Courting His Countess (A Historical Romance Novella)

by CJ Archer

  It made the prospect of being a proper husband all the more appealing. But first he must crack through the ice. He wasn't sure how to begin so he started with a simple, non-confrontational topic.

  "Who has been managing the estate since Father died? I know it was only three months ago, but I assume Metcalf has kept everything in order," he said, referring to the land steward.

  "Your father has not been well enough for some years, but Metcalf has done a fine job."

  Some years? She'd never indicated his father was that ill. Admittedly Thomas had received few letters from her, and none from the earl, but those she did send had not mentioned his father's incapacity. "I'm sure Metcalf has been very helpful, but under whose guidance if Father wasn't well enough to manage?"

  Her gaze caught his and it was his turn to tremble. Beneath the sheen of iciness, a fire burned bold and bright. His pulse throbbed.

  "Mine," she said.

  "I see." He ran his finger over the neatly written figures in the bound ledger then flipped back through the pages, scanning each entry to the beginning of the year. The detail was concise and every pound, shilling and penny recorded.

  "Ledgers for other years are in that trunk over there," Rose said, pointing to the largest trunk in the corner. "All extra monies have been locked away in the dungeon. You won't find any of it missing."

  "I'm sure I won't, but...."

  "Yes?"

  "These figures clearly show that you have spent generously and wisely on the farms and in the village, but it doesn't account for the majority of funds. The dungeon must be awash with coin."

  "Not quite awash," she said. "We are hardly in danger of drowning if we venture down there."

  He laughed. His wife certainly had a dry wit.

  "Moon is the only one with the keys apart from myself," she said, unsmiling. "If you'd like to count it—"

  "Count it? You make it sound like I don't trust you."

  She simply lifted one shoulder and continued to hold his gaze, that cool and somewhat blank expression boring through him. The fire he'd spotted earlier had gone out. Damn.

  "Let me assure you, I do trust you." He indicated the old and simple furniture in the study. "I can see the evidence of your lack of spending everywhere."

  She flinched. Had he upset her? "I assumed you were accusing me of spending it elsewhere," she said. "Or of giving it to someone else, perhaps."

  "Who?" But as soon as he said it, he realized she meant her father. "Did you?" he asked. If she had given it to Wallan he would…what? Ask for it back? Unlikely. Wallan had probably already spent it.

  "No!" She put more vehemence and passion into that one word than any she'd spoken since his arrival. "I wouldn't give him a penny of your money."

  "He didn't ask for it?"

  "He did."

  Ah. So she'd defied her father. Even more intriguing. "I'm glad," he said. "But not because I want to punish him. I don't like the thought of you going without to pay for your father's luxuries."

  She pressed a hand to her stomacher and her lips parted. Why had those words startled her? Surely she didn't think him such an ogre that he would want his wife to live in poverty? He'd ensured the money came to her for her comfort. Did she not know that?

  He was beginning to think she didn't. "Rose—"

  "He doesn't."

  "Doesn't what?"

  "He doesn't live in luxury anymore, he only has the appearance of it. I expect him to visit you very soon to beg for funds."

  Let the greedy prick try. He would fail. The earls of Avondale had given enough to Henry Wallan.

  "Thank you for the warning," he said. "Now, there is something else we must discuss." He stood before her and took her hands. They were warmer than he expected, and her fingers long and fine. "I want to apologize—"

  "Don't." She withdrew her hands and turned away.

  "But I must."

  "No. You must not."

  "Rose—"

  "No! We'll discuss estate matters and the business of...of getting an heir. Nothing else."

  Bloody hell. He'd expected a cool reception, but if she wouldn't read his letters or hear his apology, how could he ever make it right? "The business of getting an heir," he said, rather stupidly to her rigid back. "Yes." He swallowed the rest of the words he'd wanted to say. He'd had six years to think about them and how he would approach this moment, but it all seemed wrong now. His unspoken apology felt hollow and meaningless. She didn't want to ear it anyway.

  For the first time in his life, he was utterly, completely at a loss.

  CHAPTER 3

  Rose tried to keep her gaze steady with her husband's but those liquid brown eyes made it difficult. It felt like he was looking right into her heart and knew how wildly it beat for him. She'd hoped this reunion would prove that she'd set aside her childish infatuation, but it seemed she had not.

  Indeed, the man standing across from her was even more compelling six years after they'd wed.

  "Go on," she said because he had stopped. She was not going to make this easy for him.

  He cleared his throat. His eyes had darkened to a swirling black, half-hooded beneath his lids. "I need an heir, Rose." His voice rumbled from deep inside his chest, quiet yet powerful. "And I would like to start making one as soon as possible. Tonight, if you're in agreement."

  "You are asking me if you can come to my bedchamber?" she said before she could stop herself.

  "Would you rather I demanded?"

  "No, I…I…" How could she tell him she hadn't expected such consideration from her husband? She'd thought he would stride in, take her maidenhead and walk out of her life, back to court and Lady Mossdale.

  Rose dipped her head and drew in a deep breath to steady her nerves. "I'll be ready for you tonight, my lord."

