The Substitute Countess (13 page)

Jack pressed his lips together for a moment before replying, “Rob Huntland stole a ewe and slaughtered it. He was seen doing the deed. Caught red-handed, so there was no question of his guilt.”

“So you’ll have him hanged,” Morleigh guessed.

“You would
hang
one of our people?” Laurel asked in a horrified whisper.

“It is a hanging offense, that’s true, but I commuted it to transportation. There were circumstances and I chose to consider them.”

“That’s quite lenient,” Morleigh declared. “The others might consider you soft and take advantage. Some would say you might let him stay and only take off a hand. You know, as a deterrent.”

“No!” Laurel objected. “Not for a sheep!”

“He’s probably right,” Jack told her. “But I couldn’t take the man’s life, or even his hand, for attempting to save his wife’s family from starvation. They’re yeomen farmers who live adjacent to our lands. They were in a bad way.”

“You let them have the carcass?” Laurel asked hopefully.

“Not directly,” Jack admitted. “I ordered the sheriff to dispose of it as he saw fit.”

Morleigh smiled and nodded. “And I suppose the sheriff is sympathetic to the offender’s motive?”

“And to my conundrum. Do you suffer these problems, Captain?”

“On occasion, but I see you have little need of advice from me, not on governing in any event. However, if you have any questions on other topics, I’ll be happy to answer if I’m able.” He reached into his pocket and handed Jack a folded paper. “Here is my direction. Feel free to write to me if you like. We’ll also see one another in London during the Season, I expect.”

“Thank you. Things seem to be well in hand for the moment, but if need arises, I will gladly make use of your knowledge. For now, however, please stay and dine with us this evening and spend the night, if you’ve far to go.”

“You’re kind to offer, but I’ve already lingered awhile and should ride on. I confess an eagerness to be home after a week in the city. I miss my wife,” he said with a self-conscious laugh. “Grace will be sorry she’s missed meeting you both. Her condition prevented her traveling. I was forced to leave her home this trip.”

“I hope it’s not serious!” Laurel exclaimed.

He grinned. “Serious, but happily so. She’s increasing.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Laurel said with enthusiasm. “Please tell her we should love to meet her whenever it’s convenient. And please wish her good health on our behalf.”

“You’re very kind and I will tell her,” Morleigh said. “But for now, I must claim my horse from your comfortable stables and be on my way.”

“I’ll ring and have your mount brought round.”

After Morleigh had taken his leave, Laurel turned to Jack. “He was good to come, wasn’t he? A very likable sort.” She took Jack’s hand in hers. “Are you still troubled about the Huntland matter?”

Jack nodded. “Yes, though not so much as I was on the way home. Captain Morleigh seemed to think I handled things well enough.”

“I wish you could have forgiven it and let him go. You couldn’t do that, of course, and I understand why. It’s only that I’m sure this Rob Huntland must be a good man at heart.”

Jack shrugged. “People are seldom entirely good or bad, merely more one way than the other. There
are
those who are evil clear through, but I don’t believe Huntland is one.”

“I choose to see only the good in people for as long as they allow it,” she replied.

“I know you do, my sweet. That particular attitude has been ingrained in you from infancy, so no one could ever fault you for it. But it can be a great disadvantage when it comes to judging people.” He reached to trace her chin with one finger, marveling at the softness of her skin.

She clasped his hand to her chest and smiled. “Fortunately, I needn’t be the one to judge people, and I certainly don’t envy you the task.”

He studied her clear brown eyes for a moment. “But you must learn to judge, Laurel. Everyone you meet, you should be aware of clues to their true character and act according to what you find.” Jack glanced at the door. “That includes visitors. Have Echols direct them to a less-isolated part of the house in the future if I’m away.”

“Does this have to do with Captain Morleigh?” she asked with a laugh of disbelief. “He’s Neville’s cousin, Jack! I had no cause to mistrust him.”

“Nor to trust him, either,” Jack argued. “Fortunately, he was as gentlemanly as you thought. I hope your luck always runs that true, but you mustn’t count on it.” He hated to impinge on her view of mankind, but he would hate it much worse if anyone ever tested it. “Evil is attracted by innocence such as yours. I only ask that you have a care.”

