His Countess for a Week

by Sarah Mallory

  ‘Would you, would you be good enough to inform the staff that urgent family business calls me away? And... I w-would be grateful if you did not tell anyone my true identity.’

  ‘I will not betray your secret, Bella.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Will I see you at breakfast?’

  ‘No. Ruth and I will break our fast on the road.’ The tears that had refused to come earlier welled up and fell, unheeded, over her cheeks. ‘I think it best if we do not meet again, my lord. I shall continue to seek my husband’s murderer. Alone.’

  She waited, steeling herself for his reply, expecting him to argue or to plead, but from the other room came only silence.

  * * *

  The new Lord Westray reached his principal seat in Oxfordshire barely a week before Christmas. Chislett had informed them of the Ninth Earl’s arrival in England and the house had been cleaned, staff hired and kitchens prepared in readiness.

  Randolph arrived in his new curricle, pulled by a pair of match bays whose mettle tested his driving skills to the utmost and kept his mind from dwelling on the past weeks. He had left Devonshire only days after Arabella, but he had made no attempt to seek her out when he reached the capital. She had made it perfectly clear she wanted nothing to do with him and, for his part, he thought that was best for both of them. He eschewed all society save that of his lawyer and his man of business and spent the remainder of his time providing himself with the clothes, carriages and horses suitable for his new station.

  By the time Randolph was ready to move on to Oxfordshire he had heard nothing of Arabella. There were no reports of her in the newspapers and, although Joseph was making his own discreet enquiries about the widow, there was not even any gossip to be had. He hoped that she had accepted he was right about her husband and was now safely back in Lincolnshire, where she could finish her mourning and get on with her life. As he was going to get on with his.

  At the Priors the steward, Foster, was keen to instruct the new lord in his duties, the first of which, Ran knew, was to show himself to his neighbours, which he duly did by attending the Christmas services at the local parish church. After that, when the weather allowed, he spent his days riding over his estate, meeting tenants and listening to their concerns. In the evenings and on inclement days he pored over the accounts, household ledgers and reports from the other estates that comprised his inheritance. Apart from Beaumount and the Priors, he now owned land and houses in Derbyshire and Cheshire. They must be visited, but he would do that in the summer. In the meantime there was plenty to occupy him here.

  He decided to reorganise the stables. For a coachman and head groom who had both spent years with little to do and now feared for their livelihoods, the new Earl’s interest was invigorating and they set to with a will to carry out his orders. Old carriages that were beyond repair were discarded, horses only fit for farm work were passed on to tenants and the Seventh Earl’s aged hack was put out to grass, making way for the new blood Randolph had acquired.

  ‘No sluggards or rips in our stables,’ the groom told his cronies proudly when he joined them at the local inn for porter and a steak pie. ‘The new Earl’s bought himself a rum prancer for hacking about the countryside, plus a couple of gallopers for hunting and as fine a team of carriage horses as you’ll find in Oxford. And as for the match bays pulling his curricle,’ he ended with a satisfied grin, ‘we ain’t had nothing as fine as that in the stables for many a long year!’

  ‘I heard he was a scapegallows,’ put in one of his audience. ‘A hellhound, sent off to t’other side of the world for his crimes.’

  ‘That’s as may be, but he was pardoned,’ retorted the groom. ‘Pardoned for his courageous deeds. He’s a man as served his time and come out a hero, so I’ll hear no word agin him!’

  The indoor staff were equally impressed with their new master, if a little disappointed that he had no interest in entertaining. The squire and the local vicar came to pay their respects, but Cook waited in vain for the summons to produce a sumptuous dinner party, or even fancy cakes for visitors. Hopes rose below stairs at the end of January when it was learned that someone was coming to stay, but it was only one person, for one night, and His Lordship’s lawyer at that.