  "Thomas. I won't make love to anyone who calls me 'my lord'."

  How many women had he bedded? And did Lady Mossdale know about them? Rose ignored the sharp stab of jealousy and instead pictured Lady Mossdale's face when she thought her lover had been playing with the local women in Ireland. The celebrated beauty would have a tantrum to rival the queen's.

  "Why are you smiling?" he asked, a questioning tilt to his lips. Before she could answer, he added: "You should do it more often. You're even more beautiful when you smile."

  She tensed. How dare he judge her. A thousand cutting responses flashed through her mind. Thank you for noticing. What a shame it took you six years. Or: I used to smile all the time but I forgot how after you slept with your mistress instead of me on our wedding night. But it was the least cutting that she spoke. "Empty flattery is unnecessary. I've already agreed to your proposal."

  His lips flattened. A muscle throbbed in his jaw. "You think my remarks false?"

  "I think them spoken by a gentleman who wants an heir and knows the wife who hates him is his only chance of getting one. Any man would turn to false flattery under such circumstances."

  He rocked back on his heels as if a strong wind had pushed him. He rubbed his jaw and slowly the shocked look in his eyes disappeared. "I suppose I deserved that."

  It was her turn to be shocked. She expected him to deny it, perhaps compliment her again, tell her she was his adored wife. Assure her that he loved no other.

  "But you're wrong," he said, leaning forward once more. "Not every man would use flattery when faced with such a forthright wife as yourself. Whether you think I speak the truth or not, it doesn't matter. I have come home to get you with child and to be a good father to any sons or daughters we me have. I want to try and be a good husband too. Perhaps one day you will believe it, if not today."

  Her body shook violently. She couldn't stop it. Couldn't breathe. She wanted to believe him. Wanted to forget.

  I have to get away from you.

  But how could she forget words like that? Their sharpness stabbed her every day, every time she woke up alone, every time she thought of her husband in Lady Mossdale's bed. Rose's handsome, charming husband
with the smile that made her knees weak. The husband who'd never taken any notice of her. Until now, when he wanted an heir.

  "If that's all," she said levelly, "I'll leave you with the ledgers."

  "Bloody hell, Rose, don't! I'd rather you spat at me again than dismiss me."

  Shock forced her to step back. Immediately, his face softened and he moved closer.

  "I'm sorry," he said and sighed. "Please, don't look at me like that."

  "Like what?"

  "Like you're afraid of me."

  "I'm not afraid of you."

  "You're not? Despite my language and tone?"

  "I've heard worse language from the stable boys, and as to the tone…" She shook her head, unable to complete the thought. She wasn't afraid of him, but his passion had surprised her. It meant he cared. She had not thought him capable. "You do not frighten me," she said again. "I know you aren't a violent man."

  He arched an eyebrow. "I'm glad, but…how do you know?"

  "Have you forgotten that we were neighbors? I've known you all my life."

  He gave a single, soft laugh. "Yes, we were. However I am embarrassed to admit that you seem to remember me better than I remember you." His smile was somewhat wistful, sad, and she hated how it tugged at her heart. She must not let him touch it just so he could break it again when Lady Mossdale came sniffing around. "All the memories I have of you are from that night, and those I don't particularly like remembering," he said.

  He didn't? "I'm sure there is nothing about me that you do not already know," she said briskly.

  "Nothing?" He touched her fingers, not holding them but lightly caressing. His eyes had turned smoky, their depths fathomless. Desire smoldered there. "I think, Rose, that there is a lot I am yet to learn about you. And tonight will be my first lesson."

  A fist closed around her heart and squeezed. No. She would not give in to his charms. She snatched her hand away. "Dinner will be at midday."

  His breathing became labored and the lids lowered over his eyes once more. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. "I will see you at midday then." He bowed low.

  She curtseyed and left, but had to pause on the landing to catch her breath. Her heart had swelled to twice its size and lodged in her throat along with a torrent of tears she refused to shed. The return of her husband had proved that she wasn't as immune to his charms as she thought.

  CHAPTER 4

  Thomas acknowledged every dish paraded before him with a nod and waited as the servants set them at intervals down the long dining table. Finally, when the beef was in place and the last servant seated, he signaled for them to eat. None did. Not even when he took his first bite. Not until Rose had taken hers.

  It was another reminder that they adored her. Ever since his return, he'd seen small signs of it. Yet adored wasn't quite the right word. They looked to her for confirmation when he gave orders. They asked her questions, not him. Loyalty, that's what it was. They were loyal to her as they would be to a master.

  Interesting. Had it been that way when his father was alive? Thomas must remember not to put that loyalty to the test. He got the feeling he wouldn't win.

  Every servant sat in the hall, from the stable boys and kitchen maids to the land and house stewards. Twenty-two in all, and every one of them wearing warm clothes and good shoes suitable for winter. They chatted amiably to each other, and none looked awkward dining with the master and mistress. It must be a common occurrence. When his father had been earl, no one except family and guests had eaten at the main table.

  Rose, sitting beside him, passed the trencher laden with turnips. "I'm sure you're used to a more lavish feast," she said. "But we dine simply here."

