Catastrophe With a Count

by Murdoch, Emily

  Catastrophe With a Count

  Emily E K Murdoch

  To the other Emily: Emily Rampley.

  May you live bright dreams, and write them all down.

  And to Joshua, my dearest darling.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Emigrating with an Earl

  HISTORICAL NOTE

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  This was the series that I never thought I could publish, so first thanks must go to my amazing Kickstarter supporters! Thank you for your faith in me, and I hope you love this book as much as I do!

  Thank you to my wonderful editor, Julia Ibbotson, who has given me unparalleled advice – any mistakes left are completely my own!

  Thank you to my glorious cover designer, Samantha Holt, a true artist whose patience with me is much appreciated.

  Thank you to my ingenious formatter, Falcon Storm, whose willingness to format whenever I drop an unexpected email is fantastic!

  And to my family. Thank you.

  1

  After managing to tread water for what felt like hours, but was more likely six or seven minutes, it was a strong wave that eventually pushed Anthony, Count of Stratham’s head under water and finally caused despair to enter his heart.

  Spluttering and coughing, tasting the burn of saltwater in his lungs and retching in his throat, his eyes darted once more to the tantalisingly close shore. If he could only get there, the destination that he left England for – but the current was strong, and he was tired. No one could fight drowning this long.

  Finally his boots slipped from his exhausted feet, to his relief. Ah, but what did it matter, Anthony thought, dazed with confusion, exhaustion, and the hot Caribbean sun beating down on him.

  If one is to drown, why not do it quickly? None of this flailing about, attempting to rescue oneself. And what was the point, after all? What did he have to save himself for? What waited for him on those distant golden shores?

  Nothing but shame, ruin, and scandal.

  Misery overwhelmed him, until he could not tell whether it was seawater or tears that were staining his face with salt.

  He should never have come here. Considered paradise by some, Anthony could view it with nothing but disgust and contempt, for there did Mr Fairchild live. Mr Un-Fairchild.

  Another wave interrupted his thoughts, causing him to splutter once more and try to bring hot air into his lungs, but he struggled.

  As soon as the news of his bankruptcy had reached him, Anthony had taken the last of his money, borrowed a few guineas from friends who could be trusted to be discreet, and started his long and trying journey to Port Royal, Jamaica. Thank goodness Wandorne had managed to get out of the financial tangle – but then, Sir Moses Wandorne had always been the smarter of the two friends.

  He had to find Mr Fairchild. It was all his fault, and he must be made to pay for his crimes.

  And so the last thought in Anthony’s mind, before he drifted out of consciousness and into the welcoming arms of the deep and the pull of the sea, was that come hell or high water, he would pay Mr Fairchild back for what he had done.

  So convinced was Anthony that he had drowned that when he found his lungs coughing up an inordinate amount of seawater and sensed that he was lying on his back, he could not quite comprehend what had happened.

  “Whahst the…”

  Not the most eloquent speech, he thought to himself hazily, but speech nonetheless. And that meant a mouth to speak and ears to hear. And a mind, a mind to notice these things. And that could only mean…

  Spluttering out water, Anthony opened his eyes and saw a white sail fluttering madly in the stormy wind above him. His palms moved and found sand. It was warm, and as he brushed it between his fingers, he could feel small exotic and unfamiliar shells.

  Had… had he made it?

  “Ah, here he is.” A head appeared above him, with a grey beard and an appraising look. “Now then, sir, how are you feeling? Are you hurt in any place?”

  Anthony heard the words, but disregarded them. If he had indeed made it to Port Royal, then that could only mean one thing: that he could find Mr Fairchild and make him pay.

  “Fairchild?” He managed, trying to sit up and finding that his head swam as he did so. There was a sailing ship pulled onto the golden sands, lying on its side, waiting for the next time it was needed. “Where is Fairchild?”

  His eyes felt almost blinded by the sunlight, but after blinking a few times he saw a crowd, well dressed and elegant, standing in a semi-circle about twelve feet from him, as though he were a mildly entertaining show but could also bite if they got too close. There were curious looks, and a few admiring looks from the ladies.

  Anthony’s pride swelled ever so slightly. Well, it was a comfort to know that the Count of Stratham could still gain attention, even as a bedraggled and half-drowned stranger.

  “I am looking,” he tried again, “for – ”

  “Yes, we heard you,” said the man kneeling beside him, and with a strong arm he helped Anthony to his feet. “Now, can you stand on your own?”

  Standing, sitting, drowning, it was all the same to Anthony. He had travelled over four thousand miles with just one thought in mind, and that was to find Mr Fairchild.

  “I have come a long way to see him,” he said, gazing out at the crowd and finding to his surprise that few gentlemen were willing to catch his eye. “I must speak with Mr Fairchild immediately.”

  There was movement in the crowd and it caught his eye – and it kept his attention when a strikingly beautiful lady with golden hair that shone in the blustery sunlight stepped through to the front of the crowd.

