Captain Durant's Countess

chapter 25


Tuesday had inched along all too slowly. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have a thousand things with which to occupy himself. Reyn was nothing if not busy, nearly overwhelmed with calculations on each of the girls. He was keeping notes and an estral calendar for all of them, having sense enough to know he did not want to be up to his elbows delivering their foals all on the same night. Brutus was anxious to begin his work, but would have to be satisfied with a few mares at a time rather than the whole lot at once.

Some of his horses had already been bred before he purchased Merrywood, and Reyn was anxiously anticipating the new arrivals. He’d even forced himself to sit and get through most of a monograph on the delivery of foals, laboring over each sentence.

He would not see any profit for well over a year, but had enough emerald money left over to keep himself in bread and cheese and his horses in hay if he was frugal. With Ginny married, there would be fewer expenditures on Merrywood, too. He could live with the tilting floors and tattered curtains.

He wouldn’t let himself think of Maris moving in.

If she agreed to marry him eventually, they could make their home at Hazel Grange, anyway. He couldn’t subject his countess to less comfort than she was used to. The Grange was a very handsome house, beautifully appointed, a fine place to raise a family. The combined acreage of the two properties would be enough to support dozens of horses . . . and children, too.

Bah. What was he doing, dreaming? She couldn’t let an Earl of Kelby grow up so far from his birthright, even if Kelby Hall was just some twenty miles away. And he was not fit to be any sort of “stepfather” for such an exalted young personage.

Reyn gripped the reins in frustration, ruing the day he’d ever seen that advertisement in The London List. He was tied up in knots, longing for what he could not have. Timing was everything, and he and Maris were its victims. If they had met a mere few months later, once she was safely widowed and settling into Hazel Grange . . . but then he certainly would not be Merrywood’s owner. He’d be in London, wasting his life away, doing one damn stupid thing after the next and wondering where his next meal was coming from. Staying up all night at the tables, or bedding some other man’s willing wife. He never would have crossed paths with the virtuous Countess of Kelby.

And she would not be bearing his child.

Reyn pulled up to the columned portico of Hazel Grange. Before the groom could rush to hold the horses, Maris stepped out and down the steps. She was wearing one of Madame Bernard’s creations, a black moiré that shimmered midnight blue and purple in the sunlight, a gauzy shawl clinging to her shoulders. The hat Reyn had selected, a little crown of iridescent black feathers, was perched on her head like a wayward bird. She took his breath away.

“Good afternoon, Captain Durant.”

Reyn wished the old gig was a fairy-tale glass carriage, but at least the seat was newly upholstered and clean. Reyn had stuffed horsehair and pounded the nails in himself after securing a piece of leather in Shere once he knew he would be transporting Maris.

“Good afternoon, my lady.” He jumped down and jostled around the groom to help Maris into the conveyance.

“It is a lovely one, is it not? Almost hot.”

Too hot for May, and sticky besides. His shoulder ached like the devil, a harbinger of rain to come. Reyn hoped all this weather talk was for the benefit of the boy who stood on Hazel Grange’s pea stone drive. They would have to find even more banal things to say over dinner and should not exhaust all of them on the ride to Merrywood.

“Indeed, lovely. My sister has been in a tizzy all day preparing for you.”

“I do hope she’d not gone to a lot of trouble,” Maris said, frowning. “I’m perfectly satisfied with the simplest things.”

“So I told her, but she does not listen to me very often.”

Maris adjusted her lightweight shawl. “How goes the wooing with the vicar?”

“You may see for yourself. Mr. Swift is also our supper guest. I hope you do not object. I know you do not relish company at this time.” Reyn had argued with Ginny over the invitation, but somehow she’d prevailed.

“He seems a most unobjectionable young man. I think David must have frightened him off, though. He’s not come to see me since that first visit.”

Reyn ground his teeth. “Has David bothered you again?”

“Only by the post. I don’t open his letters, but toss them in the fire. There’s a great deal of satisfaction to be had watching the flames, and it’s most unlikely he’s enclosing bank notes.”

