His Countess For A Week

Chapter Four

Randolph woke to the sounds of his man making up the fire in his room to ward off the damp, grey chill of an English November day.

‘Good morning, my lord. There’s hot water on the stand for you and I can light more candles, if you wish?’

‘No, thank you, Joseph. There is sufficient light in here.’

Ran pushed himself up against the bank of pillows and clasped his hands behind his head, his eyes fixed on the dark shape of the connecting door on the far side of the room. He had noticed yesterday that the key was on the other side. He had not tried the door, but he was damned sure if he did, he would find it locked.

As it should be, although he could not deny that knowing Arabella was sleeping in the next room had disturbed his rest. He spent a few moments in agreeable contemplation, allowing his imagination to picture her sleeping, her glorious golden hair spread over the pillows, eyes closed, the long lashes resting on her cheeks, her soft red lips inviting a morning kiss.

Enough! Ran shifted restlessly. It was an agreeable daydream, but he must put it from his mind. He threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. Mrs Arabella Roffey was only recently widowed and still grieving for her husband. Only a heartless rogue would take advantage of the situation.

He was finishing his breakfast when Arabella entered the dining room. She hesitated in the doorway, uncertain and shy. He gave her a reassuring smile.

‘Good morning, my lady.’

She was looking particularly fetching in a pale blue morning gown, her shining hair caught up with a matching ribbon, and he fought down an urge to jump up and escort her to her chair. A footman was on hand to do that and a second stood ready to pour her coffee and offer her a freshly baked bread roll.

‘I trust you slept well?’ he asked her as the servants withdrew from the room.

‘Yes. Thank you, my lord.’

‘I would much rather you called me Randolph.’

A blush suffused her cheeks. ‘I cannot do that!’

‘Why not? We are supposed to be man and wife.’ He pushed away his empty plate. ‘I warn you, I do not intend to call you my lady every time I address you. I shall call you Arabella.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘That is your name, is it not?’

Her chin went up. ‘Of course. I would not lie to you, my lord.’

‘No, it will be much better if we are truthful with one another. What plans do you have for the day?’

‘Why, none.’ The question appeared to take her by surprise. ‘If you had not arrived here, I should have been at Meon House this morning.’

Meavy came in with a fresh pot of coffee and Ran waited until they were alone again before replying.

‘Do you blame me for wanting to meet the woman masquerading as my wife?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘We shall pay a call upon Lady Meon today and I shall apologise for dragging you away so precipitately. Although everyone was most understanding.’

Her cheeks reddened. ‘It was mortifying.’

‘I am very sorry for it, but I think you deserved to be punished a little, do you not?’

He smiled, to take any sting from the words, but she did not see it. She would not meet his eyes. She had assumed a look of indifference and was studiously applying herself to her breakfast. Ran stifled a sigh. Perhaps it was best she stayed aloof. It was far too tempting to flirt with her.

She said quietly, ‘You said you would help me.’

‘And I will, but I need to know just what story you have given the people here if we are to carry on with this masquerade.’

‘I have told them almost nothing. They could hardly ask me about the reports in the newspapers concerning the new Earl. That is why I thought it would be safe to pretend I was your wife. I merely explained you had returned to England unannounced.’

‘Well, that much is true! What reason did you give for your coming to Beaumount alone?’

‘I said you had business elsewhere.’ She bit her lip. ‘I may have given the impression we had quarrelled.’

‘A lovers’ tiff!’ He grinned. ‘And your swooning would have done nothing to dispel that idea.’ He saw that she was looking uncomfortable and forbore to tease her further. Instead he said, ‘Tell me what you expected to achieve at Meon House.’

Arabella paused, considering. ‘I hoped to discover what went on there and which of George’s particular friends were there with him. He never told me, you see, and I knew so few of his friends. There were only two I recall coming to Revesby Hall. One was George’s groomsman at our wedding and the other was Frederick Letchmore. He called upon us soon after George came home that last time. My husband was very excited about his visit and could hardly be still while he waited for him to arrive. He was like a child anticipating a treat.’

‘And was that usual for your husband?’ asked Ran.

She looked troubled and did not answer immediately.

‘His temper had become mercurial in the past year. One moment he was all charming, devil-may-care insouciance, the next he was despairing. Blue-devilled, he called it, but said I must not worry. When Mr Letchmore arrived, George asked me to leave them alone together, to talk. Which I did, but not long after that he sent Mr Letchmore away. He was more angry than I had ever seen him. I clearly remember him saying, “You have killed me, Freddie. I trusted you to help but you have failed me.” Then Mr Letchmore rushed out and we never saw him again.’

