A Countess of Convenience (20 page)

He seemed entirely too eager to get his hands on her funds. “You were hired to manage the estate, not the manor house. Pardon me for not understanding the proper arrangement of things. I won't bother you again with matters that strictly concern the house."

"Well, now, I don't mind giving you advice. I mean, if you don't know how to set up a budget and such—"

She waved her hand dismissively. “Don't worry, Mr. Snavely. I managed my mother's household during her last illness. I'm experienced with budgets.” She stood to signal the interview over.

After he left, she sank back into the chair with a sigh of resignation. Yes, she'd had a lot of experience with tight budgets, but she had hoped to no longer need that skill when she became a countess. How foolish she had been to expect largess from the earl. After all, her own father had failed to provide for her future, and he supposedly loved her.

Malvern placed his elbow on the dining table so he could steady his head while taking a sip of his tea. When his stomach didn't rebel, he took a larger swallow. The harsh creak of a floorboard caused him to look up and see Lindley standing in the doorway.

"Your mother, sir."

Blinking to focus his eyes, Malvern said, “What about my mother?"

"She's here, my lord. She wishes to see you."

He issued a sigh that bordered on a groan. “Well, show her in, Lindley. My day couldn't get any worse."

The dowager countess entered the room and stood staring disapprovingly at her son while she removed her gloves.

"Shall I set another cup for tea, my lady?” the butler asked.

"No, thank you. I had my breakfast hours ago,” Lady Caroline replied.

Managing to hold his head upright without the support of his hand, Malvern said, “At least have a seat, Mother. Having to look up at you is playing hobs with my headache. And why all the formality? When did you start waiting to be announced?"

Lady Caroline perched on a chair across from him. “I wanted to be sure you were alone."

He didn't bother to ask what she meant by that statement, sure she would tell him.

"Has your latest paramour already left or are you hiding her under the table?"

He returned his head to the solace of his hand. “What makes you think I have a new paramour?"

She sniffed haughtily. “I know Lord Ridley had one of his dinner parties last night."

"Yes, Ridley had a stag dinner last night. What of it?"

"Stag? Everyone knows his parties are just an excuse to introduce actresses to wealthy rakehells."

Malvern poured more tea into his cup. “I assure you, Mother, we rakehells have no difficulty meeting actresses."

"Ah, but it must be so convenient to have them all in one place at one time. Aids a gentleman in making his choice."

He nibbled on a piece of toast before trying to answer. “You'll be happy to know that I came home alone last night."

She arched her eyebrows. “None of the young
ladies
met your exacting standards?"

He was growing tired of her badgering. “As a matter of fact, no. Rather a common lot this year. Is there some point to this visit other than prying into my personal life?"

She switched to her pained expression. “Anthony, you are a married man now. You can't keep on with this rapscallion lifestyle."

"Ah, but I can. That's why I entered into a marriage of convenience—to squelch gossip, while preserving my freedom."

"Squelch gossip?” Her voice rose to a really irritating pitch. “Don't you know you've only compounded everyone's interest by sending your wife into virtual exile one week after the wedding?"

He pounded the table and instantly regretted it, for the blow sent a jarring pain up to his aching head. “How in the hell does everyone in polite society know so much about my business when I go to such extremes to avoid polite society?"

Now she looked genuinely offended. “Watch your language. And you should know that avoiding society only draws its attention. After all, a peer of the realm has a position to maintain."

It was the same old argument, but today he didn't have the strength to fight back. Resting the back of his head against the cold wood of his high-backed chair, he closed his eyes and sighed. “I'm sorry, Mother, but I'm afraid your worst fears are realized. I have inherited my father's lecherous nature. I will not be able to redeem the family honor."

After a long moment of silence, she said, “What are you talking about? Your father wasn't lecherous. He was just a little boy who thought an earl-ship made him invincible."

Malvern's eyes snapped open and he stared at her in astonishment. “But he fought a duel over another man's wife."

