Contracted as His Countess

by Louise Allen

  ‘Felling large areas of woodland? That would be quite drastic, would it not?’

  ‘Drastic and necessary now,’ Jack said, then wished he had said something more tactful like prudent or they need thinning. Unless Madelyn was a superb actress that look of dismay was surely genuine. He would try to talk to her again tonight, see if they could begin to find that short-lived trust and happiness again.

  ‘How do you intend to spend the day?’

  ‘I thought I would take the pony and trap into the village, look at the church, see what shops there are.’

  The little two-wheeled trap was the only carriage they owned and now probably would be for some time. ‘Will you take a groom?’

  ‘There is hardly room and I am very used to driving one horse. That fat little pony will not be a problem. I hope you have a profitable day.’ She gathered together her post, got up with a nod to the other two men and went out, leaving Jack feeling uneasy for some reason he could not quite put his finger on.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Jack returned at four o’clock to a quiet house. He had thought long and hard about the past few days, had kicked himself mentally from every direction for not having told Madelyn straight out that he loved her and rehearsed just how he was going to set things right. All he had to do now was find his wife and keep his head.

  He discovered Paulson with his head down in the account books and Lyminge checking leases against vast estate maps unrolled on the library table. Neither had seen Madelyn since breakfast, they explained when he looked in on them. They had eaten at their work, interrupted only by an occasional stroll up and down the weed-grown terrace outside to stretch their legs.

  Jack rang for Wystan, expecting to hear that Madelyn was resting in her room or perhaps exploring the garden, notebook in hand, but the butler shook his head. ‘No, my lord. Her Ladyship has not returned from the village.’

  ‘What time did she go out?’

  ‘Just after you left, my lord. Certainly before ten. She drove herself.’

  Madelyn had said she was going to explore the village but even allowing for a lengthy period of prayer or reflection in the church, that could not have kept her away for more than two hours.

  ‘Did she say anything about going into the town?’ The nearest was Castle Hedingham, but it was hardly more than a large village itself. Surely she would not have driven as far as Halstead by herself?

  She would probably come up the drive at any moment, coolly dismissive of his worries, Jack thought, trying to reassure himself.

  ‘I fear Lady Dersington may have suffered an accident to the trap or the pony has gone lame,’ he said. ‘I will ride into the village and see if I can find her.’ A simple mishap was the most likely cause of a delay, the roads, although not busy, had plenty of traffic and respectable local people to help someone with a lame horse or a broken shaft. There was nothing to worry about—nothing except the deep-down fear that Madelyn had left him.

  * * *

  The village boasted one disreputable ale house and one decent inn. They faced each other across the green, with the church halfway between them and the Squire’s brick Queen Anne house opposite that, with the vicarage beside it. Jack rode into the Dersington Arms to enquire if they had seen his wife and found the fat grey pony tied to a ring in the stable yard lipping at a pile of hay and the trap resting on its shafts in a corner.

  A stable lad came running as Jack rode into the yard. ‘Take your horse, sir?’

  ‘The lady who came in the trap there. Is she inside?’

  ‘No, sir. She went off in the carriage with the gent. She left a letter, sir. Gave me a crown to take it up to the big house with the pony and trap, but not until six o’clock, she said.’

  ‘Give me the letter now,’ Jack said, hearing his own voice coming from a long way away.

  ‘Aye, sir.’ The lad ran for the back door of the inn and Jack sat quite still, feeling the cold, sick feeling in his gut build into actual pain. He should have listened to his instincts—Madelyn had left him. But with whom? Altair fidgeted, aware of his rider’s emotions, and Jack stilled him with a curt word.

  ‘Here you are, sir.’ The boy handed up the letter and waited while Jack broke the seal.

  I never meant to do harm, only the right thing. You say you are sorry for doubting me, but I know you only believe you should say that because now you are burdened with me.

  I can think of only one thing to do to try to make this right.

