His Christmas Countess

‘I know nothing. I was not even aware that he was the heir to an earldom when I married him. Nor that he was a widower with a child.’

‘He will tell you himself, I am sure. But he was close to the old earl—Grant’s parents died when he was not much older than Charlie is now. His grandfather brought him up and did a good job of it, for all that he probably leaned too much on the side of tradition and duty. Grant married a suitable young lady, to please his grandfather and do what it seemed was his duty, and talked himself into believing that was how marriage should be.’ He pushed his hand through his sandy hair. ‘I am saying too much, but you have to know this—Madeleine was a disaster. Possibly the only thing that could have made the situation worse was the way she died.’

‘What happened?’ Somehow Kate made herself sit quietly attentive for the answer. She had thought she was coming to some safe, comfortable home. A doctor’s household, decent and respectable. Modestly prosperous. Instead she found herself married to an earl, with his unburied predecessor somewhere in the house. Her husband had married tragically, she had a stepson—and a new baby. And she had the overwhelming feeling that she could not cope with any of this. But she had to. Grant had thrown her a lifeline and she had a duty to repay him by being a proper wife, a good stepmother to Charlie—and, somehow, a passable countess.

‘There was a fire. Rivers was...injured, but he managed to get Charlie out. They couldn’t save Madeleine.’

‘When?’

‘Four years ago. We do not think Charlie remembers any of it, thank God.’

‘That is a blessing.’ Poor little boy. ‘Thank you. Forewarned, at least I can try not to blunder into sensitive areas.’

‘Some blundering might be a good thing, frankly.’ Dr Meldreth stood up. ‘Rivers took it too well, too stoically, for the child’s sake. I am not sure he ever really put it behind him. And now he is bone-weary, he’s exerted himself sooner than he should after a blow to the head and he’s feeling as guilty as hell because he didn’t get back in time to see his grandfather before he died.’

‘I will try to make him rest and hope he feels able to talk to me.’ Kate rose and held out her hand to the doctor. ‘Thank you. It is good to know he has a friend close by.’

‘I’ll be back in a couple of days, unless you send for me earlier.’ Meldreth shook hands briskly. ‘I wasn’t sure whether to mention anything, but Rivers said you’ve got courage, so...’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll see myself down to the study. Good day, Lady Allundale.’

After that it was hard to sit with any composure. So, the situation was such that the good doctor would not have said anything unless he thought she had courage. That was hardly reassuring.

But perhaps it was time she started drawing on that courage, assuming she did actually possess any. If only she did not feel so ignorant. She had experienced the upbringing of any country gentlewoman, with the neighbouring wives doing their best to support a motherless girl. But, although her manners would not disgrace her, she had no experience of the kind of social life Grant would be used to. Now she was presumably expected to know how to greet a duke, curtsy to a queen, organise a reception and look after scores of tenants and staff.

Well, there was no time like the present to begin. Kate rang for Wilson. ‘I do not know when the funeral will be, but I must have respectable mourning clothes.’ If they were going to have to improvise and dye something with black ink, then the sooner they started, the better.

‘It is tomorrow, my lady. His lordship said not to disturb you about it. There’ll just be gentlemen there, no ladies, so you can stay in your rooms.’

Her little burst of energy deflected, Kate sat down again and gazed out at the grey skies, trying to make sense of the world she found herself in and her place in it, and failing miserably. Luncheon was brought up. Grimswade delivered a pile of novels, journals and newspapers. She fed Anna and cuddled her, dozed a little, tried to pay attention when Wilson suggested they make a list of all the essentials she needed to buy. Dinner arrived, a succession of perfect, luxurious little courses. Kate refused the red wine, but found she had the appetite to demolish virtually everything else that was put in front of her. The doctor had been correct. She had been neglecting herself out of worry.

* * *

Grimswade appeared as the footman was carrying out the dishes. ‘Is there anything else you require, my lady?’ Butlers, she knew, cultivated a bland serenity under all circumstances, but she thought he looked strained. The whole household seemed to be holding its breath.

Was there anything she could do? Nothing, Kate concluded as the door closed behind the butler. Just keep out of the way. Charlie was with his father and a stranger’s clumsy sympathy would be no help to them. She should have asked Grimswade when the rest of the family would arrive. At least they could take some of the burden off Grant’s shoulders. How lonely this felt, to be in the middle of so many people and yet completely cut off from their fears, their hopes.

She gave herself a brisk mental shake for the self-pity. She and her child were safe, protected and, at least for a few days, hidden. They had a future, even if it was shrouded in a fog of unknowns. Grant and Charlie were mourning the loss of someone dear to them and the best thing she could do was to intrude as little as possible. Grant had made it clear he did not want her involved or he would have confided in her, wouldn’t he?

Chapter Five (#ulink_b630b0ca-7a67-5350-b0b9-152b2198e86f)

She had slept well, Kate realised as she woke to the sound of curtain rings being pulled back. In the intervals when Jeannie had brought her Anna to feed she had listened for sounds from Grant’s bedchamber, but none had reached her.

