The Runaway Countess

by Amanda McCabe

  ‘You are such a flatterer,’ Lady Marlbury said with a flirtatious laugh. She tapped him lightly on the arm with her folded fan. ‘But I don’t mind. And this must be your new wife. I have heard so much about her, though I fear my wedding invitation must have gone missing.’

  After the pleasantries were exchanged, Lady Marlbury begged to ‘steal away’ Hayden for a dance, leaving Jane to linger alone for a moment.

  But she was not alone for long. Susan Eastwood, her friend from their Drawing Room débutante days, hurried to her side, holding out a glass of wine.

  ‘My dear Lady Ramsay,’ she said. ‘You look as if you could use this.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Jane said with a relieved laugh. She took a long sip and sighed. ‘It is quite delicious.’

  ‘Only the best at Lady Marlbury’s ball, you know.’ Susan winked at her over the edge of her own glass. ‘I’m surprised you’re so calm about letting Lord Ramsay dance with her.’

  ‘I don’t let him do anything,’ Jane protested. ‘She’s our hostess, is she not? It’s only polite.’

  ‘Polite? Perhaps it is now. But my brother John, who as you know is great friends with your husband, said last year Ramsay and Lady Marlbury were quite an item. Not that it could go anywhere, of course. Ramsay has his title to consider.’

  ‘Were they?’ Jane whispered, suddenly feeling cold. Her gaze scanned the dance floor until she found Hayden and Lady Marlbury, their arms linked as they twirled around, laughing into each other’s eyes.

  Of course she knew Hayden had had amours before they met. He had to, a young, handsome, healthy earl. Yet to see it now, right before her, with such a very beautiful woman…

  ‘How interesting,’ she murmured and gulped down the rest of her wine.

  ‘It’s just silly gossip, of course,’ Susan said. ‘He has you now.’

  Jane had to laugh, so she would not cry. ‘Yes. Now he has me.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Emma twisted the book in her hands upside down and studied the map again. It was a crude old drawing, out of scale and rough, and most of the landmarks in the garden had changed since the 1660s. But she was sure, after studying it for long hours, that she had finally deciphered it.

  Unfortunately, if her new calculations were correct, the treasure was possibly buried under the summerhouse there at the centre of the maze, right across from the marble bench where she now sat.

  She took her notebook out of her bag and jotted down a note next to her own sketches. It would certainly make her task a lot more difficult if that was indeed where the treasure lay. The weather wasn’t making things any easier.

  Emma glanced up at the sky, frowning. The rain had paused that morning, long enough for Lord John Eastwood and Lady Marlbury to depart on horseback, but the sky was still thick and grey. The ground was so muddy and churned-up she wasn’t sure where to start digging, or even if she should. Maybe the treasure was better left a legend.

  Or so she had thought when it looked like Jane would reconcile with Hayden. With the Ramsay money, and a true family, Barton wouldn’t need the treasure. But today that all looked like a faint, foolish hope. Emma wasn’t sure exactly why, but everything had changed in an instant when Hayden’s friends had arrived. The bright, light days vanished and the clouds closed in around the house again.

  Emma hated it. But she didn’t know how to change it, so she had done what she could. She came to the garden to treasure hunt again.

  A sudden rustling noise from beyond the walls of the maze made her jump to her feet. It had been so quiet, so still, since she got there that the sound made her whole body go tense. Her heart pounded and Murray sat up straight with his ears at attention. Emma slammed her notebook shut and clutched it between her hands, as if it could be a weapon.

  A head peered around the edge of the wall and Emma’s breath escaped in a ‘whoosh’. It was Ethan Carstairs, and only when he smiled at her did she realise she had halfhoped, half-feared to see him alone again. She’d been thinking about him too much since their brief conversation behind the screen.

  ‘I hope I didn’t startle you, Miss Bancroft,’ he said, stepping into the clearing. ‘I thought I heard someone in here. I was just exploring a bit.’

  ‘I—No, not at all,’ Emma managed to stammer. ‘It’s just that no one ever comes to the maze, so I usually expect to be alone here.’

  ‘Am I intruding, then?’