  Anthony smiled and saw with pleasure the effect that it had on the young ladies either side of the woman who had stepped forward. He had always been considered handsome, with his dark cropped hair and his broad shoulders, but typically his admirers knew of his title and rank. It was rather flattering to receive such adoring looks from ladies who knew none of that.

  And then his stomach contracted as he remembered that, without his fortune, it was unlikely any of these delectable women would give him the time of day.

  He focused back on the woman who had stepped forward. She did not seem impressed by his physique, and if anything looked a little disdainful, which piqued Anthony’s interest.

  “Ma’am,” he said with a deep bow and a winning smile.

  She did not return the smile nor the courtesy. “What is it that you want with Mr Fairchild?”

  Anthony’s smile disappeared. “I have come from England for the express purpose of speaking with him, Miss…?”

  “Fairchild,” she said smoothly, with a wry and knowing smile that caused a shudder to ricochet through Anthony’s chest. “Miss Nerissa Fairchild. And who shall I say is looking for him?”

  Anthony swallowed and felt the burn of seawater at the back of his throat coupled alongside the burn of interest that this beautiful woman sparked in him. My my, so old Fairchild has a daughter. It was difficult to remind himself just how angry he was at Mr Fairchild when looking at Nerissa. She was tall herself, with an elegance not often seen in one so young.

  She was staring at him, one eyebrow raised, and it was only then that Anthony recalled that he had not actually replied.

  Anthony focused on his hatred of the Fairchilds, both of them, and glared at Nerissa. “Because of the catastrophe your father has c
aused, I am here to ruin him – as I have been ruined.”

  * * *

  Nerissa Fairchild swallowed and fiddled with the strap of her reticule in her lap. It was almost impossible to concentrate in the heat of the day at Port Royal, and the court house had not been properly aired for over a month, and it showed.

  Over twenty people were packed in to watch the proceedings, and it had already been a long hour waiting for this Count to turn up.

  Nerissa felt anger rise in her stomach, and tried to ignore him. It was ridiculous, to hate this man so much when she barely knew him. But then, all she knew of him was ill: his determination to ruin her father and his bitterness at his own loss.

  Her gaze flickered over to her father. He was standing there in the dock, waiting. She bit her lip. It was not good for him, this waiting around, this tension. It was causing her own heart rate to rise, fluttering in her chest with nervous anxiety. What was it doing to him?

  “…a great scandal in London, I heard…”

  The chatter of the Port Royal ton mingled around her, and Nerissa fought every instinct within her to look around and see who had just spoken. What did it matter, anyway? Her reputation was safe, just about, as long as the judge found in their favour.

  But if he did not? If her father was ruined in turn, and left them destitute – what then?

  Nerissa swallowed once more. Her throat was dry, and it hurt, but there was nothing she could do. She would not leave to find a drink for her parched throat, not when they had waited so long for this Count.

  Another flicker of irritation rose in her soul. Where was he? So eager was he to force her father into the dock, now he was late?

  “…could have done something, I am sure. Mr Fairchild never was one to…”

  Nerissa did turn around this time, and the gentleman behind her trailed off with an embarrassed look.

  She turned to face the court once again, blinking to ensure that the tears rising did not fall. Her father had done nothing wrong; could no one see that? As bookkeeper of the Olympic Shipping Company, he had been unable to prevent the bankruptcy, and it was not his fault that so many had lost their incomes and fortunes.

  Only this ridiculous count had thought to blame his own misfortune on another.

  The door was thrown open, and the very man about whom her thoughts ran strode into the building with an air of entitlement and pride.

  The chatter in the court room grew, but Nerissa said nothing. She just stared at the man, curiously. So, this was the gentleman who was out to ruin her father. She had glimpsed him on the beach, of course, but she had no opportunity to view him up close. What a shame he was so handsome: a fine mouth, proud eyes, and an air of wealth and education that few in Port Royal had in truth.

  You just had to look at this man once and you would see breeding and good taste. But the more Nerissa looked, the more bitterness she saw, and it had twisted his features, fading his good looks.

  The judge entered, and Nerissa rose with the rest of the gallery here to watch the case. It was only then that she noticed how tall the Count was, compared to those around him.

  “Plaintiff, come forward.” Judge Matthews spoke in an almost bored voice as he took his seat, and Nerissa bit her lip once more. If he was not going to pay attention, perhaps he would misunderstand the situation, and find against her father. “Pronounce your claim.”

  Nerissa sat down, but leaned forward as the tall stranger stepped forward.

  “I am Count Anthony of Stratham, of the Quiversley line,” said the man, and Nerissa rolled her eyes to hear the delighted chitter of the ladies down the row from her.

  Though she would have been lying if she claimed a shiver did not spark up her spine as he spoke. Count Anthony was commanding; each word was uttered as though he was accustomed to not only being listened to, but being the most important person in the room.