  "There is nothing simple about this food," he said, taking a turnip and passing the rest along. "I'm pleased to see so much. None shall go hungry in this house."

  "Any leftovers will be taken down to the village and given to the poor."

  He looked at her as she spooned peas onto her trencher. "Thank you, Rose."

  She paused and two peas rolled off the spoon. "What for?"

  "For taking care of everything and everyone while I was away. Lockhart runs smoothly and I can see how much the servants like you. I expect I'll find the same in the village and on the farms."

  She tipped the rest of the peas onto her plate. "You don't need to thank me for doing a duty which I find much joy in performing."

  "Nevertheless, I wish I hadn't left you with such a burden for so long."

  "It wasn't a burden." Her eyes lifted to his for the first time since he'd joined her in the great hall. They were a remarkable blue, like a clear winter sky, and just as cold. "And you didn't have a choice," she said, looking down at her trencher. "You were commanded to go to Ireland."

  From the stiffness of her back and the sharpness of her tone, he could tell she didn't believe her own words. Someone had told her that he requested the Irish post. But who? His father? Hers?

  A heavy weight pressed down on his chest. Christ, he'd expected their reunion to be awkward but this guilt...it was overwhelming. No wonder she hated him. He'd left a new bride in her new home with a pompous, weak father-in-law. Yet she claimed to enjoy her role as both mistress and master, and, he suspected, she even relished it.

  No, that wasn't why she hated him. He knew why. Because he'd gone to Temperance on their wedding night. Rose had every right to hate him. He hated himself. That at least hadn't changed in six years. But it was only now he could see the damage his actions had caused. He'd been foolish not to realize then the magnitude of what he'd done. Foolish and blinded by anger. He wished he could undo that night. He would do it all differently. Six years, maturity and a guilt that grew like a canker with each passing month had taught him that much.

  "Rose." But he got no further. The servants were listening and the dinner table was not the place for the type of conversation he needed to have with her. There would be time for that later, when he went to her bedchamber.

  The land steward, seated on Thomas's other side, asked him a question and saved Thomas from thinking too much about his wife in her bed. They spent the remainder of dinner discussing the improvements made to the estate since its return to Avondale control under the terms of Rose's dowry. She remained silent throughout, although Thomas sensed her leaning closer to hear.

  After the meal was finished, the servants dispersed and Rose walked off to speak to two of the maids. He watched as she fell into conversation with them about a newborn babe in the village. She smiled a lot and laughed when told how the two year-old sister reacted by petting the babe and cooing "good puppy". She was capable of enjoying herself—just not with him.

  Moon approached with a sealed letter. "My lord," he said, handing it to Thomas. "The messenger says he doesn't require a response."

  Thomas opened the letter and immediately wanted to burn it. But he couldn't. Thomas had decided to return home and that meant facing all his demons, even the ones that had driven him from Lockhart Castle in the first place. He glanced up at Rose. She was watching him so he went to her. "It's from your father," he said. "He's coming for Christmas, weather permitting."

  "Then let's hope the weather is foul."

  He stared at his wife. "You do not want him here?"

  "No."

  "I didn't know you disliked him so intensely."

  "My father and I have never been in accord on any matter."

  "Including his wish that you wed me?"

  She flushed to the tips of her delicate ears. "My father only ever does something if it advances his own situation at court. Having me marry you was no exception." It wasn't even a close answer to his question.

  Thomas had always known that Wallan had set up the marriage with his father to advance his situation at court, as Rose put it. Being connected to the earl of Avondale was a powerful ticket. It wasn't the arrangement itself that had angered Thomas—most gentlemen in his position married for political or financial reasons—it was the way in which Walla
n had forced the aged earl of Avondale to agree to the union. He'd acquired much of the Avondale lands by encouraging Thomas's father to gamble it away then offered to give it back when their children wed.

  The manipulation had eaten at Thomas then, and it still festered now. He supposed it was because he didn’t like being controlled any more at twenty-nine than he did at twenty-three. There were some things a man could not forgive.

  Things would be different now that Thomas had inherited the earldom. He refused to let the greedy, sycophantic turd enjoy the fruits of his underhanded methods any longer. Wallan would get nothing from Thomas. It was time to confront him, but not if Wallan's presence troubled Rose. It was a confrontation that could wait for another time and another location. Her father had caused Thomas to hurt her badly once, he would not let the cur do it again.

  "Would you like me to send a response that he is not welcome?" he asked her. "I don't want his presence to upset you."

  Her eyes widened. Blinked. "You don't?"

  "Of course not. You think me so callous that I would wish him upon you after what you've just told me?"

  "I...I don't know what to think." That was the best thing she'd said to him since his return. "But he should come," she said. "He is my father and it is Christmas."

  "As you wish." Thomas folded the letter. "He says he's arriving tomorrow. I'll inform the maids."

  "I can do that." She turned to go but stopped abruptly. The hem of her brown woolen skirt swished across the rushes. "Thank you, Thomas. It was good of you to ask me."

  He watched her go, surprised that she should thank him for considering her feelings in the matter. It seemed she really did think him a beast. As if he needed any more evidence of that.