The Substitute Countess

by Lyn Stone

  The night would have been absolutely perfect if she were retiring to bed with her husband, but Laurel knew that delay only left her something else wondrous to anticipate.

  “Jack seemed to enjoy it, too,” Mrs. Ives said as she tucked her hair into her frilly nightcap. She was obviously pleased that she had suggested just the right entertainment. “I thought he might excuse himself and wander around impatiently until it was over. He had trouble sitting still for very long, even as a lad. Never left us once tonight, though, did he!”

  “No, ma’am, not once. I don’t even think he thought about it.”

  Mrs. Ives had put her finger on the one thing that had begun to trouble Laurel about Jack, however. He proved a most active man, not fidgety, but highly strung as if constantly poised to tackle anything that wanted doing. And if there was nothing apparent pending, he seemed to conjure something out of thin air. When he was quiet and still, it seemed somehow forced and she could sense his tension.

  His very nature apparently required perpetual vigilance and a quick response to whatever happened around him, and yet, he seldom seemed exhausted. “I envy his enduring vigor. He’s so capable. And quite the hero, too, your lad,” Laurel said with a smile as she climbed into bed. “Everyone aboard the ship coming here greatly admired him and so do I.”

  “Admiration is well and good, but I hope you will love my son, Laurel.” That was the last thing the mother said after the lamp was blown out and they were settled for the night.

  Love. Obviously Jack had grown up with that, even though he must have been away for long stretches of time since he had gone to sea with his father. The closeness with his mother had remained constant.

  Could she learn to love him?

  Chapter Six

  The next morning Jack had gone out to the bakery two doors away and brought back sticky buns. His mother heated water on the small brazier downstairs and made tea.

  When they said goodbye, Mrs. Ives embraced Laurel as heartily as she did Jack. Then she grasped both their arms in an almost punishing grip. “Be happy, you two. Be good to one another. And do not let these titles of yours give you airs. Mind you, there’s nothing worse than haughty swells!”

  “Yes, Mum,” Jack promised and nudged Laurel who answered likewise. They shared a smile.

  When they were steps away from the shop, he glanced down at Laurel. “Well, my lady, what did you think of dear old Mum?”

  “She’s absolutely wonderful. Thank you for sharing her,” Laurel said with a smile.

  “I suppose you had a lecture last night on how to manage the rowdy me.”

  Laurel nodded. “I did get advice and I plan to follow it entirely.”

  “Oh? What did she suggest?”

  “That would be telling,” Laurel said in her most cryptic tone. “If you notice yourself behaving, then you will know it has worked.”

  “Women! You are such a mysterious lot I wonder why I bother with any of you.”

  “A great concession, I’m sure,” she replied, thoroughly enjoying the moment. She felt so free and excited about the future, it was difficult to maintain her poise.

  He glanced up at the sun. “We should make good time to London.”

  “Where will we stay when we arrive?” she asked, her mind still on that privacy that had been in such short supply.

  He was silent for some time, possibly considering the same thing before he answered. “I’ll decide on the way there.”

  Thus far he had moved everything forward with astounding speed. Now she thought he seemed uncertain. “I would think an earl could stay almost anywhere he chooses.”

  A smile tugged at his lips as he sighed. “I suppose we shall soon see.”

  The title was so new to him, he obviously had not stopped to consider the cachet it would offer. Or if he had, he simply did not know what to do with it.

  It made no sense to feel as she did, but Laurel found she liked him even more after this glimpse of vulnerability. She thought that take-charge attitude of his could become quite wearing if it were the only attitude he possessed.

  His mother’s words, that solemn plea in the dark, kept echoing in her head every time she looked at Jack. I hope you will love my son.

  Laurel hoped so, too.

  * * *

  They arrived in London exhausted by the journey from Plymouth. Jack had hired a private coach at the last stop to carry them into town. Darkness was falling when it deposited them at the address furnished by Hobson before Jack left for Spain. They might as well meet the challenge head on instead of staying the night in a hotel, Jack had decided.

