The Lost Countess That Counted Stars (Historical Regency Romance)

by Patricia Haverton

  “Merial?” he asked, his expression lightening to happiness as he stepped closer to her. “We all thought you were dead. What a most pleasant surprise.”

  Remembering her manners, Merial curtseyed. “Forgive me,” she began as he paced toward her and enfolded her into a hug. “I understand you are my uncle Edward, but I do not remember you.”

  Edward Hanrahan recoiled, staring at her sharply. “You cannot remember?” He glanced in confusion toward Christopher.

  Christopher held out his hand. “I am Christopher Buckthorn, My Lord. If we may sit, we will tell you the tale.”

  Lord Dorsten shook his hand. “Oh, yes. Quite right.” He blinked, and then motioned for the butler to serve wine. “Please sit, and tell me what happened to you.”

  Merial sat down on a sofa, grateful that Christopher sat beside her as her uncle returned to his armchair. “Please, Uncle,” she murmured, clutching her skirts to still her trembling hands. “What happened that night? What happened to Papa and Mama?”

  Edward glanced away, watching the butler pour the wine. “It was awful, Merial. An accident, however, but still terrible.”

  “We understand there was a fire,” Christopher said, prompting him.

  The Earl nodded with a grimace. “The authorities believe a lantern was knocked over. As the inn staff had just filled all the lamps, it was full of oil and the fire spread too fast. Merial, your parents could not escape, as the fire started right outside their door.”

  Choking back the tears that stung her eyes and filled her throat, Merial stared down at her damp hands clutching her skirts. “May God rest their souls.”

  “I have heard rumors that the fire was set intentionally,” Christopher said, and Merial stared at him in shock.

  “What?”

  Her uncle shrugged. “Yes, there is talk of that, but no solid proof. The Bow Street Runners are investigating at the behest of the Marquess of Saxonshire. Rumors say your father and a business partner had a falling out, and now no one can find the partner.”

  “He murdered them?”

  “We do not know that for certain, Merial,” Edward told her firmly. “Now what happened to you? We all thought you also died in the fire, but your remains were never found. Where have you been all this time?”

  “At sea.”

  Startled, he gaped. “At sea?”

  “I suppose this is where I should pick up the story,” Christopher said. “I am the captain of the vessel, Valkyrie, and on our return voyage from America, we found Lady Merial unconscious in a dinghy, and she remembered only her name.”

  Merial listened as he unfolded the tale of all the happened over the past weeks, watching her uncle’s changing expression as he listened. Edward asked a few questions, sipping his wine, clearly stunned by the revelations that Merial’s ship was attacked by pirates, and someone made certain Merial was put into the small boat.

  “This is all so incredible,” he murmured, smiling at Merial. “It would appear God was with my sweet niece for her to survive so many trials that could have killed her. And let me add, Merial, welcome home. I am so very grateful to find you are alive after all.”

  “Thank you, Uncle.”

  Edward glanced at the butler. “It is almost time for luncheon,” he said. “Will you stay, Lord Buckthorn?”

  “Gladly, My Lord.”

  “Charles, have the cook prepare luncheon for three.”

  The butler bowed. “Very good, My Lord.”

  As the butler left the parlor, Merial held Christopher’s hand while gazing at her uncle. “Christopher, Lord Buckthorn, and I fell in love,” she said. “He asked me to marry him, Uncle, and I accepted. I hope you approve.”

  Edward’s expression turned inward for a few moments as he considered, then he smiled. “Why not? I can think of no one better suited for you as a husband than the man who brought you back to me.”

  During the meal, the conversation took a lighter note with Edward speaking of her childhood, and of her parents with fondness. “Jacob, your father, took you on voyages across the Channel when you were a child. He had businesses in other countries, and he took you along with him. You loved the sea, and the stories and legends he told you about it.”

  Christopher grinned. “I told you, Merial, that you have sailed before.”

  “I suppose my sea legs remembered the journeys where my mind does not,” she replied with a smile.

  “Tell me, My Lord,” Christopher asked, his voice genial, “did the old Earl ever address Merial by a nickname? One meant only for her?”

  Merial covered her sudden start at the question by taking a sip of her wine. Christopher continued to eat as though the question were of no true importance while her uncle shrugged with a small, affectionate smile.

  “He always called her his mermaid,” Edward replied, his eyes warm on Merial. “Merial the Mermaid, he would say. He told me once that on the ships taking them across the Channel, she would constantly seek sights of mermaids.”

  “I wish I could remember that,” Merial said, her voice low. “I feel as though a large chunk of my life is missing.”

  “I am sure that now you are home and safe,” Edward replied, “your memories will return.”

  “That is what I keep telling her,” Christopher added smoothly, “but she does not seem to believe me.”

  Merial refrained from childishly sticking her tongue out at him. “Here I am at home, and I still do not remember. Perhaps you both are wrong.”