  * * *

  Randolph was out with his steward when Mr Chislett arrived. He had left instructions that his guest should be shown to the best spare bedchamber, and when they met at dinner, the lawyer responded to his host’s enquiries by assuring him that he had been given every comfort. Ran then enquired after his family and asked about his journey, and the two men conversed amicably throughout the meal. Afterwards Randolph took his guest into the drawing room, where decanters and glasses were set out on a side table.

  ‘I have brought with me the papers to be signed, my lord, as you required,’ said Chislett. He accepted a glass of brandy and sniffed it appreciatively. ‘You are sure you want to sell the two Kirkster family properties?’

  Ran nodded. ‘Perfectly sure.’ He had no wish to revisit his childhood home in Liverpool, or to return to the house in Fallbridge. ‘I consulted my sister, too. She does not wish for them to remain in the family.’

  Too many painful memories, for him and for Deborah. And all of his making.

  ‘Very well, my lord. The local land agents tell me there should be no difficulties disposing of either property.’

  ‘Good. We will deal with the paperwork in the morning.’

  ‘There is another little matter.’

  ‘Oh?’ Ran’s attention was caught by the lawyer’s hesitant tone. ‘You had best tell me.’

  ‘You will recall, my lord, you wrote to me from Beaumount, asking me to look into the whereabouts of certain...gentlemen.’

  Ran frowned. ‘I told you when I was in London that letter had been sent in error. You were to ignore it.’

  ‘Aye, my lord, I understood that and I duly destroyed it, but having read its contents, the names remained in my memory and one of them came to my attention recently. Mr Charles Teddington. I thought, since you had an interest in the gentleman, you might like to know what I have learned.’

  Ran wanted to retort that he did not give a damn about the fellow, but it was not quite true. Arabella had said she would seek out Teddington and, try as he might, Randolph could not help wanting to know if she had done so. He glanced at the clock.

  ‘It is early yet,’ he drawled with a nonchalance he was far from feeling. ‘I suppose it will while away an hour.’ He settled back in his chair. ‘Carry on, then, Mr Chislett. Amuse me.’

  ‘As to amusement,’ said the lawyer heavily, ‘I am not sure this little tale will do that, but it might throw some light on the character of the gentleman. I spent Christmas in Bristol, with a cousin who lives there, a solicitor, like myself. As one does, we got talking in the evening. He was distressed by a case that had come his way earlier in the year. A lady wanting redress from a gentleman for breach of promise.’

  Ran felt a sudden chill run through him.

  ‘And the lady’s name?’

  Chislett looked shocked. ‘That I could not divulge to you, sir, not without breaking faith with a colleague.’

  Ran said carefully, ‘Was it, perhaps, Roffey?’

  ‘No, my lord. It was not.’

  Ran let his breath go. Of course it was nothing to do with Arabella. If only he did not think of her quite so often.

  ‘The lady’s name is immaterial to you,’ the lawyer continued. ‘However, the accused was one Charles Teddington. I thought this might be of interest to you, since you were so recently enquiring after the gentleman.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Ran impatiently. He might as well hear the story out. ‘Go on, Mr Chislett.’

  ‘The young lady said she had been courted by Teddington, who then abandoned her, and the unborn child she claimed was his. My cousin was obliged to advise her that she had little c
hance of winning her case. The defendant had witnesses willing to testify for him, men of some standing, while she had no one. My cousin managed to secure a settlement out of court and the lady retired to the country to have her child. However, somehow the story became public knowledge in Bristol and Mr Teddington left the city rather hurriedly and never returned.

  ‘That was in the spring of last year. When I arrived at my cousin’s house in December, he had just learned that the woman and her babe had died.’ Mr Chislett cast a rueful glance at the Earl. ‘Even lawyers have hearts, Lord Westray. The lady’s plight had touched my cousin and he was angry, desperate to share with someone all he had learned about the gentleman.’ The lawyer paused, the corners of his mouth turning down a little. He said gravely, ‘If you wish me to continue, I must ask for your discretion, my lord. My cousin has no hard evidence, but he believes what he learned to be the truth.’

  ‘Go on, sir. You may be assured it will go no further.’

