The Incomparable Countess

by Mary Nichols

  ‘No, but it is easy to be generous with money when you have a great deal of it. Time is another matter.’

  ‘And your time is valuable.’

  ‘As yours is, so do not let us waste any more of it. Show me these broken doors and what tools you have.’

  It was surprising how quickly he buckled down to work and how skilled he was. He seemed to be able to turn his hand to anything in the carpentry line and, by the middle of the afternoon, the doors all fitted, two new window frames had been installed, a broken tread on the stairs had been mended and he had even clambered on the roof and replaced the broken tiles, making Frances’s heart jump into her mouth.

  And all the time he kept up a flow of cheerful conversation, not only with her when he passed her, also hard at work, but with the children. He had a fund of funny stories and they soon warmed to him and were vying with each other to fetch and carry for him.

  Frances could not understand it. He was so warm and patient with them—why could he not be like that with Lavinia? If he was prepared to give up time to being with these orphans, why did he begrudge his daughter his time? Was it anything to do with that mystery child? Did he love the little bastard better than the children born to him in wedlock? It was an unworthy thought and she put it from her.

  It was the middle of the afternoon, when he packed away the tools and sent one of the children to the stables round the corner to tell the ostler to bring his carriage to the door. ‘May I offer you a ride home, Mrs Randall?’ he asked, reaching for his coat.

  She knew he would not allow her to take a cab when he had a conveyance at hand, nor would he agree to let her go back to Monmouth Street alone. Besides, she had been longer from home than she had intended when setting out and she was never one to subject her servants to unnecessary inconvenience, so, deciding the search for the boy and his mother must wait, she accepted graciously.

  By the time she had washed her hands, taken off the apron and crammed her hair under an unbecoming bonnet, the phaeton was at the door.

  ‘I wonder that you should want to be seen with such a dishclout,’ she said as they bowled away.

  ‘When the dishclout is as lovely as you are and as warm and caring as I have discovered you to be, then I am proud to have you by my side.’

  ‘Flummery!’

  ‘But tell me,’ he added, ‘why the disguise?’

  ‘It is not a disguise, but I prefer not to be known as the Countess of Corringham when I am with the children. It is too formal and makes them uncomfortable with me.’

  ‘And Mrs Thomas does not know?’

  ‘She may do, but she respects my wishes.’

  ‘And the ladies on the fund-raising committee, do they know you are two separate people?’

  ‘No, they would not understand.’

  He laughed. ‘No, they would think you had run mad. A Countess should never stoop so low as to get her hands dirty.’ He glanced down at her hands as he spoke. It was a warm day and she wore no gloves; her hands were wrinkled and the nails were discoloured and broken. ‘How will you explain that?’

  ‘Oh, a good soak and a trim and you will hardly notice. And, in Society, I wear gloves most of the time.’

  ‘I will keep your secret, my lady, if you will keep mine.’

  ‘Yours?’ Was he about to tell her the truth? Did she really want to know?

  ‘That I am plain Mr Marcus Stanmore.’

  ‘You mean to go again, then?’

  ‘Indeed, I do. I was never so happy as I was this morning.’

  ‘Oh. But what I cannot understand is why you can be so easy with the children at the orphanage, when you are so stiff with your daughter.’

  ‘Precisely because she is my daughter. I want everything for her, I want her to shine, to make a happy marriage. I want to be a good father and am terrified of failing. I suppose with those children back there, there is no such constraint.’

  ‘Why should you fail?’

  ‘It is difficult to explain. My own father failed me, though he was unaware of it.’ He turned and smiled at her. ‘Do you really want to hear this? It is ancient history now.’

  ‘But history or not, it seems to have a bearing on what is happening in your life now and the sooner you acknowledge that, the sooner you will overcome it.’

  ‘Wise Fanny. Why have you been able to direct your life in the way you wanted it, when I have been tossed about on the wind, doing what everyone expected of me and feeling so unfulfilled?’

  ‘Have you?’ she asked softly.

