A Countess of Convenience

by Sarah Winn

  Malvern forced himself to smile. “I know. My mother never understood why he spent so much time here.”

  “He was proud to be the earl, but the Durand baronetcy went back to the time of the Normans. That meant a lot to him too.”

  “If it meant so much, why did agree to change his family name?”

  The squire smiled ruefully. “No question about that. Love. When he came back after his first successful racing season, the only thing he wanted to talk about was the earl's daughter he'd met. To him, she was the most beautiful, most sweet-natured woman God ever made.”

  Malvern unsuccessfully tried to picture his stern and often strident mother as the young woman who had inspired such devotion. “I wonder if he ever regretted his choice.”

  After thinking for a moment, the squire said, “He might have regretted becoming an earl. A few times he complained about the responsibilities, but he never complained about the woman.”

  Remembering his mother's declaration of her undying love for his father and now hearing that his father had returned her feelings, Malvern shook his head in confusion. “So why did he fight that duel?”

  The squire's face grayed, revealing as no words could the depth of his friendship for Malvern's father. “I think he worried about upholding the honor of such a grand title.”

  A lump formed in Malvern's throat as he realized how much he actually did have in common with his father. He hurriedly turned back to the bookshelf. “You have a nice collection here, Culpepper, but I have a stack of Blue Books that I need to read before I go back for the next session.”

  After nodding, the squire said, “But, if you get tired of reading all those dry parliamentary reports, feel free to make use of my library.”

  “You need not feel obligated to stay with me, Mr. Weathersby,” Miss Culpepper said, after the squire and Malvern had left the parlor.

  Neil moved from his chair to the sofa where she sat, leaving a respectable distance between them. “And miss a private conversation with a pretty young lady? Books cannot lure me from such an opportunity.”

  She blushed and bowed her head, and he wondered if a real conversation would be possible. Looking for a topic that might interest her, he asked, “Do you enjoy reading?”

  She looked up, but her blush deepened. “Papa doesn't approve, but I like to read novels.”

  He forced a serious expression as he asked, “How do you acquire novels, if he doesn't approve?”

  She leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “My sister in Leeds passes them on to me.”

  Neil leaned a little closer and lowered his voice to a near whisper. “Are they scandalous stories?”

  She drew back, her eyes wide with shock. “Dear me, no! Miss Austin and Mr. Dickens write about real people facing real problems—nothing scandalous.”

  “So why does your father object to them?”

  “He thinks all novels are frivolous, that people should only read to improve their minds or their souls.”

  “Well, it seems to me that reading about how people solve life's problems does improve one's mind.”

  She nodded in emphatic agreement. “Exactly. Do you read novels?”

  He paused and acted as though reluctant to speak. “I'd hate to lose your father's esteem, but I must admit a fondness for Scott, and I have attended a reading by Mr. Dickens. I even shook his hand.”

  She gasped and raised her hands in wonder. “You are so fortunate. I would love to hear him.”

  “He travels about giving readings. Perhaps he'll come to York.”

  She gave her head a small shake, causing the corkscrew curls in front of her ears to bobble. “Papa would never take me to a novel reading.” Then she brightened. “But if he comes to Leeds, my sister surely would.”

  “Do you visit your sister often?”

  “Papa must attend board meetings at least four times a year and I go with him and visit with her. Our mother died when I was only six years old, so I sorely missed my sister when she moved away.”

  He nodded sympathetically and then turned the conversation toward his own interests. “What sort of board meetings does your father attend?”

  “Of his company—Culpepper Mining and Refining—it belongs to him and his two sisters. Papa turned the day-to-day running of the company to others when he decided to make Pepper Hill something more than a summer home. But he's still head of the board. My sister's husband works there and keeps Papa well informed.”

  Telling himself to change the subject before he appeared too interested in the Culpepper fortune, Neil asked, “Do you envy your sister for living in a city?”

  “Not a bit. Leeds is a dirty place full of wool manufactories. I much prefer living in the country.”

  “Have you ever been to London?”

  “Yes, one of my aunts lives there, but it's dirtier than Leeds and so big. I can't imagine how people find their way from one place to another.”

  He shrugged. “The fashionable area of the city isn't large at all. If you can get from Hyde Park to Westminster, you know the part that really matters.”

  “Did you live there long?”

  “Only five years.”

  “Do you miss it terribly?”

  “Oh, I...” He paused and truly considered the question with a feeling of growing surprise. “Actually, I don't miss it half as much as I thought I would.” Seeing an opportunity to further ingratiate himself with the daughter of Culpepper Mining and Refining, he added, “Especially since I've met you.”

  Her cheeks bloomed, but she took a deep breath and managed to meet his gaze. “Finding friends always makes a new place seem more hospitable.”

  He moved his hand across the space between them, stopping just before he touched her full skirt and curling his fingers as though he'd suddenly realized he was trespassing into forbidden territory. Looking at her with half-opened eyes, he softly asked, “Are you my friend, Miss Culpepper?”

  “Oh, certainly.” One of the hands that had been resting demurely in her lap reached for his and lightly touched it. Then footsteps sounded in the hallway and she jerked her hand away.