  ‘Not at all. I’m glad of the company.’ Emma slowly lowered herself back down to the bench, watching as he came closer. He really was so handsome, just what a London man-about-town should be, in her imagination. But here, outdoors in the daylight, she could see that his skin was pale, his eyes red-rimmed with the late hours she had heard everyone having last night. ‘I thought everyone was leaving today.’

  ‘I’ll be on my way later, as soon as I can arrange transportation,’ he said. He sat down next to her, his legs stretched before him lazily. She could smell his cologne, something sandalwoody and exotic, with the underlying tang of brandy. ‘I don’t think your sister likes me very much.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Emma cried, compelled to jump to Jane’s defence. There was something about his tone she didn’t care for, some kind of careless laughter overlaid by a touch of bitterness. ‘She is simply used to having Barton Park to herself.’

  ‘Are you used to being alone as well, Miss Bancroft? Do you resent the intrusion of guests?’

  Did she? Emma suddenly wasn’t sure. She did like the quiet days at Barton where she was free to do as she liked. Especially after the torture of school. But at first having something different in the house had been exciting and interesting. New people, new gossip, new things to think about.

  Then she saw how it changed Jane and Hayden, changed the way the house felt, and she wasn’t sure the excitement was worth it.

  She studied Carstairs closely and he watched her back with glittering eyes.

  ‘I don’t mind guests,’ she said carefully. ‘Especially since I couldn’t have come outside much for the last few days, anyway. I liked the distraction.’

  He laughed. ‘So we’re a distraction, are we? And now you can come outside again you no longer need us.’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Emma said cautiously. She had been interested in Ethan Carstairs before, maybe even attracted. All she knew of attraction was from books and from that disaster with Mr Milne, and there were the daydreams, the nervousness, the breathlessness she expected. Now something was making her uneasy, something slowly creeping into the edges of her consciousness. She wasn’t sure what that feeling was, but it made her ease away from him on the bench. ‘I’m just glad to get back to my work.’

  ‘Your work, Miss Bancroft? And what is that? Something in that book you always have with you?’

  Emma’s grasp tightened on her notebook. ‘It’s just something silly. About what we talked of before—old houses and legends.’

  His smile tightened. ‘Treasure, is it?’

  Something told her not to reveal too much to him, not so soon. ‘Not necessarily. I just like investigating old tales.’

  ‘I don’t think I believe you, Miss Bancroft,’ he said jokingly. ‘I think you are treasure hunting. Have you found anything?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Emma said, trying to laugh. She slid to the very edge of The bench, but he followed her.

  ‘Let me see your book,’ he insisted. The veneer of joviality was still there; he still smiled down at her. But now Emma could see the tight desperation at its edges and it made her chest feel painful, as if she couldn’t catch her breath.

  She’d thought Jane was so silly to tell her to stay away from Carstairs, from all their unexpected guests. He had seemed so fun, so flirtatious, so—admiring. She didn’t know what was happening now, but she didn’t like the way it made her feel at all.

  ‘It’s just silly scribblings,’ she insisted.

  ‘I doubt anything done by a smart girl like you could be silly, Miss Bancroft,’ he said. ‘You deserve so muc
h more than to be buried here where no one can see you. you should be in London, where you can be admired and appreciated. I could do that for you, if you helped me in return.’

  Helped him? She didn’t even want to know what that meant. ‘I’m happy here,’ Emma gasped as she leaped off the bench. Her notebook tumbled to the ground and Murray jumped up with a loud volley of barking.

  ‘Let me help you, Emma, please,’ he said sharply, lunging to suddenly catch her arm. He dragged her back towards him, his fingers curled tightly, painfully, around her. He dragged her up against him and cold panic flooded through her.

  ‘No!’ she cried, twisting to try to break free. How had the situation spiralled beyond her so quickly? The whole maze seemed to close in around her and Murray’s furious barks sounded so far away.

  His other arm closed hard around her waist and pulled her closer. His lips touched the side of her neck, wet and soft, and Emma tried to kick out at him. Her skirts twisted around her leg, making her fall backwards.

