Courting the Countess Read online

  “I—we wanted it to be a surprise. My sister, May, has also joined our little gathering.” He clapped his hands together and rubbed them together, pleased by his lighthearted mischief. “Come let us return to the house. May has been eager to see you again.” He hooked his arm through hers and they continued down the path. Brook was content to let him dominate the conversation, adding the appropriate sound of approval when he gazed expectantly at her.

  Seaton Hamblin, affectionately nicknamed Ham by family and friends, might have shared a superficial resemblance to his deceased cousin, but that was where the similarities ended. Ham was average in height, and build. His clothes were fashionable, an indulgence of his new rank, and his straight brown hair had been recently cut. He had not been reared to be the next Earl of A’ Court, but his hands had the softness of privilege. He had spent the years strengthening his mind with books and lectures rather than his body. Lyon and Ham had not been close. However, before her marriage Brook had encountered Mr. Hamblin and had formed a conversational acquaintance with him. The new earl possessed a sincerity that warmed even the gray hue of his eyes. Lyon’s eyes had also been gray. Odd, how the same color could represent kindness in one man and the frigid depths of hell in another.

  She had chosen to return to Loughwydde after Lyon’s death because her wounded spirit had craved the wild isolation. The farm had been part of her father’s estate. At his death, her mother, unable to cope with the financial disarray, had turned to their solicitor, Mr. Horatio Ludlow. He had assisted the family in selling off most of their landholdings and had invested the proceeds in mining prospects so they had not been left destitute. Loughwydde had been retained as the family’s residence.

  Another man might have taken advantage of her mother’s confusion and grief. Mr. Ludlow, seven years Lady Lanston’s senior, had instead fallen in love with the beautiful widow. Her mother had initially refused the solicitor. Two years later, practicality had outweighed her grief. She was a woman alone in the world with a five-year-old daughter. Marrying Mr. Ludlow provided the stability she had needed.

  Their joyful union had given Brook three half siblings: Tye, Ivy, and Honey. There had been a place for Brook in the Ludlow family. Mr. Ludlow gave her the affection and discipline he bestowed on his own children and yet she was not allowed to forget her legacy. She was, after all, Baron Lanston’s daughter.

  “Good! You have returned. Ham, you were so gallant to find my wayward daughter,” Mrs. Ludlow said, leaning out one of the second-story windows. “Brook, darling, take your fine gentleman into the parlor. Once the ladies have settled into their rooms we will join you.” The excitement of having guests had boosted her vivacity.

  Passing the two carriages in her front yard, Brook sighed. Unlike her mother, who had convinced Mr. Ludlow to move the family closer to London once they had married, Brook preferred leading a solitary life. Perhaps old memories were ruling her decision; not that she cared. Only she understood that she had paid a dear price for her freedom.

  “We have our orders, my lord,” she said, giving him a little smile. In the foyer, she removed her toque and wool cloak and handed them to her housekeeper. Ham surrendered his hat and walking stick. “Thank you, Min. I assume preparations for a celebratory supper are under way.”

  “Yes, madam. Cook has a gooseberry tart baking in the oven even now,” the housekeeper briskly said, hustling them into a parlor so she could continue with her chores.

  “Gooseberry tart, eh?” Ham said, choosing the chair closest to the fireplace. “You know how to make a man feel like he is returning home after an arduous journey.”

  The innocent compliment gave Brook a frisson of alarm, but she brushed off her reaction. The earl was just being kind. “My mother keeps the staff on alert with her frequent visits. Often she has one or all of my siblings in tow, so we have learned to adjust to the unexpected.”

  Ham cleared his throat. “Speaking of the unexpected—”

  “Miss Hamblin.” Brook crossed the room and embraced her. They touched cheeks and separated. “How good to see you again. I trust your journey was bearable.”

  “Just,” the young woman admitted wearily. May Hamblin was two years younger than Brook. Her hair was darker than her older sibling’s and she wore it short, letting her natural curls frame her oval face. At the moment, she was scowling at the chair her brother offered her. “After spending days in that awful carriage, I vow I cannot face sitting for at least a day, maybe an entire week.”

