Captain Durant's Countess

chapter 18


Maris was numb. She knew she was supposed to feel something, should have expected how to feel when this day came as she knew it would. She had vowed years ago not to cry, for once. Henry would not have liked it. But she felt as if she was wrapped in cotton wool, almost deaf to Betsy and the other servants who had been filing into her room since she discovered Henry’s body in the library when she went in to wish him a good morning.

He had been there all night, sprawled facedown on the carpet. He had died alone and in distress. The shame of it was dreadful.

The servants knew better than to bother him, no matter how late the candles burned. No doubt they thought he was working through the night as he sometimes did, and were waiting to be summoned. But Maris herself should have insisted he get himself to bed, even if he wouldn’t share hers.

What had she been doing instead of seeing to Henry? Riding Captain Durant, touching herself as he’d touched her, aching for the next day and what would happen between them in the attic. Except it wouldn’t happen . . . ever again.

She had to send him away. Hang the inventory. It didn’t matter any longer. David could make his own foray into the boxes. She’d told the servants to remove all traces of the office work space. Remove the telltale chaise, too. David would catch one glimpse of it and her dangerous game would be over. He was probably on his way now, woken at the Kelby Arms by the servants’ gossip that would fly to the village as fleet as a bird.

She had sent Amesbury to fetch Reyn and dismissed everyone who had been hovering around her. In a short while, Henry’s solicitor Mr. Woodley would be there, and she could arrange for Reyn’s payment to be sent to him in London.

She reached into the pocket of her black gown. The emerald was cold and hard, much as she needed to be.

Amesbury knocked and entered. “Captain Durant, my lady.”

Reyn trailed after him, looking pale. “You have my sincerest condolences, Lady Kelby.”

Reyn is staying a good distance away, thank heaven. “Thank you, Captain. Amesbury, that will be all. Please let me know when Mr. Woodley arrives. Mr. Kelby, too.” Maris shivered. She would have to call David “my lord” and curtsey when he came to crow at his good fortune.

“Certainly, my lady.” Amesbury left, closing the door behind him. Did he suspect anything? If he did, she sought to quash any talk. Captain Durant was to be packed up and on his way within minutes of their interview.

Reyn was across the room in a flash. “Oh, God, Maris. I’m so sorry.”

She allowed him to hold her for a few precious seconds, then stepped out of his embrace. “You have to leave immediately.”

A dark eyebrow was raised and she wanted to smooth it down. “Why? I can help you.”

“I don’t require your help. If you were to stay, how could it be explained? You are not a relative. You . . . you are supposed to be nothing to me. The job is over. David won’t care what’s upstairs. He can’t sell anything, so why bother going through it?”

“What if David won’t inherit?”

Maris flushed. “I’ll know soon enough. I hardly think after only two days that we have . . .” She couldn’t say it. Didn’t dare to hope it.

He pulled her to him, holding her hands so tightly it hurt. “You’ll tell me, won’t you?”

“What good will it do to know?” she cried, pulling away.

“You’ll tell me. Please.”

She really couldn’t bear this. Reyn Durant needed to go, and go immediately. She took the emerald from her pocket. “Mr. Woodley—Henry’s solicitor—will see that you get your pay no matter what happens. But I want you to have this.” Maris shoved the jewel into his hand.

Reyn looked down at it as if she’d given him a poisonous snake. “I’m to be bought off, just like this?”

“Henry hired you for your character. I know I don’t have to bribe you. I want you to have it. To take care of your sister. To buy yourself a future.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Don’t be so proud. Why shouldn’t you have it? You found it. Do you think David Kelby deserves it after all he’s done?”

Reyn rolled the stone in his hand. “Was your husband’s death natural? I ran into Kelby on the road from the village last night. He was coming from this direction.”

Maris felt dizzy. “What? What do you mean?”

“Has a doctor been called?”

“Dr. Crandall is here now.” Maris had willingly left him alone, coward that she was.

“I’ll go talk to him.”

“You cannot! Anything you say will seem odd. You’re supposed to be a stranger. Just a temporary employee.”

Reyn’s mouth was mulish. “He should know to look for what’s beyond the obvious.”

“Reyn, Henry was an old man. His heart has been weak for years. This day has been coming for a long while.” And Maris had still been unprepared.

She was relieved to see Reyn tuck the emerald into his pocket.