  As She fell, her arm wrenched free of his grasp and she managed to roll away and leap to her feet. She ran as fast as she could to the maze entrance. Just as she was fleeing the scene, Carstairs gave a ringing, furious shout.

  She glanced over her shoulder and saw Murray sink his sharp little teeth into the man’s leg. He kicked out and Murray flew away with a yelp.

  ‘Murray, no! Come with me now,’ she screamed and the dog came dashing towards her, limping on his back leg. She caught him up under her arm and flat-out ran.

  ‘You little witch,’ Carstairs shouted after her. ‘You’ll be ruined, just like your stupid sister! I offered you everything.’

  Sobbing, Emma kept running until she reached the house. She didn’t know where to go, what she should do. She only knew she couldn’t let Jane see her like this, couldn’t let anyone see what a fool she was. Again. It was just like Mr Milne. And Jane had enough to worry about.

  Emma heard Hannah singing and the rattle of china from the dining room, so she ducked down the servants’ stairs to the kitchen. Cook was hunched over the stove, her back to the door, giving Emma enough time to slip into a small pantry and close the door behind her.

  There in the cool darkness, she knelt on the flagstone floor and clutched Murray’s soft warmth against her as she sobbed.

  Only then did she realise she’d left her notebook behind in the garden.

  Jane carefully folded a stack of linen to take down to the kitchen, trying not to look at the bed. But every once in a while she would glance at it from the corner of her eye, then bit her lip to keep from giggling at the sight of the rumpled bedclothes and the discarded cravats she had used to tie Hayden to the bedposts.

  Every time she saw them the whole night came flooding back to her, in vivid, lightning-flash detail. And she could feel the heat flood her cheeks. She couldn’t quite believe she’d done that. The Jane she was before she met Hayden, even the Jane who was his wife in London, would never have done such a thing.

  But when she saw Hayden lying there foxed last night, and thought about all they could have that he seemed determined to throw away, she just felt so furious. So tired of it all. And having him there, seemingly at her mercy, though she knew very well he could easily escape at any time and tie her up instead, restored some of her balance. Made her see clearly again.

  The fact that he let her do that, let her feel powerful for once in her life and not just buffeted about by the whims of everyone else, made some of her anger fade. She did still love Hayden, but if he preferred a life with his friends, a life of drink and carelessness, instead of what they could have together, she could do nothing about it in the end.

  But, by Jove, she could show him what he was missing. She could make him sorry he chose so poorly.

  If she ever saw him again.

  Jane sighed as she folded the last piece of linen and stacked them in a basket. When she woke that morning, early enough to see Lord John Eastwood and Lady Marlbury ride off in the mist-shrouded dawn, Hayden was gone. His clothes had been picked up from the floor. She almost would have thought the whole crazy night was a dream, if not for the creased sheets on his side of the bed, the black strand of his hair on the pillow.

  His horse was still in the stable when she checked, but she hadn’t seen him. She was half-afraid to go searching, afraid that in the cold light of day whatever had happened between them last night, all that wild, frantic heat, would dissipate. And she would see there truly was no hope for them.

  Hope was all she had to cling to now. She only had a shred of it, but still she held on to it. She remembered what Lady Marlbury had said—Hayden had changed when he married her. It was over with Lady Marlbury before they even met. It could all be lies, of course, and Jane feared she would soon feel even more foolish, but she had to hope. Just for a little while longer.

  Unless Hayden didn’t show up again.

  Jane gathered up the basket and carried it out into the corridor. Lord Browning and Mrs Smythe’s luggage was left in the hall, waiting for their repaired carriage to arrive, but their doors were still closed, as was Ethan Carstairs’s. No doubt they were still sleeping off last night’s revelries. She couldn’t see any of Hayden’s belongings among them, so maybe he didn’t plan on returning to town with them.

  As Jane hurried down the stairs, she realised she hadn’t seen Emma that morning, either. Hannah said Emma had grabbed a piece of bread and an apple from the kitchen before dashing off to the garden with Murray. Emma did that so often it was hardly something Jane would worry about, but with Carstairs still around…

  Jane frowned when she remembered the way he had looked at Emma when she found them talking behind the screen. He looked so—speculative. And Emma looked so dazzled, just as Jane herself had when she first went to London and met the men there. Jane knew she would have to be much stricter about Emma’s education from now on.

