Captain Durant's Countess

by Robinson, Maggie

  “The sooner the better. I cannot wait to wash my hands of this little baggage. Let poor Swift deal with her,” Reyn said, reaching for a raspberry jam-filled tart.

  “You know you’ll miss me.”

  “As one misses an extracted tooth, not that I would know. I still have all mine, thank Mr. Swift’s Lord.”

  “If you keep eating jam tarts you won’t. Not to mention you’ll get fat.” Ginny colored, realizing that perhaps she should not be so free with her speech in the presence of a countess. But Maris was quite enjoying picturing Reyn with a pot belly and a missing tooth or two. He wouldn’t be such a perfect specimen then and would look more mortal and less like a Greek god.

  “Enough, brat,” Reyn chided. “Lady Kelby must be bored to death with our bickering. We shall take our leave and promise to do better next time.”

  Next time? “What cheek! Are you inviting yourself back, Captain Durant?” Maris asked, getting into the spirit of things.

  “Not at all. We are hoping you will grace us with your presence at supper one evening soon. An early night. We are complete country mice, now. I can drive the gig over myself and return you safe and sound. I should like you to see Merrywood. It’s nothing in comparison to Kelby Hall, of course, or Hazel Grange. But Gin has worked wonders. For all my sister’s faults, she is an excellent housekeeper.”

  “I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted, brother dear. Of course, we’d love to have you, Lady Kelby. Just a quiet evening, no fuss. I know with your recent bereavement you’re loath to be in company.”

  Maris felt a prickle of unease. But it was impossible to withstand the charm of both Durants, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

  If she accepted, would Reyn think she’d accept everything else?

  She couldn’t marry him. It was an absurd notion. She could not embark on an affair with him, either. No man would think she was alluring with her suddenly pendulous breasts and swollen belly. No wonder husbands, the devils, sought amusement elsewhere while their wives stayed home knitting baby caps. It was entirely the husbands’ fault their poor wives were as blown up and gassy as a Vauxhall balloon. Damn men anyhow.

  Reyn interrupted her mental diatribe. “So you’ll come, Lady Kelby?”

  “I-I shall be delighted.” How easily the lie slipped through her lips. Though she was interested in seeing Reyn’s property. She had a keen interest in horses now that she didn’t have to worry over Henry. Soon, however, she’d just have to talk to Pearl rather than ride her. Though she put the animal through the mildest paces, Stephen was beginning to fret that she would get hurt on their daily outings. He was becoming worse than Betsy, if that was possible. Likely he was embarrassed, too, to be touching her in her present state. Mr. Prall’s two bachelor sons seemed shy of the fair sex. “I would love to come a little early to see your horses.”

  Reyn brightened, making her fear she was only adding to his wishful thinking. “I’d love to show you my girls. My young gentleman, too. Brutus is a new acquisition. He’s very full of himself at the moment, showing off for his harem.”

  Like you, Maris thought. A splendid, viral animal, young and sleek. She felt the blush rise to her cheeks, and fought against the confusion she always felt in Reyn’s presence. At least she wasn’t stammering again.

  She had fallen in lust, she who should know better. Lust didn’t last. Would friendship, the kind she had with Henry, ever be possible with a man like Reynold Durant? She pictured him over future tea trays, his dark hair silvering, the smile lines on his face deepening, then shook the homey aspect from her head. She was in no position to anticipate a future with anyone but her coming child.

  “It’s settled then. Shall we say next Tuesday? I’ll come for you at five o’clock. There will be plenty of daylight for you to visit the stables.”

  Maris meant to object. She had a perfectly good carriage, and Stephen or his brother Samuel could drive her to Merrywood. But if Reyn came to fetch her, she’d have some time alone with him, only minutes really as their properties were so close. She didn’t want to deny herself the bliss of sitting close, inhaling sandalwood and leather. She might, if she was very foolish, allow him that kiss he spoke of the other day, One kiss only. Just a taste, like an amuse-bouche to keep her lust at bay.

