Once Upon a Countess (Love And Devotion Book 2), page 7
8
Clare and her sister-in-law, Her Grace the Duchess of Clevedon, arrived in Brighton without incident. The sun came out shortly before they arrived in the seaside community. The carriage came to a stop in front of a stately manor situated near the water’s edge.
Clare marveled at how majestic the house looked with the sandy beach as a backdrop. Her cousin had rented it for a fortnight, which was more than enough time to relax and take in the sea air. She’d seen similar houses near the beach at Edinburgh, but nothing quite as grand or new as this one.
Each lady was assisted from the carriage by a waiting footman. As they entered the house, instructions were being shouted as to where luggage should go. They’d each brought their lady’s maid and left them to sort things out as Clare and Savannah walked through the grand hall and were shown to the drawing room.
Savannah promptly ordered tea for them, to allow their maids a chance to unpack. As they waited, they stood in front of the French doors and marveled at the sight of the water lapping up on the sandy shoreline.
“This is perfect,” Savannah murmured. “I can’t wait to walk along the water’s edge.”
“You’ve never seen the ocean in America?”
“I have, many times. I was named after the city of Savannah, Georgia. It’s just been a while since I’ve laid eyes on it. It’s not the same in eastern Scotland.”
“No, it’s not, is it? At least we can enjoy our time here without the likes of the marquess intruding on our day,” Clare said.
Both women giggled at how deceptive they had been to the man. He deserved it. The moment he’d learned Wexford left town to check on his ailing grandmother, the marquess had called on Clare. She had rebuffed him each of the three times he’d appeared on their doorstep. On one occasion, she’d been out of the house, and the other two, she wasn’t feeling well. Women’s issues.
If he did find out where she’d gone, they might have to leave. Clare had no intention of going anywhere with the man or allowing him to call on her as he surely would. He was presumptuous and cold. He thought he could bypass her cousin and get permission to court her from her father. So far, her father had agreed to let Clevedon be the judge of who might make a suitable husband.
“What are you so deep in thought about?” Savannah asked.
“Wondering if Wexford has made it to Yorkshire and how his grandmother fares.”
“He probably hasn't arrived. He’ll send word to you.”
The door opened, and a footman carried in a large tray, setting it down at a table in front of two settees. Savannah dismissed the man and walked to the tray to pour tea.
“How about we go for a stroll on the beach after we change?” Clare asked. She knew it was at least a three-day journey to Yorkshire. Until she heard from Wexford, she needed to keep herself occupied.
Savannah passed her a cup of tea and then took a seat to enjoy hers. “Clevedon said he’d join us in a day or two. There were a couple of business matters he wanted completed before he left on holiday.”
“That’ll leave us some time to shop.”
“I thought we might do that tomorrow, as well as dine outdoors.”
Clare nodded and sipped her tea. “Don’t feel you have to entertain me once Clevedon arrives.”
“Trust me, getting my husband to do anything that isn’t related to business is nothing short of a miracle.”
Clare found that hard to believe. Her cousin doted on his American-raised duchess. No, he was quite madly in love with Savannah and doted on her young son, Vincent. She had always hoped for a love match like they had. She felt she might find that with Wexford. Even her father would agree to that match.
“Come,” the duchess said after they finished their tea. “Let’s change, and I’ll meet you in the grand hall in an hour.”
Clare nodded. “I look forward to our walk.”
“Before I go upstairs to change, I’m going to go introduce myself to the cook. I’d like to see what she intends for each meal.”
“Very well. I’ll leave you to your never-ending duties as duchess.”
Clare headed up the stairs in the grand hall and found a footman at the top to guide her to her chamber. She was pleased with what she found, a light airy room done in pale yellows with a hint of blues. She hurried over to the windows and found the room overlooked the water and she could see beyond, toward a horizon that she assumed led to France.
The skies continued to show off the bluest of blues with puffy white clouds drifting by here and there. The sun shimmered on the water below, beckoning all to the shore. Here and there, couples walked up and down the beach, and she wondered where they’d come from or where they were headed.
She recalled Clevedon mentioning a beach that was open for those who swam or dared to enter the cold water. She would love the chance to wade in the water beyond her ankles. She smiled, thinking of Chatsford and how stuffy he was. She was sure a wife of his would never be allowed to do any of that, let alone taking her shoes off and walking through the water as it lapped on to the shoreline.
Octavos Burns, Marquess of Chatsford, stood on the terrace to the house he was to live in for the month he’d be in Brighton. The three-story brick home actually belonged to an old friend of his, Thomas Moore, the Earl of Greystone. The earl had graciously offered his manor house upon hearing Chatsford was traveling to Brighton as he and his wife had decided to travel to Italy for the summer.
He accepted a glass of whiskey a footman had brought him as he stood and watched the people walking along the shoreline. He knew through his sources that Clevedon’s wife and cousin were staying in a house close by. He also understood that Wexford wouldn’t be joining them as he’d traveled north to visit his ailing grandmother. Actually, as far as Chatsford knew, Wexford’s grandmother was in perfect health. He’d merely constructed a ruse to get the man out of town and away from Lady Clare. Chatsford intended to make good use of the house and his stay in Brighton.