“That’s why you’re so protective?” she asked, brushing closer, swaying her body against his. “I’m not all that innocent now.”

Jack slid his arms around her and lifted her up for a kiss. “I see I must save you from yourself if you believe that. Maybe I’ll debauch you further until you’re as worldly-wise as I am.” He wriggled his eyebrows and grinned as he smoothed his palms up and down her rib cage.

She gave him a playful shove. “I won’t mind that, but you can’t do that here in the parlor!”

“We could go upstairs,” he suggested in his most conspiratorial tone, increasing his attentions and cupping her breasts.

“Jack! It’s midafternoon!” But her admonishment lacked any sincerity and she offered no resistance at all.

“So that is a yes?” he said, laughing softly in her ear.

Supper was served late.

Chapter Thirteen

T
he next week established a pattern for them. The nights were heaven, dismissing all doubt concerning his preference for bachelorhood. Their daytime activities usually were separate and fraught with the adjustments of running the house and estate. Suppers were no longer stilted affairs, but congenial with conversations about their daily doings.

On that seventh night, Laurel broached the topic of their finances, a thing she had not dared to do since Jack found her examining the estate records. “Have you given any thought to investing more of the ready funds not needed for running the estate?” she asked. “I’ve been reading with interest of the progress in steam travel. We might profit quite well if it flourishes.”

He looked up from his plate as if she had suggested a flight to the moon on a kite. “What do you know of the investments?”

She shrugged as she buttered a section of bread. “The Church invests. Sister Josephina was quite the businesswoman. Her father was a banker and she did work for him at home for several years before she was called to the Church. Since I had such an interest in the maths she taught, she told me all about the markets and how they work.”

“Why?” He seemed nonplussed by the very idea. “It’s not a suitable subject for women, who obviously have no control over money.”

She laughed. “Don’t be absurd! Some do, Jack. Well-informed widows, women who operate businesses. Your mother had charge of her funds after your father died, didn’t she? Or did you handle her finances?”

“No, she never asked me to. Have you been delving into the estate’s books again?” He looked upset to think that she had.

“Of course not. You asked me to leave that to you, so I have. I merely thought to suggest—”

“I’ll have Hobson look into it.” He shook a finger in her direction. “But you are to leave it alone. Manage the household accounts only.”

“Yes, sir! As you wish, sir! I’ll not strain my little brain any further!” She tossed down her serviette.

He had the grace to look sheepish. “You needn’t remind me how intelligent you are, Laurel, or take me to task for lording it over you. It’s only that I would keep some duties for myself and our man of business if you don’t mind.”

“Or if I
do
mind! Well, as it happens, I don’t mind at all. It’s only that you think a woman too
stupid
to understand it!”

He was instantly contrite. “I do not think that, Laurel. Believe me, I never meant it to sound that way. But you have to admit, it’s the way of the world and not likely to change.”

“It should be changed! You know it should!” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

Jack nodded. “I expect you’re right. Women should not be so...confined. Life’s not fair and probably never will be, but society’s ills are not all my doing. We go on as we are taught to go on and resist what is new. The nature of man, I suppose.”

“The nature of man. I know.” She swallowed her anger since it served no purpose and would only ruin the rest of her meal. It wasn’t as if her dissatisfaction could alter the way things were, even in her own home. “I was simply looking for something else to do, that’s all.”

He brightened at that. “All right then. If you’re bored, why not learn to ride? It’s great exercise and fun, as well. I’ll teach you myself if you like.”

Laurel agreed, seeing that he needed to show her his expertise at something, since he was probably somewhat lacking in the knowledge of investments. Sometimes she forgot that her education surpassed his and he might feel the pinch of that.

“Thank you! I shall look forward to it,” she said, injecting enthusiasm. She would not tell him that she was already quite accomplished in that skill, nor would she show it during lessons.

Perhaps a woman’s real power lay in placating and persuasion rather than argument and anger. In any event, he looked quite satisfied with her answer and gave her the sweetest grin. She so loved to make him happy. That is, when she wasn’t ready to give his head a resounding smack.

Only the tiniest bit of guilt over that thought prompted her to add, “You said I could learn to dance, too.”

He beamed, as she knew he would. “Hobson’s arranging for lessons. I’ll send someone to see whether he’s had any luck. You will love it, I promise. Meanwhile, I’ll teach you to ride. First thing tomorrow if the weather holds.”