  “Time will tell,” Edward replied. “Give yourself that time.”

  “I will try, Uncle.”

  * * *

  After the meal was over, Edward excused himself. “I have business I must attend to,” he told Merial and Christopher with a smile. “I will have Charles show you to your room.”

  After he had gone, Merial murmured, “I should try to find it myself. Doing so may force my memories to the surface.”

  “Then let us walk around the house,” Christopher said. “I suggest you relax, and permit your instincts to guide you. Just as when you remembered your father’s title.”

  Striding from the dining room, Merial drew in deep breaths, and tried not to force the memories. Recalling how Christopher had refocused her mind on the stories he told, she kept the tales in the forefront of her thoughts, and let her feet take her where they would.

  The butler, Charles, stepped forward to bow. “May I be of assistance, My Lady?”

  “No, thank you.”

  With Christopher a step behind her, Merial let her thoughts play upon their voyage, the dolphins, the whales, the orcas. Almost as though she were dreaming, she mounted the stairs, her hand lightly trailing upon the polished bannister. Not guiding her feet, she let them take her further upward to the top floor, just beneath the attic.

  She stopped in front of a closed door to the right of the stairs. “This is my room,” she said, awed.

  Christopher’s laugh almost startled her. “Very good. You knew where it was, even if your mind could not actively recall it.”

  Merial swung the door open, and took a step across the threshold. A young woman in the uniform of a maid gave a tiny shriek, caught in the act of cleaning the room. She swept into a curtsey. “My Lady, you have come back.”

  “Yes.” Merial ambled into the expansive suite of rooms while Christopher lingered in the doorway. “You are my personal maid?” she asked, gazing around the unfamiliar place, yet somewhere deep inside her she recognized it.

  “No, My Lady,” the maid replied. “My Lord dismissed her after—”

  The young woman blushed, and stared at the rugs. Merial tried to smile. “Yes, after people thought I had perished. I suppose that is not surprising.”

  “You were sorely missed, My Lady,” the maid whispered. “You and your parents.”

  Merial swung toward her, frowning slightly. “You, the servants, do not care for my uncle?”

  “It is not that, My Lady,” the maid answered, licking her lips while glancing at C
hristopher. “Rather, he is not your father, whom all adored.”

  Continuing her stroll around the chambers, Merial looked at the many books on the shelves, the big bed in the sumptuous bedroom, all of it hers, yet much that felt strange, alien, to her. She knew the maid watched her with confusion, not understanding, but Merial did not care to explain anything at the moment.

  “Do you want to come home with me, Merial?” Christopher asked, leaning his broad shoulder against the door jamb. “You do not look as though you feel at ease here.”

  “You are right,” she admitted, walking toward him. “I do not. But I think I should stay here. It is my home, after all.”

  She closed the door on the still curious maid, and walked down the steps with Christopher. “My father arranged for me to meet with the Marquess of Saxonshire,” Christopher told her as they walked down the stairs. “Do you want to come along? I can bring you back here afterward.”

  Pondering his idea, and quite tempted to go along with it, Merial finally replied, “No. I will stay here and try to familiarize myself with this house, and the staff. My uncle will expect me for dinner.”

  At the front entrance, Christopher bent to kiss her cheek, his expression warm and loving, yet concerned. “Will you be all right, Merial?” he asked, standing in the open door. Beyond him the carriage and the driver waited, the maid still seated inside the carriage.

  Uneasiness filled her, and a sudden urge to go with him took hold of her. Shaking off the panic that rose upon the image of him driving away, Merial folded her arms across her stomach. “Of course, I will be quite well,” she replied, forcing lightness into her tone. “I am home. What can happen to me here?”

  Chapter 29

  Maxwell Buckthorn had arranged for the Marquess of Saxonshire to come for tea at the Heyerdahl home. Christopher’s father, mother and brother were already in the parlor when he arrived home, the Marquess due at any moment. Owen poured tea into a cup as Christopher sat down, Henry the cat making himself at home in his lap.

  “How was Merial received by her uncle?” Maxwell asked.

  “As you would expect, I suppose,” Christopher answered. “Shocked that she was still alive after being presumed dead these weeks, but he made her welcome at home. However, she is ill at ease there, and has no explanation of why.”

  His brother, Henry, frowned slightly. “And her memories are still gone?”

  “She found her way by instinct to her rooms,” Christopher replied, accepting a cup of tea from Owen. “Yet, it is though those same instincts are warning her of something.”

  “And she said as much?” Maxwell asked.

  “No. I read it on her face, Father. I can tell she is troubled when she should be glad to be home.”

  “I can hardly expect her to feel at home when to her it appears to be the house of a stranger,” the Duchess said firmly. “She will begin to be more comfortable there as time goes on.”

  “I do hope so, Mother.”