  He had spent the entire trip wondering how he would go on once he returned. Men destined to become nobles usually were trained for it from childhood. How was he to learn all that was expected of him?

  Jack had met many noblemen before in the course of his business and in his travels, but meeting one was far removed from becoming one.

  For once in his life, he knew he must ask for help before forging ahead. That need did not sit well at all, but it did exist.

  Hobson was a possible source. The solicitor would have some ideas, but certainly no more firsthand experience at being noble than Jack had.

  He thought of his good friend Neville Morleigh again and wondered if he was still in London. He had married a baron’s widow, and Jack recalled that Neville’s uncle was a lord. Neville would help if he could be found.

  However, for the present, Jack knew he must fend for himself and try to act the part fate had foisted on him so unexpectedly.

  Jack glanced up at the columned facade of the stately town house that had been left to Laurel and now, through her, belonged to him. “The knocker’s not up,” he muttered.

  He glanced down at the trunk their driver had placed at the edge of the street. He left it where it was, took Laurel’s small bag and placed it there, as well. Then he escorted her up the steps and banged on the door with the side of his fist.

  “Chin up, Countess. Here we go.”

  Presently, it opened to reveal an aging fellow who was little more than a skeleton. Jack stood tall. “I am the new earl,” he said simply.

  The old man smiled. “Of course you are. Sorry, we are not hiring.”

  Jack wanted to laugh, but dared not. He had to begin as he meant to go. “I am not applying,” he said firmly. “I already have the job. What is your name?”

  “Echols. Shall I call the watch or will you decamp without a fuss?”

  “Call them if you wish to seek another position at your age.” Jack pushed past him into the foyer. “Mr. Hobson should have notified you I would be arriving eventually. Please summon the staff and have a footman retrieve our baggage.” He turned and beckoned to Laurel. “Come in, my lady. We are home.”

  The butler had stepped back, glaring at them, mouth open in disbelief. He had obviously recognized the solicitor’s name.

  “Step lively, Echols. Her ladyship is weary and we are both in need of sustenance after our journey. Fetch the staff at once!”

  “How do I know you are who you say?” Echols asked, his voice now subdued and uncertain. “Anyone might burst in and declare—”

  Jack nodded once, interrupting. “Yes, and I commend your caution, Echols, but it is unnecessary in this instance. Now gather everyone so that we may introduce ourselves but once.”

  Echols left them, his progress still hesitant.

  “Damned if I’ll prove myself to a butler,” Jack rasped under his breath.

  Laurel nudged his side. “Airs,” she said, shaking her head. “What would your mum say?”

  “Don’t make me laugh,” Jack warned, struggling to keep his countenance stern. “I have to be earl-like.”

  The butler returned with five people in tow, a housekeeper, two maids and two footmen. Jack looked them over, then glared at Echols.

  “His lord and her ladyship, the Earl and Countess of Elderidge,” the man intoned in a sonorous voice. “Mrs. Price, housekeeper, George and Will, footmen,
Betty and Meg, housemaids.”

  Jack nodded as they bowed and curtsied. “No cook?”

  “Mr. Carson has been notified of your arrival. He and the potboy, Ned, are preparing your supper, milord,” Echols announced.

  “Thank you, Echols.” He turned to the housekeeper. “Are our rooms ready? If so, we would like a bath and our meal sent up. After that, we should not like to be disturbed unless the house catches fire.”

  Echols cleared his throat. “As you wish, milord. Mrs. Price will see you up. Will there be anything else, sir?”

  Jack smiled. “I’m sure you will be contacting Mr. Hobson immediately to verify my identity. While you’re about it, ask him if he knows the direction of Mr. Neville Morleigh, married to the former Lady Ludmore, I believe.”

  Echols raised his eyebrows. “Why, Mr. Morleigh and her ladyship are just down the way, sir!”

  “He resides nearby?” Jack could hardly believe the luck. But then, he understood that a great many of the Ton were concentrated here in Mayfair.