‘And did you learn just how he had failed your husband?’ asked Ran.

She shook her head. ‘George was in a towering rage following the meeting, almost incoherent and railing against his false friends, as he called them. After his death I wrote to both gentlemen, but I do not think my letters ever reached them, for I had no replies. I discovered Letchmore had left England. I thought it might be to escape any repercussions over George’s death. I wondered... I thought perhaps he might be one of those gamblers who exist only to prey on unwary young men and relieve them of their fortune.’

‘You think your husband was one of those, er, unwary young men?’

‘Yes! Especially after I discovered how much of the marriage settlement he had already spent in just three months. It would explain his anger with Mr Letchmore, too. George would never tell me why he suddenly became so set against him.’

‘Sometimes illness can cause people to change,’ said Ran, choosing his words carefully. ‘Perhaps you could tell me about your husband’s last days, if it isn’t too painful?’

She pushed aside her plate and sat very still for a moment, her green eyes gazing at nothing.

‘He was very disturbed when he came home that last time. I had never seen him like it. He would go for days without sleeping, but sometimes he was almost euphoric, and would talk to me about what we would do when he was well again. At other times the black mood descended and nothing would please him.

‘I confess I did not like to be with George when he was in a temper. He would lash out at everyone. He even railed at Dr Philps and complained that everyone was against him. That we all wanted to kill him. The doctor had no remedy for whatever was ailing him. George grew weaker. He was very sick and could keep nothing down. He was very thirsty, too, and confused.’

Ran put his elbows on the table and leaned forward, watching her. ‘And what was the cause of this malady?’

She clasped her hands. ‘Dr Philps recorded the cause of death as convulsions, but I think that was to avoid any scandal.’

‘And what did the doctor say to you, privately?’

‘I did not actually speak to him.’

‘But you were Roffey’s wife. Surely they told you what was wrong with him.’

She looked a little confused. ‘Lady Roffey was in charge of the sickroom and dealt with Dr Philps. But when I suggested that George might have been poisoned, she did not disagree.’

Ran turned the coffee cup between his hands. ‘You were widowed after only three months of marriage and you told me your husband was away for most of that time. How well did you really know him?’

The worry left her face and she smiled. ‘We had known each other all our lives. Our two families have neighbouring lands, you see, and when my parents died Sir Adam and Lady Roffey took me in. I was ten, George a little older. They were all very kind to me and George was like an older brother.’ She added simply, ‘I worshipped him.’

Ran’s fingers tightened around his cup. ‘It was a love match, then.’

‘Of course. Our parents had always wanted the marriage to unite the two families. But you are not to think we were coerced.’ A shadow flickered across her face. ‘I would have married him as soon as I left the schoolroom, but George said we should wait. He did not wish to rush me into a marriage. He thought I might change my mind, but I knew I never should.’

‘And Lady Roffey brought you out? Why did she not take you to London?’

‘It was not necessary. I was happy to live at Revesby Hall.’

‘But the society there must be confined. I thought your husband wanted you to be sure of your feelings?’

‘He did, but I had always loved him. I lived for the few weeks every year that we spent together at Revesby Hall.’

‘He did not live there all the time?’

‘He was often away, visiting friends, and he used the family’s townhouse when he was in London.’

‘While you remained with his parents.’

‘You make it sound as if I was a prisoner,’ she retorted. ‘It was not like that at all.’ She gave a huff of impatience. ‘Oh, this is ridiculous! It does nothing to help me find out what happened to my husband.’

She made to rise and he said quickly, ‘Please, do not go yet. I beg your pardon, but I am trying to understand it all.’ She settled back into her seat and he continued. ‘This Mr Letchmore. You did not see him again? If he was such a good friend, did he not come to the funeral, even after their falling-out?’

‘I told you, he had gone abroad. He sent his condolences, but at the time I was glad he did not come. George had cursed him bitterly during his final days.’ She clasped her hands and looked at Ran. ‘It was only afterwards, when I learned the state of George’s finances, I suspected something had happened at that house party.’

She shook her head when Ran offered her more coffee. He refilled his own cup then said quietly, ‘What is it you suspect?’

‘Is it not obvious? They tricked him out of his money. You will recall last night that Lady Meon herself said they play deep.’

‘It is not against the law to gamble large sums,’ he said gently. ‘Or to lose them.’

