Captain Durant's Countess

chapter 28


Reyn picked a bit of straw from Maris’s hair. Playing ladies’ maid had always been amusing, though tonight it was important he take his job seriously. If Maris was discovered re-entering Merrywood, there should be no trace of how they’d just spent the last perfect hour.

“Hold still. How am I to plait your hair if you’re hopping about like a rabbit?”

“Sorry. I can do it myself, you know.”

“And deprive me of touching the silk of your hair? You are too cruel, madam.” Abandoning his ministrations, he bent to kiss the spot below her left ear.

“Stop that or we’ll have to begin all over again. Where did the ribbon go?”

“It’s in my pocket. I’m keeping it as a token so I may tie it to my lance when I next go out jousting.”

“Silly man.” She sounded pleased though.

He set his hands on her shoulder and turned her to him. Her cheeks were pink in the dim lamplight and her eyes glowed. She looked like a well-tumbled woman despite the virginal white nightgown and even braid.

“It’s not raining quite so hard anymore. You should go.”

“I know.”

Yet he was loath to release her. The evening had been full of surprises for both of them. Miracles. Maris accepted him for who he was.

She wanted him anyway.

They had spoken just a little of the future. Reyn understood her reluctance to engage in anything else except an affair. How could she betray Henry’s memory with a hasty marriage? And what would happen to the child everyone thought was her dead husband’s?

Reyn could never go to Kelby Hall and watch his son be raised as the Earl of Kelby. He’d never belong there, would be a useless consort to Maris, and an inadequate “stepfather” to his own child.

So Reyn prayed with all his heart for a girl, a girl not cursed with his long Durant nose or bushy eyebrows. A little girl with toffee-colored hair and wide brown eyes, who was smart and beautiful as her mother. The old earl had dowered a girl child with Hazel Grange and a substantial income. Reyn would have to keep his wits about him repelling fortune hunters.

Yes, a daughter would be ideal. Maris could relinquish her guilt and that damn David Kelby would leave her alone forever. Reyn and Maris could marry after a decent period of mourning and all might be well. If he was writing a book, that’s precisely how he’d arrange the plot.

Ha. Write a book? Not likely. Reyn was being fanciful, thinking too far into the future and had to rein himself in. For now, he was having a secret affair with his widowed neighbor, and bloody grateful he was about it.

He fastened the top button of her night rail. “There. All prim and proper. Except for your bare feet. What were you thinking of coming out without shoes?”

“I didn’t want to make any noise.”

“You are a scandal, Lady Kelby.”

Maris blinked. “Oh, I do hope not. We must be discreet, Reyn. I don’t want David to catch wind of what we’re up to.”

“Look, my love, even if he discovers our relationship, it doesn’t mean anything. You are a widow. A neighbor. I’m offering you comfort.”

“He could take the baby away after it is born, Reyn. Say I was unfit. A harlot.”

“How could he do that? Surely Henry didn’t make him any kind of guardian or trustee.”

“No, of course not. But he’s the nearest male relative. The courts are sympathetic to the wishes of men, not women. He could claim he was the temporary head of the family until our son reached his majority. I’d have no say in the raising of my own child.”

“That cannot happen, Maris. You are borrowing trouble.”

Jesus, no wonder she was so afraid. But if she married him, that would circumvent any nefarious plans David had, surely?

It was too soon to petition her further for a marriage between them. Whatever he had to do to protect her and their child would be done, one way or another. He would be her White Knight, ribbon or no.

He held her close, wishing the earlier glow of the evening would return. Someone should run David Kelby through and spare them all his machinations.

“I’m sorry I’m such a bundle of nerves. But I’ve had a month to think on all the things that might go wrong. I never expected to find you here, Reyn, and I don’t think I can give you up again.”

“I won’t let you give me up. We’ll figure something out, I promise.” He was a selfish bastard.

But the best thing he could do for the Countess of Kelby would be to drive her home to Hazel Grange and never see her again.

Reyn couldn’t do it. He needed to see her grow large with their child, touch her when she came apart, listen to her worries, and dispatch them as best he could. He hoped he was man enough to manage.

He kissed her forehead. “Let me walk you to the house.”

“Someone might see.”

“They’re all asleep. There was a time when Ginny spent some restless nights, but the danger seems to have passed.”

Maris studied his face. “You took Henry’s job for your sister, and now she’s in health. Are you ever sorry?”

“That I met and fell in love with you? Don’t be ridiculous. Things may not be easy for us right now, but they’ll come about in the end.”

“I wish I could believe that. I don’t see how.”

He didn’t have the first idea either, but wouldn’t let that stop him. “Trust me.”

She smiled. “I do. I hadn’t planned to, either.”

“I remember, and who could blame you? We met under rather inauspicious beginnings. But you’ve improved me, Countess. Who knows? You might even teach me to read at that.”

“I’ll write to Miss Holley tomorrow.”

“Fine.” He’d do whatever took her mind off their troubles. He’d subject himself to the schoolroom again and stand on his head if that’s what it took to distract her. “Off with you then. Mind the cobblestones. I don’t want you stubbing one of your pretty toes.”