  She was a wicked woman—a widow, pregnant and ungainly—desirous of something she could not have. Could never have. For one instant she cursed Henry for placing her in this untenable position. He must have known how it would be for her, awakened and alone, and still his plan to thwart David Kelby trumped all. They knew Henry would not live forever, but Maris had never fully understood what it would be like. She faced a lifetime of self-sacrifice to the Kelby name and collection if she bore a son. What had seemed natural, given her esteem for Henry, was suddenly a heavy burden, robbing her of whatever pleasure she might have discovered on her own as an unencumbered woman.

  Resentment against Henry and her own naiveté would not help her get through the next few months, however. She must be as mindful of her humors as to what she ate and how she exercised. The poor baby had endured enough grief in its burgeoning life, but Maris’s tears were firmly behind her. They had to be.

  “Yes, Captain Durant. I shall be ready.” She lowered her eyes so that she would not see the blaze of joy in his.

  Chapter 25

  Tuesday had inched along all too slowly. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have a thousand things with which to occupy himself. Reyn was nothing if not busy, nearly overwhelmed with calculations on each of the girls. He was keeping notes and an estral calendar for all of them, having sense enough to know he did not want to be up to his elbows delivering their foals all on the same night. Brutus was anxious to begin his work, but would have to be satisfied with a few mares at a time rather than the whole lot at once.

  Some of his horses had already been bred before he purchased Merrywood, and Reyn was anxiously anticipating the new arrivals. He’d even forced himself to sit and get through most of a monograph on the delivery of foals, laboring over each sentence.

  He would not see any profit for well over a year, but had enough emerald money left over to keep himself in bread and cheese and his horses in hay if he was frugal. With Ginny married, there would be fewer expenditures on Merrywood, too. He could live with the tilting floors and tattered curtains.

  He wouldn’t let himself think of Maris moving in.

  If she agreed to marry him eventually, they could make their home at Hazel Grange, anyway. He couldn’t subject his countess to less comfort than she was used to. The Grange was a very handsome house, beautifully appointed, a fine place to raise a family. The combined acreage of the two properties would be enough to support dozens of horses . . . and children, too.

  Bah. What was he doing, dreaming? She couldn’t let an Earl of Kelby grow up so far from his birthright, even if Kelby Hall was just some twenty miles away. And he was not fit to be any sort of “stepfather” for such an exalted young personage.

  Reyn gripped the reins in frustration, ruing the day he’d ever seen that advertisement in The London List. He was tied up in knots, longing for what he could not have. Timing was everything, and he and Maris were its victims. If they had met a mere few months later, once she was safely widowed and settling into Hazel Grange . . . but then he certainly would not be Merrywood’s owner. He’d be in London, wasting his life away, doing one damn stupid thing after the next and wondering where his next meal was coming from. Staying up all night at the tables, or bedding some other man’s willing wife. He never would have crossed paths with the virtuous Countess of Kelby.

  And she would not be bearing his child.

  Reyn pulled up to the columned portico of Hazel Grange. Before the groom could rush to hold the horses, Maris stepped out and down the steps. She was wearing one of Madame Bernard’s creations, a black moiré that shimmered midnight blue and purple in the sunlight, a gauzy shawl clinging to her shoulders. The hat Reyn had selected, a little crown of iridesce
nt black feathers, was perched on her head like a wayward bird. She took his breath away.

  “Good afternoon, Captain Durant.”

  Reyn wished the old gig was a fairy-tale glass carriage, but at least the seat was newly upholstered and clean. Reyn had stuffed horsehair and pounded the nails in himself after securing a piece of leather in Shere once he knew he would be transporting Maris.

  “Good afternoon, my lady.” He jumped down and jostled around the groom to help Maris into the conveyance.

  “It is a lovely one, is it not? Almost hot.”

  Too hot for May, and sticky besides. His shoulder ached like the devil, a harbinger of rain to come. Reyn hoped all this weather talk was for the benefit of the boy who stood on Hazel Grange’s pea stone drive. They would have to find even more banal things to say over dinner and should not exhaust all of them on the ride to Merrywood.

