An Unlikely Countess (12 page)

“Too young.”

“Yes, but I’m sure in mother’s eyes that means more childbearing years.”

Perry grimaced in sympathy. “Know any of ’em?”

“Until the last visit I’d been away for years, and there wasn’t time to throw an entertainment before the great rift. I know the families a little, but no, none of the candidates.”

“Awkward, isn’t it? In normal circumstances your mother would arrange a ball and you’d have the opportunity to assess them all without showing particular attention.”

“A ball within weeks of my brother’s death would be appalling.”

“You need to return to Town. Anyone of importance is there at the moment, along with their nubile daughters. And you have an excuse to be mingling. You need to be presented as the new earl, take your seat in the House and all that.”

It made sense, but he had Keynings. Why would he want to be anywhere else?

“I couldn’t go immediately. I need new clothes.”

“Get ’em in London. Provincial tailors.” Perry shuddered.

“I promise to put myself in your hands, but I have urgent need of sober clothing now.”

“Oh, very well. Summon the local excuse for a tailor and I’ll advise and supervise.”

Cate laughed, shocking himself, but then realizing that it was healthy. Life must go on.

However, talk of London had reminded him of something else.

“Another problem?” Perry asked.

“Georgiana. No promises were made, but news of my becoming earl will start a furor among the Rumfords.”

“Let them explode.”

“Preferably with the length of England between us.”

“Perhaps you should choose a bride quickly. That’ll spike their guns.”

“A definite consideration,” Cate said as they rode on.

C
ate had been back at Keynings for a week, and was doing his best.

He’d put himself in the hands of Flamborough—having discovered the house steward’s name—and familiarized himself with the whole house and its running, thanking heaven that it would soon be his countess’s responsibility. If, that was, his countess could wrest control out of the hands of his mother and Artemis, who continued to run the place like a well-matched team.

He’d met his three black-clad nieces, aged from eight down to three, and received only solemn curtsies. Heaven alone knew where they played, for he never heard a sound from them.

He’d turned himself over to various other senior officers of the earldom and was beginning to grasp the complexities of his possessions, which included lead and coal mines, ships, and urban properties. At times, he felt as if his head would burst.

He knew everyone would be happy if he simply signed as directed, but that wasn’t his way. Ill prepared though he was, he needed to understand what was going on.

His real lack was a secretary, someone knowledgeable about more personal correspondence and Roe’s political and business dealings. Soon after arriving, he’d learned that Mount had left after the funeral. Flamborough had not wished to comment, but Cate had pressed him.

“Mr. Mount was devoted to your brother, sir.”

“It would seem Ransom was devoted to my brother too, but he’s still here.”

“Mr. Mount had the offer of a position elsewhere, sir.”

“You’re saying Ransom stays only because no one else would have him? I doubt that. Mount didn’t want to be my secretary.”

Flamborough looked into the distance. “He seemed to think that you were sufficiently dissimilar to your brother, sir, that you would not suit.”

In other words, Cate translated, the secretary had disliked him. Secretary and employer was a close relationship, for a secretary would often accompany his employer, even to social occasions. He would also be privy to his intimate affairs.

Had Mount shared Roe’s belief that Cate had been pleased by the baby boy’s death?

It hurt that he’d never be able to put that right, but there was no point dwelling on it. At least Artemis seemed unaware. He’d thought of raising the subject and offering his sympathies to her, but had not seen any suitable way to do so.

As for a secretary, Perry had stepped into the breach, enjoying the game of it. He was particularly useful when knowledge of court and London was necessary, but also had a general knowledge of politics and international affairs. They were going over some correspondence to do with the colonial taxation issue when a footman arrived to request Cate’s presence in the drawing room.

“What now?” Cate muttered. In general, his mother and sister-in-law didn’t seek his company, which suited everyone.

When he entered the drawing room he halted. It was full of women.

Impatient after only a week, his mother had summoned some of the potential brides, and as she introduced them, she looked as smug as a hen who’d laid a clutch of golden eggs.

