Lynne Connolly - Counterfeit Countess

Nobody could be that unlucky. And yet, the estate made just enough profit to run the houses. Enough to prevent anyone asking too many questions.

Just when John thought he might roar with rage, someone tapped at the door and John bade him enter. The footman crossed the room and gave him a card on a tray. After John informed him he wasn’t at home, the footman left.

Nobody had called. The card was John’s own, given to the footman to bring in as the pre-arranged signal that this meeting had served its purpose. John never expected to get much from either Roker or Carlisle, at least nothing that would help him resolve the current situation.

Much to his relief he got to his feet and the others followed suit.

He’d said everything he wanted to and mildly accepted their increasingly feeble excuses. It didn’t escape his notice that his steward’s expression lifted as he got to his feet and bowed. He claimed his illness had made him weak and he just wanted to return to bed when John made a solicitous enquiry after his health. Luckily not in this house. With Faith’s permission, he was staying at Red Lion Square.

Did she miss her previous life, with her quiet circle of friends and a social life that didn’t depend on making powerful connections? He’d taken her away from the life she’d made for herself and plunged her into something she’d not been ready for.

Now he bade fair to immerse her into the scandal of the season, one they couldn’t answer with simple denial. Like the hydra, as soon as one head was lopped off, another appeared to take its place.

He sighed.

Come to that, he didn’t particularly want this, either. The notion of living with Faith in the small but comfortable house in Red Lion Square struck him as paradise right now.

However, this life had its compensations. He was not about to cavil at living at one of the best addresses in London and his new ability to command respect, although not, sadly, by all people.

“I think we have gone as far as we can today, gentlemen.” He glanced at Pilkington. “Although, Thomas, I would appreciate the opportunity to discuss the vessel ‘ Good Fortune’ with you before you leave.”

No such ship existed, and Pilkington knew it. The ruse was merely an excuse for Pilkington to remain behind without unduly raising the suspicions of the two other men.

After the steward and Roker had left John rolled his shoulders, shucking off a responsibility he didn’t want in the first place. He crossed to the sideboard and unlocked the tantalus, before pouring them both a generous measure of brandy. “So what do you think?”

Thomas accepted a tumbler of amber liquid with a word of thanks. “They seemed equally guilty. If there is something nefarious going on, then they are complicit. They supported each other’s stories, and they had the lies straight. But don’t forget, they could have brought this sad state of affairs about by good old-fashioned incompetence.”

John resumed his seat and took a restorative draught of brandy.

“Something is definitely wrong with the earldom. Whether it is through incompetence or fraud remains for us to discover.” He took another sip, the liquid warming its way to his stomach. “A certain amount of incompetence is definitely involved. They didn’t research me, or you for that matter, and discover exactly who they were dealing with. That, to my mind, is crass stupidity. Who goes into a business meeting with less than all the information they can muster? But I believe wilful deception is involved also.”

“Call it what it is.” Thomas put his empty tumbler on the desk.

“Fraud. You could have them hanged for it.”

The thought left John strangely unmoved. “I may decide to ruin them instead, if that’s true. Much worse. I will uncover everything they did and call them to account. Soon. The rumour they’re spreading about the death of the brothers could be dangerous if allowed to continue for much longer.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “We need proof, otherwise our names will be mud. For myself I care little. Why should I care about a family that openly despised me and only put up with me because it was expected? I’m fortunate I didn’t need them. However, there are employees who will be put out of work and my wife—she doesn’t deserve this.” The thought choked him. He wanted nothing but pleasure to come Faith’s way from now on.

“It’s more than that,” Thomas remarked. “You have a decided partiality for Lady Graywood, my friend. Could it be you’re in love?”

John laughed and then paused, broke off his contemplation of the sharp cuts incised into his brandy tumbler. Could it? Could his old colleague be right?

He hadn’t thought about it before. Love? He’d never considered it. He respected her, of course, and he cared for her. However, he didn’t know what love was. He couldn’t see it, couldn’t define it. So how could he ever know for sure?

The knock at the door came as a relief, because he disliked thinking about matters beyond his ability to control or describe.

He’d believed his relationship with Faith a welcome one. She was a delightful bed companion, loyal and an asset socially. They made a good team, but love?

They could only see the footman who entered from the waist down. The huge pile of tomes he held rose above his head and obscured the rest of him. “My lord, there are more.”

He gave Thomas a half smile. “Bring them in,” he said to the footman. “All of them.”

Five minutes later they contemplated the stack of ledgers the footman had laid on the floor, the desk being too full and no other surface large enough. “Our strategy seems to have succeeded rather well.”

Relieved Roker kept the books at his office and not locked away somewhere, John studied the piles of heavy tomes with a frown.

“We must give Burrows a bonus.”

“I will. He’ll make partner one day.”

While Thomas and John had kept Roker and Carlisle busy here with their interminable questions, they’d sent Burrows to Roker’s offices with a note of authority. When Roker returned to his establishment, all hell would break loose there because John had every single ledger relating to the Graywood estate transferred here.

John heartily wished he could be there to see the fuss.