Reyn loved the hat. Maris’s profile was fully visible to him and he saw the slight curve of her lips.

“I meant what I said, Maris. I will talk to him for you.”

She turned to him, feathers fluttering as the gig rolled on the narrow lane that connected their properties. “How could you explain your protective interest, Reyn? I went through a great drama swearing you meant nothing to me. Denying we even spoke beyond the merest passing politeness at Kelby Hall. It will be odd enough if he discovers we are neighbors.” She bit a lip. “You never should have come for me. I was wrong to accept the supper invitation in the first place.”

“One does have to eat sometime,” Reyn said, trying to tease her out of her funk.

“I have a perfectly good cook of my own.”

Damn it. He didn’t want to start their short time alone together off on such a querulous note. “Tonight, let’s agree to pretend David Kelby doesn’t exist. He’s not about to leap out of the hedgerows and catch us together, now is he? In any event, we are doing nothing wrong. You are dining with your new neighbors and a vicar. It doesn’t get more boring than that.”

She raised a brow at him, but said nothing. Boring was not the word to describe how he felt about Maris and she knew it.

Finally she sighed. “People will gossip.”

“You know what? People always gossip. What they don’t know, they’ll make up. I’m afraid you are the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to Shere. A real live countess in their midst. If you wanted total privacy, you should have gone elsewhere. The moon, perhaps. The Arctic Circle. But I can’t tell you how glad I am you are here next to me.”

“Don’t expect too much from it,” Maris demurred, though she didn’t move away.

“Even a countess cannot deny a man his dreams.” They were getting close to Merrywood’s gate. Reyn had affixed a sign to it just that afternoon; the paint was probably still wet. “Have you given any thought to our kiss?”

“That’s a presumptuous question, Captain.”

“Presumptuous is my middle name. Or would it be Presumption? I seem to have missed my chance on the road, but the stable will provide the necessary privacy, as long as you don’t mind the girls looking on.”

“You are being ridiculous, Reyn.”

She hadn’t said no. He’d have to be careful not to muss her, make sure there were no telltale bits of straw on her bottom. Of course there wouldn’t be. He couldn’t very well lure her into a stall and toss up her skirts as much as he wanted to. He’d have to refrain from sliding his fingers into her pinned-up hair, undoing the cunning jet buttons on her bodice, nipping her long white neck. And freeing her voluptuous breasts, which seemed a bit larger than he remembered.

And he remembered everything.

“Here we are. It’s a pleasant aspect, is it not?” Every time he rode down his lane, he felt a little jolt of pride. The whitewashed stone dwelling at the end of it had begun its life as a humble farmhouse, and several additions had been tacked on over the last century. The roof was thatch, and a clutch of early climbing roses framed the front door. True, he had to duck his head to enter that door, which had taken some getting used to. The outbuildings had been painted to match the house, so everything was blisteringly white and fresh. Reyn knew it was necessary to appear prosperous even if he wasn’t yet. His potential customers should be impressed.

His hard work was worth the smile on Maris’s face.

“Oh! This is lovely, Reyn!”

“This is more or less my first home, too. My parents weren’t much for sticking around to one place. Always fleeing creditors, you know. But I expect that mobility prepared me for the army. I never knew where I’d wake up next.”

“That must have been difficult for a little boy. I never lived anywhere but Kelby Hall.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Not at all.”

Reyn turned to her in surprise.

“It’s true. I’m quite content at the Grange. I told you I was happy with simple things.”

Excellent. Then there was hope for him. He was simple as they came.

“Let’s get you to the stables before Ginny gets her hands on you.”

“I don’t wish to appear rude.”

“Not at all. She knows you’re going to tour the barns with me first. I’m anxious to hear what you think.”

They rolled into the yard and young Jack came scurrying out to help. The boy was his only help at present, which would soon have to change. Reyn jumped down and helped Maris out, forcing himself not to leave his hands on her too long. They entered the largest cool dark building, horses whickering in greeting. The scent of horse manure was almost entirely absent. As instructed, Jack had been busy.