By the time he left Brighton, Lady Clare would be betrothed to him, or better yet, he would expose her to an improper situation and she would be forced to either save her family’s good name and marry him, or find herself ruined.
Ruined was exactly what he had in mind. He would compromise her at just the perfect time. There would be plenty of opportunities, including a party he’d gotten himself invited to at Viscount Smith’s Brighton home. The viscount’s estate was farther inland, on a bluff overlooking the water. People from London would be attending, as most of the cities people fled to the coast in the warmer months. Knowing the viscountess, she would have games to keep the guests busy before dinner. A perfect scenario in which to take advantage of a young lady such as Clare.
The Duke of Clevedon had thwarted his every move he made to court Lady Clare. Chatsford simply went around the duke and directly to the chit’s father, who was also a duke. A very wealthy one. He needed funds, and the easiest and quickest way to attain them would be to acquire the girl’s dowry, which was one of the largest, and it would be his.
He had an inside source in the Clevedon’s household, so learning what Lady Clare had planned for a day would be absurdly easy. He would simply show up on the beach when she and the duchess took their walks, or bump into them in town when they went shopping. The pittance he was paying the young maid was more than worth it.
He swallowed the remainder of the whiskey in his glass, then went to a wrought iron table where a crystal decanter sat and poured himself another. Chatsford knew the ladies would be walking along the shoreline. It was time to make himself known.
Not wanting to startle the women, he had come up with an elaborate ruse for why he was in Brighton at the exact same time they were. He would merely say hello, engage in small talk, and be on his way. Nothing out of the ordinary.
He smiled at the thought of Wexford hurriedly on his way north. Not until he arrived in York might he put together the pieces and discover he’d been played.
By the time Wexford spent a day or so with his beloved grandmother and returned to London, Chatsford would be married to Lady Clare. Wexford would have been too late by the time he finally did arrive in Brighton.
Chatsford set the glass down on the table and headed to the stairs, which led down to the beach. He knew where Clevedon had rented a house and began to walk in that direction.
Watching where people flocked, he decided being closer to the water was probably his best bet. Lady Clare seemed the sort who would dare take her boots off and wade in the waves. He smirked. Women were so predictable, even Lady Clare.
She wasn’t the sort of woman with whom he usually associated himself. He preferred his women to be dainty and not likely to talk with him about much more than the weather or a book or play they might be interested in. Her ginger hair and dark green eyes were also out of character with women he’d courted in the past. Most had had flaxen hair and blue or hazel-brown eyes.
But he could overlook all her faults, especially her notoriously acid tongue, if it meant he would have control of her dowry. Besides, once he had her with child, he would send her to his estate outside Kent. After she had given birth, he would call on her and begin the process again. He needed an heir, actually two. If she bore him only daughters, he would see she remained pregnant until she fulfilled her obligation as his wife.
He walked along the sand. It was packed down where the water had recently lapped up on it and the sun hadn’t dried it out. The tide was on its way out, meaning more people would come to walk along the water’s edge. It was one of Brighton’s largest attractions.
Chatsford had the sun to his back when Lady Clare first came into view. She had her skirts lifted with one hand and her boots in the other as she giggled every time the water splashed her feet. The duchess walked beside her, watching.
He approached slowly, carefully. “Your Grace, Lady Clare, this is indeed a pleasure, and a lovely surprise.”
Lady Clare stared at him in disbelief. This was to be expected. Her Grace was far more reserved in her observation and greeting him.
“Lord Chatsford, indeed this is a surprise.”
“How did you know we would be here?” Lady Clare hissed.
He bowed. “I can assure you, Lady Clare, I’m surprised to see you as well.” Deciding he needed to leave in order to let his ruse play out, he bowed once again. “Ladies, if you’ll excuse me. I have business in town.”
The entire encounter was perfect. She knew he was here, and the next move would be to run into her and the duchess as they shopped. Perhaps he could then invite them for tea at one of the local bakeries. It mattered not; his plan was in place, and he wouldn’t fail this time around.
9
Savannah and Clare stood in disbelief as they watched the marquess’s figure disappear into the crowd. The duchess finally broke the silence.
“Come, we must return to the house. I must write to Gabriel and tell him we arrived safely and that the Marquess of Chatsford is here.” The duchess lifted her skirts, and turned toward the house.
“There is no way he just happened to show up here at the exact same time,” Lady Clare bit out.
“No, there isn’t. My concern is how did he know we would even be here? It’s not as though we announced it among the ton.”
Lady Clare struggled to keep up with her cousin’s wife, who was far angrier than she. Nothing the marquess did was coincidental. The duchess was right. As far as she knew, no one except Wexford and Clevedon were aware they were in Brighton.
“Can you get word back to London today?” Clare inquired.
The duchess stopped and turned to Lady Clare. “Word will reach him today, if I have to send a private rider. I have a bad feeling about this man being here. Clevedon has said he does nothing without reason that benefits him.”
“Aye, and we know he is after my dowry.”
