Page 2 of Captivating the Countess
Her twin rushed to the rescue, sweeping the sleeping child into her own arms and cradling her. “Sit down,” Iona hissed under her breath. Then she addressed the new mother while smiling and rocking the bundle of joy. “Olivia, you are truly blessed. Look how well she sleeps!”
Isobel had so wanted to have a peek at the baby... She sighed and obediently settled on the nearest chair like an invalid, knowing the messiness and embarrassment of keeling over at the slightest startlement would mar this holiday gathering. Worse yet would be breaking anything she held when she fell, like a vulnerable infant. Of necessity, Bell had learned since childhood to sit still and allow others to regulate how much of life came to her. In disgruntlement, she waited for her twin to hand over their friend’s bundle of joy.
Fortunately, Iona understood and placed the infant in her arms. Finally, Bell could cuddle the babe. Given her curse, she would never have one of her own, but that didn’t stop her from enjoying others.
“You’re a natural,” Lady Phoebe cried. Tall, with a headful of chestnut hair, she nurtured animals instead of children. “You should stay with Olivia instead of returning to your drafty estate.”
Only recently granted the title and estate of the Countess of Craigmore, Bell laughed at the notion. She would keel over the instant she encountered Olivia’s large, boisterous family.
“You could stay here, dear,” Lady Agatha suggested.
Herewas the newly renovated School of Malcolms. The original two medieval townhomes had been connected to a third building, allowing them to expand schoolrooms and the parlor they used for entertaining. Tonight’s grand opening holiday celebration was spilling over with former students, teachers, and family. Bell had taught here briefly, before taking her position as a steward with the Malcolm Librarian. She’d enjoyed the company, but the continuous riotous noise had left her prostrate much of the time.
“Thank you, but I think I really should return to Craigmore. It’s my responsibility, after all.” She might be a countess in her own right, but she possessed naught more than an ancient manor house near Inverness, barren land, and sheep. Still, she knew how to manage money. She’d figure out how to save her tenants from poverty. Somehow.
The infant started to squirm, and Bell held it out to Olivia. “You will have your hands full when she is older. It’s always interesting to guess what gifts they might have.”
“I’ll just hope she’s not her father’s daughter and want to dig mines,” Olivia said with a laugh.
The recently refurbished parlor smelled of the huge evergreen the students had decorated. Candles twinkled in all the windows, and a generous fire blazed in the fireplace. Forced to sit straight by the corset required for her unaccustomed fancy gown, Bell sat primly in a lovely new wing chair and soaked up the camaraderie as best as she could while everyone milled and towered over her. She dreaded the moment the men returned with their loud voices and masculine rowdiness. But for now, the parlor was a jumble of colorful femininity as the women caught up on all their news.
In her glittering red sari, Lady Dare, another of the school’s teachers, claimed the infant next, cooing to her in two languages. “Lydia, quit looking at the bookshelf and come admire this little beauty. How in the name of heaven will you tend your own bundle of joy if you have your head in a book?”
Heavily pregnant, Lydia, the Malcolm Librarian and Bell’s former employer, set down the book she’d been perusing and accepted the babe. “She looks as if she’ll write her own story someday. So much has happened in these last years, it’s hard to imagine what the future will hold for our children.”
“If my husband has anything to say about it, we’ll all be bouncing around in horseless carriages and have telegraphs in our homes.” Unencumbered by the usual feminine frippery, Lady Phoebe dropped into an unladylike sprawl in a chair near Isobel’s. “You should stay here in Edinburgh, Bell. There are so many exciting things happening.”
Bell’s twin rapped Phoebe on the head with Lydia’s book. “Think, my friend. You just putBellandexcitingin the same sentence. Are you trying to kill her?”
Bell laughed. “I’m not likely to die from overexcitement. But I would prefer to limit how often I topple from being caught by surprise. Craigmore is peaceful and familiar.”
“We’ll miss you dreadfully,” Lydia said, making a face at the babe to hide her distress.
Bell loved the generous librarian, but she also knew when it was time to take destiny in her own hands. “You do not need two stewards, and I am not capable of dealing with the farmers you require to rent your land. Your new estate agent is excellent and well-trained. I could—”
Lady Gertrude, the other co-owner of the School of Malcolms, opened the door and gestured for a parade of servants bearing refreshments to enter. “Agatha, why have you not told the child about Yatesville?”
The plumper, shorter of the sisters nodded vigorously. “Oh yes, I forgot. It seems the duke will be in need of a house steward in his Yorkshire estate. I know you’re a countess now, Bell, but... well... the duke is in ill health. He’s a Malcolm, you know, and he’s been good to us. They could really use someone quiet and efficient who might slip into the role without much ado. It’s a much bigger estate than Lydia’s, of course. But that means you needn’t worry about tenants, just the house servants. I’m sure a duke has multiple estate agents for handling his fields.”
“Castle Yates?” Isobel asked warily. “The duke of Sommersville’s estate?” As far as she was aware, the duke was elderly, but she’d met his son—
The parlor door blew open, bringing in a gale of cold winter air and a mass of masculinity in boots and overcoats, all smacking each other on the back and talking at once.
Startled, Bell felt her chest constrict. She struggled against it, gasping for breath. But the spirit was there waiting, pushing into her head.
As Bell lost consciousness, she heard a plaintive voice cry,Save my son, please. Save the duke.
Two
January,1872, Castle Yates
In the music room,a poorly trained pianist—mostly likely Rain’s youngest sister Alicia—pounded out a rollicking version of “Good King Wenceslaus.” A clamor of voices joined in, although he wasn’t convinced they sang the actual words of the carol. It was, after all, January. The Feast of Stephen had been over a week ago.
In Teddy’s studio above, the screaming diva had yet to leave despite all her threats. The two-story marble entrance hall provided a sound chamber that intensified her dramatic fury. In his study, Rain winced at the echoes. Perhaps he should have the steps carpeted. And the ceilings.
Distracted by the cacophony, he returned to the columns in the bookkeeping ledger his Cousin John had left on the desk. He’d lost track of the numbers. In frustration, Rain shed his coat and picked up his new barbells. He preferred the calming mindlessness of exercise to banging his head against the desk.
A servant scratched at the door. Rain ignored him. It would just be another summons from his father. Everyone else in the household knew to leave him alone.