  ‘Yes, from the day I was born. First I had to remember that I was a Duke’s heir and must behave at all times with studious politeness to my equals and to look after those beneath me without once letting them forget they were beneath me. I may have my fun, but discreetly, and if I found myself in a coil, why then, I was to buy my way out of it. And above everything I was to make the right marriage. It was dinned into me from the time I was old enough to take an interest in the fair sex…’ He chuckled. ‘And that was at an early age, I can tell you.’

  ‘That I can readily believe.’ She smiled a little, guessing what was coming, but determined to accept it calmly. It was all she had left, her cool exterior.

  ‘When I left Cambridge and went home to Loscoe Court to help my father run the estate, Margaret Connaught came with her parents to stay and we were thrown together. I liked her well enough but she was only a schoolgirl and I was only twenty and had no thought of marriage. But my parents and hers had decided between them that we should be married just as soon as she was old enough. The Duke made it very clear to me I was expected to obey and…’ he shrugged his shoulders ‘…I had not then met you.’

  ‘Marcus,’ she said softly. ‘What has this to do with you being a good father?’

  ‘Everything. The marriage was to take place in the autumn of eighteen hundred. Margaret was to have a Season that summer, though her parents made it very plain to her that it was for appearances’ sake only and that she was not to entertain anyone else. I decided to have one last fling before she arrived in London with her parents and I met you.’

  ‘As you say, history,’ she said.

  ‘As the world knows it, perhaps, but there is more. I begged and pleaded with my father to be let off, but he was adamant. It was unthinkable for a gentleman to renege on an offer of marriage and if I disgraced the family in that way, he would cut me off without a penny and my younger brother, John, would inherit in my place. I said I did not care. He asked me how I would support a wife with no income, especially a wife who had been left without a feather to fly with.’

  ‘I blustered, said I would manage, but then I thought of you and knew I could not do it to you. You did not deserve to be cast into poverty and I was quite sure your mama would not let it happen. Even then I hesitated, but my father said my mother was ailing, and if I defied them it would kill her. I loved my mother very dearly, so I capitulated.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘It was a miserable marriage. Poor Margaret was as imprisoned as I was. She had met someone else that summer too. She hated me and brought the children up to hate and despise me too.’

  ‘Lavinia does not hate you.’

  ‘No? She is afraid of me, you said so yourself. And that is the worst cut of all because I was terrified of my father. He was often cruel and any infringement of his rules would end in a beating. There was nothing out of the ordinary in that, I suppose, but he seemed to enjoy it. I have never chastised Lavinia and yet you still say she is afraid of me.’

  ‘Because she does not know you. She has never seen your soft side. Marcus, she is a lovely girl, but she needs to know you love her and will support her whatever she does.’

  ‘It is easy for you to say.’

  ‘No, it is not easy, it has never been easy. I have had to gain the trust of my stepchildren. They thought I had been brought in to replace their mother and it took a great deal of patience to persuade them I had no desire to do so. I encouraged them to talk about her
and asked them what she would have done, so that little by little they came to trust me.’

  ‘I know. I envied that when I saw it.’ He laughed a little shakily. He had not meant to tell her so much, to reveal his own insecurity like that. ‘And now you have Vinny eating out of your hand.’

  ‘Oh, I would not go so far as to say that. We have simply reached an understanding.’

  ‘And may we, too, come to an understanding, my dear?’

  They were drawing up at her door and she prepared to alight. The little word of endearment had almost undone her, but she forced herself to speak lightly. ‘Why, we understand each other perfectly, your Grace,’ she said.

  He jumped down, opened the door and held out a hand to help her alight. ‘If that is so, why are we now reverting to that formal title?’

  ‘Because, your Grace,’ she said, with a smile and a twinkling eye, ‘we are back in the real world. I am no longer Mrs Randall but the Countess of Corringham, and you have ceased to be Mr Stanmore and are once again his Grace, the Duke of Loscoe.’

