Captivating the Countess

by Patricia Rice

  “You should be in London when the session opens. We’ll need the duke’s proxy vote.” Garland, Estelle’s husband, blew a smoke ring. “Will you have the staff to open up the town house?”

  They wanted free lodging, of course. Rain didn’t mind. “I suppose it depends on circumstances. I’ll remain here if his condition worsens. I might spare a second tier of servants if you need the house and the caretakers aren’t sufficient.”

  His gut clenched at what he wasn’t saying. His father wasn’t terribly political. If the duke died, there wouldn’t be any gaping hole in the Lords, just in their lives—and pockets. If Rain didn’t keep control of the trust, they couldn’t rely on Teddy allowing expenditures for the London house and servants.

  The loss of control was one more reason to grit his molars to nubbins.

  After finishing their port and returning to the ladies, Rain discovered the countess and Alicia had already departed. He supposed he could introduce the lady to the estate books and discuss terms in the morning. It had been a long day, after all.

  “Alicia decided not to entertain us this evening?” He was rather relieved at that.

  “She took the countess upstairs to meet Father.” Victoria complacently knitted at a baby cap.

  Rain had a really bad feeling about that. Excusing himself, he clenched his teeth and strolled up the stairs.

  “Good evening, your grace.” Bell curtsied for the lean man sitting up against the pillows. He appeared almost skeletal against the vivid maroon of his dressing gown, but she could see where Rainford had inherited his aristocratic cheekbones and regal bearing. “I hope we are not disturbing you.”

  “Not at all.” He gestured with his long, slender fingers. “Please, have a seat so I do not feel guilty for not standing up. Alicia, where is your brother?”

  “Rain is entertaining the husbands, of course.” Alicia plopped into a chair and propped her feet in an unladylike fashion on the bottom of the bed. “We have had a very exciting day.”

  Back straight, hands crossed in her lap, Bell settled in a chair near the head of the bed. “I fear I have been unintentionally the cause of much of it.”

  “I doubt you’re the cause of Miss Rutledge’s departure.” The duke took a sip from a glass on the bedside table. “That’s entirely on Rain’s head.”

  “The servants have been gossiping.” Alicia made a moue of disapproval.

  “No, Rain sent me a note.” He pointed at a paper beside the glass. “Said he’d be up to explain as soon as the dust settled. I assume the dust isn’t quite settled?”

  “Oh, well, after that, Mrs. Bianco departed in a huff and a circus, and Lady Rutledge left with her, and of course, Lady Craigmore arrived, and we’re all at sixes and sevens.” Alicia seemed quite pleased with the chaos.

  “Ah, yes, the house did seem remarkably quieter. And you have finished your musical?” He lifted his sparse, graying eyebrows.

  “No, it is very bad.” Alicia grimaced. “Perhaps I should take up painting instead. Teddy seems to do well.”

  “I think,” Bell said quietly, “if you have not found a desperate desire to splash paint on canvas, you may not have a gift for art, either.”

  The duke nodded in agreement. “Teddy started drawing on walls the instant he could put his pudgy hands around pencils. That is how he expresses himself.”

  Alicia kicked the bed but didn’t disagree.

  “And you, Lady Craigmore? I understand you have a gift for ghosts? I had an ancestor who talked to the Sommersville ghosts.” The duke waited in interest.

  Bell tried not to look too pained. “I believe I’ve read her journals. I am not quite so sanguine about speaking to spirits. I generally do not see ghosts as your ancestor did. They invade my head and clamor to be heard and are not necessarily related to you or me or anyone useful. I am attempting to learn to block them out.”

  “But you listened to the one that brought you here.”

  Startled by the male voice in the doorway, Bell grabbed the chair arm and counted backward from a hundred. Once she’d steadied herself, she shot the marquess a glare. “I listened to Lady Agatha and Lady Gertrude, who told me you had a position.”