  “He does for a fact, sir. Shall I send for him?”

  Jack thought for a moment. “No, not this evening. That will be all, Echols, thank you.”

  He wondered if he should have added the thanks. Did one thank the butler for doing his job? Well, a word of thanks never hurt in any instance he could think of.

  He took Laurel’s arm and they followed the housekeeper up the winding stairs. Laurel had remained quiet, he noticed. If he was at a loss as to how to behave in his new station, she must be doubly so. Still, he wished she had presented herself in a more authoritative way.

  Jack had no idea whether he had made a good or bad impression on the staff, or if he had followed the correct procedure for such an assumption of command, but at least he and Laurel had beds for the night.

  He had heard that two bedrooms were the custom for uppercrust married folk. Well, he would have to see about that tradition and possibly change it in his own household.

  That thought consoled him as nothing had since this fiasco began. He knew precisely what to do in bed with a woman. That role was certainly nothing new to him.

  His only worry was that the role would be all too new to Laurel. How would a woman with no experience at all react to bedding? Perhaps this particular situation would be new to him, after all.

  “Milady’s chamber,” Mrs. Price announced, leading them into a large chamber delicately bedecked in green and white. Jack thought it rather ostentatious, but hopefully Laurel would appreciate the frills after living in the austere environment of the convent. He imagined the nuns would have only approved bare essentials.

  A graceful and elaborately carved desk displayed a fancy silver inkwell and dyed plume pen. The windows were covered in pale green damask that matched the subtly flocked wallpaper. Flowing floral silk adorned the good-sized bed’s delicate canopy and complemented the heavily embroidered coverlet and bolster. A French chiffonier covered half of one wall.

  For a long moment, he imagined Laurel lying there in all that splendor, waiting for him to come to her. The sharp tug of desire, held so firmly in check during their travels, refused to abate now that he knew the time for it was almost upon them.

  “How lovely,” Laurel said, but timidly and without much enthusiasm. He heard the tremor in her voice and wondered if her thoughts were running in the same vein as his.

  “They’ll be bringing up your bath in a trice, ma’am,” Mrs. Price said. “If you will come this way, sir?” She gestured to a doorway at one side of the chamber.

  Jack followed, entering an adjoining dressing room that contained a large copper tub, now empty, a lidded closet stool, slipper chair, a petticoat mirror and shelving. Through an opposite door lay his room.

  This chamber, a bit larger in size than Laurel’s, had been dressed in greens and browns with much heavier and darker furnishings, consisting of a gateleg table flanked by two upholstered chairs and a tall wardrobe. The bed, a canopied four-poster, was enormous, the largest Jack had ever seen.

  He sensed Laurel hovering behind him in the doorway. She must be wondering, too, whether each needed an invitation to visit the other’s room. He stood aside. “Come in, my dear, and have a look.”

  Then he addressed the housekeeper. “Mrs. Price, have our meal served in here if you will. The lads must be busy below, so I shall light the fires in both rooms.”

  The portly woman’s eyes widened. “But, sir, they should...” Her voice trailed off and she cleared her throat before continuing, “As you wish, sir. If you will excuse me, I’ll go down and send the girls up to assist my lady. George can attend you, though he’s not much experience in that regard.”

  Her expression held the question of why an earl and countess had arrived with no valet or maid in tow.

  “Very good,” Jack stated. He imagined an earl would not stoop to explain, so he said nothing more.

  After a bob of a curtsy, she swept out, using the hall door, and closed it behind her.

  “Well!” Jack exclaimed, turning to take Laurel’s hands in his. “Here we are. What do you think of all this?”

  She gave a nervous little laugh, still eyeing the bed. “It seems...sufficient to our needs, milord.”

  “Don’t milord me, Laurel. I expect I’ll have enough of that from now on without hearing it on your lips, too.”

  “It’s all so, well, so grand, isn’t it,” she said in a small voice.

  He shrugged. “And ours to bear. I wonder what we shall find at the country house. A much larger abode, wide expanse of property and many more servants, I expect.” And tremendous responsibilities for the both of them.

