She stopped dead when she reached the bottom of the stairs and saw Count Anthony still sitting at the front of the court room, head in his hands.
Suddenly overwhelmed with a degree of anger that Nerissa had not even realise was possible to brew in one person’s heart, she strode over to him.
“You!”
Count Anthony raised his head, astonishment and a little confusion reflected in his face. “Me, madam?”
Nerissa had reached him far quicker than she had anticipated and had cornered him, standing between him and the door. Her heart was thumping in her chest, but she knew that this time it was anger, righteous anger. What else could it be?
“What on earth do you think you are doing?”
He blinked at her, as though she was speaking in a foreign language. “I…I thought I was getting justice for – ”
“Justice!” Nerissa scoffed, her hands on her hips now. “Picking on a man double your age?”
“Double – double my…what?” Count Anthony spluttered. “My dear lady, it does not matter how old a person is, surely, if they have done wrong?”
Nerissa glared at him. “My father did nothing wrong, nothing at all, and so a judge has found in a court of law. Any action that he did or did not take was not personal to you, or anyone else for that matter, and yet you come careening in here, demanding retribution! You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Retri-retribution!” He stared at her as though she were mad, and then rose from his seat.
Nerissa stared straight before her, which now he had taken to his feet, was his chest. She swallowed, and tasted fear and bile in her throat. She had not quite realised just how tall he was, taller than her and she was hardly a petite woman. There was something about him; a presence, a masculinity that she had never encountered before. And how would she? The only man she knew well was her own father.
“I would not have to even consider taking action against anyone, let alone taking a person to court,” Anthony hissed quietly, his eyes never wavering from her own, “if your father – yes, your father! – had not been negligent. He has left people in poverty, Miss Fairchild, because of his inaction. It pains me to tell you so, as his daughter, but I at least will not peddle falsehoods in a court room!”
Nerissa glared at him, outraged, her head tilted slightly back so that she could try to look him in the eye – but it was difficult. She had a strong will, she was famed for it here in Port Royal; but this man … this man could outlook the sun, he was so determined.
And it was impossible to ignore the glimmer of shame that was creeping up on her. Poverty was a strong word, a strong accusation. Surely this man, this Count would not say such things unless he had real proof, unless he was utterly convinced that her father was to blame?
Could he really have left people in poverty?
There was a strange sound now, and it grated on her very soul. It was Count Anthony laughing bitterly.
“You did not know? You did not realise that I was not the only one involved in this scandal?”
Nerissa blanched at the word scandal but did not trust her voice to speak.
Count Anthony shook his head sadly as his wry laugh disappeared. “Oh, Miss Fairchild. I did not think that I, of all people, would be the one to tell you this, and for that you have my sincerest apologies. No, there were far more people than purely myself who have lost money in this catastrophe, far more. I am one of the lucky ones, if you can call a man who has lost every penny to his name lucky.”
He swept a hand through his dark blond hair distractedly, and Nerissa tried to straighten out her thinking. This was just his word against her father’s, just another way of attempting to convince her that her father was guilty.
“I still have my land and my manor – the family estate,” he said bitterly. “They will fetch a pretty price on the open market, I warrant you. Daemarrel Manor has been desired by many noble and wealthy families for generations. But others? Well, it will be the poorhouse for them, God save their souls.”
Nerissa stared into his eyes, and she saw nothing but truth there. Why would he lie? What gain could it bring him to pretend?
For a moment, a shining moment in time, her heart softened as she looked at him, this ruined count with nothing but a manor to his name. The thought of others entering the poorhouse, or heaven forbid the workhouse, because of a blunder, an accident of her father’s…
“Is…is that true?” She whispered, but before he could answer, her heart once again hardened as her eyes picked out the solid gold watch on a chain on his waistcoat. Poor, indeed? This man had a great deal to learn about poverty. “In any case, one person cannot possibly be held for other people’s actions. There were hundreds of people working for the Olympic Shipping Company, my father was not the only – ”
“Your father was the Financial Director!” Count Anthony interrupted, his face hard now, and he took a step forward.
Nerissa, overwhelmed by his closeness, tried to take a step back but found that she could not. Her feet seemed to be nailed down to the floor, and instead she looked up into Count Anthony’s handsome and furious face.
“Bankruptcy was never part of the plan, never part of my life or anyone in my family’s life until your father …,” Count Anthony said in a dark and fierce voice, and as though unable to help himself, he grabbed her hand with his right hand. “Now I am stuck here, stuck in this place of poverty and misery, and it is all your father’s fault!”