“Good night, Reyn.” She stood on those toes to kiss him—a kiss laced with restraint, mindful that it would not take much for him to get her down on his pallet again.

Reyn stood at the stable door as she disappeared through the misty yard and into the side door. The house was in total darkness, and he hoped her toes would be safe all the way up the stairs and to her room.

Bloody hell. He should consult a solicitor; see what rights David Kelby might have over Maris’s child. It had never once occurred to him that the blighter would have a say in anything. But that would arouse suspicion, and that was the last thing Reyn wanted to do.

He sat back down on the crumpled blankets, Maris’s scent overcoming horse and hay. He had told her he loved her, and apart from a flick of her long eyelashes, she’d said nothing.

She wanted him. But could she love him? Reyn almost didn’t care. It would be enough to have her nearby.

Crumbs. With luck and God’s good grace he’d get the whole cake and icing, too.





Breakfast had gone just as it ought, with Maris and Reyn behaving civilized and composed. Toast was crunched, coffee drunk, eggs and bacon consumed over polite conversation, Ginny considerably brighter now that he was not being a rude bastard. Reyn realized he’d been less than a gentleman over dinner, and made certain he behaved himself. No one would guess from his deportment that a few hours earlier he and Maris had rolled around on the floor of his office giving each other unbridled joy.

He intended to drop Maris at her home and continue on to Shere, and they left early, heavy moisture still on the leaves and grass. In less than twenty minutes, Reyn had rolled through the posts at Hazel Grange. Maris’s house sat on a little rise, square and neat. As soon as his carriage was spotted on the drive, Stephen Prall lumbered out from her stable and one of the footmen—bearing his own name now—stepped down from the portico.

“Good morning, Lady Kelby. We’re so glad you’ve returned safe and sound.”

“I’m so sorry to give you all worry, Phillip. What with the storm, Miss Durant insisted I stay the night, and the captain was kind enough to drive me back.”

“You have a visitor, my lady. The Earl of Kelby arrived just after you left yesterday. Told him you were dining with the neighbors. We put him in the blue room when he wouldn’t leave. He was in a temper to not find you home.”

Maris turned white. Reyn could do nothing to calm her that would not arouse suspicion.

“I hope he did not give you a lot of trouble,” Maris said faintly.

“No more than he ever did, my lady. He did get into the best port. Me and Aloysius figured it might be the best way to disarm him.”

“W-where is he now?”

“Still abed, my lady. I reckon he’s got a head on him this morning.”

Maris turned to Reyn. “You’d better go.”

“I’m not going to leave you alone with that villain.”

Maris squeezed his hand as he helped her descend from the carriage. “But you must! He knows I spent the night at Merrywood, but may not even know it is you who lives there. If he sees us together, it will only fuel his ire.”

“You weren’t expecting him?”

“Of course not! David always comes and goes as he pleases. Somehow he thinks I will be waiting like a docile schoolgirl so he can scold and bully me.” She tried to smile and waggled a finger at him. “Don’t worry, I’ll stand up for myself and send him packing soon enough after a decent breakfast. At least he has no need to bleed me for money any more. The Kelby coffers are at his disposal, even if the title is in limbo. Maybe you can get a message to Mr. Swift to pay me a visit this morning. He seemed to annoy David quite a lot when they met before.”

“I think I should stay,” Reyn said, unable to overcome the stubborn feeling that he should remain by Maris’s side. What if Kelby tried to hurt her with something other than his tongue? Reyn had never been able to shake the feeling that somehow the man was responsible for the earl’s death that dark night, though he would never confess his misgivings to Maris. She didn’t need to be frightened any more than she was already.

According to the doctor, there had been no signs of foul play. But one didn’t have to raise a fist to a sick old man when one could verbally goad him beyond bearing. Reyn would put nothing past David Kelby.

He had blackmailed Maris for years, keeping her off balance, destroying her peace of mind, and casting a dark shadow on the last years she’d had with her husband. Maris had made a terrible mistake ever trusting him, but her punishment was far more severe than her crime.

“I’m staying.”

“You must not!” If possible, she was even paler than she’d been when the footman Phillip told her of her uninvited guest.

“I’m headed for your stables, Countess. Isn’t it true that you are looking to acquire more horses? I’m particular about where I sell my stock. Call me peculiar, even. I think I’ll just inspect your accommodations. If you have need of me, you know where to find me.”

“Oh, Reyn.” She spoke softly enough that Phillip and Stephen wouldn’t hear her. “All right. But I think it’s unnecessary.”

“I do hope so. You there! Stephen, isn’t it?” Reyn called to the man who held the carriage horse still. “I’m going to take a look at the countess’s stables. She’s thinking of making some renovations before she purchases some new horses and wants my opinion. Shall we have a look?”

Maris shot him a warning glance, and then disappeared up the steps.

