Page 5 of Captivating the Countess
An elegant lady of middle age sat sobbing into a lace-edged handkerchief, clutching a crumpled piece of stationery.
“May I help?” Bell waited for the lady to look up before continuing. “I am Lady Craigmore. I know how to keep secrets. I think it comes with the Scots blood.”
The woman hiccupped into her handkerchief. “I keep hoping it’s a jest. I cannot believe my sensible daughter would be so foolish as to give up all this...” She gestured at the elegant suite. “Araminta could be a duchess one day!”
Oh dear. That sounded like impending disaster, but how did it affect the duke the spirit wished her to help? Finding the trappings for tea, Bell poured water in a kettle and set it over the fire. “Oh, we daughters can turn life upside-down and inside-out, I assure you. I’d suggest discussing this with my stepfather, except he’s on a ship to Africa.”
“Africa?” The lady sounded properly horrified.
“I am a very resourceful person.” Well, her brother-in-law was, but she knew how to spin a tale. “Let me help you. What has your daughter done?”
“Ruined herself, ruined her future, ruined everything—for a man who has nothing!” The lady broke into sobs again.
Bell winced. That sounded very bad indeed. But then, her sister had essentially done the same, except Ives had a title and a bit of land. Iona seemed to be happy without the riches she almost married.
After making the tea and placing a cup in the lady’s hand, Bell gently pried the note loose. The scrawl was execrable and tear-stained but the words were plain.
I cannot live like this! I do not love him enough to endure the insanity, even for you, my dear mother. John is everything I can desire in a husband, and he adores me as the marquess does not. I will write when we are settled.
The initials “AR” were the only signature.
Bell didn’t know the name of the woman the marquess was rumored to be on the verge of marrying, but she had a sinking feeling her initials were AR.
“Young women often have spells of silliness,” Bell said as reassuringly as she was able. She had a hard time imagining anyone giving up an honorable man like the marquess, but she could understand fleeing the eccentricity of his household. “She may have realized her error and be on her way back already. You should lie down a bit. I’ll call a maid.”
The lady protested weakly, making her promise not to say anything to Rainford. That was a ridiculous suggestion since he was the only one with the power to find the straying miss. Bell didn’t promise but led the lady to the darkened bedroom.
Rainford’s home was a sprawling palace with servants who had servants. Bell might be a countess, but her home was no more than a frozen Highlands manor where she often scrubbed the dishes herself. Finding anyone to help the lady might take longer than finding the daughter.
Pretending she had experience in handling staff, Bell took the note and slipped out. To her relief, a uniformed maid hovered anxiously in the corridor. Bell sent her in to the distraught woman whose name she still did not know.
A young man in uniform was working his way down the wall of doors with a ring of keys. The slamming had blessedly stopped, along with the operatic squawks and the parrot’s cackle. She heard music and laughter in the distance, but she needed the marquess. She’d last seen him downstairs.
Apprehension gripped her, which always made her more susceptible to spirits hovering just on the other side of the veil. Tightly clutching the banister to break any fall, Bell listened for the sound of Rainford’s calm tenor as she traversed the stairs. He really did have the most soothing voice. She turned right at the bottom of the stairs and was rewarded with his words growing louder and clearer—although they were more icy thancalm.
“What do you mean, you can’t find Davis? He should be finishing the annual accounts in his office.”
Did anyone else besides stewards do accounts? Had he already replaced his steward? Or perhapsDaviswas an estate agent. If the marquess was in a fury, it seemed a very bad time to bring him a note about a potential runaway bride.
Waiting wasn’t reasonable either. Besides, the marquess didn’t seem to do fury so much as wither one like a cold frost on plants.
A footman scurried from a door on her left. She waited for him to run off on his errand before she pushed open the study door.
A hank of silver-blond hair fell rakishly across the marquess’s high forehead. He’d unfastened his gray coat, revealing a cobalt-blue waistcoat embroidered in silver thread. The flat torso beneath almost had her swooning—until he glanced at her with chilly annoyance. His eyes had darkened to stormy thunderclouds.
In one hand, he was lifting and lowering a heavy weight of some sort as if contemplating flinging it at her. Thankfully, he set it down upon her entrance. “Are you done with your errand of mercy? Did one of Teddy’s paramours decide to chuck herself out a window?”
“No, but a person with the initials AR has run off with a man called John, and I am assuming—since she did not introduce herself—that it is AR’s mother who is having hysterics.” Accustomed to blunt speaking, Bell simply lay the paper on his desk.
She had no desire to ask personal questions of a powerful, wealthy lord she hoped might employ her, but she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t read this note.
Her hope of finding a well-paying position in a tranquil home was fading fast.
The marquess visibly controlled himself to pick up the letter. Despite his confident air of authority, Bell was certain he grew a shade paler as he read.
She waited while he contained himself again, then gestured for her to take a seat.
“I’ll be back in a moment. I’ll have tea sent in and a maid escort your traveling companion to a room.”
