His Countess for a Week

by Sarah Mallory

  Not that the days dragged. Forced to remain indoors, Randolph looked out the accounts books and settled down to study them and familiarise himself with the running of this small property. Meanwhile, he gave Arabella carte blanche to play the lady of the house and sort through rooms and cupboards as she wished.

  ‘I will make an inventory for you,’ she declared, setting off to find paper and a pencil. ‘That is just the sort of thing a new mistress would do.’

  ‘And the new master would be very grateful,’ agreed Ran, smiling. ‘But only if you will not find it dreadfully dull.’

  ‘Oh, no. I shall enjoy nothing better than playing housewife. I think.’ She stopped, wondering if she should confide in him. She said in a rush, ‘I so wish George and I had set up our own establishment when we married, but he said it was not sensible to have our own household while he was away so much. It was not to be and I must not repine.’

  * * *

  By dinner time on the second day they were both feeling very pleased with their progress.

  ‘My land here is in good heart,’ Ran told her when they sat down at the table that evening. ‘Although it is suffering now because the steward retired twelve months since and has not been replaced. I shall write to Chislett to attend to it. Can I pour you some wine?’ He looked around for the decanter.

  ‘I told Meavy not to bring wine,’ said Arabella. ‘I would much rather have water, as you do, since the Beaumount spring is so clear and fresh.’

  She was looking a little self-conscious, but Ran did not question her decision. Nothing more was said and the conversation moved on.

  They might truly have been a married couple, thought Ran, as the meal progressed. They were at ease with one another, discussing improvements to the gardens and the house, moving on to the arts and even touching on what had been happening in England over the past six years. Arabella teased him for his ignorance and gave him a brief summary of what, for her, had been the main events.

  ‘I was still in the schoolroom when you left the country,’ she told him, ‘and having lived in Lincolnshire all my life, I fear my memories are coloured by those laws and matters that affect the farmers, rather than foreign policy.’

  ‘You have done well enough sharing this news with me and I thank you for that. I am ashamed to say that before I left England, I was never very interested in anything outside my own enjoyment. However, now I have the Westray estates to administer, I will have to become more knowledgeable about farming.’

  ‘You might leave it all to your steward,’ she suggested.

  ‘I might, of course, but I should like to make a success of my new role.’

  She studied him for a moment. Then a sudden smile lit up her face.

  ‘I think you will be very good at it.’

  Her confidence in him made Ran’s spirits soar. He suddenly felt like a giant, capable of anything. It was a heady feeling. Intoxicating. He wanted to shout aloud with happiness. Fighting down the urge to grin like an idiot, he threw down his napkin and pushed back his chair, saying calmly, ‘Shall we leave and allow Meavy to clear everything away?’

  * * *

  In the drawing room the candles gleamed and a cheerful fire burned in the hearth. Outside the rain had ceased and ragged clouds chased across the moonlit sky, but the clearer weather brought a drop in temperature and Randolph pulled the curtains to keep out the chill. On previous evenings they had played at backgammon and the board was already set up on a low table, but tonight Arabella hung back.

  ‘I think I would prefer just to sit by the fire, if you do not mind.’

  ‘Not at all.’ He dragged one of the wing chairs closer to the hearth. ‘You have turned pensive,’ he said. ‘What are you thinking?’

  She fluttered one hand. ‘I am feeling a little guilty. I have thought very little about poor George’s plight these past two days.’

  ‘That is no bad thing,’ he responded promptly. ‘Since we could not do anything about it, all you would have done is fret, and that would not be helpful.’

  ‘No.’ She clasped her hands and stared into the fire. ‘But I must not forget him.’

  Ran pulled up another chair and sat down facing her. ‘You may talk to me about him, if you wish.’

  She gave a nervous laugh. ‘What should I tell you? I do not know where to start.’

  ‘At the beginning, perhaps. Your childhood memories.’