“Give me a moment for my eyes to adjust to the light before I ooh and ahh,” Maris said.

“You needn’t try to turn me up sweet. I know Merrywood’s limitations.” He’d worked like the devil to correct most of them, though.

“Reyn, I can tell already you’ve done a wonderful job here. Everything is . . . gleaming. The boxes are much larger than usual, aren’t they?”

“For the foals, when they come. It disturbs the horses to move into roomier quarters once they’ve given birth. Best to start them out in a larger space.” He’d ripped out every original stall himself over the winter, carefully measuring its replacement.

Maris reached for a long cinnamon-colored nose and stroked it. “Pretty girl,” she whispered. She opened her reticule and pulled out a lump of sugar.

“Now you’ve started something. You should have brought an entire cone if you don’t want to cause a riot.”

“I will the next time.”

Her words were heartening. Reyn very much hoped she’d be back again and again.

Sugar gone, they toured the rest of the stable, Maris lingering over each of the fillies with a word or a gentle pat. She had a natural horsewoman’s way with the animals and didn’t blink when one of the girls excreted a very unladylike mess during her inspection.

They crossed a few grassy steps to the second stable housing the gentlemen’s quarters and Reyn’s office. One day, the empty stalls would be filled, but only two were occupied at present. Brutus put on a show while Phantom did the equine version of rolling his eyes.

“He is a beauty, isn’t he?” Maris said, stepping back to admire the bay in the filtered sunlight.

Jack had done an admirable job scrubbing the windows, too. Reyn would have to give the boy something extra in his pay packet.

“He certainly thinks he is. Let’s hope his offspring make him worth the price I paid.”

Maris pointed to the curtained interior window at the end of the stalls. “Is that your office?”

Reyn nodded. He hadn’t planned on showing her the room. His organizational methods left a good deal to be desired. But he wasn’t quick enough to stop her from opening the door and peering inside.

It was the one place that wasn’t gleaming. Tradesmen’s bills were crumpled in a wooden trug, the pasteboard diaries on each horse strewn across the battered desk.

Maris picked one up in her black-gloved hand. Mother of God.

He watched her face as she turned the pages.

“Is this in some sort of code to confuse your competitors?”

She had given him the perfect out, but Reyn knew he couldn’t lie to her. Wouldn’t. He was a man of honor, despite his recent foray into various sins.

A possible marriage to Maris had been a beautiful, impossible dream while it lasted. It was time for him to wake up. Confess. What had he been thinking of to offer her a life with a man such as he? His proposal had been unplanned, reckless as usual. She was far above him and always would be no matter how well he established himself in his business.

“No, Maris, though I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.” He took a deep breath, wondering how he would sound as he admitted his greatest fault. “I cannot read well. I write worse. All the schoolmasters’ beatings in the world did not help. You see the result in your hands.”

Her brown eyes never left his. Give her credit for more bravery than he was feeling at the moment.

Even his voice cracked a little as it had in his youth. Reyn gave her a twisted smile. “I’ve managed to get by so far on my good looks and charm, but you have found me out at last. I can barely understand my own notations some days. Now you see how hopeless it was for your husband to hire me to catalog the contents of Kelby Hall.”

“He didn’t hire you for that,” she said softly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“How could I? I thought it enough to tell you I’m no scholar. No one knows my limitations, not even Ginny. She thinks I’m just lazy. Sometimes when I concentrate I can make out the gist of what I’m reading. I’ve got a good memory, thank God. If I hear something, it gets filed away. But as a lad, I didn’t sit still long enough to listen to much of anything.”

Reyn had trouble standing still, waiting for Maris to give her excuses and leave before partaking of Ginny’s eagerly planned supper. He heard the pulse sing in his ears, felt his heart race, and fought against the urge to flee from his office. From his life. He had been a fool to think he could cobble together some kind of order to his existence. Find a measure of happiness. He wasn’t worthy. His tenuous familial link to the ton was far overshadowed by his bad blood.