  ‘Then his Grace hopes to see her ladyship at Lady Willoughby’s masquerade next Wednesday evening.’

  ‘How shall I know you?’ she asked, mischievously. ‘Will you be the aristocrat or the vagabond?’

  He laughed. ‘Wait and see.’ And with that he flicked the reins and was gone.

  She went slowly indoors, the smile fading from her lips. Knowing he was vulnerable made her love him more than ever. And understanding a little more about what had happened seventeen years before made her want to cry for the wasted years. But had they been wasted?

  She had not gone into a decline; she had had a full life with a husband who was generous and affectionate; she loved her stepchildren, even James at his most exasperating; and her step-grandchildren were a delight. She had a talent she could use for the good of others and was rewarded by their happiness and she had a great many friends. And if she could count Marcus Stanmore as one of those, she should be content.

  It was only when she reached her bedroom and sank on to her bed with exhaustion, she realised he had said not a word about Mrs Poole or the child. He had confided some things to her, but by no means all. There were still things he did not trust her to know.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘A queen?’ Rose suggested. ‘Queen Elizabeth, perhaps? Or one of those Greek goddesses. I don’t recall their names.’

  ‘No, Rose, everyone does those. I want something different.’

  Frances had been teaching a class most of the morning, but now her pupils had gone, she was trying to decide on her costume for the ball. Once decided, she and Rose were going shopping for the materials and whatever accessories were required.

  ‘An animal, then?’ Rose was not one easily discouraged. ‘I believe very realistic costumes can be bought ready made.’

  ‘So they may be, but I should be stifled in fur.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘Unless it was a rabbit.’

  ‘A rabbit, my lady? Why a rabbit? It is still fur.’

  ‘Yes, you are right, it would not serve. The Duke’s sense of humour can be precarious at times. He will think I mean to ridicule him.’

  It was as if mentioning the Duke had summoned him to her, for she had hardly uttered the words, than Creeley came to tell her the Duke of Loscoe was downstairs and wished to speak to her. ‘I have conducted him to the drawing room to await your pleasure, my lady,’ he said, then added meaningfully, ‘I think you should know, my lady, he is up in the boughs about something.’

  ‘When is he not?’ Frances murmured under her breath. And then aloud, ‘Tell him I will be down directly, Creeley, please.’

  Frances was glad Creeley had forewarned her; the sight of Marcus’s thunderous looks was almost enough to unnerve her. She had taken five minutes to smooth her dress and tidy her hair before going downstairs but it was evidently not long enough to calm him.

  ‘My lord,’ she said, ‘is something wrong? It is not Lady Lavinia, is it?’

  ‘No, what the devil should be wrong with Lavinia? I am come on another matter.’

  ‘Oh.’ He had heard the rumours. Now the sparks would fly. ‘Would you like some refreshment before you tell me? Tea? Madeira? Something stronger?’

  ‘Nothing, thank you.’

  ‘Then please be seated.’

  He did not immediately obey, but paced over to the window and then back again, before taking up a position facing her. ‘My son has absented himself from school and finished up in a gambling hell that even I would hesitate to enter…’

  ‘I am sorry for that, indeed I am, but what has that to do with me?’

  ‘It was your stepson who took him there.’

  ‘Oh, no, I am sure he would not.’

  ‘Duncan is not a liar, madam. He says it was the Earl and I believe him.’

  ‘I am very sorry if that is the case,’ she said. ‘But I am sure it was only a prank. Fledglings do like to try their wings.’

  ‘An apt metaphor, my lady. The rakeshame you call a son duped this fledgling into attempting to soar so high, he had his wings burnt and is left without a feather to fly with.’

  She could not help laughing, which was the worst thing she could have done. ‘An exaggeration, I am sure.’

  ‘Is two thousand an exaggeration?’

  She gasped and the laugh left her. ‘As much as that? But surely the Marquis is a minor—such debts are not recognised in law?’