  The marquess crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder against the door jamb. In the dim light, his hair appeared frost colored. “That’s not all you told me.”

  She refused to disturb the duke by mentioning the spirit of his mother. Standing, she dipped a curtsy. “It is good to meet you, your grace. I’ll leave you to discuss the day’s events with your son. I should help Mrs. Malcolm with her packing.”

  “Rain, you are such a stick-in-the-mud! No wonder Araminta left you. Now you are even driving away Lady Craigmore.” Alicia glared at her brother.

  “Your brother believes he is being protective. One would think his sisters would have cured him of that habit by now.” Bell refused to squeeze through the doorway until the marquess shifted. “If you will excuse me?”

  He’d shaved before dinner. She could smell his spicy soap. To her, Rainford was intimidatingly tall and broad. His Ives cousins were more muscular, she supposed. She’d simply rather not be exposed to all that. . . towering arrogance. . . at close proximity.

  “It is my responsibility to be protective of my family.” He didn’t move. “It is only because you are on the fringe of our family that I have hired you. I’ll see you in your office at nine, and we’ll take a look at what Davis has left behind.”

  He finally stepped aside, allowing her to pass. Bell was aware of his gaze on her as she hurried down the hall.

  She wanted to curse interfering men, but she had to respect the marquess for looking after his fractious relations. She’d never had a man like that in her life. Experience had taught her she didn’t need one. She hoped the marquess would recognize that, or she’d never be able to stay.

  Winifred really didn’t require aid in packing, but Bell wanted the comfort of her sensible presence for one last evening. After this, she’d be entirely on her own in a strange household. She’d learned how to do it once, when she was running for her life. She could do it again—with sufficient incentive.

  “You met the duke!” Winifred beamed at her proudly when Bell told her. “How does he seem?”

  “It is hard for me to judge, since I didn’t know him when he was healthy. He’s a large man like his son, but he seems all skin and bones, as if he needs nourishment.”

  Winifred tapped a small ledger she’d left on the table. “I’ve copied all the herbal recipes I know for nourishing invalids in here. I’m sure Rainford has his own, but it doesn’t hurt for him to compare. That young cousin of his who will inherit does not seem quite mature enough to handle great responsibility. I’m not one for prolonging life when a person is ready to go, mind you, but keeping the duke alive seems essential for more reasons than one.”

  “Surely a man like the marquess will have no difficulty in finding another bride? Perhaps he’s learned his lesson and will choose one willing to marry quickly.” Bell flipped through the notebook, but she knew very little of herbal remedies. She had a slight affinity for bees, but her specialty apparently was dead people.

  “Marry a woman who simply wishes to be a marchioness and a duchess one day? That seems a lonely way to choose a bride, but perhaps he finds companionship elsewhere.” Winifred laid out her traveling gown for the morrow.

  “You mean a mistress? That might be another reason Miss Rutledge ran away. And if she wasn’t as intelligent or sophisticated as his sisters, there is still another reason. They are a force of nature. It would be difficult to find a bride who could stand up to them.”

  “Except another Malcolm.” Winifred’s eyes twinkled. “Only he needs a woman who will bear him a son.”

  Bell wrinkled her nose, knowing the argument there. “And there are very few Ives females. I am not familiar enough with the family to know if there are any the right age and marriage status. I’m sure he has a list. Do not look to me to help him in his search. I a
m simply praying his lovesick steward did not leave the books in a muddle.”

  “It is a shame the English do not allow estates to pass through the female line as the Scots do. Very short-sighted of them, I’m sure.” Winifred squeezed her trunk closed.

  “Giving women power may be why Edinburgh is a city of enlightenment and London is a cesspool.” Bell laughed at the old argument.

  “Well, until the world is run by women, we’ll never know how much better we are. We need more women like you, striking out in a way that I hope will carve paths for the future. We shouldn’t be forced to sit in dark corners, knitting, because we have no husbands. That’s foolishness.”