  The lawyer took another sip from his glass.

  ‘Mr Teddington lives mainly in London, but twelve months ago he removed to Bristol, following the death of his wife. The late Mrs Teddington was an only child from a wealthy family in Staffordshire. Reports say that, at the time of their marriage, his wife was a normal, healthy young woman, but within six months she was an invalid, confined to the house.’ Chislett put down his glass. ‘It is said—and I must stress, my lord, it is only a rumour—that he plied the lady with laudanum until she was incapable of leaving her bed, and when she died, there was very little left of her considerable fortune.’ He steepled his fingers and gazed into the fire. ‘If one had a vivid imagination, my lord, one might conclude that the gentleman left London to avoid the gossip arising after his wife’s death and went to Bristol to find himself another rich bride. There are any number of wealthy merchants living in the city.’

  ‘And is that your conclusion?’ asked Randolph.

  ‘I am a lawyer, Lord Westray. I must deal in facts. In evidence. As does my cousin. It is a fact that Mr Teddington married an heiress. It is a fact that they were almost penniless when she died, less than a year later. Then there is the accusation—case unproven—that he seduced the young lady in Bristol with promises of marriage, only to withdraw when he learned she had no fortune.’

  Randolph walked across to the table to pour himself a glass of water. It was possible Teddington had fed George Roffey’s appetite for laudanum even if he did not introduce him to the opiate. If the late Mrs Teddington had been taking it, then he would certainly have known its power. And if Teddington was unscrupulous enough to kill, then he would have had no hesitation in taking his share of Roffey’s money at the card table.

  He returned to his chair, saying, ‘Do we know where Teddington is now?’

  ‘He is currently in town. Apart from one or two spells in the country last summer, London appears to be his main abode.’ Chislett allowed himself a little smile. ‘I made a few enquiries of my own. I thought you might ask, my lord.’

  ‘Did you, now?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’ The lawyer was in no wise perturbed by Ran’s scowl. ‘I ascertained that the gentleman inhabits modest lodgings in a respectable part of town and frequents a number of clubs. If I were one to speculate—’

  ‘Which you are not!’

  ‘Which I am not, I should say he lives by his wits.’

  Ran shot him a glance. ‘Dangerous to women?’

  The old man considered. ‘I doubt he is a threat to respectable ladies who can claim the protection of a husband or family, but given his history, I think he might well be an unscrupulous fortune hunter.’ He drained his glass. ‘Perhaps I am being uncharitable towards the gentleman. I suppose he is not so very different from any number of bucks you will find in town, living above their means and looking for a wealthy wife. Well, well, it behoves us all to be cautious. Now.’ He pushed himself out of his chair. ‘If it is all the same to you, sir, I shall be off to my bed.’

  The lawyer had to repeat himself before Ran looked up.

  ‘What? Oh, aye. Off you go, man. Goodnight.’

  * * *

  Long after the door closed behind Mr Chislett, Ran stared into the fire, deep in thought. Teddington could well be looking for another wealthy wife, but Arabella was unlikely to succumb to his charms. She would be in no danger. Unless she threatened to expose him.

  He shifted in his chair. Confound it, that was just the sort of thing she might try to do, if she thought he was responsible for her husband’s murder. And the damnable thing was that Teddington could well be involved.

  ‘Bah!’ He jumped up and headed for the door. ‘Arabella Roffey is a wealthy widow. She said herself she would hire any help and protection she needs. And in all probability she is back in Lincolnshire by now.’

  In the hall, he lit a bedroom candle and stood for a moment, frowning at the yellow flame that danced and fluttered, reminding him of Arabella’s guinea-gold curls. Uttering a soft curse, he set off up the stairs.

  ‘She is none of your concern now, man. Let it be.’

  But even before his bed was warm, he knew he could not do that.