  Owen quietly left the parlor to await the arrival of Lord Saxonshire while Christopher told his family about the meeting with the Earl of Dorsten. “He was most kind to her,” he said. “But I fear in her grief and memory loss, she feels very much alone. I tried to convince her to return here, but she refused.”

  “She has great courage, Christopher,” Henry said. “A very strong and independent woman. She will be fine.”

  Christopher grinned. “I fear I am being overprotective of her.”

  “You are,” his mother replied.

  Owen returned to announce the arrival of the Marquess of Saxonshire, and Christopher stood with his father and brother to meet him. The Marquess was a gentleman close to his father’s age with greying hair, and warm brown eyes that still seemed to pierce one through.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Lord Buckthorn,” Saxonshire said as he sat down. “I am well aquatinted with the Duke and Lord Sundale, but have never had the honor of meeting you.”

  “I fear the sea is where I usually am, My Lord,” Christopher replied with a smile. “I am not at home much.”

  “His Grace tells me you are interested in knowing what happened to the Earl and Countess of Dorsten,” Lord Saxonshire said, his mild appearing eyes turning sharp. “I am told you rescued Lady Merial Hanrahan, whom we all feared had died in the fire.”

  “Yes, all that is true. But you do not think it was an accident?”

  “I do not.” Saxonshire sipped his tea, making Christopher wait, on edge, for what he would say next.

  “Two men were seen in the inn that night,” Lord Saxonshire continued slowly. “They were not guests, and were described by witnesses who escaped the fire as thugs. The pair were seen running at top speed from the inn shortly after the fire started.”

  Christopher frowned. “If witnesses saw them, why did no one see Merial also escape the fire? In her nightmares, she recalls someone telling her they must go, and fleeing on horseback.”

  “In truth,” Lord Saxonshire replied, “she was seen fleeing with two men. Until now, no one knew who she was, as she was not recognized.”

  “And the men she was with were not the thugs?” Henry asked. “In case they had kidnapped her?”

  “It does not seem likely. Especially when the Earl’s steward and his assistant were also presumed dead, though their remains were never recovered.”

  “What about this theory of the Earl’s partner being behind the killing?” Christopher asked. “Has the partner been found?”

  “Not so far.” Lord Saxonshire sipped his tea reflectively, then said, “However, two miscreants attacked and tried to kill an Earl as he walked near Westminster. The two thugs matched the description of the men at the inn, and their intended target was none other than the Earl of Dorsten.”

  Christopher felt as though he had been kicked in the gut by a mule. “Dorsten? Why in the devil did he not see fit to mention that?”

  Maxwell shrugged, and answered before Saxonshire could. “He firmly believes the fire was an accident. Why would he know the identity of his attackers?”

  “He was also questioned by the investigators,” Lord Saxonshire added. “He dismissed the idea of murder, and said no one had any reason to kill his brother, or his brother’s family.”

  Christopher asked Lord Saxonshire. “Have you or the investigators questioned the attackers?”

  “No. Dorsten slew them both with a sword hidden in his walking stick.”

  “I find this news troubling,” Christopher said, rising to pace despite its rudeness. “Two men set the fire that killed the Earl and his Countess, and then the new Earl is attacked by and kills the fire setters. Am I the only one who sees a problem here?”

  “No, you are not,” Saxonshire answered. “I, too, am wondering why the Earls are so targeted. Perhaps the hidden business partner feels the current Earl is a danger to him, and hired the henchmen to kill him.”

  “But what line of business was the old Earl in?” Christopher asked. “What could possibly get him killed?”

  “He was deeply involved in the import and distribution of diamonds and other gemstones,” Lord Saxonshire told him. “He often went to the Netherlands himself rather than trust a go-between.”

  “Merial’s uncle told her he often took her with him on business,” Christopher murmured, still pacing, restless.

  “Yes, I had also heard that.”

  “Perhaps there is a hidden cache of jewels the old partner wants found,” Henry suggested. “Maybe he thought the new Earl knew where they were.”

  That brought to Christopher’s mind the cedar coffer upstairs, still sealed by the unknown code.

  Mermaid. I will try that word next.

  “Merial was found with a wooden box in the dinghy,” he said slowly. “We have been unable to open it, as it is locked with an unknown combination.”

  “Whomever got Lady Merial off the ship before it went down,” Lord Saxonshire said thoughtfully, “obviously thought the box was equally important. I will guess that the old Ea
rl’s steward, loyal to his bones, got her off the ship at the expense of his own life.’

  “I believe that as well.”

  “Christopher,” Maxwell said, clearing his throat. “Perhaps you should show us this coffer.”

  “Very well. If you will excuse me, I will fetch it.”

  After a quick bow to his father and the Marquess, Christopher left the parlor to climb the stairs to the upper floors where Merial had stayed while she was there. Though he had no reason at all to feel thus, uneasiness haunted his steps as he fetched the cedar coffer from the room she had occupied.