  “Indeed, lovely. My sister has been in a tizzy all day preparing for you.”

  “I do hope she’d not gone to a lot of trouble,” Maris said, frowning. “I’m perfectly satisfied with the simplest things.”

  “So I told her, but she does not listen to me very often.”

  Maris adjusted her lightweight shawl. “How goes the wooing with the vicar?”

  “You may see for yourself. Mr. Swift is also our supper guest. I hope you do not object. I know you do not relish company at this time.” Reyn had argued with Ginny over the invitation, but somehow she’d prevailed.

  “He seems a most unobjectionable young man. I think David must have frightened him off, though. He’s not come to see me since that first visit.”

  Reyn ground his teeth. “Has David bothered you again?”

  “Only by the post. I don’t open his letters, but toss them in the fire. There’s a great deal of satisfaction to be had watching the flames, and it’s most unlikely he’s enclosing bank notes.”

  Reyn loved the hat. Maris’s profile was fully visible to him and he saw the slight curve of her lips.

  “I meant what I said, Maris. I will talk to him for you.”

  She turned to him, feathers fluttering as the gig rolled on the narrow lane that connected their properties. “How could you explain your protective interest, Reyn? I went through a great drama swearing you meant nothing to me. Denying we even spoke beyond the merest passing politeness at Kelby Hall. It will be odd enough if he discovers we are neighbors.” She bit a lip. “You never should have come for me. I was wrong to accept the supper invitation in the first place.”

  “One does have to eat sometime,” Reyn said, trying to tease her out of her funk.

  “I have a perfectly good cook of my own.”

  Damn it. He didn’t want to start their short time alone together off on such a querulous note. “Tonight, let’s agree to pretend David Kelby doesn’t exist. He’s not about to leap out of the hedgerows and catch us together, now is he? In any event, we are doing nothing wrong. You are dining with your new neighbors and a vicar. It doesn’t get more boring than that.”

  She raised a brow at him, but said nothing. Boring was not the word to describe how he felt about Maris and she knew it.

  Finally she sighed. “People will gossip.”

  “You know what? People always gossip. What they don’t know, they’ll make up. I’m afraid you are the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to Shere. A real live countess in their midst. If you wanted total privacy, you should have gone elsewhere. The moon, perhaps. The Arctic Circle. But I can’t tell you how glad I am you are here next to me.”

  “Don’t expect too much from it,” Maris demurred, though she didn’t move away.

  “Even a countess cannot deny a man his dreams.” They were getting close to Merrywood’s gate. Reyn had affixed a sign to it just that afternoon; the paint was probably still wet. “Have you given any thought to our kiss?”

  “That’s a presumptuous question, Captain.”

  “Presumptuous is my middle name. Or would it be Presumption? I seem to have missed my chance on the road, but the stable will provide the necessary privacy, as long as you don’t mind the girls looking on.”

  “You are being ridiculous, Reyn.”

  She hadn’t said no. He’d have to be careful not to muss her, make sure there were no telltale bits of straw on her bottom. Of course there wouldn’t be. He couldn’t very well lure her into a stall and toss up her skirts as much as he wanted to. He’d have to refrain from sliding his fingers into her pinned-up hair, undoing the cunning jet buttons on her bodice, nipping her long white neck. And freeing her voluptuous breasts, which seemed a bit larger than he remembered.

  And he remembered everything.

  “Here we are. It’s a pleasant aspect, is it not?” Every time he rode down his lane, he felt a little jolt of pride. The whitewashed stone dwelling at the end of it had begun its life as a humble farmhouse, and several additions had been tacked on over the last century. The roof was thatch, and a clutch of early climbing roses framed the front door. True, he had to duck his head to enter that door, which had taken some getting used to. The outbuildings had been painted to match the house, so everything was blisteringly white and fresh. Reyn knew it was necessary to appear prosperous even if he wasn’t yet. His potential customers should be impressed.