  Chapter Seven

  Randolph arrived in London at the end of a bleak February day when the ground was frozen and a covering of snow glistened on the rooftops. The Westray townhouse had been sold long ago, but Randolph was content to put up at Mivart’s Hotel in Brook Street. It was discreet, comfortable and convenient, which was all he asked.

  Before leaving the Priors, Ran had sent Joseph into Lincolnshire, but his man had returned with very little information, only that the widowed Mrs Roffey was in London. All Ran had to do now was find her. But it must be done discreetly. Tongues would most certainly wag if anyone thought there was a connection between the disreputable Earl and a demure widow.

  Six years ago, as the young Lord Kirkster, Ran had spent very little time in London, certainly none of it in the highest circles. He had no acquaintances in the capital and he wondered how he would fare in society. The Gilmortons always remained in the north for the winter, and although he had toyed with the idea of asking his brother-in-law for letters of introduction, in the end he decided against it.

  In the event, Ran was cynically amused to discover that all doors were open to the rich Earl of Westray. True, there were sideways glances and sly references to his past, but he adopted such an air of assurance that no one dared question him outright and he was able to put down any signs of pretension with a haughty stare.

  By the end of his second week he was a member of several gentlemen’s clubs and, even though town was said to be very thin of company at this time of year, he had more invitations to balls, parties and dinners than he could physically attend. Discreet enquiries had proved effective in tracking down Charles Teddington and he had met the fellow briefly in one or two of his clubs, and even played at cards with him, but of Mrs Arabella Roffey there was no sign.

  Glancing at the invitations littering his mantelshelf, Ran picked up one. Lady Aldenham’s winter ball. He had met the lady at a card party and recalled being told that she was one of the foremost hostesses in town.

  ‘The world and his wife attend her parties,’ he had been told by Sir Arran Eversleigh, a swell of the highest order who had rather taken to the new Earl. ‘There is no one she don’t know. Just giving you a hint, my boy, if you are wanting to expand your acquaintance in town.’

  Ran was sure that, as a widow, Arabella would not attend a ball, but it was possible he might hear something about her. It was worth making the attempt.

  * * *

  Attired in a new black evening coat, white silk waistcoat and knee breeches in black Florentine silk, Randolph entered Lady Aldenham’s crowded salon shortly after the dancing had commenced. Sir Arran was standing near the door and he immediately came up and took his arm.

  ‘So, you came, my boy. Fashionably late, I see, but you
are here! Capital, capital. Damned squeeze, ain’t it? Our hostess is already on the dance floor, but let me introduce you to a few people you might find it useful to know!’

  * * *

  Ran spent the next hour being paraded about the elegant rooms, renewing acquaintances and making new ones. He knew he would have to dance and was aware that several matrons were already eyeing him as a potential catch for their daughters. He kept smiling, but inwardly he disdained their obsequious attentions. They were all aware that he was a convicted felon—the newspapers had been full of it when he inherited the title—but they were all eager to court his favour without making any effort to ascertain his character or his morals. Title and fortune were all that mattered to them.

  It was not his place to quibble. He smiled, said everything that was proper and obligingly requested one young debutante to stand up with him. He engaged her in conversation when the dance allowed, was all polite attention, yet he was constantly watching and listening for any mention of Arabella Roffey. By the end of the dance he had learned nothing and he hid his impatience as he escorted his partner back to her friends.

  He was just wondering how soon he could take his leave when the crowd parted and he saw Arabella on the far side of the room. Ran stood, transfixed. She was dressed in black velvet, lightened only by the most delicate of silver embroidery. A length of black ribbon around the slender column of her neck was her only ornament, but with her emerald eyes and guinea-gold locks glowing in the candlelight, she had no need of jewels. Ran had thought her entrancing in red. In black, she was magnificent.

  He was so engrossed in watching Arabella that he did not notice Lady Aldenham approaching.

  ‘My dear Lord Westray, you are very welcome! Sir Arran has been an assiduous deputy for me this evening and I am grateful to him for looking after you. I do hope you will forgive me for not greeting you in person when you came in. These affairs are always such a crush, you see...’