  “I’m not much of a flag bearer for women’s rights.” Bell smiled at the notion. “I simply want to help the people who suffered because of my stepfather and to have a chance to read in Rainford’s library. You’ll have to find someone else to lead your parade.”

  Winifred patted her cheek. “Start with young Alicia. She’s looking for more than her sisters have.”

  “The marquess would no doubt kill me if I set her down a career path!” Appalled and amused, Bell put water on for tea.

  But Alicia really did need some means to occupy her active mind. It was a pity the useless spirits in Bell’s head couldn’t help.

  Six

  The next morning, Bell opened her door to head down to breakfast. Startled by the obstacle almost tripping her in the doorway, she had to grab the door frame to prevent stumbling headfirst into the hall.

  A rather large male body blocked her path. The beard and painters’ smock identified him immediately. Why Mr. Winchester was sleeping on the floor was a little more difficult to determine.

  She definitely wasn’t stepping over him. Just as she was about to close the door, he lifted his shaggy head and said blearily, “I must paint you.”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Quietly, she closed the door and turned the lock, then retreated to the connecting door.

  Winifred was dressed and already ordering servants to take down her luggage. She admitted Bell with amusement. “It seems you are the new object of the heir’s affections.”

  “If the servants know he’s out there, they could have removed him.” Disgruntled at the unexpected start to her day, Bell followed her companion to the hall, some distance from where Teddy now snored.

  “Apparently the rest of the family lives in different wings of the house and no one of authority has discovered him yet. Large households have interesting hierarchies.” Skirting around the sleeping painter, Winifred strode unhurriedly toward the stairs.

  “I shall ask if a steward is allowed to order servants about. I should think even the housekeeper and butler would have the authority to have a drunk removed from the floor.” Bell had far too much experience in drunken family members to wish to encounter them in her new position.

  The slamming doors and shrieking creatures had apparently quieted with the departure of the diva. Or perhaps they were simply not awake yet.

  “Learning how the family functions is part of your task. Malcolms tend to act independently and are broad-minded enough not to interfere with each other’s habits. You’ve lived in too small a household to understand the dynamics, I suppose.”

  “Everything and everyone has a place.” Bell liked order. Drunks on her doorstep were not orderly.

  “I’m sure you’ll have them all in hand in no time.” Complacently, Winifred led the way into the breakfast room, where an enormous buffet was laid out and not a soul sat there to enjoy it.

  “I think I preferred Calder Castle’s more frugal ways.” With a sigh, Bell helped herself to a cup of tea and some toast.

  With a long trip ahead of her, Winifred filled her plate generously. “Your former employer was as accustomed to living in poverty as you are. The rich, like the marquess, are different. You must adapt to his ways, not the other way around. I hope you are not biting off more than you can chew.”

  Bell glanced from her thin slice of toast to the older woman and smiled. “I’ll nibble and be fine.”

  Just to prove her wrong, Lady Delahey and her husband swept in carrying a wailing infant and shouting for the servants. A door slammed above, and in the distance, a fiddle screeched up and down the scales.

  Bell clung to the edge of the table until the dizziness passed. Perhaps she would take breakfast in her room from henceforth.

  “It is late,” she declared, rising from the table. “I’m to meet Rainford in the office at nine, if someone could direct me?”

  Not daring to return to her room if Teddy was still there, Bell obtained directions, hugged Winifred, and made her farewells. Then she took deep breaths and plunged into the interior of the enormous house for the first day of her new life. In a grim way, the notion was exciting.

  The two-story entryway with its enormous windows added brightness to the front rooms even on a gloomy day. The back halls had no such illumination. If it were not for gaslights, she’d have to carry a lantern to traverse the confusing array of corridors.