  ‘Maybe not, but it is a debt of honour and must be paid…’

  ‘Oh. You wish me to reimburse you? Is that why you have come?’

  ‘No, my lady, it is not. The money was not owed to the Earl, but to his associates.’ He paused, wondering just why he had come. Unable to bear his son’s misery, he had stormed out of the house to call on James, intending he knew not what. But on being told the young man was not at home, he had wondered if he might be with his stepmother.

  Creeley had told him the Earl was not here and he should have retreated—instead he had insisted on seeing her ladyship. To what purpose? Perhaps to ask her advice, perhaps to commiserate, perhaps because he simply needed to see her that they might console each other, none of which he could bring himself to tell her because she thought it was a joke and, even in her mirth, offered to reimburse him. Him, the Duke of Loscoe, one of the richest men in the kingdom! He could buy up her assets a dozen times over and still hardly notice the difference. She knew that and was mocking him.

  ‘My purpose in coming here,’ he said stiffly, ‘was to appraise you of your stepson’s reprehensible behaviour and to inform you that my daughter will not be coming here again. And for your own good, I advise you to take the Earl of Corringham in hand before he ruins you. Good day, Countess.’ And before she could utter any sort of response, he had left the room.

  Frances followed him to the drawing room door, where she stood, a little shakily, and watched him take his hat from Creeley and leave the house. The butler closed the door on him and it was like a door closing on her life. For the second time in her life he had walked away from her and for the second time in her life, she was appalled, disappointed and angry. Her wrath was enough to sustain her as she wrote a note to James, commanding him to call on her at his earliest convenience, sent it by a footman and went back to her room.

  ‘We will not be going out, Rose,’ she said, wearily. ‘I am expecting the Earl.’

  ‘What about your costume, my lady? There is so little time if we are to make something…’

  ‘I do not need to make anything, Rose. I shall go as a maid. We are of a size—I shall borrow something of yours.’

  ‘But, my lady,’ Rose said, appalled, ‘it is not fitting.’

  ‘Oh, it is very fitting, Rose. The Duke of Loscoe thinks I am a servant, then I shall be one. If he comes to the ball, which I am beginning to doubt, we shall see what he makes of it.’

  ‘Oh, my lady!’ Rose cried.

  Marcus strode back to Stanmore House. He might have known it would be a waste of time
appealing to her; she had once again made him feel inadequate, like a gauche schoolboy. If Duncan had been her son, how would she have handled the situation? Laughed at it, as she had laughed at him, said boys who aspire to be men were often foolish and must be indulged? Would she have refused to pay his debts because he was not old enough to incur them? Was that how she had brought up her stepson? No wonder the young man was so irresponsible.

  But even in his wrath, he knew he was being unjust. He had seen her with James and Augusta and it would have taken a blind man not to see the genuine affection in which they held each other and he envied it. He could bear all Duncan’s pranks if only the boy felt he could come to him, talk to him freely about his concerns. They might even laugh about them together. And that was the rub; there was no laughter between them and that was his fault for allowing his wife to shut him out over the years when his children were growing up. As he walked his temper cooled, but not enough for him to turn back and offer an apology.

  Duncan was sitting in the library exactly where he had left him an hour earlier. His head was bowed and his hands were dangling between his knees. Ordinarily he was a handsome boy with the typical hairline and brows of the Stanmores, but today he was even more subdued than Lavinia was wont to be, which was hardly surprising. The peal he had rung over him could have been heard a mile away.

  He had not beaten him, though he had threatened it, but he had an idea Duncan would have preferred that to the punishment he had decreed. ‘You will repay me from your allowance,’ he had roared. ‘Not a penny will you have until it has been paid. And if that takes until you reach your majority and come into your inheritance from your mother, then so be it.’

  ‘But Father, how can I exist on nothing?’

  ‘Work for it.’

  ‘But how? I am still at school. Do you wish me to leave and find employment?’

  ‘The vacations start next week. You will go home to Risley and make yourself useful on the estate. I will decide on your future later.’