"Because her husband overheard him call her a lightskirt, which was common gossip about the tart. But your father refused to apologize his way out of the challenge.” A misty sheen appeared in her eyes. “He was willing to abandon you and me rather than humble himself.” Her voice hardened with righteous indignation. “The only thing you've inherited from your father is his irresponsible nature."

He realized his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn't seem to close it.

Taking a lavender-scented handkerchief from her reticule, Lady Caroline held it under her nose and took several deep breaths. “I'm planning to return to Malvern Hall tomorrow and wondered what your plans are?"

Her words didn't make sense to him. “What?"

She raised her voice as if speaking to one hard of hearing. “I'm going to Malvern Hall and want to invite friends. Will that interfere with your plans?"

He shook his head to clear it as much as to answer her. “Cartland is having the usual grouse hunting party at his lodge in Scotland. I'm going there."

"Good. You can stop in Yorkshire on the way."

To let his mother know she wasn't dictating to him, he said, “As a matter of fact, I do plan to stop there on the way back. So make whatever plans you like. I'll be otherwise occupied, probably through the first of the year."

After his mother left, Malvern sat musing over his teacup. He supposed he should drop Prudence a note to tell her he'd be in Yorkshire over the holidays. Arriving unannounced would be inconsiderate even though Aysbeck was his property, as was she, come to think of it.

Surprisingly, he missed his wife. Even more surprising, he'd been faithful to her for over a month. But considering what his mother had just told him about his father, maybe it wasn't surprising at all. Could his mother have made up that story in another one of her devious attempts to manipulate him? There were older members at the club who had known his father. He'd talk to some to them.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Neil pulled off his gloves and nervously checked his hands. Spotting a soiled nail, he tried to scrape the offending particles away, knowing he would not impress Miss Culpepper with dirty fingernails. He had spent so much time cleaning this rickety old coach, so it wouldn't look atrocious when they arrived, that he had little time left to groom himself.

After all his effort, Prudence had suggested they drive the gig over to save “poor” Elias the trouble of driving the coach. Would she ever get it through her head that she was a countess now? If he'd been by himself, he could have ridden over on horseback, but a countess could not arrive at a dinner party in a gig.

Not that the local gentry were likely to know any more than Prudence about the proper way to do things. His hopes for the Culpeppers had faded somewhat since their visit to Aysbeck. The casual questions he had asked the servants had produced little information, except that the squire was admired by one and all. Much of that admiration seemed to stem from the fact that his grandfather had started out in life working in an iron mine and ended up owning his own pit.

The coach turned off the main road, swaying so seriously that Neil feared Elias would turn them over. Finally the coach righted itself and Neil glanced out the window. “Good heavens!” he said involuntarily.

Prudence leaned over so she could see what he had exclaimed over. “Oh, my!"

The house stretched across a green meadow, with e-shaped wings jutting forward. Three tiers of tall windows climbed the front of each wing and there were octagonal towers topped with pointed domes at each corner and in the center. The steeply pitched roofs, the rows of chimneys, and the carved balustrades that trimmed a number of high balconies made it seems as though the structure competed with the nearby mountains.

It could have been built for Elizabethan or Jacobean nobility, but the lack of discoloration on its gleaming stone walls clearly stated it was of modern construction. Pretending he wasn't overly impressed, Neil raised his eyebrows and muttered, “Obviously
nouveaux riche
."

Still wide-eyed, Prudence sat back and replied, “Obviously very rich."

Neil feigned a chuckle, but even to his own ears, the noise sounded more like a strained cough. He knew he should be delighted by this turn of events, since the squire's wealth must exceed Neil's fondest hopes. Yet the thought of the native cunning necessary to accumulate such wealth in just three generations chilled him. The squire could not be the genial country bumpkin he appeared. While Neil did not doubt he could charm the naive daughter, could he fool the father?

As the coach came to a stop in front of the house, Neil decided to approach Squire Culpepper with more humility than he normally projected when trying to impress.