Laurel saw that he wanted to make her happy, too. The wish was there in his eyes. If he had been a bit condescending this evening, she must accept that Jack was quite sensitive when it came to managing the assets. She really ought to leave that alone. Or at least not mention it to him in future.

* * *

The next morning dawned fair and it was already rather warm, but Jack had promised a lesson. She looked so smart in her new blue riding habit, he wanted to show her off. Perhaps they would ride to the village if she could manage her mount well enough to go so far.

“Are you afraid of horses?” he asked as he and Laurel walked arm in arm to the stables. She seemed more animated than usual, but he wasn’t certain whether it was caused by anticipation.

“No, not at all. I’ve ridden a little before so I’m familiar with them.”

“Where? At Orencio’s?” He felt a sudden stab of jealousy that that rapacious Spaniard had taught her anything. “I can’t imagine they taught you riding at the convent.”

“I told you before, it was a convent
school,
Jack. For young ladies. We were expected to learn things one would need out in the world.”

“But not music or dancing. You said you hadn’t learned those, so I assumed—”

She laughed. “I didn’t learn music simply because I have no ear for it, no talent whatsoever. As for dancing, granted, that was not among our lessons.”

“So you were taught to ride in the walls of a convent? I do wonder how that was done.”

“Well, we had two mounts, coach horses also used intermittently for plowing the vegetable garden. A sprightly pair for all that.”

Jack huffed a laugh. “Plow horses?”

“Well, you are to teach me the finer points, aren’t you?” she said, smiling up at him. “Then I shall be quite accomplished!”

The stable lad held the reins of their saddled mounts, a fine gelding for Jack and a docile mare for her. He helped her onto the block and watched as she mounted by herself. “Good show!” he commented.

“Thank you, sir.” She arranged her knee over the horn of the sidesaddle and adjusted her skirts.

Jack handed her a small whip, then checked the length of her stirrup and instructed her how to place her foot for best balance. “There. Comfortable?”

“It’ll do,” she said, reaching down to give the mare’s neck a pat.

Judging by Laurel’s wily expression, he fully expected her to tear off down the lane at a gallop, but she did nothing of the sort. He mounted his horse and eased up beside her. “Where shall we go? To the meadow there?” he asked, pointing.

“I would like to see the lands, the village and perhaps meet some of the people hereabout,” she declared.

“As their lady should,” Jack agreed, smiling his approval. “That way, then. And have a care how you go,” he warned. He feared she might prove overconfident and be thrown.

They rode down the lane at a walk and she managed very well. She listened to his every suggestion with rapt attention and minded to the letter. He should have known she wouldn’t court danger in any way. “You are a natural, I think,” he said. “Before long, you’ll be a true horsewoman!”

She merely shrugged. So modest, he thought. Laurel might have spirit, but was a very practical sort, not at all headstrong. He congratulated himself yet again for having the good sense to marry her.

“My goodness,” she said, surveying the fields and meadows as they rode. “Is all of this yours?”

“
Ours,
my dear,” he replied, thinking this might be the perfect time to tell her the truth, that he had married her so that this could be hers, too. And that he had needed her inheritance to keep it all going as it should.

“Oh, look!” she exclaimed, interrupting his thoughts, pointing to the flocks scattered about the pasture like fluffy balls of cotton wool. “There are so many of them!”

“Not nearly enough,” Jack admitted. “Some of the flocks were lost recently.”

“Roughly half if the count was correct,” she said offhandedly, still looking at the sheep. “So sad. And the crops suffered, as well. The farmers must have wondered if they, too, would succumb eventually.”

“How do
you
know what was lost?” he demanded, though he suspected he already knew how.

She turned to look at him. “From the side notes in the ledger in the library, of course. Before you forbade me reading any more of it, of course.”

Did he detect a note of annoyance in her reply?

He said nothing more. Now was not the time to make a confession about the inheritance. They rode on in silence for a while.

“That land over there beyond the hedge lies fallow,” Laurel observed and pointed. “Is it for grazing?”

