The Substitute Countess

by Lyn Stone

  The male secretary advised Jack that Mr. Hobson would gladly attend him at the Mayfair residence at whatever time would be convenient. Jack suggested four o’clock and left the place.

  He wandered rather aimlessly after that, walking briskly along unfamiliar streets, trying to banish some of the pent-up energy that constantly plagued him when he did not exercise to extreme.

  London was not well-known to him, though he had been there a number of times. Normally he would have a specific errand there, conclude it and either go on to Plymouth or set sail. Today he paid more attention to his surroundings since he figured he would spend a good part of his life here from now on.

  The smells of rubbish, dung, smoke and fumes assailed his nostrils. He had to watch his footing for horse droppings even as he sidestepped little pickpockets darting around and through crowds of pedestrians and carriages like schools of fish.

  The city was not as dirty and impoverished as some he had visited on his travels, but it was nothing to boast about, either. It gave him a renewed appreciation for the cleanliness of ships at sea, despite the well-known inconveniences that must be endured onboard.

  He passed some of the shops he had visited the day before and thought of the expensive articles he had purchased. Spending wealth he had not earned himself did not sit well with Jack.

  When he had been flush, before losing his own small fortune, he’d had little time or opportunity to spend freely of it before reinvesting.

  A brisk walk back to Mayfair helped clear his mind and restore some equanimity. Less than half an hour after handing his hat to Echols and retiring to the library, he heard the butler announce Mr. Hobson.

  “You should have sent for me!” Hobson exclaimed immediately after Jack greeted him. “I regret I missed your visit at the office. How...how did things go in Spain?”

  Jack smiled at the man’s eagerness. “I brought her home. We were married aboard ship and she’s upstairs resting as we speak.”

  Hobson closed his eyes and released an audible sigh of satisfaction. “Thank goodness. How is she? Is she well?”

  “Quite well. We docked in Plymouth and traveled by coach, arriving here the day before yesterday.” Jack offered Hobson a seat and got down to business.

  Jack began asking questions about the financial matters concerning both the town house staff and upkeep and the main estate. “We are leaving for the country tomorrow or the next day, so we should settle these things as well as the bills Laurel and I have incurred when we purchased our wardrobes yesterday,” he told the solicitor.

  “Not to worry, I will take care of everything,” Hobson said. “If you would give me leave to disperse funds now, I could go with you to Elderidge House and deal with the estate manager.”

  “What of your other clients here in London?” Jack asked.

  “Oh, I thought you understood, sir,” Hobson said with a proud smile. “Elderidge has always been my one-and-only responsibility. I was schooled as a solicitor so that I might handle all legal matters and documents as well as issues dealing with the earl’s finances.”

  “You don’t say!”

  “I do. His lordship, as well as his father before him, regarded the discussion of anything to do with banking, investments or dispersing of funds with any other than his solicitor quite beneath him.”

  “He trusted you with all of it?” Jack asked, amazed at the former earl’s naïveté.

  Hobson laughed softly. “Not so much. In fact, he kept excellent track of every penny he ever owned or earned, believe me. But he refused to deal directly in business with anyone other than his emissary. That was my role, family solicitor, man of all business and funds manager.”

  “I see.” Jack was not completely comfortable continuing in that particular vein. The man could steal him blind. Just because he presumably hadn’t done so with the former earl did not mean he held the same loyalty to the new one. Still, Jack was at a loss as to how to deal with the estate, so he would have to exhibit a modicum of trust.

  “Very well, you may come with us. Judging by Echols’s reaction when we showed up here unannounced, perhaps it would be best if you could at least validate who I am once we get there.” He added, “And bring the account books. I will need to evaluate precisely where we stand at the outset.”

  “Of course.” Hobson cleared his throat. “Do you think I might see Lady Laurel this evening before I leave?”

  Jack frowned. “Why? Do you not trust my word she’s well and was agreeable to the marriage?”