Effie Culpepper seemed far less anxious over the coming dinner party than Prudence had expected her to be. After Neil and the squire left to tour the stables, Effie asked if Prudence would mind accompanying her as she checked on the preparations.

Of course, Prudence said she'd be glad to, and the two women started a tour from dining room to pantry to kitchen, stopping so Effie could quiz servants and issue gentle orders. Prudence noticed how clean and orderly everything was even in the midst of meal preparation. Obviously the servants respected their young mistress.

When the tour was completed, Prudence followed Effie to the entry hall that soared up three stories high. Light coming from the cupola of the central tower filtered down on heavy mahogany banisters that fronted the upper hallways and the stairs. Fat plaster cupids holding wreaths of molded flowers decorated the walls.

Effie paused to rearrange a large bouquet on the center table. “Where did you get such lovely flowers this time of year?” Prudence asked.

"We have a hothouse."

Prudence nodded. “I thought you must. We're having frost nearly every morning now."

"Papa says, judging by his aching joints, this will be a bad winter."

"I hope not. Aysbeck Manor is a drafty old place."

Effie started toward the main salon, her wooden shoe thumping loudly on the tiled hall floor until they reached the carpeted salon. “Will you be staying throughout the winter, then?"

"I'm not sure exactly how long I'll be here. It all depends on the earl."

In a softer voice, Effie asked, “And your brother?"

"Oh, I expect he'll be here for a good while—learning about horse breeding."

Effie nodded and a smile pulled at her rosebud lips. “Is his interest in horses new?"

"He's always been interested in them, but spending so much of his time in London, he's never raised his own."

"Oh.” The smile died. “He prefers living in the city, then?"

"My, yes. He much prefers London. When my mother and I were living in the country, we could hardly get him to visit."

Effie's shoulders drooped. Prudence regretted dampening the girl's spirits but wanted to blunt her obvious interest in Neil without having to actually reveal her brother's questionable character.

They went upstairs so Effie could change her dress and Prudence could repair the damage the ride over had done to her hairdo. When they returned to the salon, the squire and Neil were there, enjoying glasses of sherry. Both men stood. Neil's face seemed flushed and for a moment Prudence feared he'd already had too much sherry, but he began to rave about the squire's stables, and she decided he was just excited about the horses.

They'd barely gotten seated before a footman announced the first guests, the vicar and his wife. Others arrived in quick succession. The guests included the local justice of the peace and his wife, the mayor of the nearby village and the other large landowners in the immediate area. Prudence noticed that most of them were middle aged or older, with the exception of the mayor's plump daughter.

Effie introduced her as “my good friend, Selma.” Prudence was greatly relieved when she went on to say the girl was engaged to a wool merchant in Leeds. Hopefully, that would protect her from Neil's charm.

While everyone seemed anxious to be introduced to her and Neil, they mumbled greetings and then made inane comments about the weather as though uncomfortable in her presence. When the butler announced dinner, the squire extended his arm to the highest-ranking lady in the room, Prudence. And it suddenly dawned on her that the others were shy because she was a countess. Thank goodness none of them knew how she'd become one.

Neil quickly maneuvered himself into the position of escorting Effie into the dining room. Glancing over her shoulder, Prudence couldn't help but be impressed by how gallantly Neil slowed his gait to accommodate Effie while chatting so animatedly that it appeared his interest in his companion caused his slow pace. She would have been proud of him if she had not suspected his motives.

As the dinner progressed and more of the squire's excellent burgundy was consumed, the guests became less timid around the visiting nobility. One gentleman in particular, a Mr. Bodkin, who owned the estate south of Aysbeck, seemed most determined to learn when the earl would be joining his wife. Prudence put him off with vague replies and her sweetest smiles.

Bodkin's wife tried to change the subject, but he would not be deterred. “You see, your ladyship, something needs to be done about Aysbeck."

She looked at him in bewilderment. “The house?"

He shook his head. “The house was named for the stream that runs through the property. The streambed is overgrown and decayed, at one place it's almost dammed up. After a heavy rain, it floods the only road I have to market. Something has to be done."