‘I am trying to find out who killed my husband.’

Chapter Three

It was not the answer Ran had been expecting. She did not look old enough to be married, let alone a widow. A closer look at her face made him reconsider. She would be one-or two-and-twenty, he guessed. She was very pale; there were dark smudges beneath her eyes and faint lines of strain around them. Young she might be, but he could believe she had known grief.

‘You think Lady Meon is responsible?’

‘No. Possibly. George was staying here with friends, you see. Before he died. From what he told me, when he was sick, I suspect, I believe something happened here.’

‘Why did you not write to the lady and ask her?’

She lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug. ‘If my suspicions are correct, I doubt Lady Meon would have told me anything if I had approached her as Mrs Roffey.’

‘You decided you might have more success as a countess.’ When she did not respond he continued. ‘How long have you been masquerading as my wife?’

‘Just over two weeks.’ She added, as if in mitigation, ‘But only here in Devonshire and until this evening I had met only Lady Meon. Then she invited me to her party and I thought I might learn something.’

Loud voices came from the passage beyond the door. A burst of laughter and heavy footsteps.

She looked at him, her green eyes wide with alarm. ‘Will you tell them I am an impostor?’

‘Not here,’ he said, getting up. ‘Not tonight.’

Ran noted the slight lessening of tension in her dainty form.

‘I am most grateful, thank you.’

‘I will send for your cloak and order the carriage.’

That startled her.

‘But I cannot go now,’ she protested. ‘I have accepted Lady Meon’s invitation to stay the night!’

A grin tugged at his mouth. ‘Our hostess would hardly expect me to leave without you, but if you would rather I stayed, we could continue this charade until the morning.’

He let the words hang, watching with unholy amusement as the implication of his words sank in. She blushed furiously.

‘No, of course I do not want that!’ She rose and shook out her skirts. ‘I came in my own carriage. I will go and find my maid and we shall follow you.’

‘Oh, no, I do not intend to let you slip away from me. We shall return to the salon together and find our hostess. And then, my lady, I am taking you back to Beaumount. Your maid can pack your bags and follow later.’

Arabella wanted to protest, but she knew it would be useless. He was still smiling, but there was an implacable look in his eyes. She must capitulate. For now.

‘Very well. I will go with you, Lord Westray.’

‘How formal that sounds.’ He grimaced. ‘Very well, then. Let us take leave of our hostess.’

Arabella paused for a heartbeat. It was a risk to go off with this man, she knew that, but what choice did she have? She could confess everything and throw herself on the mercy of her hostess, but instinct told her not to trust Ursula Meon.

Did she trust the Earl of Westray? She looked at him again and realised that she did. She felt her world shift slightly, as if something momentous had occurred. It was irrational, illogical, but looking into his sea-blue eyes, she felt a connection, as if he would understand her. Nonsense, of course. Her thoughts were confused. She was still shaken, not yet recovered from her faint.

He held out his arm. ‘Madam, shall we go?’

Taking a deep breath, she put her fingers on his sleeve and allowed him to lead her back to the salon.