Captain Durant's Countess

chapter 12


It was Reyn’s birthday, not that he celebrated such things anymore. He was nine and twenty on that frosty December day, an age he never thought he’d live to.

He’d already gotten his gift in its early hours. He expected to get at least another one, so he’d taken care shaving and dressing before he made his way upstairs to his new “office.” It was just past nine, yet Lady Kelby was not present to order him about. A fire had already been laid and started by unseen hands, taking the chill from the room. Maris had promised they would be undisturbed up there and he hoped Kelby Hall’s staff could restrain themselves from seeing to his every need.

He’d never encountered more solicitous servants in his life, from his dismissed volunteer valet—Reyn could dress himself, thank you very much—to the footman and housemaid who’d brought him so enormous a breakfast it took two of them to deliver it.

He would rather have slept longer than deal with people and porridge. He wondered if Maris had been able to fall asleep. He’d lain in bed for hours after she left, replaying their encounter in his mind until he’d been forced to take himself in hand again and spend against the sheets.

The night had gone better than he’d dared to hope. Once Maris had talked herself into the thing, she had been beyond responsive. Beyond compare in Reyn’s checkered experience. Yet there had been an innocence, which made Reyn wonder about her history.

At some point she and her husband must have had a real marriage. She had not been a virgin, thank God. Reyn was sure he’d know such a thing. Maris had been tight, but not untried. She’d gloved him with a surprising intensity that almost blew his head off. As a member of the Reining Monarchs, he’d not gone so long without a woman that the usual carnal act should affect him so.

But it had.

He shook his head over the neatly sharpened quills lined up on the penholder. If he was not careful, he’d wind up under the spell of a happily married woman, and then where would he be? He was here for a job, not to have a case of calf-love for Maris Kelby.

Where on earth was the word love coming from, modified by calf or not? They did not really know each other, and he couldn’t imagine a woman more ill-suited to him. She was far too proper, too contained, too shy when she wasn’t being bossy. Especially when her heels dug into his back to guide him to her will.

Altogether she was formidable. A countess who helped her husband write books had nothing in common with an ex-soldier who couldn’t even read them.

He left the worktable and walked to the window. The formal garden was far below, its regimented hedges separating each garden room. Two smocked men were digging up a plant past its prime, which marred the estate’s unnatural perfection, their breaths little puffs of white air. Reyn found the obelisk where he’d kissed the countess and realized they’d need to be careful if they were outside in daylight. Any servant quartered in the attics had a perfect view of the garden and the glistening lake beyond. The little rowboat bobbed against the shore as a brisk wind skimmed the surface of the lake. It looked to be a clear day, and he was sorry he would not be going out in it.

He tensed as he heard a squeak on the stairs, and turned toward the doorway. Maris’s footsteps were inaudible as she walked through the first attic room and pushed the door open. Her instant blush told him she had not expected to see him there so early.

“Good morning, Lady Kelby.” His voice sounded measured, belying the sudden constriction of his throat.

“Good morning, Captain Durant. I didn’t think you’d be up here quite yet.”

They were back to Lady Kelby and Captain Durant. Perhaps that was better. They wouldn’t slip into intimacy in front of anyone.

“Early bird, worm, and all that. I haven’t started on anything. I wasn’t sure what you’d want to do first.”

From the looks of her, it would be business. She wore a dark brown dress covered over with a pinafore, just the sort of attire one would wear to muck around in dusty attics. Her hair was hidden beneath a plain linen cap. If Reyn didn’t know she was a countess, he’d take her for a superior housemaid. She certainly was not a silk-clad seductress come to deliver another birthday present.

“I trust you’ve had breakfast,” she said, moving to the fireplace. Her shadowed brown eyes focused on a space just to the right of his left ear, not the rug at her feet where they’d begun their affair.

So she hadn’t slept much either. “Indeed. I couldn’t do it justice. I’m used to simpler fare, you know.”

“Tell them what you like, and you shall have it. The staff has been instructed to cater to your wishes.”

“You’re too generous, Lady Kelby.”

“You are our guest, Captain.”

“I am your employee. I don’t want to forget my place.” Bought and paid for, fed like a pig destined for slaughter. A full stomach wouldn’t make death any sweeter. No matter how much he was indulged, he’d never be at ease.

Maris twisted her fingers nervously.

Is she recalling where they had been and what they had done just hours ago? Reyn shook his head. Best to stop thinking of that. He grabbed a box from a stack and thumped it on the table. “Shall we begin with this? It’s number twelve.”

“Shouldn’t we begin with one?”

“That box was too heavy for me to bring here by myself. It will have to be opened in the room it sits in, or transported on that cart you mentioned. How will we go about this, Lady Kelby?”

She frowned. “I suppose the best way is to unpack each crate, number, and describe the contents, then put everything back except for what might interest Henry.”

The whole thing sounded ridiculous to him. If they were only going to put all the things back in their dark little boxes, what really was the point? A generation from now, someone might decide to throw the lot away as a fire hazard, though perhaps their inventory might dissuade them.