  * * *

  Ran folded his arms and sat back, prepared to listen. She began haltingly, but gradually, as she became more engrossed in her story, the words came easier. He schooled his face into an expression of interest, although when she moved from the halcyon days of childhood to more recent times, he was aware of a growing unease. The picture she painted was not of a real, flesh-and-blood young man, but a handsome godlike creature. Kind, generous and totally without fault.

  ‘A paragon of all the virtues,’ he said at last.

  ‘Yes, he was.’ She beamed at him, unaware of the dry scepticism in his remark. ‘Everyone adored him. It was no wonder his mama and papa were inconsolable when he died. They worshipped him. We all did.’

  Ran was tempted to say the fellow must have been a saint, but he held back. It was not his place to tell Arabella that no man could be so perfect. She would discover his faults and all too soon, if she continued to look into Roffey’s death. Then he berated himself for being a coward. He should say something, warn her, but she was rising from her chair.

  ‘It is late and I should retire,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow we drive to Meon House, if the dry weather holds, do we not?’

  Ran rose. ‘I promised we would do so.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She held out her hand to him. ‘And thank you for listening to me rattle on tonight. You are a true friend, I think.’

  She reached up and kissed his cheek, then walked out of the room, leaving Ran to stare after her.

  * * *

  Arabella hurried down the stairs and across the hall, saying breathlessly, ‘I beg your pardon, my lord. I did not mean to keep you waiting.’

  It had taken her longer than expected to dress that morning. The green muslin she had chosen last night had suddenly looked too pale, too dull for her visit to Meon House, and she had begged Ruth to seek out her iris-blue walking gown with the muslin ruching around the hem. That, of course, meant changing to the matching bonnet and dainty kid boots and, since the day was chilly, she had looked out the patterned Indian shawl to throw about her shoulders.

  The Earl, standing by the door, accepted her apology with a smile.

  ‘It was worth the wait, my lady.’

  His words caused a flutter inside Arabella. When she took his arm to accompany him to the waiting carriage, she admitted to herself that she had not changed her apparel to impress Lady Meon. It was Randolph’s approval she had been seeking. She pushed the idea aside, unwilling to think too deeply about that now.

  As the carriage picked up speed along the country lanes, she asked him if his man had returned from Tavistock.

  ‘Not yet,’ he told her. ‘A pity, because I had hoped he might be able to tell us something useful. As it is, we shall have to discover what we can about Lady Meon’s house parties. We must find some way to introduce the subject into the conversation.’

  * * *

  In the event, it required no effort at all. Lady Meon was eager to add an earl to her list of conquests and barely had Arabella sat down than the older woman mentioned her plans for her next house party.

  ‘The weather will be much improved by then, I think. It would be a good time for you to return to Beaumount, Lord Westray.’

  ‘As to that, we have yet to decide what we shall do next year.’ The Earl was standing beside Arabella’s chair. ‘Our only fixed plan is to spend the Christmas period in Oxfordshire.’

  His words conjured the image of a country retreat for a happily marri
ed couple and Arabella fought down a sudden wave of regret. She and George would never share such delights.

  Randolph’s long fingers rested on her shoulder and their gentle pressure made her wonder if he was aware of her unhappiness. No, how could he read her thoughts? Nevertheless, she was comforted and grateful for his support. She wanted to move her head and rub her cheek against his hand. Impossible of course, but she could not resist reaching up to touch his fingers.

  ‘Westray Priors,’ he continued, taking a seat on a sofa, from where he could see both her and Lady Meon. ‘It is my principal seat and I have yet to acquaint myself with it.’

  ‘Oxfordshire.’ Their hostess gave an elegant moue. ‘It would not do for me. If I may say so, the landscape there is very tame compared to Devon. And in the spring the country around here is at its best.’

  Arabella could not resist. ‘I should have thought it very wet and muddy then.’

  ‘It can be, but we do not mind it.’ The lady gave a little laugh and fluttered her eyelashes at the Earl. ‘Can I not tempt you to try Devonshire in May, my lord?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he replied. ‘If the company is entertaining.’