  As he walked back into the parlor, Malvern noticed Neil's new position and the longing look on Miss Culpepper's face and had to suppress a smile. He turned to his host. “This has been a most pleasant visit, Squire, but we'd better be going. I told the countess we'd be back in time for an early dinner.”

  Neil looked as though he genuinely regretted leaving, but quickly got to his feet. With the appropriate farewells they took their leave of the Culpeppers and were soon on their way back to Aysbeck. Malvern half-expected Neil to say something about his prospects with Miss Culpepper, but the man rode along in silence.

  That gave Malvern a chance to mull over some of the things the squire had said. Malvern had always pictured his parents’ marriage as a sterile arrangement to preserve an earl's title, to let his mother keep her lifelong home, and to elevate a poor Yorkshire baron. But if he were to believe the things he had recently been told, his parents had been young lovers caught up in maintaining class distinctions that eventually destroyed his father and broke his mother's heart.

  What a waste.

  When they reached the stables, the stableman rushed up to take Malvern's horse. Remembering something else the squire had said, Malvern asked, “I say, Regan, Mr. Weathersby tells me you come from Ireland. Have you heard of any troubles with the potato crop there?”

  The man's expression became grim. “It's bad, my lord. Even the potatoes that came up good are rotting now.”

  Malvern shook his head and walked away. The potato crop was far more important to the Irish economy than to the English. The government would definitely have to get involved now, and he would be called upon to support his party's position. But what if the Prime Minister did decide to suspend the Corn Laws? The big landowners, who made up a large part of the Conservative party, would be dead set against it. His vote would be important. This might be the opportunity for him to obtain some o
f the influence his mother so desperately wanted for him.

  He felt confident that nothing would be done before the Christmas holidays, but he would probably need to return to London in early January. That didn't give him a lot of time to straighten out his relationship with his prickly wife.

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  * * *

  Chapter 18

  After hearing a short rap on the connecting door, Prudence called, “Come in.”

  Malvern entered her bedroom, and she watched him stroll toward her in the mirror over her dressing table. A wedge of bare skin showed above the crossed lapels of his crimson velvet robe.

  He extended his hand toward her hairbrush. “May I?”

  Hesitantly, she gave him the brush and much to her surprise he ran it through her hair in a long, gentle stroke. “I've always admired your hair.”

  “Thank you.”

  Starting at her scalp, he applied just enough pressure to softly caress her skin before moving the bristles out into the body of her hair. Using his free hand to make sure he did not pull unduly, he lifted the brush so that strains of hair fell from it. “It's so pretty in the candlelight.”

  “If you keep that up, you'll get it tangled.” She reached for the brush, but he kept it away from her.

  “Don't make me stop. I so rarely get to see it down.”

  She acquiesced—it was a small enough boon to give him—although it made her nervous when he did something very personal that was not directly connected to lovemaking. Brushing her hair? Why would he want to do the work of a lady's maid? Sometimes she thought he deliberately did things to make her uncomfortable.

  “Did you see Effie while you were at Pepper Hill today?” she asked to cover her uneasiness.

  “Oh, yes. She served us tea. I think she's quite taken with your brother.”

  “I've tried to drop hints to warn her off, but she's paid me no mind. Perhaps you should say something to the squire.”

  Malvern paused with his brushing. “About what?”

  “About Neil's past.”

  “Why on earth would I want to do that? Marrying into the Culpepper family would be the best thing that could happen to Neil. Then he'd no longer be my responsibility.”

  Still staring at his image in the mirror, she sighed with irritation. “What about Effie?”

  He looked at her with a perplexed expression. “Marrying a handsome, young aristocrat should exceed her fondest hopes.”

  She should have known he'd see this matter only as it might benefit him. “Effie is a simple country girl who doesn't understand the ways of the aristocracy. What will it do to her when she discovers Neil is only interested in her father's money?”

  He shrugged. “If she's as naive as you think, how will she find out? Even Neil isn't stupid enough to tell her.”

  Prudence twisted around to face him as her anger boiled over. “I think she'll begin to suspect when he leaves her here and rushes back to the fast life in London.”

  He laid the brush on the dressing table. Then he caught her upper arms and pulled her to her feet. “Can we talk about this some other time?” He placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

  She refused to be distracted. “Won't you at least warn the squire about Neil's debts?”

  He ran the fingers of one hand through her hair until they cupped the back of her head. “Effie may be naive, but the squire isn't. If he wants to know about Neil, he'll ask.”

  He gently kneaded her scalp and Prudence had trouble concentrating. “So—you won't say anything to him?”

  As he lightly kissed across her cheek toward her lips, he murmured, “I'll think about it.”

  Then his lips fastened firmly over hers, and she lost her train of thought.

  A week later, Malvern sat atop his horse watching the feverish activity along the streambed. The project had come together much faster than he'd imagined it would. He wasn't surprised that the tenants had been eager to earn the day wages he'd authorized Neil to offer, but his neighbors had volunteered their services as well. Lester Bodkin had not only lent his dredge, a burly teamster, and a pair of mammoth drag horses, but also had come himself.