“When do you want me to go?”

“They are getting your things together now. You’ll want to go upstairs and make sure they don’t overlook anything.” It was the only way, really. If he stayed, she would not be responsible if she flung herself into his arms and wept her heart out.

Could one love two men at once?

It seemed one could.

Oh, that is ridiculous. She could not possibly be in love with Reynold Durant. She barely knew him. He was a stranger. She was just confused by the circumstances she found herself in. The past few days had been too much for her, had made her lose her good sense.

Reyn looked like a stranger, his expression inscrutable, his black eyes dull. She felt his withdrawal almost as a physical thing, as though the air between them was becoming thinner.

“You’ll let me know.” It was no longer a question, but an order.

“I-I will. But you mustn’t come back.” She’d have to deal with David Kelby alone.

“As you wish, Countess.”

And then he was gone. There had been no kiss, to her hand or any other part of her, no more words. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? A necessary break.

Maris walked to the fireplace. No matter how many coals were burning, she thought she’d never be warm again.





Reyn headed straight for the library. The phalanx of footmen was back at their positions, their green frockcoats augmented with black mourning armbands. That was quick, but he supposed, at a moment’s notice, they were ready for anything at Kelby Hall.

He would leave—couldn’t wait to leave—but first he’d go against Maris’s express wish and speak to Dr. Crandall. He found the man in whispered conversation with Amesbury outside the library door. Both men looked up at his interruption and Reyn rearranged his temper.

“Good morning. I wonder if I might have a word with you, Dr. Crandall.”

“Who are you?” The doctor was a portly fellow who seemed annoyed to be ripped away from his breakfast at the early hour.

“Captain Durant is the antiquities expert the late earl engaged,” Amesbury explained.

“What do you want?”

“I was just wondering if the earl expired of natural causes.”

Amesbury turned a bit gray. The doctor opened his mouth, but it was a while before “What?” came out.

“I realize the Earl of Kelby was an elderly man in precarious health. But he seemed quite well when I spoke with him the other day.”

“I am sure he did. The earl enjoyed good days, except when he did not,” Dr. Crandall replied testily. “I can assure you there is nothing suspicious in the manner of the earl’s demise. Frankly, I’m astounded that you should think so.”

“It’s just . . . a feeling,” Reyn temporized. “I get them in my line of work, which is why I’ve been able to make such valuable discoveries and whatnot.” It was true he’d always had a bit of intuition, which had saved his skin a few times. “I wonder, Amesbury, did the earl receive any visitors last night?”

“Not to my knowledge, Captain. He went into the library shortly after dining with the countess. You were the only one about last night, according to John.” Amesbury meant Aloysius.

Well, I stepped in front of that bullet. Reyn had had a brief conversation with the bleary-eyed young footman when he’d admitted him into the house. Reyn frowned and considered asking to see the body, but that really would cause comment. And what would he know if he examined the earl? Yes, he’d seen many dead men—hundreds, thousands if he thought about Waterloo, which he tried very hard not to do—but he was not trained to recognize the signs of murder.

But he couldn’t go away without knowing. “Was there any indication of a struggle?”

The doctor’s face turned scarlet. “Captain, you are overstepping your bounds by a great many miles. I presume people hire you because of your trustworthiness and discretion. If I were you, I’d stop being such an ass about blighting the family’s good name. The Earl of Kelby lived a long, successful life and His Maker finally came calling.”

“Thank you for your opinion, Dr. Crandall,” Reyn said.

The man would never take a second look. Nothing could be proven anyhow. Unless Henry Kelby had suffered a gunshot wound, there would be no reason for anyone to doubt why he died.

But Reyn wouldn’t put it past David Kelby to have popped out of the bushes and frightened the old earl through the library windows. Perhaps even entered through the French doors and argued with him. Kelby had appeared disheveled in the moonlight. Reyn had attributed that to a tryst, though it could have been something much more sinister.

There was nothing left to do but go upstairs and round up his meager belongings. He hadn’t known how long he’d stay when he packed. It turned out not so very.

He was nothing to her, Reyn reminded herself. She’d said it. He’d have to remember it. Reyn was simply a means to an end. It would be a miracle if they’d achieved what the old Earl of Kelby sought, but stranger things had happened.

Maris was free, but she didn’t want him. Why should she?

He was nothing.