  In the kitchen, the cook was slumped over asleep in her chair in the corner and Hannah was standing over the hearth, boiling a cauldron for the laundry. Even though the low-ceilinged room was too warm, and there were piles of dirty dishes and rumpled laundry to be cleaned, Hannah was humming as she worked.

  ‘I’m afraid there will be a bit more work once all the guests are gone, Hannah,’ Jane said as she put down the basket and went to make sure the drying racks were set up.

  ‘Just as long as they go, my lady,’ Hannah said. ‘It will be good to have the house to ourselves again.’

  ‘Indeed it will.’ Jane just hoped Hayden wouldn’t decide to leave with them. ‘Have you seen Emma again this morning?’

  ‘Not since she went out to the garden, my lady.’

  ‘Well, when she returns be sure to let me know at once. And if you see Lord Ramsay—’

  ‘Oh, he’s in the library, my lady.’

  So he was still there. Jane smiled in relief. But Hayden was not exactly a bookish sort. ‘The library?’

  ‘Yes. I saw him go in there as I was carrying up the breakfast tray for Lady Marlbury.’ Hannah giggled. ‘He looked as if someone had dragged him through the hedgerows and back, my lady, if you’ll pardon my saying so. I left a pot of good, strong tea outside the door for him.’

  ‘No doubt he’ll need it,’ Jane murmured. After all that brandy, and the long hours in bed—he was surely in need of some strong tea. Which surely meant this was not the best time to talk to him.

  Jane gathered up some jars of marmalade and pots of butter from the table and hurried off to store them back in the pantry. When she first opened the door, the light from the kitchen didn’t reach its furthest corners and she blinked against the sudden dimness.

  Then she heard a strange rustling sound, a sniffle and a growl. Her shoulders stiffened, as it seemed she was still on full alert after the invasion of her house.

  ‘Who is there?’ she called, hastily stashing the jars on a shelf. ‘What are you doing in here?’

  ‘It—it’s only me, Jane,’ Emma said, her voice small.
/>   ‘Emma?’ Jane cried. ‘Whatever are you doing hiding in here?’

  She knelt down on the cold stone floor and heard Emma slide out from under the shelves. Murray whined and a beam of light from the doorway fell over them as they huddled together on the floor.

  Jane’s stomach clenched painfully when she saw Emma’s tearstained face and tangled hair. She looked ten years old rather than sixteen, lost and bewildered. One arm was wrapped around her dog and Jane saw bruises darkening her skin.

  Jane had never felt such raw, fiery fury before in her life as she looked at her sister. She would kill whoever had done this with her bare hands. She had to force herself to speak quietly, gently, and not scare Emma further.

  ‘What happened, Emma dearest?’ she said. ‘Who did this?’

  ‘Oh, Jane, I am so, so sorry!’ Emma sobbed. ‘I know you told me not to speak to him and I tried not to, truly. I was in the maze and he surprised me…’

  ‘Carstairs?’ Of course. Jane had known the man would be trouble, had felt it in her very depths when she saw how he looked at Emma. She felt horribly guilty for not tossing him out in the rain, then and there. But he was one of Hayden’s friends.

  Hayden’s friends—who had come here to do such things.

  ‘Yes. He asked me about my book and I knew I shouldn’t be alone with him there. When I tried to leave, he grabbed me. Murray bit him and I ran.’

  ‘What a good dog Murray is,’ Jane murmured, vowing to forgive the puppy for chewing slippers and ruining rugs. He’d protected her sister when she wasn’t there.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Jane,’ Emma cried. ‘I should have listened to you. I was so silly.’

  Jane drew Emma into her arms and held on to her tightly as Emma’s back trembled with sobs. She smoothed her sister’s hair and whispered soft, gentle words.

  ‘It’s not your fault, Emma,’ she said. ‘You did not seek him out. You were merely minding your own business in your own house. He is a wicked man. Thank goodness you got away from him so quickly.’