Maris moved over to a chair at the long table and handed Reyn a pair of large gardeners’ gloves. “Please wear these.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about. Some of the artifacts might be too delicate to hold up against human touch.” She pulled a pair of white cotton gloves from her apron pocket and put them on.

Reyn followed suit, then picked up the crowbar and pried box number twelve open. His first thought was there was indeed a mummy inside, for strips of fraying linen were wrapped around a giant misshapen lump. The box didn’t smell as if it contained a desiccated body, however, so he gingerly removed the lump from the box and set it before the countess. “You do the honors.”

Her expertise was evident. Each piece of fabric was painstakingly removed with tweezers that also came out of her pocket. He wondered how she opened her birthday presents. Was she as careful or did she rip into things with abandon like a greedy child? He’d bet the former.

Reyn was no wiser what the object was once she’d uncovered it. The heap of linen rags on the table looked more valuable. “What the blazes is that?”

“The statue is South American, quite ancient, I wager. I believe it must have been sent here by Henry’s brother. His ship escorted the Portuguese Court to Brazil when they fled Napoleon’s invasion in 1808.”

“David’s father?”

Maris nodded. “Yes. He was in the Royal Navy. He died on the return voyage, poor man. He was nothing at all like his son.”

“Why isn’t David in possession of this clay thing?”

“If it was delivered here, it was intended for Henry. He’s interested in comparative civilizations. This is primitive vis-à-vis his Etruscan treasures from the same era. I think we’ll put it aside, although he must have seen it once.” Maris made a bed of cloth and laid the stature on top of it.

In Reyn’s opinion it looked like a mud pie any half-wit child could make. He watched as Maris removed her gloves and wrote in one of the blank ledgers. She lined up a ruler next to the thing and squinted, then pulled out a pair of spectacles from the same capacious pocket. Reyn wondered what else could possibly be in there.

With the glasses perched on her nose, the countess resembled a no-nonsense governess, not that he’d had one. He had been sent off to school at an early age once the local curate washed his hands of him. The curate was the first in a long line of scholars who had very clean hands after dealing with young Reynold Durant.

Lady Kelby was spending an inordinate amount of time with the reddish-brown thing. She scratched out its description, then paused to measure and cluck over it some more. What was he supposed to do with himself between “finds?” Reyn dug his hand deeper into box number twelve, but there seemed to be nothing but more fabric wrapping . . . until he touched something hard.

Hold on. Reyn pulled out a polished green stone the size of a robin’s egg. Its multiple facets glinted in his palm. “Maris.”

“Umm?”

“Look.”

Her head was still bent over the ledger. “I need to finish with the relic first. You’ll have to learn to be patient. I’m very thorough.”

She was that. “I think you’ll want to see this.”

“Oh, bother. What is it?” She placed the pen in its holder and looked over her lenses. Her brown eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. He could not have asked for a more satisfactory reaction.

“I think it’s an emerald,” Reyn said with some confidence. He’d rubbed shoulders lately with some bejeweled ladies. Sometimes the jewels were all they wore. The Marchioness of Stitham had an emerald set she wore regularly to the Reining Monarchs Society, tiara and all. But none of her stones could compete with the color, cut, and clarity of the huge rock in his hand.

“Good Lord. It’s enormous.”

Reyn set the stone in front of her. “It was at the bottom of the box.”

She picked it up as if it might bite. “I suppose it really belongs to David.”

“Why? You said the box was intended for your husband.”

“Henry’s brother must have hidden it for transport. I’m sure he would have unpacked it himself had he lived.”

“You don’t believe in finders keepers?”

Her lips turned up in almost a smile. “If I did, the emerald would be yours, wouldn’t it?”

“Not at all. I am merely the hired help.”

An emerald that size must be worth a fortune. If Reyn had a brain and fewer scruples, he would have pocketed the thing while Maris was scribbling and no one would have been the wiser. Ginny could have lived out her days in luxury and he need not worry about ever finding a proper job.

Maris looked at him as if she could read his thoughts. “Thank you for your honesty.”

Reyn shrugged. “I’m an honorable chap. Mostly. What will you do with it?”

Maris’s brows knit. “I don’t know. I don’t think I want to disturb Henry over it just yet. I’m sure he would say it was David’s and it would gall him no end to turn over so valuable an object to him.”

“I’d like to meet this blighter David.”

“No you wouldn’t. Although I suppose he’s due any day now. He always turns up when you want him least.”

“Tell me about him again so I can prepare myself for the eventuality.” Reyn sat on the edge of the table watching Maris Kelby’s cheeks flush. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of her blushes.

“He’s Henry’s heir, of course. A few years older than I. He can be very charming,” she said with bitterness.

“Were you raised together here?”