  Madelyn

  ‘Do you know who the man was?’ he asked abruptly, making the boy jump and Altair snort.

  ‘He was a stranger, sir, but he stayed last night. I can go and look in the book, sir.’

  He was off and running before Jack could agree and he came back with a piece of paper in his grubby hand. ‘Guv’nor wrote it down, sir.’

  Richard Turner Esq

  Long Meadow Grange

  Maidstone

  Kent

  3 Adelphi Apartments

  East India House

  Leadenhall Street

  London

  That was the masked highwayman at the masquerade, the old friend who did not come to the wedding of that morning’s post. Madelyn was running off with him—why? So that Jack had grounds for a divorce?

  The cold in his gut was turning into hot anger with himself now.

  I never meant to do harm...

  His instinct to believe her had been right, but he had been too clumsy in telling her, reassuring her. He was not normally tactless or maladroit, but it seemed that love had tied his tongue into knots and turned his brain to porridge.

  ‘When did they leave?’

  That provoked much head-scratching and thought. ‘Must have been just after eleven, sir, ’cos Vicar came in to see Jem Slater, the ostler, who’s in bed powerful sick and he came hurrying down when the clock struck, saying he’d be late for seeing someone about a christening. And the lady and gent came out just after that.’

  ‘Well done.’ Jack managed to find a smile and a crown piece. ‘What was the carriage and did you see which way they went?’

  ‘Chaise and four. Lunnon road, sir.’ The boy shrugged. ‘Most everyone goes that way.’ He caught the coin one-handed. ‘Thank you kindly. Do I take the trap back?’

  ‘You do, soon as you are able.’ Jack was already heading out of the yard and he set Altair on the road back to the Mote at a canter. He needed ready money and his pistols. He was gambling on Madelyn heading back to Kent and the castle. If he was wrong he might lose her in London, but instinct told him that she wanted the high walls and the moat around her. She was wounded and she was going to where she felt safe. Was she trying to give him the appearance of grounds for a divorce, or was she with Turner as his lover? Jack told himself to have faith in her.

  And if she wants nothing more to do with you? the nagging voice in the back of his mind asked.

  Then I swallow my pride, tell her how much I love her, give her a reason to come back. Try to remember all the right words I have been rehearsing all morning.

  * * *

  ‘We are not going fast enough,’ Madelyn fretted when she asked Richard for the time yet again and he replied patiently that it was seven o’clock.

  ‘If we order more speed, firstly the postilions will assume we are eloping, and secondly, now it is dark, we could have an accident,’ Richard said with an aggravating calm that made her want to scream. The fact that he was perfectly correct was no consolation at all. ‘We will be in London in another hour and a half, I would estimate.’

  How long would it take for Jack to realise that she had gone? He would be out all day. She had told Harper that she expected to take luncheon at the inn so the staff would not be anxious and she had tossed a small portmanteau with a few changes of linen, toiletries and her hairbrush out of the window, so there was no reason anyone wo
uld suspect that she had gone anywhere except the local villages. With good fortune it would not occur to the staff to wonder where she was until late afternoon and then the assumption would be that the trap had a broken wheel or the pony had gone lame.

  ‘It might be morning before Jack sets out after me,’ she said out loud, for comfort.

  ‘Even if not, we are hours ahead,’ Richard said. ‘But I would wager he knows where you are going and will drive straight to Castle Beaupierre. He could be there by late tomorrow, perhaps earlier. What will you do if we have not got to the bottom of this by then?’

  ‘Raise the drawbridge,’ Madelyn said grimly. ‘It cost enough to repair the mechanism, it might as well be used at least once for the purpose for which it was originally intended.’

  * * *

  It was a journey of over ninety miles and took them twelve hours with regular changes and fleeting stops for refreshment. At just past nine in the morning the chaise clattered over the drawbridge and into Castle Beaupierre and a puzzled groom and stable boys ran out to meet them.