  And he probably usually was, she thought with a wry smile. Count Anthony, one of the nobility of the Empire.

  “I am here to get back what is mine,” Count Anthony was saying. “Mine by right. This gentleman was given the responsibility of caring for the finances of Olympic Shipping Company, and he did most purposefully allow the company to drift into bankruptcy, without notifying myself or any other investor.”

  Now the murmuring around her was darker, and Nerissa looked at her father, who was staring determinedly ahead of himself.

  “I request that the balance of my investment be taken from Mr Fairchild’s wages, and returned to me,” finished the Count.

  Shocked murmurings echoed around the court room but Nerissa barely heard them, for at that moment Count Anthony turned away from the judge and raised his eyes to hers. They met, just for a moment, a flashing instant that seemed over almost as soon as it had started, but Nerissa flinched as though she had been burned.

  What was that, that look which gave a fiery heat throughout her body?

  The sound of the gavel quietened the gallery, and the judge raised his eyebrows at the Count.

  “Is that not the general idea of an investment?” He said in his slow and methodical voice. “That it is a risk, with unsecure money, in the attempt to gain more?”

  “And yet a business investment is different,” countered the plaintiff, and Nerissa saw the confidence in him grow, his shoulders rising. “Investors should be kept informed of changing risks, so that any impending catastrophe could be avoided.”

  The judge considered him for a moment and was just about to speak when the gallery gasped and Nerissa followed their gazes to see what had caused such consternation – and gasped herself.

  Her father had risen from the dock. The judge indicated that he could speak, and Nerissa found herself digging her nails into the palm of her hand.

  “In my own defence,” said her father, his solemn face now turned towards the judge, “only God can tell what is truly to come. I do not see how I can be blamed for something that cannot be predicted by mere man. I believe that if you consider the definition of a catastrophe, my lord, it is something that cannot be foreseen nor prevented.”

  Murmurs rose throughout the court room, but Nerissa felt the tension leave her as she smiled at her father – but not all of it. Something twisted in her heart, something that she would never voice but could not ignore.

  Her father was an intelligent man. Surely he would have known something, or could have done something about the collapse of the Olympic Shipping Company? It seemed almost impossible that a man such as he could have had no warning whatsoever.

  It saddened her, her suspicion of her father. Did she not trust him enough?

  “Order!” The judge brought down the gavel twice more, and the noise subsided. “I do not think that we should proceed with this case any further. It does not seem a case for this court, but rather the court of heaven.”

  “But my lord – ” Count Anthony had risen from his seat in protest, but he was immediately quietened by the gavel.

  “I say that you, Count Anthony of Stratham, entered into a risky business, one which you invested in for profit, but with the risk of failure,” pronounced the judge with a steely look in his eye. “I find in favour of Mr Marcus Fairchild, and this case is closed.”

  Uproar erupted from the gallery, and Nerissa rose to smile down at her father – but her eye was instead caught by Count Anthony, who gave her a look of such contempt and fury that she felt it brand her very soul.

  2

  Nerissa’s mouth fell open; unsure whether she would speak, and if she would, could she? And if she could, what in God’s name would she say?

  The moment dragged out and she could not look away from those fiery dark blue eyes, and the more that she looked at Count Anthony the more her body tingled and grow hot.

  “I…” was all she managed until she was saved by the interruption of the judge. Count Anthony turned around quickly and the connection was broken, and it was only then that Nerissa realised that she had been holding her breath for that long moment. Air,
wonderful air, rushed back into her lungs and she clutched at her chest, the pain was so sharp.

  “I consider this case closed, and the court room will empty,” he snapped, rising so hurriedly that the gallery of onlookers had to jump to their feet to pay their respects as he swept out of the room.

  The mutterings had now risen to loud chatter and laughter, as the people of Port Royal started to discuss animatedly the decision that Judge Matthews had made.

  Nerissa sat quietly, shaking her head slightly as though it were filled with water. If she was not mistaken, something terrible and glorious had happened, a moment in time that was golden and yet painful, between herself and that Count.

  What a strange man he was. She lifted a hand to her ear, checking that her diamond earrings were still there, as though the fierceness of his gaze could have dislodged them. She was disorientated, that was true, but more than anything, she wanted to see Anthony again – Count Anthony, that was.

  Nerissa found herself smiling, and forced it away. What was she thinking? Speak again to the man who had just publicly attempted to ruin her father?

  It was only then that she realised that she was the last to remain seated in the gallery, and she rose quickly, reticule in hand, to descend the staircase towards the door out into the hot afternoon. Her footsteps seemed shaky, slightly wooden, as though she barely had control of her own feet. As though at any moment, she would tip down the stairs and fall, fall to the bottom with no way of stopping herself.

  Nerissa blinked, and shook her head slightly once more. This was ridiculous; she was not going to fall, and she had more than enough control to walk down a few steps!