  “No, no, that’s not why at all!” Hobson rushed to explain. “It’s only that I’ve spent the last two decades keeping track of her progress and providing for her at her father’s behest. I feel...somehow responsible for her still. Personally responsible.”

  Jack nodded, understanding perfectly. Hobson had no family, as he had said before. The child must have stirred his sympathy at the beginning and become important to him over the years. “I’ll send someone to fetch her.”

  He got up and tugged the bell cord. When Echols answered, Jack said, “Please notify her ladyship that we have a guest and ask if she would be so kind as to join us here.”

  Then he turned to Hobson. “Will you stay for a light supper?”

  The man looked aghast at the very thought. “Oh, no, sir, I would never presume.” He spoke in a near whisper. “It’s not done, you know.”

  “Nonsense,” Jack replied. “It’s not as though you’re some vagrant off the street. I owe you a great deal and so does Laurel. You’ll stay. Unless you have other plans, of course.”

  Hobson bit his bottom lip, quite obviously wanting to accept.

  Only then did Jack think that the solicitor might inadvertently mention Laurel’s fortune and how it had been conveniently transferred to her new husband. “I would ask you to refrain from any discussion of finances in Laurel’s presence.”

  Hobson nodded emphatically. “You needn’t ask. But you will reassure her that she need never worry about those matters, now or in future?”

  “I have done so already,” Jack assured him.

  Laurel entered the room and Jack immediately forgot all about money, the solicitor and supper. She wore a lovely, delicate green frock that skimmed her slender figure and flared out over her dainty emerald satin slippers. Dark green ribbons adorned her swept-up curls and cinched the gown just beneath her half-exposed breasts.

  The urge to exclaim how beautiful she looked almost overwhelmed him, but he recalled his misstep of the evening before. She had not liked her looks complimented. So what could he say? As it happened, he had no need to speak.

  “Mr. Hobson?” she cried and rushed across the room, both hands extended.

  Hobson took them and raised them to his lips, kissing first one, then the other. “Lady Laurel,” he whispered. “My heavens, how you’ve grown!”

  “Well, it has been years!” she said, laughing more freely than Jack had ever seen her do. “It is so wonderful to see you again! You haven’t changed at all.”

  “You two have met?” Jack asked, though it was quite obvious they had.

  Laurel answered, still holding on to the solicitor’s hands. “Oh, yes! Mr. Hobson was kind enough to visit the convent when I was ten and again when I was sixteen.”

  She turned her attention to their guest again. “Remember that little poppet you brought me the first time? I still have it, one of my most treasured things. And the rosary you gave me, I use every day.”

  The man beamed. “I’m very glad you decided to come back to England.” He glanced at Jack, then back at her. “And now you are a married lady. May I wish you every happiness?”

  “Of course you may. And you will stay awhile and visit with me, won’t you, sir?”

  “I’ve already asked him to sup with us,” Jack said, glad he had done something that she would approve. She gave him an open smile of gratitude.

  He could hardly take his eyes off her. Hobson’s visit had added an animation that Laurel seldom exhibited and it
lent her even more beauty.

  Supper proved a simple affair with only three courses, but was elegantly served and enjoyed. Laurel carried the conversation, eagerly relating happenings at the convent and making light of what she termed her dismal failure as a governess.

  “That’s because you were meant to be a countess,” Hobson declared, finishing his wine with a flourish. “And this fine gentleman has seen to it that you are. Thank you for that, milord.”

  Jack nodded, worrying that the solicitor’s imbibing might be bringing him perilously close to revealing that the marriage had been his goal at the outset.

  Jack rose and went to the back of Laurel’s chair to pull it out for her. “If you will excuse us, my dear, I believe we gents will enjoy port and a cigar.” Ladies retired from the dining room while gentlemen remained. He had been told this was de rigueur in a proper household and hoped Laurel had learned of it, too.

  She looked puzzled, but took the hint and got up. “Then I shall say good evening, Mr. Hobson. Please do come again and often.”