Perhaps she’d been inspired to this because he had his first suit of respectable clothing—a sober black suit with jet buttons and only fine silver embroidery to lighten the waistcoat.

Suppressing irritation, he bowed to Mrs. Wycliffe and her daughter, Julia. Beside this name on the list his mother had noted “well behaved.” The only word that came to Cate’s mind was “bland.” Bland fawn gown, bland brown hair, and a bland, almost vacant smile.

Next, Lady Moregate and Lady Corinna Shafto—“vivacious.” Terrifyingly unbland, especially as she was the sixteen-year-old. Glossy dark curls, sparkling dark eyes, a perfectly formed Cupid’s-bow mouth, along with an aura of energy. She didn’t actually sizzle, but perhaps only out of respect for mourning.

He knew before the introduction that the third young lady had to be Miss Armstrong, aged twenty-two, because his mother had noted “awkward, but kind” beside her name. Even sitting still on a settee, she was awkward. No part of her fit well with another, she carried her head slightly crooked, and her eyes moved anxiously, traveling everywhere except to look at him. She must have come with one of the other parties, as no mother was in evidence.

If he were forced to pick among the three, it would be Miss Wycliffe, because it would be easy to entirely forget she was around.

He was obliged to accept tea and attempt to take part in trivial conversation. Soon Lady Corinna’s true nature escaped and she commenced a stream of suggestions of perfectly delightful events that should be organized to welcome him back to the area.

“Mourning, dear,” her mother murmured, but with a doting smile.

“Oh, yes.” But the young beauty was undaunted and sent him a blinding smile. “As soon as may be, Lord Malzard.”

Cate was amused, but not at all attracted. A man wouldn’t know a moment’s peace.

“As soon as may be,” he agreed, and deliberately turned to the awkward one. “What form of entertainment do you most like, Miss Armstrong?”

She blinked. Her eyes shifted. “Something musical,” she muttered.

“You play?”

“Me? Oh, no, my lord. A foolish suggestion. Of a musical event, I mean . . .”

“On the contrary. An excellent suggestion. A musical evening is a much different matter to a ball, is it not, Mother?”

“Very different, Malzard.”

“Then we will have one soon.”

“How wonderful!” Lady Corinna declared, clapping her hands. She ran off again about when it should be, how it should be arranged, and who should play. She, of course, was skilled on the harp.

Cate seized on a break in the torrent to address the third would-be countess. “Will you enjoy a musical evening, Miss Wycliffe?”

“I’m sure it will be very pleasant, my lord.”

“Will you play?”

“I lack the skill, my lord.”

“But she sings beautifully,” insisted her mother.

“Then I look forward to that,” Cate said, but the thought of encountering the rest of the candidates made him ready to put a bullet in his brain.

When the guests took their leave, his mother said, “Well?”

“That gathering was inappropriate, Mother.”

“If I do nothing, nothing will happen!”

“Will you hover over the marriage bed, advising and prodding?”

“Catesby!”

“I apologize. But please allow me more time before contriving more meetings.”

Her lips tightened with frustration. “Very well. But this has done no harm. You’ve met three of the local ladies, and all would be suitable.”

“You would be comfortable living under the same roof as any of them?”

Her eyes shifted, but she rallied. “I will be comfortable once there’s a son in the cradle here.”

“Then you’ll have an uncomfortable year or more, ma’am, no matter how assiduously I apply myself.”

He stalked out of the room, regretting the words and the exit, but at the end of his patience. He had to get away from here.

He went to his room and, without summoning Ransom, changed into his old, familiar riding clothes. Replacing them had not been a priority, and putting them on released some of the tension inside him. He’d be better after a ride. Better able to return to the yoke.

He slipped out of his room like a truant schoolboy. He thought of inviting Perry to ride with him, but he needed to be alone for a while. Somehow these days he was never alone except in bed.

He fully understood Hera now.

Prudence Youlgrave.