Jack smiled to show he approved her interest. “I wondered the same myself. Northram informed me that the fields are divided into three portions, two planted, one fallow, and they are alternated to conserve and replenish the soil.” He was proud of the new knowledge he had acquired in the past few weeks. “I’m becoming quite the farmer.”

“Plant turnips,” Laurel said. “Those do more for the earth than doing nothing to it. “Also they would make good fodder to store for winter.”

“You’ve studied books on farming, have you?” He couldn’t imagine how she had learned such from what must have been a rather small vegetable garden that supplied the convent.

She nodded. “There are several good ones in the library and also almanacs and such that the old earl must have saved for reference. The turnips are a new idea here, but have been tested in other countries.”

Jack sniffed impatiently and looked away. “So you’ve been plundering my library again.” He knew from Hobson that she would learn nothing about her inheritance from the accounts ledger, but estate business was
his
business, not hers. How much clearer could he make that?

“I like to keep busy,” she replied, sounding totally unrepentant. “And it might take all of us using everything we know or can learn if there’s another growing season such as those that were had three and four years ago.”

He hadn’t the faintest idea what she was referring to, so he kept quiet to mask the fact.

“It was so cold the Thames froze completely over for two years running,” she declared. “And snow stayed upon the hills until late summer.” She paused for a few moments, as if waiting for him to comment. When he did not, she added. “People starved, Jack. Ours mustn’t.”

“It’s good that you care about them, Laurel, but we do have the wherewithal to feed everyone should that happen again.”

“Sufficient
funds,
you mean?”

“Precisely.” This was skirting dangerous ground. He misliked the mention of money, knowing where it could lead, and he was not ready to tell her the truth just yet. Soon, though, he knew he must. Keeping it from her ate at him every day, but the sense of urgency had diminished somewhat. “Don’t worry about it,” he ordered. “We have plenty.”

“Every well, however deep, has a bottom, Jack.” She toyed idly with the reins as she looked out across the land. “Aside from that running dry, food might not be available for purchase. Shortage would be inevitable, what with the Corn Laws and restrictions on grain imports.”

“Good God, woman, have you become the expert on affairs of state now?”

Jack quickly forced a laugh to soften the impulsive reproof. He had not meant to snap, but her industry shamed him. Instead of depending upon the manager to instruct him in the methods formerly used, he should have been in the library reading those books himself.

Laurel pushed her jaunty little top hat more firmly in place and urged her mare to a trot. “I hope we find something cold to drink in the village. It’s quite warm today.”

Ever the lady, Jack noted. She had ignored his scold and tactfully changed the topic of conversation. He wasn’t certain he liked the roundabout way she had managed to make him more aware of his lordly responsibility.

And yet, he felt proud of her, too, that she had risked pricking his temper in order to share what she had learned. He hadn’t specifically forbade her to use the library, only the accounts ledger, and she had at least minded that.

They went on to visit the village. Jack reined in at the Happy Ewe, the only local establishment that served anything to drink. The establishment served as a posting inn, a mail station and a place where local residents gathered for conversation and libation.

Perhaps it would not be considered proper in higher circles for an earl and countess to frequent such a place. However, this was their village, their people and he intended to set the rules.

He helped Laurel down and they entered the inn. “Good day, Master Wilson,” he said, greeting the proprietor. “Have you two pints for a couple of weary riders?”

The scrawny fellow’s mouth dropped open as his eyes flew wide in surprise. All conversation at the tables halted. Everyone hurriedly scraped back their chairs, staggered to their feet, bowed and curtsied.

Jack doffed his hat and dusted it on his leg. “As you were, good neighbors. Lady Laurel and I don’t mean to intrude, but we are quite thirsty.”

The publican rushed to pull out chairs at the nearest vacant table. “Welcome, milord, milady! What will you have, sir? Wine?” He looked worried, probably about the quality of what he had available.

“Ale, if you please.” He knew from earlier introductions by Northram that the rotund Mrs. Wilson, standing behind the counter watching, was the local alewife. “They do say we have the best in the county.”

A hum of approval emanated from some of the patrons.

Laurel waited patiently for the moments it took for them to be served. Jack gave her a nod of encouragement when a pewter tankard was placed in front of her.

She lifted it without hesitation, took not a sip, but a couple of hefty swallows. Then she exhaled, daintily licked the foam off her upper lip, smiled and nodded her appreciation.