  She exhaled heavily and looked up at him. “I’m afraid I don’t know how to go on or what to say. I thought I would. Hoped that I would. It’s...overwhelming.”

  Jack enfolded her in his arms, wishing he could wave some magic wand and spare her the effort of fitting into her new life. Even though he genuinely wanted to protect her, he couldn’t help wishing for some of that confidence she had shown before. Or perhaps, he was really wishing for a bit of that in himself.

  Jack took a deep breath and dismissed all qualms. He could do this and so could she. “We’ll get used to it in short order, I daresay. I’ve captained a ship, after all, and this can’t be so different. As for you, why not pretend you are Mother Superior and take charge of these people?”

  He felt her muted laughter as she relaxed against him. “I don’t believe you’d want the Mother Superior biding next door to you.”

  “Certainly not tonight,” he agreed, and her laughter stopped.

  Someone knocked just then and he released Laurel. “Come,” he commanded and the door opened. One of the footmen entered with a large tray bearing silver-covered dishes, a crystal decanter, two glasses and a vase with three bedraggled roses.

  Behind him, from inside the dressing room, Jack heard the slosh of pouring water and the whispers of the maids who had entered through Laurel’s room to prepare the bath.

  Precious little privacy even now, Jack thought, wondering if he and Laurel would ever be alone long enough to seal their marriage vows. There would be the baths, clearing away of the dishes, turning down of the beds and God only knew what else.

  He glanced at the door to the hall to see if it had a lock. It did, with a large key, probably the mate to one hanging on the housekeeper’s chatelaine.

  The footman deposited the tray on the table and bowed to them. “I shall serve you, milady, milord.” He held out a chair and looked expectantly at Laurel.

  “Never mind that. You may go. George, is it?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll return later and help you undress.”

  “Not tonight, George,” Jack insisted with a meaningful look.

  The young footman bit back a smile. “Very good, sir.”

  “Good night, George,” Jack said with a sigh.

  Their meal consisted of a simple stew, none too fresh bread, cheese and a mixture of sliced fruits. The wine proved only adeq
uate enough to wash it all down.

  Jack figured that either the staff had been forced to make do with very limited funds since the death of the old earl or they were pocketing a good portion of the household allowance.

  He must ask Hobson whether there were funds to pocket or if these servants were simply hanging on, waiting for another employer who could authorize expenditures.

  The meal progressed, not the intimate supper he had envisioned, but accompanied by the soft giggles of the maids in the next room and a nervous Laurel picking at her food.

  He sorely wished this night over, despite any pleasures that might be had. That wish was a wonder, since there was so much to do come morning, he would scarcely know where to begin.

  “I’ll be visiting an old friend tomorrow,” he informed Laurel. “Perhaps he can navigate us through these unfamiliar shoals.” He poured another glass of wine for her as he continued, “I hope he can advise us where to shop. You need new clothes and so do I.”

  She reached for the glass and sipped a few times. “I have never shopped. And I have no money to do so.”

  Jack wanted to tell her she was among the wealthiest heiresses in England, but that would certainly rouse her suspicion as to why he had married her so hastily.

  “We will have sufficient funds for you to buy whatever you like, Laurel. I’ll see Hobson tomorrow, deal with the bank and bring you a generous amount to spend.”

  “Oh, I shan’t need much,” she said.

  “Oh, yes, you will,” he argued, keeping his voice low so as not to be overheard by the maids. “And so will I if we are to keep up appearances.” He knew that sounded shallow and self-serving. “What I mean to say is that we must at least signal to our staff, here and at the country house, that we are not destitute and their positions are secure.”

  “How much do we have?” she asked as she set down her empty glass.

  How much, indeed. Jack shrugged as he poured her more wine. “Quite enough, I assure you.” Hobson had indicated that if Jack married Laurel, they would not need to worry about money for the duration of their lives. That the interest alone would provide whatever they would need and then some.