He would deny Roker and Carlisle access to the house unless he gave explicit permission for them to enter it. Work to do.

He removed his coat and tossed it carelessly over the back of the chair before he rolled up his sleeves and gave a happy sigh. At last, real work, something he understood. “I’ll tell them to inform callers I’m not at home, then get to it. Once we’ve established a pattern, we can pick it up in previous years, but I foresee a few days’ hard work until we do that.”

He’d also sent a carriage to the abbey with orders to collect the ledgers and journals from the last ten years and bring them to town.

He’d designed the trip to cross paths with Carlisle on his way to London. They should arrive soon.

A shame he couldn’t unravel what the men had done by simply killing them, or dismissing them from his service, but he needed proof. Not for himself, but for the courts, if he decided to prosecute, and for his own peace of mind. Together, he and Thomas would discover not only what had gone missing from the estate accounts, but who was responsible for the losses. Despite his personal animosity towards Carlisle, he remained perfectly willing to give him the benefit of the doubt but after today, the odds against him had shortened. His eager acceptance of all Roker’s stories strongly indicated his active involvement.

John’s heart warmed at the thought of finally getting to the bottom of the concerns that had been niggling at his mind since he’d first looked at the estate accounts. Comparing them to his own success seemed churlish. But in a few cases he’d seen such spectacularly different results from similar investments that his mental antennae had bristled into life, waving wildly.

“Do you think we’ll have Roker and the steward around here tout-suite, claiming that you’ve stolen their books?” Thomas asked.

He lifted the book nearest to him and opened it.

John chuckled. “That would be interesting. I planned to keep the steward in London kicking his heels, but Roker will discover what I’ve done the minute he returns to his office. I imagine your man left Roker’s office in turmoil.”

Warmth spread through him at the thought of the work ahead.

At last he could do something instead of uselessly demanding figures and poring over a heavily doctored ledger that merely made him suspicious because he couldn’t uncover the truth there. In the next few days they’d know not only what, if anything, was going wrong with the estate, but who was responsible for it. And, by implication, who’d dared to lay hands on Faith. Because John was almost sure the two events were linked. He didn’t believe in coincidences. Not of that import, anyway.

“I am tempted to cancel the evening,” Lady Graywood said as she lifted the coffee pot and helped herself to a cup. When Amelia attempted to come to her aid, she batted her companion away impatiently. “Responses have proved disappointing.”

Faith knew, but she found it a relief to discuss the problem openly instead of furtive references to the lack of replies to the invitations that had gone out a full week earlier. She glanced at John who had laid his knife and fork down very carefully. “Does that mean they won’t come, or that they are reserving their options?”

“Probably the latter, but I cannot tell for sure.” The dowager picked up the cream jug, then replaced it in favour of the milk. “I imagine we will not be totally devoid of company. I can call on several more people to help fill the rooms, but I was expecting a far better response from the people who—matter.”

Faith understood what she meant. The ones who would bring the society leaders with them. The ones who would let them into the exclusive informal club that controlled the places John needed to reach in order to restore the family coffers. She didn’t remain unaware the estate could be doing better, but she also knew the recent decline in the economy meant more people were scrambling for fewer opportunities.

Not that anyone would know it from the elegant furnishings in even this room, a private family room where they took their breakfast. Though why anyone would want more than one dining room eluded her. She did like that the room caught the morning sun, though. The furnishings were lighter and more feminine than in the large, imposing, mahogany-dominated chamber upstairs.

In her heart of hearts, she accepted the inevitable, and although her appetite had disappeared at the dowager’s words, she forced herself to reach for the toast.

Out of the blue a wave of nausea hit her, swirling her stomach.

Forcing a smile to her face, she excused herself and headed upstairs to her powder closet.

She barely made it in time but as she crouched over the chamber pot, she heard someone come in behind her. She prayed it was Robinson, or Turvey. She could trust both of them not to fuss.

No such luck. When she leaned back on her heels and reached for a towel, instead she heard a masculine croon. He drew her back to rest her head against his chest while he wiped her mouth gently with a damp cloth, then handed her a glass of water to rinse with.

Faith closed her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“Is this the first time?”

She shook her head, her cheek nuzzling the starched linen of his shirt. “Yesterday and the day before.”

“Last week?”

“Perhaps.” She recalled feeling queasy, but that didn’t mean a thing.

“Hmm. When did you have your last courses?”

Exasperation filled her. This careful tenderness made her nervous. “I knew you’d jump to conclusions. It can’t be that. I’ve eaten something that disagrees with me, that’s all.” Of course she knew the possibility. In the past when the possibility arose, however inconvenient, she had quickened with excitement. She refused to let that happen again.

He said nothing, but watched her, waited, until, to break the tension filling the air, she said, “If you must know, about six weeks ago, but it’s hardly surprising. I’ve had a lot of—changes in my life recently.” And she often had her courses late or she skipped a month.

The way he stroked her back soothed her, helped to settle her grumbling stomach. After a few minutes, when it because clear she had finished being sick, he gave her fresh water to sip. When she felt ready to move, tucked one arm under her knees. He lifted her, rising to his feet seemingly without effort, before taking her into the bedroom.