  ‘Oh, I think I can promise you that.’ She waved towards the folded papers on a side table. ‘I have already received acceptance from Sir Osgood and Lady Fingell, and Lord Caversfield, too. And I expect to hear any day now from my brother. He always brings one or two of his friends.’

  Arabella said casually, ‘Are we to understand they are regular visitors to Meon House?’

  ‘Charles, certainly,’ replied their hostess. ‘The Fingells, too, were here last summer.’

  Randolph shook his head. ‘Alas, ma’am, I am unacquainted with any of these people.’

  ‘No, of course,’ purred Lady Meon. ‘You have been...away, have you not, my lord?’

  Arabella sat up, alarmed by the inference in the innocent-sounding words. She was surprised at how much she wanted to jump to the Earl’s defence.

  ‘I have indeed, ma’am,’ he replied easily. ‘Sydney Cove was rather lacking in polite society.’

  She felt the tension ease from her shoulders. His insouciance showed how little he needed her support. He displayed no remorse for his past indiscretions, no guilt. In all likelihood he was as wicked as their hostess. Set a thief to catch one...

  ‘Are you stopping in town before going on to Oxfordshire?’ asked Lady Meon. ‘If so, then you should look up my brother. Charles Teddington.’

  Arabella caught her breath, but not by the flicker of an eyelid did her expression change. She maintained a look of polite interest while her hostess continued.

  ‘He has rooms in Leicester Street and will be fixed there for the winter, I believe. Look him up and mention my name to him. Town has changed since you were last there, my lord. I am sure he will be delighted to introduce you.’

  ‘Thank you. I shall remember that,’ murmured the Earl, inclining his head.

  Arabella shifted, impatient to be gone. She glanced at the clock and then at Randolph. He did not disappoint her.

  ‘My dear,’ he said, rising, ‘it is time we were on our way. We must not take up all of Lady Meon’s day.’

  Arabella rose like a dutiful wife and said all that was polite. They were soon back in their carriage. As they bowled away along the drive, Randolph turned to Arabella, sitting beside him.

  ‘Now, madam, from the way you were fidgeting, I take it you could not wait to be away.’

  ‘Oh, dear, was it so obvious?’

  He laughed and flicked her cheek with a careless finger. ‘No, I am teasing you! I doubt our hostess noticed anything amiss, but you did recognise some of those names?’

  ‘Only one. Charles Teddington. He was George’s groomsman at our wedding.’ She frowned. ‘George did not tell me of his connection with Meon House. Nor did Mr Teddington mention it when he came to Revesby Hall for the funeral, which is very odd.’

  ‘Dam—dashed suspicious, I would say.’

  A chuckle escaped her. ‘You need not mind your language on my behalf, Randolph. George never did.’ Her smile disappeared. ‘As for his friend not talking of Meon House, I wonder if perhaps I missed that. I was overwrought at the funeral, and only spoke a few words to anyone that day.’

  ‘But it does seem odd that your husband did not inform you that Teddington was Lady Meon’s brother. However, it gives us something to work on now,’ declared Randolph. He reached out and took her hands. ‘We shall see what Joseph has discovered in Tavistock and then we can decide just how to proceed.’

  He was smiling down at her and it was impossible not to respond, to smile back. Suddenly she wished with all her heart that this was no charade, that she was indeed Lady Westray and they were going into Oxfordshire for Christmas. Together. Man and wife.

  The idea rocked Arabella to the core.

  * * *

  They reached Beaumount just as a booted figure was walking from the stables to the house.

  ‘Ah, Miller has returned.’ Randolph jumped out of the carriage and held out his hand for Arabella. ‘Let us see if he has any news for us.’ They waited on the drive for Joseph to come up. ‘Well, man, have you learned anything interesting?’

  ‘Oh, I think so, my lord.’

  ‘Good. Let us go in, then.’

  They went into the drawing room, Randolph calling for small beer for himself and his man, and a glass of wine for Lady Westray.

  ‘Well, Joseph?’