  ‘Mistress! My lady, I should say. We were not expecting you—welcome home.’ Roger, the head groom, was beaming at her.

  ‘It is good to be here. See the postilions have refreshment, Roger. I will send Carlton down to pay them. Is Mr Lansing in the castle?’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  ‘Close the gates, if you please. No one is to leave except these men with the chaise when they are ready. Once they have gone, raise the drawbridge and secure the mechanism. No one is to enter or leave without my permission.’

  ‘Yes, my lady. A siege, is it?’ Judging by his grin the idea appealed.

  ‘Merely testing out the security,’ Madelyn said, trying to look relaxed and amused as Carlton, the butler, hurried down the steps from the main doors. He looked as though she had interrupted him at his breakfast, judging by the way he was tugging his coat straight.

  ‘My lady, welcome home.’

  ‘Thank you, Carlton. This is Mr Turner, my financial adviser. We have just dropped by to bring Mr Lansing up to date with various matters. Please will you pay off the postilions. Once they have gone I have ordered the drawbridge raised. No one is to enter or leave.’

  Carlton took that with rather more sangfroid than Roger. ‘Certainly, my lady. Shall I serve breakfast, my lady?’

  ‘In a little while. I will ring. Mr Lansing is in the archives room, I assume?’

  ‘Yes, my lady. I will alert the kitchen. Will Mr Turner be staying?’ he asked as he followed them up the stairs. ‘The Tapestry bedchamber has been recently aired.’

  ‘That will do admirably, thank you, Carlton. I have no idea of how long we will be here.’

  ‘Let us hope the food supplies will last the siege,’ Richard said, following Madelyn across the Great Hall.

  She nodded, too tense to find that amusing.

  Lansing was at work as usual, surrounded by his ledgers, an abacus at his side. He looked up, startled, when Madelyn entered, then frowned at the sight of her companion as he got to his feet. ‘My lady?’

  ‘Good morning. This is Mr Turner, my auditor.’ She saw no reason to soothe the flustered accountant.

  ‘But...’

  ‘I believe I am entitled to have access to my own financial records, am I not? Have you had breakfast, Mr Lansing?’

  ‘Yes, my lady, but...’

  ‘Come downstairs with me and have a cup of coffee while Mr Turner and I eat. I am sure you’ll need the extra sustenance for explaining everything to him.’ She waved him out in front of her, locked the door behind them and handed the key to Richard.

  Lansing had gone quite pale.

  It seems I was correct. There is something amiss here.

  * * *

  It was a long day. Richard spent the morning with Lansing, then turned the accountant out of the room and worked alone, taking his luncheon on a tray.

  Carlton reported that Lansing had been considerably agitated when he found he could not leave the castle. ‘I offered him the Red Suite, my lady, I thought he would be better there. Unfortunately, once he was inside the door locked itself. I find I have misplaced the key, but I am sure I will locate it by dinnertime.’

  * * *

  Richard sent a note mid-afternoon. ‘What do you know about the estate at Abberley?’

  Madelyn frowned at the note. ‘Tell Mr Turner that there is no such estate.’ She went back to pacing the battlements, the pennants flapping and cracking above her. She was watching the road for a carriage, wondering whether Jack would hire a chaise or drive himself in a curricle. Or would he come at all?

  * * *

  Then, just as the sun was beginning to dip low over the hills and she was thinking of going for a wrap against the cool breeze, a rider on a black horse breasted the crest and reined in, looking towards the castle.

  ‘Jack.’ She would know him anywhere, even at this distance, even though the horse was not Altair. He had come, but there was no word yet from Richard that he had solved the puzzle. She knew she needed to be able to offer her husband facts, an explanation, not wild suspicions, or he was quite likely to dismiss this as simply an excuse to run away from his anger.

  ‘I love you,’ she murmured. ‘Please forgive me for this.’