“Oh, no. His parents lived in one of the other Kelby properties in Hampshire. Near Portsmouth, convenient to the Admiralty. His father was at sea for much of his growing up. I supposed that’s why he doesn’t recognize boundaries. His mother spoiled him dreadfully. David thinks he’s entitled to do just as he pleases, no matter who it hurts.”

“I gather his marriage to Lady Jane would have been unacceptable.”

“Cousins do marry. Henry would have swallowed the pill and approved the match. But David refused, even though—” Maris broke off.

“I’m sorry. It’s impertinent of me to ask.”

“No. You should know. It will help you to understand why my husband is so set against David inheriting. You were right. It’s not just about the disposition of the Kelby historical artifacts and books, or even that David trifled with Jane’s affections.” Maris took a breath. “She was pregnant when she took her life. I didn’t know how desperate she was, nor did Henry. We blame ourselves for not understanding what she was going through.”

Reyn shook his head. Something was off. “It doesn’t make sense to me. Surely David would have been guaranteed his position if he’d married the earl’s spinster daughter. Why would he refuse?”

“Because he could. I told you, he likes to do as much damage as possible.”

“Well, he doesn’t deserve this emerald then, does he?” Reyn picked it up and held it to the window. Even to his untrained eye, it was extraordinary.

“No, he doesn’t.” She held out her hand. “I’ll put it under lock and key until we decide what we should do.”

Reyn dropped the bauble onto her palm. “We?”

She blushed again. “If it wasn’t for you rooting around in the box, I’d never know it was there, would I?” She put the jewel in her apron pocket, picked up the pen again and set back to work.

Most women would have been dazzled by the green stone, placing it like an imaginary ring on their finger, but not Maris Kelby. She returned to her measuring and analyzing, and it was a good ten minutes before she finished with the pre-Columbian lump. Reyn bided his time with a stroll to the window. The gardeners had moved to a different section of plantings and were inserting something into the ground rather than pulling something up.

There was a career for him. Of course he knew nothing about plants whatsoever, but it was good honest labor and out of doors instead of being shut up in grim book-lined rooms. Fresh air. Sunshine. Reyn didn’t mind the rain, either. His brawn would come in handy and he knew his way around a shovel, having dug a trench or two in his time. Ginny might think it a comedown for him, but once he explained his difficulties to her—

Damn. He’d never remember all the Latin names of herbs and flowers. Maybe he wouldn’t need to. He wasn’t too proud. He could be the under gardener.

Reyn realized he didn’t hear the pen scratching behind him anymore and turned. Maris Kelby smiled up at him, and he felt his heart turn over just a little.

“You seemed so lost in thought I didn’t want to tell you I’m ready for the next box.”

“Forgive me for shirking, my lady.” He strode across the room and lifted up box number six. If there was a gap between their stations, it would be a yawning cavern if he became an under gardener. At least now he was an ex-military officer, the son of a gentleman.

And he wasn’t a thief. He could have pocketed the emerald so easily.

The next two boxes held no more jewels or treasures of any kind. Reyn poked at the fire while Maris catalogued the odd assortment of objects that had caught Kelby eyes over the years. She explained what she was doing, but Reyn could work up no interest over chipped pottery and blackened candlesticks. When she was done and the items rejected, Reyn rewrapped everything but a Chinese plate and put it all back in the boxes. He walked the length of the attic returning the crates to their stack and brought a few more to the workroom.

Maris was tucking an errant brown curl back under her cap and had managed to smudge some ink on her cheek. Her hands and her cotton gloves were no longer white, and her spectacles had migrated to the end of her nose.

Reyn couldn’t help himself. He pulled them off, disentangling her cap and hair. “It’s time for a break, Lady Kelby.”

“We’ve only gone through three boxes!” Maris objected.

“Yes, and you’ve filled up half a ledger. You’ll get eyestrain. Your fingers must be numb, aye? And I’m bored to death standing around watching you work.”

“Well, now that you’ve observed the procedure, perhaps you could be trusted to work on a box of your own.”

Not bloody likely. “I have a better idea. It’s time for our other task.”

“Right n-now?”

She should not look quite so appealing. Her cap was askew, her face dirty. Reyn had been fighting an erection for half an hour.

Well, that’s what he was there for, wasn’t it?

He took her grimy fingers in his hand. “Now. The more often we have relations, the better your chances are for conceiving.” He hoped he was sounding reasonable, though he felt anything but.

Something was wrong with him . . . beyond the usual. Being shut up with Lady Kelby all morning had made him lose what little concentration he had. He’d have to take up whittling or something while she worked. He was going mad.

“I . . . there is a chaise behind the screen.”

He smiled down at her. “I know.” He’d noticed it yesterday as he was organizing boxes. He found the embroidered pillowcases a charming touch.

“We’re just going to get up and—” Her blush deepened.

“Oh, there will be some preliminaries, never fear. I’m not going to fall on you like some crazed animal.” He hoped.

Her hand was still in his and he bent to kiss it. She trembled a little. How gratifying that it was sensitive to his touch. All he had to do was make sure the rest of her was.