  Reaching a conservatory at the back of the house, Bell sighed in relief, turned right, and found what Lady Delahey had called the office wing. A billiard table in one room, with an antler candle fixture over it, gave the lie to that label. A stuffy study with a table and humidor and crystal decanters appeared to be more gentleman’s smoking room than study. She wondered where the library might be. Not down this wing, apparently.

  Past the conservatory, she finally found a room filled with old ledgers and a battered desk. It had its own grate, she noted with relief. The corridor was quite chilly. She assumed the last two rooms near the exit door belonged to the estate agents she would meet sooner or later.

  A stack of ledgers waited on the wide desk. A tray of invoices demanded attention. Bell thought she could be comfortable here. She couldn’t even hear the slamming doors or fiddle.

  She crouched down to set a fire to the kindling in the grate, but crumpled papers made her curious. She had just pried them out when Rainford entered. Since she’d been expecting him, she wasn’t startled enough to lose her balance. She smoothed out the sheet of handwriting. “It looks as if your cousin spent a great deal of effort attempting to compose a letter to you.”

  “His actions speak louder than words.” Dismissing the crumpled paper, the marquess swiftly flipped through the stack of ledgers to find the one he wanted.

  Bell finally understood the fallacy of believing she could fill this position. Her former employer had been female. Lydia had been a welcome presence in Bell’s office.

  The Marquess of Rainford, on the other hand, was an intimidating force. Even at this hour, he was formally dressed in cravat and suit coat, his shoes polished to a high gloss.

  She hurriedly stood up and wondered if she should take a seat behind the desk or wait for him to indicate that she do so.

  Holding the crumpled letter, she crossed her hands in her modest skirt. “If Mr. Davis left the books in good order, that speaks to his character as well.”

  Rainford thumbed through the ledger he’d chosen. “The servants’ wages appear to have been paid on time. I’ll allow you to determine if the figures are accurate. Our household expenses do not differ greatly from one year to the next. You should be able to make comparisons.”

  “I’ll do that, of course, and compare to your current invoices as well. Numbers do not lie when you know how to view them.” That was comfortable ground. Rainford’s presence was not. She was entirely too aware of his tension.

  He slammed down the ledger and Bell jumped.

  “Davis used to handle my correspondence. How good is your hand?”

  Men were so disruptively loud. She steadied herself to reply. “Reasonably good. I handled Lydia’s. She had far more correspondence than bookkeeping. I may not have a university education, but I have experience and the ability to learn quickly.” She stood straight and attempted to breathe without meeting the stormy gray of his eyes.

  He didn’t m
ake it easy. The room was small and cluttered. His silver-blond hair and strikingly angular features gave the appearance of a cold angel with invisible wings that occupied all the space. Bell didn’t dare light the fire because she had to stand on the hearth to keep her distance. Her skirt would go up in a blaze.

  In irritation, he gestured for her to take the wooden chair behind the desk. “Your office, your chair. Sit. I’ll not trouble you with correspondence just yet. Familiarize yourself with the books, and if you have anything to report, leave it on the desk in my study.”

  She skirted around him and took the seat. It had wheels. She almost rolled backward. The shock should have jarred her comatose, but she seemed to be adapting to constant surprise in his presence. Her feet didn’t quite reach the floor, so she grabbed the desk to prevent hitting the window behind her. “And if I have questions?”

  “I see patients from ten to twelve and two to four today. Outside those hours, I’m usually in my study. I trust you’ll not be popping in and out regularly, or I’ll lock the door.”

  She almost laughed, understanding his curtness. “I’ll make a list of questions and present them with my report on the books, along with the terms of my contract.” She knew how to be as curt and crisp as he. It might be her only defense in a family like his.

  “I understand my cousin has already importuned you. The evenings are yours to do as you please. You’ll have Sundays off, if you last that long. Is there anything else?” No expression marred his angular features to reveal his opinion of his heir’s antics.

  “May I have use of the library? And will the servants accept my authority if I give them orders?” Bell ignored mention of Teddy. She’d take care of that nuisance on her own.