  Hobson reached for the hand she extended and placed another fervent kiss upon the back of it. “I will see you again very soon. Thank you for a wonderful evening, and may I say again how delighted I am to see you in such fine fettle.”

  When Laurel had left the room, Hobson did not take his seat again for the promised port and cigar. “I should go now,” he said. “You were most generous to invite me and allow me time with Lady Laurel.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you knew her before? I had no idea you had ever been to Spain to see her.”

  Hobson sighed as they walked to the door. “Because I feared you would insist that I go and get her instead, and I believed the task should fall to you for obvious reasons.”

  “And it has all worked out exactly as you planned,” Jack said, nodding.

  “So it has. Good night, milord,” Hobson said with a smile. “And congratulations. You are a very fortunate man.”

  Jack thought so, too. Or at least he would be if he could bring about the happy reaction that Hobson had done with Laurel. He could almost be jealous of the solicitor if the man weren’t old enough to be her father and didn’t act as if he were.

  As soon as Hobson departed, Jack knew he needed to get himself above stairs and offer that belated apology he had not been able to deliver last evening.

  She would still be indisposed, he guessed, so there would be no consummation for a few more days, but he could begin to get in her good graces now in preparation for that.

  Chapter Nine

  Laurel tensed when she heard footsteps in the dressing room. She clutched the hairbrush in both hands, wondering whether he would enter her room and if this was to be the night. The knock on her door was muted as if he wouldn’t wish to wake her. He had not before.

  “Come in,” she said, quickly applying the brush to the locks spread over one shoulder. She wore her new blue silk nightdress and wrapper. The smooth fabric lay soft against her skin and without the corset and underpinnings of the day, she felt quite exposed.

  She wished she were sitting on the bed to greet him instead of on the stool at her dressing table. How awkward it would be to move to the bed if he had come for the reason she imagined?

  “Laurel?” he said, offering a tentative smile. “Am I welcome?”

  “Of course,” she replied, unable to return the smile. Her face grew hotter as his gaze caressed her. Did he really know how handsome he was, how appealing? He wore a brown silk banyan over his breeches and open-necked shirt.

  He stopped several feet away and looked down at the vacant slipper chair. “May I?”

  She nodded. The brush seemed glued to her hair at half stroke.

  “I came to apologize for last evening,” he said with a wry twist of his lips. “It seems I have a few things to learn when it comes to dealing with women.”

  Laurel’s laugh surprised her, too. “I doubt that very seriously. And I admit I overreacted to your flattery. There’s no need to apologize.”

  “Not flattery, merely honest observation. And I should not have said what I did about your shyness with people. In fact, I admire the way you’re adapting to such a new way of life. It’s a wonder you haven’t—” He stopped, as though her first comment had only just registered. “Why do you doubt it?”

  She began brushing vigorously. “I think you must have dealt with a great many women in the past.”

  His shrug looked weary. “Some, yes, but none like you.”

  “Like me?” she demanded, the banished anger nudging her again. “Am I so odd then?”

  He stood and paced, stopping at her window to stare out into the night. “Not odd in a bad way. Only incredibly different from those I have known. There’s Mother, of course. She has always been an effusive sort, as you saw for yourself. A businesswoman who had to take charge of her own life as well as mine when I was little. My father was ever away at sea, and after a while, so was I.”

  “There were certainly other women in your life besides your mother,” she declared.

  “The others,” he said on a sigh. “Well, as you might guess, we had precious little conversation.” He turned and looked directly into her eyes. “Laurel, if we are to have a decent future together, I think we must be friends, not only lovers.”

  That shocked her into silence. She laid down the brush and waited for him to go on.

  He sat down again, leaning forward in the low chair with his elbows resting on his knees. “Look, I want you to feel comfortable with me, not on edge, not searching for hidden meanings in everything I say. I want to be comfortable with you. Do you think that possible?”