‘No, I am aware of that, but George was the kindest, gentlest of men! To see him when he came home that last time, so angry, his health ruined.’ She put a hand to her cheek. ‘He tried to keep in spirits, for my sake, but often I heard him cursing his ill fortune. And once, when I went into his room, he told me he should never have gone to Meon House, that they were all thieves.’ She frowned. ‘At least, I think that is what he meant. It was very difficult to understand him at the end.’

‘You nursed him?’

‘No, not as much as I would have liked. Lady Roffey thought I might be carrying his child and said I owed it to my baby to keep away from the sickroom. She feared the shock and distress might be harmful. How could I argue, when Dr Philps agreed with her?’ Arabella sighed. ‘We had been married such a short time, I suppose it was natural that the doctor should defer to George’s parents. Sometimes, I think, if we had lived in our own house, it might have been different.’ Her shoulders lifted, then fell again. ‘And in the end, I was glad of their support when he...when he died.’

‘I am very sorry. It was very hard for you, to lose your husband so soon after the wedding.’

‘We were together, as man and wife, for less than a week after the ceremony,’ she said, wiping her eyes. ‘Then he was obliged to go to London because he had received word from a friend who needed his help. But does that not show you what a good, kind man I had married?’ When Ran said nothing, she went on, a hint of defiance in her voice, ‘George would much rather have been with me. He told me so.’

‘And from town he went directly to Devon?’

‘Yes. His visit to Meon House had been planned for months and he could not cry off. His parents were not happy about it, but they, too, had to acknowledge that if he had given his word then he must go. When he came home, he was dying. But you must see now why I want justice for him?’ She looked at him, determination in every line of her body and a sparkle in her eyes. ‘If someone is responsible for George’s death, then they should pay!’

Randolph said nothing. He knew only too well the temptations awaiting any young man with money in his pocket. His gut feeling was that this was a wild goose chase, that she was clutching at any straw rather than face the fact that her husband was a wastrel. But if he did not help her, she would go off alone and into heaven knew what danger. He stirred his coffee, giving himself time to think.

‘I have been over and over everything,’ she said, a frowning gaze fixed on the table. ‘Meon House is the only clue I have to where he was and what he was doing before his death. I know there is a link. I am sure of it.’

‘Then we must find out more about Lady Meon,’ he said. ‘But there is little we can do for the moment. As it is such a fine day, I thought I would take a stroll through the gardens and take stock of what I own here. Will you come with me?’ The look on her face made him laugh. ‘You are not cut out to be a spy, madam. I can read your thoughts quite clearly in your countenance. You want to drive over to Meon House immediately and talk to the lady, do you not? However, I suspect you might find she has not yet left her room. Besides, unless you are prepared to tell her who you are and ask her outright about her house party, I doubt you will discover anything useful by such a direct approach.’

‘No, you are right.’ She gave him a rueful smile. ‘I need to cultivate patience, do I not? Very well, my lord. Allow me time to fetch my shawl and I will join you.’

It was cold, but the sun was shining when they went out of doors and there was the merest scattering of small clouds sailing across the blue sky. After making a tour of the stables, service buildings and kitchen gardens, all of which they agreed were in a relatively good state of repair, they made their way to the pleasure grounds to the south and west.

The ground sloped away from the house and the gardens were laid out over a series of terraces, providing extensive views across fields and wooded hills as far as the Tamar. Winter had not yet tightened its grip and many of the distant trees still retained their red and gold leaves.

They progressed to the lowest level, where a stone wall separated the formal gardens from the surrounding park. A wide gravel path ran between the lawn and herbaceous borders where a few late-flowering plants still bloomed. Randolph breathed in deeply, realising again how much he had missed the bracing chill of an English autumn.

He had thought conversation might be difficult, given his past and Arabella’s reason for being at Beaumount, but within minutes they were chatting away like old friends. He was grateful that she did not ask him about his life in Australia, how he had survived, how he had suffered. Instead she took inspiration from their surroundings and asked him about the landscape and the plants to be found on the other side of the world.

‘I attended a talk in Lincoln last year, about Captain Cook’s voyages to the southern hemisphere,’ she told him. ‘England must look and feel very different to you now.’

‘It is colder,’ he said. ‘And the birds are generally smaller and less colourful. Quieter, too. Less raucous. I had forgotten how soothing it is to hear the gentle hoot of an owl or the morning trill of birdsong. And the flowers around Sydney Cove are very different from those in England. They have vibrant colours to match a hot country where the rocks steam after a summer storm.’ He waved at the near-empty flower beds. ‘Although I am sure these are very pretty in the summer months. But it is the night sky where I notice the change most. The different stars.’