  “I doubt it is your face that pains you, pet,” Ham quipped.

  “Beast,” she replied affectionately. She kissed him on the cheek and turned back to Brook. “Your mother told us that you spend your days exploring the wilds here, Lady A’Court. You must take me with you on one of your adventures. I adore anything right now that does not involve sitting.”

  “Please call me Brook, Miss Hamblin. There will be enough confusion with so many family members assembled under one roof.”

  “And you must call me May,” she countered, seeming relieved to shed the rigidity of manners. “Besides, we are family. Ham has been filling my ears with endless praising of your virtues. I am pleased we will have the time to become better acquainted.”

  Brook’s half sisters, Ivy and Honey, burst into the room. Their lively chatter masked Brook’s soft reply: “We will?” Lyon’s grandmother, Mrs. Byres, shuffled into the room using Brook’s stepfather’s arm to steady herself.

  “Papa, when did you arrive?” Brook lifted her brows in surprise. She had not expected him to journey so far from London at this time of year, when his business demanded his attention. His arrival explained her mother’s joy.

  “When Lord A’Court expressed a desire to join his family at Loughwydde, I decided to travel with him. How are you, my girl?”

  “Pleased to see you, Papa,” Brook said. She waited until Mrs. Byres was seated before she gave him a quick hug and peck on the cheek. “Welcome back to Loughwydde, Grandmother Byres.”

  The elderly woman beckoned Brook closer with a gnarled hand crippled by arthritis. She had been a renowned beauty during her youth. Age had caused her proud carriage to stoop with the burden of the years and had weathered her skin into wrinkled parchment. Patting Brook’s cheek fondly, she said, “You’ve added a bit a flesh to your bones since last we met.”

  “Ah yes,” Brook said, flustered that the observation had invited everyone to scrutinize her body. The loss of Lyon and her baby and then the ensuing scandal had ravaged her slender form. It had taken more than a year to recover her appetite.

  “Good. It is a sign you are healing,” Mrs. Byres rasped, focusing her faded blue eyes on Brook. “You have color in your cheeks again. Do we have a certain gentleman to thank?”

  The image of Mallory Claeg flashed in her mind. She could recall how it felt, his crushing embrace and the tender caress of his tongue on her lips. It was madness to contemplate a union, even a brief one, with such a man. Ruthlessly she doused the memory. “I do not believe—no, not a gentleman,” Brook corrected herself, not interested in explaining to the family that each day without Lyon had been rewarding.

  “Madam, have a care,” Ham entreated, visibly uncomfortable with the old woman’s question. “You are embarrassing the lady.” He removed a handkerchief from the inner pocket of his coat and dabbed at his upper lip and brow.

  “Dare I hope you have resisted springing the surprise in our absence?” Mrs. Ludlow demanded, clearly frustrated at being excluded.

  Lyon’s mother, Lady A’Court, was an imposing presence behind Brook. The warmth she had experienced from the rest of the A’Court family was noticeably absent in the dowager. Duty had Brook straightening and showing her respect by curtseying. Her mother-in-law returned the courtesy with a slow nod. Nothing in her expression or posture invited intimacy.

  “What surprise are you referring to, Mama?”

  Mr. Ludlow touched Brook’s shoulder to gain her attention. She glanced up and was comforted by the gentle squeeze. “Sweet wife, unlike the rest of the family, you are fairly bursting from the suspense. Why not share your news with our daughter?”

  Honey poked her head through her father’s arm and clung to his waist. She was still a child and had a child’s impatience. “Can I tell her, Papa? Can I?”

  “Absolutely not,” Mrs. Ludlow objected. “And I cannot see how it is any of your concern, since you are too young to join us.” Defiant, Honey stuck her tongue out at her sister Ivy. Mrs. Ludlow frowned, her face losing its eternal zeal. “Any further impudence will result in your taking your meals in your room. If you remain here, you must conduct yourself with decorum.”

  Honey pulled away from her father, her countenance sullen. “Yes, Mama.” The notion of Ivy having fun without her was unacceptable.