  “I suppose so,” she answered, a lie if she had ever told one. How could she ever be comfortable with him when his very presence made her tremble like leaves in the wind? When the sight of that mouth of his brought the memory of their kiss onboard the ship, of his hands on her waist, his arm around her shoulders? When she wanted more, to be a lover, not just a friend, and he seemed so ignorant of that?

  He stood. “Well, that was what I came to say.”

  “That’s all?” she asked, breathless with disappointment.

  “That, and to tell you we will be leaving for Elderidge House tomorrow at noon. There will be plenty of time for your maid to pack your new things for you in the morning.”

  “But I thought you came to...”

  “No, no,” he said with a sympathetic smile as he reached for the door handle to the dressing room. “I do know enough of women to delay when I must. Sleep well, Laurel.”

  She sat there staring at the door, wondering what in the world he had meant by that. Delay when he must? Why? She had not asked a delay, had not indicated in any way she wanted one.

  Sleep well, indeed! She threw the hairbrush at the door and watched it bounce.

  The next morning Laurel could barely function. She held Jack responsible for the headache she endured. Betty had packed the new gowns and accoutrements that had been delivered. Chocolate and toast had been dutifully consumed and the maid was now applying the curling tongs to Laurel’s hair.

  “A bit of rouge to the cheeks, ma’am?” Betty asked. The dark blue traveling costume and bonnet did little to compliment a pallid complexion. Laurel nodded.

  When she went downstairs, Jack was in the foyer with Mr. Hobson. “Good morning!” she said, addressing both as she interrupted their conversation.

  “Good morning, Laurel. Mr. Hobson is accompanying us,” Jack told her. “This time we shall have a proper introduction when we arrive.”

  “I took the liberty of sending a messenger to inform the staff of our arrival.”

  “How kind of you, Mr. Hobson,” Laurel said with a nod. She hid her disappointment that she and Jack would not be alone in the coach. Then she remembered that Betty and George would also be going, so they would not have had privacy anyway.

  George rode atop with the coachman Mr. Hobson had hired, so they were four inside. Betty looked smart and very proud in
a black traveling outfit Miranda’s maid had given her. She offered Mr. Hobson a sidelong smile that was nearly a flirt when he joined her, opposite Jack and Laurel.

  “Mr. Hobson, this is my maid, Betty,” Laurel said, making the introduction. “Betty, Mr. Hobson is our solicitor.”

  “Thornwhistle, now I’m a proper lady’s maid,” Betty said with a succinct nod. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

  “Delighted, Miss Thornwhistle,” Mr. Hobson replied with a grin. “Unusual name. Have you a mum at the baker’s on Pierson Lane by any chance?”

  Betty’s eyes widened. “My auntie! I do declare, you know ’er, then?”

  “Best pies in the neighborhood for the past fifteen years,” he said. “I’d likely have starved without them.”

  Laurel listened with interest for a while until they exhausted their mutual acquaintances and lapsed into a comfortable silence.

  Jack had said nothing but shifted restlessly as if he wished to be anywhere but where he was. Laurel realized he must have much on his mind, not the least of which would be ordering a large estate and who knew how many employees.

  “How far must we travel?” she asked, having no inkling where Elderidge House might be located.

  “Only six hours or so, including stops,” Mr. Hobson answered. “And the weather is perfectly fine for it.”

  It rained ceaselessly for the last two hours of the trip and was still pouring when they arrived at Elderidge House.

  Laurel tried not to gape. The place was gigantic, larger than many of the buildings she had seen in London. The stone facade looked forbidding as it loomed out of the near darkness of late afternoon.

  Two footmen in blue livery rushed out to open the doors and stretch oiled canvases over the new arrivals. Jack lifted her down. All four hurried inside the enormous oak doors someone had thrown wide.

  When she looked up from her soaked hem and travel boots, she almost gasped. Two long rows of servants lined either side of the marble-floored atrium. There were more footmen, identical in their blue coats. Maids wore blue frocks, snowy aprons and mobcaps.