The light was different. She sat up and saw the heavy snow blanketing the formal gardens under a clear, pale grey sky. ‘What a heavy fall there must have been in the night, Wilson. Is the house cut off?’

The maid turned and Kate saw her eyes were rimmed with red. She had been crying. Of course, the funeral. She felt helpless.

‘Very heavy, but the turnpike road is open, my lady, and the men have cleared the path to the church.’ Wilson brought a small tray with a cup of chocolate and set it on the bedside table, then went to make up the fire. ‘I’ll be back with your bathwater in half an hour, my lady.’

The luxury, the unobtrusive, smooth service, suddenly unnerved her. She was a countess now, yet she was the daughter of an obscure baronet, a girl who had never had a Season, who had been to London only three times in her life, who was the mother of a child conceived out of wedlock and the sister of a man who had embroiled her in unscrupulous criminality. I can’t do this...

The door opened as she took an incautious gulp of hot chocolate and burned the inside of her mouth. ‘Wilson?’

‘It is us. Good morning.’ The deep voice held grief and weariness under the conventional greeting. ‘I came to tell you that we will be leaving for the church at ten o’clock. The procession will go past the window, if you wish to watch.’ Grant stood just inside the room, one hand resting on Charlie’s shoulder, the boy pulled close to his side. Charlie’s eyes were red and he leaned in tight to his father, but his chin was set and his head high. Grant looked beyond exhausted, although he was clean-shaven, his dark clothes and black neckcloth immaculate.

‘I am so very sorry.’ The cup clattered in the saucer as Kate set it down and Grant winced. She threw back the covers, slid out of bed and then just stood there in her nightgown. What could she do, what right had she to think she could even find the comforting words? Her instinct was to put her arms around the pair of them, hug them tight, try to take some of the pain and the weariness from them, but she was a stranger. They would not want her.

‘There will be local gentlemen in church, those who can make it through the snow. And the staff, tenants and so on. There will be a small group returning for luncheon, but the staff have that well in hand and you should not be disturbed.’ He might as well be speaking to some stray guest who deserved consideration, but was, essentially, an interloper. ‘There will be no relatives, no one to stay. We only have cousins in the West Country, too far to attend in this weather, and a great-aunt in London, who likewise could not travel.’

Kate sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘I am so sorry,’ she repeated. ‘Is there anything I can do? Letters to write, perhaps? You will want to spend your time with Charlie.’

‘Thank you. My grandfather’s... My secretary, Andrew Bolton, will handle all the correspondence. There is nothing for you to do.’ Grant looked down at the boy as they turned towards the door. ‘Ready? We should go down to the hallway now.’

‘I’m ready.’ Charlie’s straight back, the determined tilt of his head, were the image of his father’s. He paused and looked back at Kate. ‘Good morning, Stepmama.’

* * *

Kate watched the procession from her window. The black-draped coffin was carried on the shoulders of six sturdy men, cushions resting on it with decorations and orders glittering in the pale sunlight. Grant walked behind, his hand on Charlie’s shoulder, the two of them rigidly composed and dignified. Behind paced a crocodile of gentlemen in mourning clothes followed by tenants in Sunday best and a contingent of the male staff.

She found a prayer book on a shelf in the sitting room and sat to read the burial service through quietly.

* * *

By the time luncheon had been cleared away Kate decided that she was going to have to do something. She had cracked the jib door into Grant’s bedchamber open a fraction so that she would know if he had come up to rest, and by four o’clock he had not. She handed a fed, gurgling Anna to Jeannie, cast a despairing glance in the mirror at her appearance and set off downstairs.

‘Have the guests left?’ she asked the first footman she encountered. He was wearing a black armband, she noticed with an inward wince for her own lack of mourning.

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘And where is my husband?’

‘In his study, my lady.’

‘Will you show me the way, please?’

He paused at the end of the hallway outside a dark oak door. ‘Shall I knock, my lady?’

It looked very much closed. Forbiddingly so. ‘No, I will. Thank you...’

‘Giles, my lady.’

She tapped and entered without waiting for a response. The room was warm, the fire flickering in the grate, the curtains closed against the winter chill. There were two pools of light, one over a battered old leather armchair where Charlie slept, curled into a ball like a tired puppy, the other illuminating the papers spread on the desk.

It lit the hands of the man behind the desk, but left his face in shadow. ‘Grant, will you not come to bed?’ she asked, keeping her voice low.

There was a chuckle, a trifle rusty. ‘My dear, that is a most direct suggestion.’

Kate felt her cheeks flame. ‘I was not trying to flirt, my lord.’ I would not know how and certainly not with you. ‘Surely you need to rest, spend a few hours lying down. You must be exhausted.’ She moved closer, narrowing her eyes against the light of the green-shaded reading lamp. The quill pen was lying on its side on top of the standish, the ink dry and matte on the nib. Grant had run out of energy, she realised, and was simply sitting there, too tired to move.

‘Perhaps I am.’ Grant sounded surprised, as though he had not realised why his body had given up. He made no attempt to stand.