She’d gone foolishly into the night because she’d felt as if she might suffocate inside. She’d fled a small house, while Keynings offered space and air enough for anyone, but the inhabitants oppressed his spirits.

Hera was in Darlington, with her brother. Who had at best been careless of her welfare.

How did she fare there? Was she well fed and well dressed? Had she made the good marriage that had been her dearest desire? Was she happy?

He’d like to see that.

He entered the stables, and one of the dogs came to greet him. They’d become friends and he was beginning to think about bringing a couple inside. Roe hadn’t liked dogs in the house, and perhaps Artemis and his mother didn’t either, but he liked the idea, and he was the earl.

Suddenly he remembered Prudence’s dog.

Why hadn’t she taken Toby with her to Darlington?

There were any number of reasons, not least that she didn’t want the charity case anymore, but it jangled in his mind.

Darlington was only ten miles. He could ride there and settle his mind about her welfare. He didn’t have a single coin in his pocket, so he slipped back into the house. This time, Ransom was in the bedchamber, but he couldn’t question his master’s actions.

Cate sent him on an errand and then opened the hidden safe. He took a few guineas in case Oakapple went lame or such, and some small coins to pay for refreshment. Before he left, he remembered one more thing. He unlocked the box where he kept private papers and some valuables, and took out a bottle.

It was a pretty thing he’d purchased in London, made of blue glass in a cleverly wrought silver mesh. It was too large to be a perfume bottle, so he’d asked the shopkeeper its purpose.

“It’s a flask for a lady who likes to keep some medicinal brandy on her person, sir. Fits in a lady’s pocket, you see, and flat so it don’t show.”

“What does it hold? An eighth of a pint?”

“Thereabouts, sir. A lady wouldn’t want more.”

“Some might,” Cate had said, and bought it.

He’d been thinking of Hera, but with no expectation of giving it to her. Later, he’d wondered what to do with the thing. Georgiana would have been shocked by such a gift, medicinal or not.

Had fate known this moment would come?

That thought made him hesitate, but he put the flask in his pocket and returned to the stables, having to hide a kind of glee at this adventure.

Jeb had Oakapple ready. “You want me to ride with you, sir?”

“No. But I might be a while.” Hades, he was the earl. He couldn’t disappear without a word.

Yes, he could. For a little while.

“I’m riding to Darlington,” he said as he mounted. “On business. Personal business.”

“Ah,” said Jeb with a suppressed grin, assuming it was a woman.

It was, too, but not like that.

“A pleasant journey, sir.”

“I hope so.”

Cate rode away, and when he left the estate, he couldn’t stop a grin of pure pleasure. He still loved Keynings, but he needed escape too.

He took off the earl’s signet ring, immediately feeling unshackled.

He was free. For a short, blessed while, he was simply Cate Burgoyne again, and free.

H
e arrived in Darlington in the late afternoon, but with the long June day he had plenty of time to find out about Prudence Youlgrave and return to confinement. The ride, mostly cross-country, had been wonderful, and he reveled in the ordinary world around him.

Here, he wasn’t the Earl of Malzard, but simply Cate Burgoyne, made even less of note because of his shabby riding clothes. Amusingly, when he dismounted at the Talbot Inn on High Row, the ostler looked as if he doubted his ability to pay his shot.

“I’m not staying the night,” he told the man. “But I’ll leave my horse here.”

He sweetened the man’s mood with a sixpence, and set off for Prospect Place.

In the past, it had probably held rough cottages, but now it was lined with neat new buildings with fresh paint and sparkling windows. They all opened directly onto the road, but each had a short rise of stairs to front doors enhanced by pillars and portico.

He found the house, and it matched the others in respectability.

He considered knocking and asking to speak to Miss Youlgrave, but a visit late in the day would only raise questions in her brother’s mind. She clearly was not in difficulties and had no need of him.

He strolled back to the inn, smiling wryly at being disappointed yet again. He’d hoped to see her in her triumph, but that wasn’t to be.