  ‘It was as I thought, my lord. The rainy days had kept folk at home and today the town was very busy. Lady Meon’s carriage horses had been brought in for shoeing and I fell into conversation with her head groom, Stobbing. Seems he don’t trust any of the others to see the job’s done properly. Which is why I am so late coming back. We got to, er, talking.’

  ‘In the taproom, no doubt.’ Randolph smiled wryly. ‘What did you find out?’

  ‘Plenty. It seems the lady holds regular parties at Meon House throughout the spring and summer. For gentlemen, in the main.’

  ‘Those that enjoy playing at cards and dice.’ Arabella nodded sagely. ‘George told me as much.’

  ‘Well, not only—’ He broke off when Randolph caught his eye and gave a little shake of his head.

  ‘What could the fellow tell you about these parties?’ asked Ran.

  ‘There are always several each year. Very private affairs, apparently. None of the local families are invited to visit while there are guests at the house. The staff are paid well to keep their mouths shut, so very little information gets out to her neighbours, although there are rumours, of course. The guests are very flash with their money, though, when they do go abroad, so the local tradesmen never complain.’ He grinned. ‘Stobbing told me all this in the strictest confidence, of course, after a couple of tankards of heavy wet.’

  ‘Good man,’ murmured Ran.

  ‘Could he name any of the guests?’ asked Arabella. ‘A Frederick Letchmore, perhaps?’

  Miller shook his head. ‘No, I don’t recall that name.’

  ‘Or Charles Teddington?’

  ‘Aye, he did mention him.’ Miller’s eyes flickered towards the Earl. ‘Nothing I could make sense of, though.’

  ‘Lady Meon said her brother has rooms in town,’ put in Randolph. ‘It should not be too difficult to track him down.’

  He looked across at Arabella, but she was not attending. A tiny frown puckered her brow and it seemed to Ran that it was an effort for her to sweep it aside when he asked her if anything was wrong.

  ‘No, nothing. I must go and change for dinner. Thank you, Mr Miller. I am grateful for your efforts. Truly.’

  Randolph waited until Arabella was out of the room before he turned back to his man.

  ‘Now then, Joseph, tell me what you could not say in front of Arabella.’

  ‘To begin with,
there’s that brother of Lady Meon’s. Stobbing was scathing about him. Called him a Leg, a Captain Sharp, who sets out to draw in the pigeons to these little parties, only to my mind, no one’s lured to Meon House—they are all game to go.’ Joseph rubbed his chin. ‘I think they are fools with money burning their pockets. Why bother to cheat ’em out of money they’re happy enough to lose through reckless play? I gather they are all ripe for a spree and want to kick up a dust but discreet-like, if you get my meaning. Away from their family and any friends who might disapprove.’

  Or their innocent young wives.

  Ran frowned at the thought. ‘Go on.’

  ‘There’s drinking and gambling late into the night.’ Miller’s lip curled. ‘Stobbing said they spend very little time out of doors, or out of bed, from what he’s heard from the staff inside the house. Females are brought down from town for...er...entertainment and any wives who do come are as free as their husbands. If I understood his nods and winks aright, Lady Meon herself is very partial to handsome young gentlemen.’

  Recalling his own encounters with the lady, Ran could believe it. He said, ‘The play would be deep, I suppose.’

  ‘Very deep. Cards, dice, the local horse races, the usual things.’ Joseph reached for the jug of ale and topped up his glass. ‘He did not mention George Roffey by name, my lord, and of course I couldn’t ask, but he did tell me the house servants weren’t very impressed with my lady’s guests at the June party.’ He added darkly, ‘Opium-eaters.’

  Ran frowned. ‘That is what I was afraid of. Rich young men with money to spend and no real purpose in their lives.’

  ‘And others very willing to help them spend their money,’ said Miller. ‘Seems not much has changed in the past six years, my lord.’

  ‘Nor is it likely to, more’s the pity,’ muttered Randolph. ‘But there was no hint of anything illegal going on?’

  ‘No, sir. Stobbing was sanguine about it all. High spirits, he called it, but we know where that can lead.’