  Satisfied that she had won their latest battle, Brook’s mother looked to Lady A’Court for her approval. The dowager had chosen the sofa to accommodate her generous proportions. She met Mrs. Ludlow’s gaze with indifference. Anything that did not involve the elder countess held little interest for her.

  “What were you saying, dear?” Grandmother Byres asked. Since she was speaking to the empty space to the right of her, whom she was talking to remained in doubt. The elderly woman had claimed on several occasions that spirits visited her. Her particular favorite was her husband, who had died over twenty years ago.

  “Yes, m’dear,” Mr. Ludlow encouragingly prompted, deciding Mrs. Byres was speaking to his wife. “Share our news with Brook.”

  “Yes, Mama, tell me the news.”

  Dispelling the dark mood Mother A’Court’s silence had summoned, her mother seized both of Brook’s hands, obviously brimming with excitement. “Brook, having lost your father at such a tender age, I above all others un
derstand your grief.”

  No, you cannot. She quickly glanced at Ham and May and found their expressions sympathetic. “Mama, this is not the appropriate occasion to discuss the matter.” She silently pleaded with her mother to end this conversation.

  Mrs. Ludlow shook her head. “No, it must be addressed. You are not the only one here who misses Lyon. It is laudable that you wish to honor his memory—”

  Covering her mouth with her hand, Brook made a small choking sound. She had spent the past two years trying to forget what he had done to her—to all of them. The man had chosen to marry her because she bore a physical resemblance to the woman he lusted for and could never have. Brook had paid for his disappointment in ways no one would ever know.

  Her mother ruthlessly forged ahead unaware of her daughter’s turmoil. “Rusticating out on this farm is no life for a young woman. It is time to bury your grief, and we all intend to help you.”

  The comment sounded like an ominous threat. “Your help has not been asked for, nor is it needed,” Brook said, deliberately keeping her voice level, but the hint of steel was apparent.

  “Lyon lamented over your mulish temperament,” the elder Lady A’Court interjected, gaining and holding Brook’s attention. “You were so much less than he expected.”

  Brook gasped at the unexpected cruelty. She had no defense against what she perceived as the truth.

  Mrs. Byres tugged on her skirt. “Lyon was a beautiful boy. The pair of you would have made handsome children.”

  Ham stirred from his chair. “Ladies, there is no use speculating on a past that cannot be altered. Not only is it spiteful, it is in my humble opinion a complete waste of time.” He touched Brook lightly under the chin. “Cousin, your pallor concerns me. Perhaps a turn in the garden will restore your health.”

  She allowed Ham to lead her out of the room away from their good intentions and pitying expressions. They did not linger for their cloaks, but walked out the front door. Ham was correct. Being outdoors helped.

  She lifted her face to the breeze and enjoyed the coolness. “My lord, you may release me. I shall not faint on you,” she said, a feeling of calm slipping beneath her skin.

  The earl hesitated. Critically judging her appearance, he must have decided she had not lied, and released her. He locked his arms behind his back, and they walked the yard. She sensed a struggle within him. Finally, he said, “I apologize for the pain my family has caused you. Elthia, Lady A’Court, well, her life was built around Lyon. She will never see that he had a hand in his destruction. It is simpler for her to believe that the rumors circulating after his death were malicious lies.”

  She tasted the bitter bile of injustice. “You do not need to justify her reasoning for me.”

  “I am not excusing her behavior.” He matched her short stride and kept a respectable space between them. “I suppose I am not explaining myself well.” He boldly took up her hand and compelled her to halt. “I would find it regrettable if you thought my opinion and the dowager’s were in alignment.”

  Understanding softened her features. “I knew it was not so, my lord. Your friendship has meant something to me.”

  Boyish delight lit his handsome visage. “Truly? I am glad to hear it is so, Cousin. And when we return to London, I will be steadfastly by your side. No one will dare speak out of turn.”

  She wrinkled her face in confusion. “London?”

  “That was what your mother was attempting to explain before my aunt made a hash of things. Your family is opening the town house. They are expecting you to join them for the season.”