‘Do you look at them, too?’ she asked, turning her head to smile up at him. ‘I used to spend hours at my window at school, looking out, looking for shooting stars, to make a wish.’

‘And what did you wish for.’

‘Oh...’ She waved her hand. ‘At first it was unattainable things, such as wishing Mama and Papa had not died of the fever. Later, I wished that a handsome prince would carry me away and marry me.’ She laughed. ‘And in a way, that wish came true, only it was Sir Adam and Lady Roffey who carried me away when they took me to live with them.’

‘And you married their son.’

‘Yes. My handsome prince! Not that I needed to wish for that. We had plighted our troth years before, as children. I told you, I’d loved him all my life.’

‘People change.’

‘Not George,’ she said confidently. ‘When I finished my schooling and returned to Revesby Hall, we were as much in love as ever. He was at university by then, of course, but I saw him whenever he was home for the vacation. Or if he was rusticated.’ She laughed. ‘That was a frequent occurrence!’

‘He was a wild young man?’

‘No more so than any other.’ She frowned a little. ‘His health suffered whenever he was away, but after a few weeks of fresh air and good food he was quite himself again. His mother and father were always happy to have him at Revesby. He was an only son, you see, and they doted on him.’

‘And you married at one-and-twenty?’

‘Yes. George had wanted us to wait until he came into his grandfather’s inheritance at five-and-twenty before we married, but when I reached my majority I gained control of my own fortune and Sir Adam told him he had better look sharp or some other young man would take my fancy! Not that there was any likelihood of that. I was far too much in love.’

But was he in love with you?

Randolph could not be sure if it was that question or the small cloud passing in front of the sun that made the air suddenly colder. Its shadow also appeared to sober Arabella and the look she cast up at him was more than a little defiant.

‘Perhaps you think George did not share my feelings, but you are wrong. He told me often and often how much he loved me. That was the reason we continued to live with his parents, you see. He did not wish to use my fortune to buy a property, even though I had made it all over to him to do with as he wished.’

Arabella stopped. She was chattering on as if she had known Lord Westray for years, telling him details he did not need to know. That he most likely did not want to hear. After all, he did not know George, did not love him as she did. Hot tears stung her eyes. She turned away, hunting for her handkerchief.

‘I beg your pardon.’ Her voice caught on a sob. ‘I did not mean to b-bore you.’

He put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Arabella.’ His voice was low, quiet. ‘You could never bore me.’

She had been struggling alone with her grief for months and it was such a comfort to have him there, strong, protective. Somehow, it lessened the pain of her bereavement.

A footman was hurrying towards them and Arabella quickly pulled away from Randolph, flapping one hand at him.

‘I shall be well, my lord, if you give me a moment. I pray you, go and see what your servant wants.’

He walked away and she wiped her eyes. A few deep breaths were all that was required to banish her tears, which surprised her, until she remembered how she had wept when George died. The time for such displays of grief was over. She had set herself a task and must concentrate on that. She gave her eyes a final wipe, blew her nose, and when she heard the Earl’s firm step approaching her again, she was ready to turn and look at him. He was smiling.

‘There is no need to worry that our sudden departure last night offended Lady Meon. She is even now in the drawing room!’

‘Excellent news, my lord.’

She managed an answering smile and he held out his arm. As they turned to make their way back to the house, Arabella noticed a figure on the upper terrace.

She was surprised into a little laugh. ‘I believe Lady Meon is coming to find us.’

Even as she uttered the words the lady waved and ran lightly down the stone steps.

‘I hope you do not mind my coming outside,’ she called to them as she reached the next set of steps. ‘I should very much like to see the gardens, if I may join you?’

‘To see the gardens, at this season?’

Randolph’s muttered response made Arabella want to giggle, but she stifled it.

She waved to their visitor and called out politely, ‘Of course, madam. We should be delighted to have your company.’

The lady approached, her fur-lined tippet bouncing around her shoulders as she descended the last flight of steps.

‘I came to ask after your health, Lady Westray. How relieved I am to see that you have fully recovered from last night’s little shock.’

‘Thank you. I am perfectly well now.’

It was the first time Arabella had seen the lady out of doors without the face veil she invariably wore when riding. At all their other encounters during daylight hours, Lady Meon had been indoors and at pains to sit with her back to the window. Arabella thought now that candlelight was much kinder to a countenance well past the first bloom of youth. It concealed the lines and faint sagging of the skin that were all too apparent in the pale sunlight.

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