Page 7 of Captivating the Countess
“Oh, yes, of course, blame the lonely, young woman ignored by her host, left to her own devices in a strange house, grateful for any attention.” Although her tone was devoid of emotion, the sarcasm was clear. “If your cousin and your intended mean anything to you at all, I do hope you will see them settled comfortably somewhere. It will be good for your soul. If you will call a maid to lead me to Mrs. Malcolm, I’ll try not to interfere anymore. And I’ll be on my way in the morning.”
She rose, but Rain blocked her exit. She was slight, but taller than he expected, reaching his shoulder when she stood straight and confronted him. She might look modest, frail, and ladylike, but those were daggers in her glare.
“You blamemefor this debacle?” he asked in surprise.
“I do not think blame is the appropriate reaction.” Her tone was as tart as her expression. “Concern for the distraught woman upstairs, for the young couple facing enormous hardship... Those are worthy responses. I cannot help you with either of them. I have come at a bad time, and I will trouble you no more.”
“You came for John’s positionbefore he’d even left it. That is strange timing but not exactly bad. No matter what I choose to do about the runaways, I cannot trust him enough to allow him to return to my employ. I need someone to go over his books to be certain he has not run off with the staff’s wages, if nothing else. Are you capable of doing that?”
“I have a reference from Calder Castle.” Her manner was still brittle. “I have spent the better part of my life handling accounts for my estate. Your books are larger, no doubt, but no different otherwise. I can do the task, but I do not want it. Your household does not meet my requirements.”
His household did not meetherrequirements? Castle Yates was known as the most luxurious, most modern estate in the kingdom. And this snippet of an impoverished countess disdained it?
A female—possibly an unstable, ill one—as steward. She was right, of course. He should let her go. But Rain was a desperate man. Desperate men did desperate things—
As if in warning, doors slammed again, the monkeys shrieked, and the opera singer shattered glass.
He stepped aside and pulled the bell rope. “You’re hired. Name your terms.”
Didshe want to be hired?Wincing at the operatic scales drifting down from a distant upper story, Bell followed a maid up the marble stairs to the room she’d been assigned, next to Winifred, she hoped. She really needed to talk to someone who understood. Her desire to flee this chaos was great—but the marquess had said she couldname her terms.
To someone who had never had much control of her life, the temptation was formidable. She could ask for peace. And for her own maid. A place of her own—
And use of the enormous library Iona had told her about.
Unpinning her hat, taking off her gloves, Bell admired the pretty blue chamber. A thick Turkish carpet in muted blues, gold, and red hushed the click of her shoes. Gold and blue striped draperies covered large mullioned windows that looked out over the immense park surrounding the castle. A poster bed draped in ruffled gold damask promised a soft mattress and plenty of protection against winter drafts.
Was this the room one gave a steward? She assumed not.
What sounded like breaking glass in the distance rattled the spirits even more, although her heavy chamber door muted the worst of the caterwauling. The operatic cries bounced off hard surfaces, enhanced by two stories of echoes and a voice apparently designed to reach the back row of a noisy theater.
A child’s abrupt cry almost startled her into a faint. Clutching the door knob, Bell steadied herself and counted backward to keep out the spirit voices. The cry stopped.
Taking a deep breath to halt her trembling, Bell knocked on a connecting door. To her relief, Winifred’s cheery voice greeted her. She entered a chamber in colors almost the reverse of hers, with the gold dominating and the blue as accents.
“I’ve been hired,” she said flatly. “I can name my terms.”
Winifred nodded and gestured at a chair. “He needs you. It’s obvious.”
“Not to me. He has an enormous staff. I wager his housekeeper knows how to keep his accounts as well as I can.” With a sigh, Bell settled in the chair and poured tea from the pot on the small table.
“And?” Winifred raised her graying eyebrows.
“And the place is such a tumult that they’ve thinned the veil beyond my ability to prevent spirits from crossing.” Bell finally admitted what had been bothering her ever since she’d entered this beautiful house. “I so wanted this to be a place of peace and harmony. Iona says one entire wing is devoted to every new book that is published in the kingdom. I’ve perused all the appropriate Malcolm journals in Calder and Wystan and have yet to find a solution to my fainting. I was hoping perhaps a medical journal...”
“The duke is a healer. The marquess is said to be one. They are both physicians and Malcolms. They will understand.”
“I have a feeling they have enough problems of their own. I don’t wish to burden them with mine.”
Winifred frowned over her teacup. “The maid gossips. She said Rainford’s intended has run off with one of the staff. Was that the cause of the distraught spirit you sensed?”
“That was the lady’s mother, not a spirit. Do you know anything of them? I didn’t even catch a name. Are they wealthy? Titled? Why, after all these years, did the marquess settle on a flighty young miss?”
“The Honorable Araminta Rutledge, second daughter of Baron Rutledge, very old family, wealthy enough, although not to the duke’s level.” Winifred nodded knowingly. “It’s not a spectacular match, but Rainford has no need to marry wealth or title. Since he does not seem an unintelligent man, one assumes he looked for character.”
“As well as age and looks,” Bell added cynically. “She is only twenty.”
With her graying hair pulled back in a simple chignon, Winifred appeared the part of wise sage that she was. “Rainford is a Malcolm. Unless he marries an Ives, his chances of producing a son are slim. The current duke only had the one son and quite a few daughters. His younger brother only had one son. The pattern dates back a century or longer, one or two sons and no more. The Rutledges are related to the Ives in some manner, so her ability to produce heirs may have been a deciding factor.”