  Brook pulled her arm from his grasp. “I have no intention of traveling to London this season or the next. I thought you understood!”

  “I do. You are afraid.”

  “I am not!” she snapped. She was not afraid; she was terrified. “You were not even in London when Lyon died. What do you know of the matter?”

  “I have heard all of the rumors, even though Mr. Milroy and his then betrothed, Miss Wynne Bedegrayne, have always been close-mouthed about the final minutes of my cousin’s life before he fell to his death at Mr. Milroy’s town house. People will speculate. You cannot control human nature.”

  She pushed him away, unable to contain her anger. “You have no notion of what you speak of, my lord.”

  Undeterred, Ham pressed on, “You were too weak from the loss of your babe to endure all the curious speculation and cruelty. You are stronger now. Return to London with your family and I vow it will be different.”

  “A touching promise,” Mallory Claeg drawled, casually making his way toward them. “Though it lacks the poetry of romance. Perhaps you would be more convincing, sir, if the delivery was made on bended knee?”

  Ham glared at the intruder who so easily mocked his sincerity. “Who the devil are you, sir?”

  Chapter Four

  This man would never be his friend.

  Executing a quick bow, Mallory said, “My name is Mallory Claeg, sir, though I doubt I have answered your question.”

  “Ham is my guest, Mr. Claeg.”

  Behave. Mallory heard her unspoken warning but was not inclined to indulge her. “What you really want to know is, who am I to Brook?” He deliberately used her Christian name, insinuating an intimacy he desired and had yet to achieve. Of course, Ham was not aware of it.

  “Mr. Claeg, please.”

  He retrieved the bouquet of wildflowers from behind his back and handed them to her. “I thought of you when I picked these.”

  Brook buried her nose into the colorful mix of spring blooms and inhaled their fragrance. “These are lovely. Thank you.” Her catlike eyes narrowed. “Why are you bringing me flowers?”

  Mallory expelled an exaggerated sigh. “You are too young to be so cynical,” he mournfully replied. “Consider them a bribe—or an apology. I will accept whichever will get me some tea. My exploration of your lands has left me parched.”

  Not liking the familiarity of their conversation, Ham interjected, “As a matter of fact, Mr. Claeg, I would very much like to know about your relationship with my cousin.”

  “Cousin?” Perhaps he had misunderstood the other man’s possessive posturing. Jealousy made men foolish indeed.

  Lady A’Court, being the proper little hostess, provided the introduction. “Mr. Claeg, may I present Seaton Hamblin, the ninth Earl of A’Court. Ham, Mr. Claeg, a renowned artist, is also Viscount Keyworth’s heir.”

  “Your name is, I confess, unfamiliar to me. However, I did have the honor of listening to your father speak once in Parliament. He is a remarkable gentleman.”

  “I will pass on the compliment.” Mallory assumed the lady’s motive for mentioning the connection to the Keyworth name was to elevate his status. He could not thank her for it. He had spent most of his life distancing himself from his father. It was not a subject he dwelled on, so he focused on more important matters. “So, Countess, do my flowers gain me admittance to the castle?” The flowers had been a thoughtful touch, he mused, watching her inspect the various blooms.

  “Your imagination is as delusional as your self-love. Join us if you must.”

  “Yes, please do join us, Mr. Claeg,” Lord A’Court echoed the invitation with false sincerity. “Mayhap you could use your influence to help us convince my dear cousin to return to London with us.”

  “No one has that kind of influence,” she darkly muttered.

  Watching Mallory Claeg interact with her motley family was a tiring affair. Her mother and sisters had been thrilled by the artist’s arrival and his simple token of spring flowers. Elthia, Lady A’Court was not so easily won over. As she glanced from Brook’s face to Mr. Claeg’s, the wheels of speculation were grinding out their own conclusions. From her thin-lipped expression Brook guessed the lady’s opinion was unflattering. Mr. Ludlow was affable yet reserved, while Grandmother Byres insisted that Mr. Claeg sit beside her at supper. Ham was acting petulant. He hovered in a fawning manner around Brook that changed from flattering to downright annoying.