  As he had months ago when she had first watched from this eyrie, Jack rode down the slope at a walk and reined in a few yards back from the edge of the moat, waiting. That first time she had raised the drawbridge to emphasise who she was, to see his reaction to provocation. Now she chewed at a fingernail as she watched him, relaxed in the saddle, apparently patient.

  Then he looked up, as though he could feel her looking down at him. He took off his hat and leaned back, the breeze ruffling his dark hair.

  Should she call down? But there was nothing to say yet. Madelyn lifted one hand, then made herself turn and walk away. She would go to the archives room and see how Richard was progressing, because it was breaking her heart to stand there, the deep, cold moat between them.

  * * *

  Diabolo, the stallion that his friend Sir James Clarke who lived just outside Rochester had lent him, fidgeted, apparently determined to live up to his name. He had given Jack a tough ride, but a fast one, and the big horse still had plenty of energy to work off.

  ‘I do not suppose you can fly, you awkward creature.’ Jack turned the horse to the left and began to circle the castle. He was feeling grim, but with as tricky a mount as this he could not afford to let his emotions show. That little wave—was it dismissal, farewell—apology? Why would she not let him in?

  He could not believe Madelyn had fled with her lover—even at that distance he could tell she was unhappy. I know her so well now...and yet not at all. But he was not prepared to wait however long it took for her to lower that drawbridge. The castle surely had some weak point. Aylmer might have been obsessed with accuracy, but he could hardly have been expecting to be besieged. A moat and high walls would be enough to deter any normal housebreaker, but not, he thought, a man in pursuit of his lost love.

  On the second circuit he thought he saw it, his way in, but he would wait until after dark to try it. Whistling softly under his breath, he dug his heels into Diabolo and sent the stallion off towards the woods at a gallop.

  * * *

  From the archives room’s window, high in a tower, Madelyn saw him go and sighed.

  ‘You really care about him, don’t you?’ Richard put down his pen and pushed aside a pile of notes.

  ‘I love him,’ she said bleakly.

  ‘Does he know?’

  ‘I told him. He did not believe me. I had thought perhaps he was becoming fond of me. He even apologised for his anger, for assuming I knew what a mess I had made with the money by telling Lansing to pay off everything. But it was clear he was making himself do that because, somehow, we have to keep living together. If he
loved me, why did he not say so then?’

  ‘Because he’s a man,’ Richard said with a grimace. ‘Why didn’t you persist, explain how you feel?’

  ‘And have him think I was saying it to get into his good graces?’ Madelyn sat down on the other side of the desk and prodded the stack of ledgers. ‘Are you finding anything?’

  ‘I think so. I’m having to dig back through the manorial papers for about twenty years to make doubly certain. Does Lansing assume that all women are without the capacity to understand business matters?’

  ‘Definitely. To be fair, so did my father to some extent, so he encouraged Lansing to be exceedingly...’

  ‘Patronising? Paternalistic?’ Richard suggested.

  ‘Yes, both of those,’ she said, thinking back. Lansing’s attitude had always been to undermine her confidence in understanding the accounts and she had been too adrift in those months following her father’s death to make herself tackle both Lansing and the ledgers.

  ‘I suspect we can add opportunistic and dishonest to those. I’ll have the answers in another hour, I think.’ He gave her a sideways glance. ‘Before your husband turns up with siege engines and scaling ladders, at least.’

  ‘Do not joke,’ she said, suddenly even more anxious. She had imagined Jack’s anger if she failed to find evidence of Lansing’s dubious dealings, but she had not considered how he might view Richard’s involvement. ‘He might call you out.’

  Richard grinned, glancing up from a closely written document. ‘He can call all he likes. I am not foolish enough to go up against an enraged husband who has already knocked me down once. Besides,’ he added, dipping his pen in the ink to make another note, ‘I can just imagine the Company’s attitude if I fail to report to the office next week because I have allowed an earl to put holes in me.’