  He and Squire Culpepper now sat beside Malvern, discussing plans for the opening of the foxhunting season. “Do you have regular hunts?” Malvern asked.

  Bodkin assumed a look of exaggerated shock. “Why, my lord, don't you know Culpepper is the greatest hunt master in all Yorkshire?”

  Malvern chuckled. “No, but I should have guessed after seeing his fine pack of hounds.”

  Looking not at all displeased with the praise, the squire said, “We only go out twice a week, but we have quite a few townspeople join us. Some come all the way from Leeds. It's helpful to our village economy.”

  “So you'll be joining us?” Bodkin asked.

  Malvern shook his head. “To tell you the truth, there's not a horse on Aysbeck who'd make it through a day of following the hounds.”

  “I'll be happy to lend you a horse,” the squire said.

  Malvern didn't like the idea of risking a neighbor's blooded stock.

  “Or you can pick up something before the season starts,” Bodkin suggested. “There's a good horse market in York, and local huntsmen often have stock they're willing to sell.”

  Liking that idea better, Malvern nodded. “You both know the local stock; you'll have to tell me where to look.”

  A cry of triumph sounded from the creek bed as the large tree imbedded in the natural damn came free. Men and horses strained on the ropes attached to the tree, slowly moving it toward the bank. Water found new passages through the damn and surged forward, carrying more debris with it and noticeably lowering the lagoon behind it.

  “Good show,” Bodkin called. “We should be able to use the dredge now.” He jerked his reins and urged his horse down the embankment, apparently intending to personally supervise.

  As Malvern watched the man calling orders to the workmen, he said, “It's awfully good of Mr. Bodkin to take such an interest in this project.”

  “Not a bit,” the squire said. “He's been itching to get the stream opened and stop the flooding.”

  “Well, that explains his presence here. But I can see no reason other than neighborliness for you to be out on this blustery day.”

  With a grin, the squire winked at him. “I'm really here to talk up the hunt, and for that matter, if you intend to buy horses, I have a few you might be interested in.”

  Malvern chuckled. He was starting to like the old man even though he would have stayed out of the cold himself if the squire hadn't arrived on his doorstep early that morning. At Malvern Manor, he had reliable men to take care of work like this, and he let them do it. Not that he minded being here—it was good to be in the company of men—but he knew he could contribute little to the work.

  Neil, on the other hand, apparently thought the world wouldn't turn if he didn't nudge it along. He stood in rubber boots, shoulder to shoulder with the tenants, pulling ropes and offering suggestions. Amazingly, the men seemed to be taking him seriously, even though Malvern knew Neil had not worked on a farm a day in his life before coming to Aysbeck.

  Nodding his head in Neil's direction, Malvern said, “I expect he'll need liniment tonight.”

  “Yes, but I'm sure he'll think the experience is worth a little pain,” the squire said in a serious tone.

  Twisting his neck sharply, Malvern stared at the man in disbelief.

  Still watching Neil, the squire said, “He's told me how much he appreciates the opportunity you're giving him to learn about running an estate. His father's early death robbed him of the chance to learn how to manage his own land. He said he can see how he did the same things to his estate that Snavely was doing to yours, taking everything out and putting nothing back.”

  Malvern quickly turned back to the streambed, hoping the squire didn't see the shock and then amusement his remarks had caused. What Neil had obviously learned was to court the parent as well as the g
irl, and he seemed to have the squire fooled.

  Malvern thought of Prudence's request that he warn the squire. Remembering Effie's disability, he decided the man didn't want to know the truth or he'd be asking direct questions.

  Prudence heard Malvern's boots in the hallway, recognizing the crisp authority in the click of his heels. He came into her sitting room, bringing the smell of crisp autumn air with a trace of wet leather.

  “I've decided to attend the cattle market in York, and I thought you might go with me and do some shopping.”

  The thought of going shopping with money of her own to spend set Prudence's head spinning. “Oh, yes, there are so many things I'd like to get for the house.”

  “Just for the house? Nothing for yourself?” She recognized his teasing voice.

  “How long will we stay? There's so much I'd like to buy. But I probably don't have enough money to get everything I want at one time.” He started laughing, and she knew she was chattering, so she paused to catch her breath.

  “We'll stay about a week and I may even pay for some of the household goods—provided I think they're necessary.”

  Prudence beamed at him. “I've never shopped for a house before. I'll have to make a list.”

  He looked heavenward. “Maybe this isn't a good idea. You may beggar me.”

  “Oh, no. I'm good at finding bargains.”

  His smile told her he wasn't really worried. “And pack some of the fancy dresses Mother had made for you. We'll undoubtedly receive some invitations to dinner and such while we're there.”

  Her joy curdled. “You have friends in York?”

  “Mostly colleagues from the House of Lords. Wouldn't do to not send my card while I'm there.”

  “I'll stay here then.”

  “Why?” he asked indignantly.

  She began to toy with a pen on her desk. “They may have heard the gossip about our marriage.”

  He plucked the pen from her hand and threw it out of her reach. “So? Everyone in England has probably heard it. Do you intend to hide in Aysbeck for the rest of your life?”