  His hard work was worth the smile on Maris’s face.

  “Oh! This is lovely, Reyn!”

  “This is more or less my first home, too. My parents weren’t much for sticking around to one place. Always fleeing creditors, you know. But I expect that mobility prepared me for the army. I never knew where I’d wake up next.”

  “That must have been difficult for a little boy. I never lived anywhere but Kelby Hall.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  “Not at all.”

  Reyn turned to her in surprise.

  “It’s true. I’m quite content at the Grange. I told you I was happy with simple things.”

  Excellent. Then there was hope for him. He was simple as they came.

  “Let’s get you to the stables before Ginny gets her hands on you.”

  “I don’t wish to appear rude.”

  “Not at all. She knows you’re going to tour the barns with me first. I’m anxious to hear what you think.”

  They rolled into the yard and young Jack came scurrying out to help. The boy was his only help at present, which would soon have to change. Reyn jumped down and helped Maris out, forcing himself not to leave his hands on her too long. They entered the largest cool dark building, horses whickering in greeting. The scent of horse manure was almost entirely absent. As instructed, Jack had been busy.

  “Give me a moment for my eyes to adjust to the light before I ooh and ahh,” Maris said.

  “You needn’t try to turn me up sweet. I know Merrywood’s limitations.” He’d worked like the devil to correct most of them, though.

  “Reyn, I can tell already you’ve done a wonderful job here. Everything is . . . gleaming. The boxes are much larger than usual, aren’t they?”

  “For the foals, when they come. It disturbs the horses to move into roomier quarters once they’ve given birth. Best to start them out in a larger space.” He’d ripped out every original stall himself over the winter, carefully measuring its replacement.

  Maris reached for a long cinnamon-colored nose and stroked it. “Pretty girl,” she whispered. She opened her reticule and pulled out a lump of sugar.

  “Now you’ve started something. You should have brought an entire cone if you don’t want to cause a riot.”

  “I will the next time.”

  Her words were heartening. Reyn very much hoped she’d be back again and again.

  Sugar gone, they toured the rest of the stable, Maris lingering over each of the fillies with a word or a gentle pat. She had a natural horsewoman’s way with the animals and didn’t blink when one of the girls excreted a very unladylike mess during her inspection.

  They crossed a few grassy steps to the second stable housing the gentlemen�
��s quarters and Reyn’s office. One day, the empty stalls would be filled, but only two were occupied at present. Brutus put on a show while Phantom did the equine version of rolling his eyes.

  “He is a beauty, isn’t he?” Maris said, stepping back to admire the bay in the filtered sunlight.

  Jack had done an admirable job scrubbing the windows, too. Reyn would have to give the boy something extra in his pay packet.

  “He certainly thinks he is. Let’s hope his offspring make him worth the price I paid.”

  Maris pointed to the curtained interior window at the end of the stalls. “Is that your office?”

  Reyn nodded. He hadn’t planned on showing her the room. His organizational methods left a good deal to be desired. But he wasn’t quick enough to stop her from opening the door and peering inside.

  It was the one place that wasn’t gleaming. Tradesmen’s bills were crumpled in a wooden trug, the pasteboard diaries on each horse strewn across the battered desk.

  Maris picked one up in her black-gloved hand. Mother of God.

  He watched her face as she turned the pages.

  “Is this in some sort of code to confuse your competitors?”

  She had given him the perfect out, but Reyn knew he couldn’t lie to her. Wouldn’t. He was a man of honor, despite his recent foray into various sins.

  A possible marriage to Maris had been a beautiful, impossible dream while it lasted. It was time for him to wake up. Confess. What had he been thinking of to offer her a life with a man such as he? His proposal had been unplanned, reckless as usual. She was far above him and always would be no matter how well he established himself in his business.

  “No, Maris, though I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.” He took a deep breath, wondering how he would sound as he admitted his greatest fault. “I cannot read well. I write worse. All the schoolmasters’ beatings in the world did not help. You see the result in your hands.”