What if the child took after him, had his deficiencies? He had sentenced Maris with a problem that could not be solved. Reyn should never, ever have agreed to the absurd proposition, but it was much too late for regret.

She held the open ledger, her trembling hand revealing the impact of his words. He wished he could think of something comforting to say, but the truth was he was doomed and any child of his might be as well.

“You should have said something. If not to Henry, then to me.”

“I know. I was a coward. And you were so lovely I did not want to leave. If the child is afflicted, I can take it and spare you my parents’ misery.”

“You will not!” Maris was fairly thunderous, her brows every bit as frightening as a Durant’s. “There will be no way of knowing for years if the child has difficulties. Was your father—”

“Normal? Oh yes. Even if he was a gamester. He didn’t lose because he couldn’t read the numbers on his cards, he was just damned unlucky and didn’t have the wit to stop. I have no trouble there myself. Numbers are a bit easier for me to manage than letters. And the printed page is much clearer than someone’s handwriting.”

Her eyes widened. “You didn’t read all those desperate letters I wrote because you couldn’t.”

Reyn felt himself flush, “Guilty as charged. I hoped you’d stop writing once your husband informed you I’d changed my mind. And I had. I didn’t want to abandon a child, especially one who might need my help, what little I can provide.”

Maris sank onto his wooden desk chair. “Oh.”

“I’ve done a terrible, unforgiveable thing to you. The next Earl of Kelby may be as stupid as I am.”

“You truly are stupid.”

“I’ve told you I am sorry—”

“Do shut up, Reyn! No one knows what the future may hold for any of us. I could go blind tomorrow and then what would my ability to read matter? You have other skills, qualities that have served you well enough. You’ve made the best of a bad situation. To think you were beaten for what was not your fault. It is horrifying. Look here. See this d? Clearly you mean for it to be a b.”

Reyn stared at the line to which she pointed. “Isn’t it?”

“Is that how you see it?”

Reyn squinted, feeling the beginning of a headache take root. “Aye, I suppose.”

“Reading for you must be like looking into a fun house mirror. Nothing is as it appears to the rest of us.” She dropped the book and seized his hands, forcing his thumbs up and squeezing his fingers into the palm of his hand. “Look there. My governess Miss Holley taught me this trick when I was just a little girl. Jane had problems just as you do when she first learned to write, but she grew out of them. Your left hand makes a lower-case b.” She traced the curve of one letter, then the next. “The right is a d. Do you see it?”

Reyn examined his hands. He did! “How peculiar.”

“Isn’t it? There must be any number of tricks you can learn to help you. Miss Holley is still at a cottage on Kelby Hall’s grounds, retired of course. I bet she would love to help you. I can invite her to come and stay with me. No one would think it odd that I long for my old governess at this time.”

“Teach me at my age? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It’s never too late to learn. I admire you for coping as well as you have, but surely there’s room for improvement.”

Reyn had been expecting rejection. Contempt. Pity. He had never imagined the Countess of Kelby would be looking up at him with such earnest encouragement when he had done nothing but lie to her. “I—”

“Don’t you dare say you can’t. Or you won’t. What have you got to lose, but an hour or two a day with a sweet old woman who would love to feel useful again? I might even be able to help you as well.”

Dear God. He still had some pride left, and would never want Maris to know his shame and frustration. He would go mad sitting in his seat poring over a pile of children’s primers. They didn’t take the first time. Why should it be any different now? He was nine and twenty, halfway to being thirty, far beyond anyone’s help. Reyn had an absurd image of himself crammed into a child’s desk, his knees splintering the wood. “I’ll think about it.” He just had, and it would not suit.

“You’ll do more than that if you know what’s good for you.”

He looked up from his clenched hands. Well, there was the Countess of Kelby he’d met so many months ago at the Reining Monarchs Society. It was too bad he could not summon the care-for-nothing man he’d been.

For he cared too much, and it might be his undoing.