“Well, he’s not going to get it.”
“I can imagine what Papa might have said.”
The duchess smiled. “Indeed.”
“Well, we know he’s not going to do that. His being here is proof enough,” Clare replied.
They approached the house and went inside. Clare hated the idea of being cooped up inside on such a beautiful day, but there were priorities to deal with first. She followed the duchess into the house and to the library, where she sat down at a small mahogany writing desk.
Finally she put the quill down. “How does this sound? ‘Chatsford has shown up in Brighton. I fear he’s up to no good. Please come as soon as you possibly can.’”
“It gives him enough information without going into details.”
The duchess nodded. “Exactly. Clevedon knows anyway. What I still can’t get out of my head is how did Chatsford even know we were here?”
“Perhaps he went to your home and found out we’d left.”
“No, the staff is far more discreet than that. They would have only mentioned you and I were out of the house. That could imply all sorts of things. We were out for the afternoon, we were shopping. No, I don’t worry about my staff.”
Clare watched as the duchess folded the missive and seal it with wax. She picked up a bell at the side of the desk and rang. A moment later, the butler appeared. She gave implicit instructions that the missive was to be sent out to London using someone from her staff which had accompanied them.
“This must reach my husband today. Send our best and fastest rider as soon as possible.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.” The butler picked up the sealed paper, bowed, and left the room. Clare smiled. There were some advantages to being a duchess. Everyone was at her bidding.
The duchess stood and walked toward Clare. “I believe I’m going to lie down for a while. The ride from London and the sea air has tired me. I’ll have tea served in the drawing room at four. We can decide what we want to do then.”
“I think I’ll do the same in a few minutes. I thought while I’m here, I’d make a list of just that.”
“I thought you might. I’ll also inform the butler we’re not seeing anyone this afternoon. That way if Chatsford decides to be bold and come to call on you, he’ll be sent away.”
“Thank you.”
The duchess smiled warmly. “No need to thank me. The man will not take no for an answer, and I intend to block every move he makes. Hopefully, Gabriel will arrive by tomorrow, or we’ll at least hear from him.”
“I’ll be fine. Now go lie down. As soon as I’m finished here, I’ll do the same.”
Clare watched as the duchess glided across the rug and out the door. Her cousin had been fortunate to have met his American duchess. She was a breath of fresh air with her American accent and sayings. Clare enjoyed her tales about what life in America was like. She knew the duchess missed her life there, but was madly in love with Clevedon.
The pair never hid their devotion to the other. Each had endured a shattered past, losing a loved one of their own. But the two were inseparable. Clevedon doted on Vincent, Savannah’s young son and earl to his father’s family line.
Her mind shifted to Wexford. She hoped one day she would have such a love as her cousin, and perhaps it would be with Wexford. They hadn’t gotten off on the right foot, but she had found herself impressed with him and the fact that he had interest only in her, and not her dowry. He wasn’t a fortune hunter, unlike the Marquess of Chatsford.
The Earl of Wexford slid off his stallion and handed the reins to a waiting stable boy. Fortunately, the weather had cleared and he’d been able to ride the black beast this past day. He hated being confined to a carriage, no matter how short the distance.
“How is my grandmother faring? What does the doctor say?” Wexford asked the butler as he handed him his gloves. He’d ridden, as always, without a hat, preferring to enjoy the feel of the wind blowing through his hair.
“I beg pardon, my lord, but there has been no need to call the doctor. Your grandmother is in perfect health, I can assure you.”
Wexford stood in stunned silence. “I received a missive telling me to come quickly, that she was gravely ill. The signature was illegible, but I assumed it was from you or my estate manager.”
The butler, White, shook his head. “I can assure you, my lord, nothing has been sent to you. If you’d like to see for yourself, the dowager countess is in her rose garden.”
“Yes, but no need to alert her. I think I’d like to surprise her,” he replied. “And, White?”
“My lord?”
“Not a word about this to anyone, especially the dowager. I need to find out what’s going on.”
He nodded. Wexford glanced at the man’s salt-and-pepper hair. White had been with the family for years, going back all the way to when his grand-mère and grand-sire had first married. He strode across the grand hall, through the drawing room, and out the French doors overlooking the countess’s prized rose garden. This one simple pleasure had always held her heart. No matter how bad things might get, if the roses were in bloom, and even if they weren’t, you could find the dowager there.
She was cutting blooms when he came upon her. He’d tried to be as quiet as a church mouse, but the dowager’s hearing was acute as ever. She smiled warmly and put the shears in the basket she carried.
“To what do I owe a visit from my favorite grandson?”
Wexford kissed her on the cheek. “Do I have to have a reason grand-mère?”
She shook her head of white hair. “Of course not. Never. You know how I enjoy your visits. Even if they are infrequent.”
“You know that can’t be helped,” he replied. He looked down at her. She was a petite woman, and though in her eighth decade, she was still as spry and alert as she’d ever been.
“Come, let’s get you settled in. Will you be here long?”
He hesitated. “I’m not sure. I need to write an associate in London before I make that decision. But as long as I’m here, you have my complete attention.”