Reyn spent the next quarter hour poking into every corner of every box, asking what he hoped were pertinent questions of Stephen when his mind was really on Maris and whatever indignities David Kelby planned for her. He struggled to keep the bees from buzzing too loudly in his head, but it was a losing battle. When it was obvious that his distraction was alarming the groom, Reyn shrugged with a grin, excused himself, and headed to the house.

He was just being neighborly, he assured himself. Reporting his findings. Bidding the countess good-bye after his inspection. It would be the height of rudeness just to wander off, wouldn’t it?

Phillip admitted him and took his hat, and with a friendly wink, Aloysius appeared as well. The elaborate green Kelby livery and towering wigs had been replaced with simpler suits and their own shorn heads.

“Is Kelby up?”

“Aye, sir. He and the countess are in the breakfast room.”

“Take me there, Aloysius.” Maris wouldn’t like it, but these two young footmen, no matter how devoted to their countess, were not equal to dealing with a man like David Kelby.

Maris’s tea cup clattered to its saucer when Aloysius announced him.

“C-Captain Durant! I expected you to be on your way to Shere by now.”

Reyn bowed deeply. “My apologies, my lady. I took the opportunity to check out your stables as we discussed, but I see I’ve come at an inopportune time. Good morning, Mr. Kelby.”

“That’s ‘my lord’ to you, Durant. What is he doing here?”

Kelby was as bleached of color as Maris, his eyes bloodshot. Reyn noted there was nothing on his plate but plain toast, though the heavy scent of kippers, kidneys, and eggs wafted in the air. Maris’s cook was doing her best to unsettle the earl’s stomach.

“It’s the most amazing thing, Kelby,” Reyn said smoothly. “I came into an absolute gem of a legacy and have been able to leave the unprofitable academic arena behind. I purchased the horse farm that abuts the countess’s west boundary last winter. Such a small world, isn’t it? One could have knocked me down with a feather to discover that Lady Kelby was my new neighbor. She has consulted me on the purchase of some horses and the expansion of her stable block and I’ve come to give her my opinion.”

“Know about horses as well as antiquities? Aren’t you the Renaissance man,” Kelby mocked.

“I do hope so. My experience in the army has given me insight in what to look for in one’s mounts. I should be happy to give you the benefit of my expertise if you should desire it.”

Kelby’s mouth twisted in distaste. “I’m perfectly satisfied with my horseflesh. My uncle’s stable is one of the finest in Surrey.”

“Yes, I had occasion to note that during my brief stay at Kelby Hall. What brings you to Hazel Grange?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I have a care for my aunt’s welfare.” Kelby tore off a corner of his toast, probably wishing he could do the same to Reyn’s head.

Across the table, Maris rolled her eyes but had not spoken again since she’d greeted Reyn when he entered the room.

“Very kind of you, I’m sure. All of her neighbors naturally hold her in the highest esteem, and we all care for her welfare. One might say we all stick together in our little corner of the world. Everyone knows everyone else’s business. I’m sure you know what it’s like in a small village. The Countess is the center of attention at present.”

As far as Reyn knew, no one had laid eyes on the elusive countess except for a handful of people, though it was true she was the subject of gossip. Whether the good people of Shere would lift a finger for her was a matter of conjecture, but he gave them the benefit of the doubt. He pictured the villagers rising up with pitchforks to throw David Kelby flat on his arse.

“I’m sorry if we gave you a fright yesterday,” Reyn continued. “Lady Kelby was quite safe. As you know, the storm came on so quickly and was so dreadful my sister insisted the countess spend the night at Merrywood.”

Kelby’s eyes narrowed. “And where were you, Captain?”

“In the barns, I’m afraid. One of the horses is especially sensitive to noise and it was all I could do to calm him down. What a show he put on. I quite thought I might be trampled to death. I have great hope for Brutus as a stud, but he would have made a miserable army charger. My old Phantom holds him in complete contempt.”

Reyn watched Kelby’s eyes glaze over as he recited his horses’ virtues and deficiencies. Best if the man thought Reyn was too preoccupied with his animals to even notice that Maris Kelby was a woman. “Well, I won’t keep you any longer. Countess, your servant. You know you may depend upon me and my sister Virginia should any difficulty of any nature whatsoever arise. Just send us word. We’ll talk another time. I’ll tell Mr. Swift that you’re desirous of his company this morning when I see him. Good day to you, Mr.—Lord Kelby.”

Reyn hoped he’d given the impression of a friendly neighbor, a consummate gentleman. But he also wished to convey to Kelby that the countess was not isolated. She had champions, even if they were young servants, a country parson, and a faux scholar and his sister.

“Keep an eye on Kelby,” Reyn said to Aloysius as he left. “I have an odd feeling about the man. I don’t think he wishes the countess well.”

“Of course, sir! He threw me out of the breakfast room, he did, saying he had private matters to discuss with her ladyship. But I’ve been right outside, just in case. We remember what he was like, always sneaking around Kelby Hall. He’s not fit to fill the old earl’s shoes. All of us hope the countess has a fine bonny son. That’ll fix him.”

Or make their problems worse.