Nerissa could feel the heat of his hand on her arm, like a vice around her, but it was more than just the heat of another person. It was something different, something that seemed to resonate between them, a spark, a heat, a fire that she had never felt before.
She could feel her cheeks starting to glow pink, and her mouth was dry, and she wanted to speak but what would she say? The urge to lean closer to Count Anthony rose up within her from an unbidden place, and she swayed slightly, and she thought she saw a flicker of something in his eyes, something that looked like desire – but that couldn’t possibly be.
Nerissa snatched her arm away and stumbled backwards. She glared at the man who seemed to have such a terrible and wonderful control over her, and whispered, “You should never have come here.”
* * *
Anthony stared, heart pounding in his chest, as Miss Nerissa Fairchild stormed out of the court room in a flurry of skirts and anger. He swallowed and found that his arm was still outstretched, as though he was still holding onto her.
He had never been shouted at by a woman before – and he had never enjoyed anything so much. By God, it was exhilarating, glorious, and for a wild moment he took a few steps towards the door in pursuit of her.
A woman like that, one who dared to defend such a father in public, to argue with him, a gentleman that she did not know and certainly could not trust – a woman like that would be worth pursuing.
But then a shadow moved across the light pouring through the open door, and Anthony saw that it was Mr Fairchild himself.
His heart hardened. No matter what his delectable daughter said, there was no doubt in Anthony’s mind that it was Mr Fairchild who had brought about the ruin of the Strathams, and so many others.
Arm falling to his side, his hand clenched into a fist. If the justice that he was determined to have was to be denied him by the law, well…he would simply have to take his revenge in another way.
Miss Nerissa Fairchild, for instance. She was a stunningly beautiful woman, and there was enough fresh and innocent craving in her face when she looked at him to be getting on with. It would surely be easy, deliciously so, to seduce her and teach her the pleasures of the flesh…
…and leave her completely ruined.
What a catastrophe that would be.
3
The clock chimed again, and the echo resonated throughout the room, bouncing off the walls, reminding Nerissa just how empty it was.
Two o’clock. She sighed and closed her eyes, removing the ceiling from
her view. She had been lying on this sofa for over an hour now, a book hardly read lying on her chest, unable to even think about moving, she was so bored.
Boredom, in Port Royal, Jamaica. If she had not felt so lethargic, she could have almost laughed. When they had lived in London in a house in Berkeley Square and had attended parties appropriate for a young lady of the young age of sixteen, Nerissa and her friends had dreamt about Jamaica.
The heat, the sand, the food. It had all seemed so exotic, so exciting. She had been ecstatic when her father had come home one day and told her and her mother that he had finally been promoted.
They were moving to Port Royal.
Nerissa opened her eyes, and swallowed down the feelings of regret, pain, and sorrow. Mrs Fairchild had never laid eyes on these shores, losing her health to cabin sickness on the long voyage, and falling from the stern too late to be rescued in time. Nerissa had arrived, grieving and sticky, on the docks of Port Royal with one half of her family stolen from her.
Now all she had left was her father and memories of London life: gowns and socials, balls and card games. There was little society here, with no one her age in whom to confide.
She had been in this room since eleven o’clock in the morning, and no one had come to call.
The door to the hallway opened and a bustling sound of busyness entered.
“Oh, Miss Nerissa, I did not see you there!” Abigail the housemaid stopped short by the door, and dropped a short curtsey. “I apologise for disturbing you, I can come back later.”
She had almost stepped through the doorway back into the hall when Nerissa spoke.
“‘Tis no matter. Stay, Abigail.”
Even her voice sounded lethargic and bored. After all the excitement the day before of seeing Count Anthony at the court house – and even just the thought of his name, the remembrance of his face, was enough to quicken her pulse – this day was just another normal day. Life had reverted back to normalcy.
Abigail looked a little discomforted, remaining in the room with the mistress, but she cautiously walked around the edge of the room as though she was forbidden from stepping across it, and found what she had been looking for; the clock.
“Mr Fairchild has asked for this to be sent to Mr Graham, the clockmaker,” she said, as though she needed to explain what she was doing, picking up items of value that belonged to the family.
Nerissa smiled and sat up, her book falling into her lap. “Is there anything happening in the town today, Abigail? Anything at all?”
Abigail smiled shyly. “Nothing but the repairs, ma’am. You know, after the hurricane. It may have been a generation ago, but the rebuilding continues.”
Nerissa sighed. It had been a terrible thing, the hurricane, that could not be denied. But was it really worth all this effort to rebuild parts of Port Royal that had been destroyed?
There was a laugh, and she was astonished to see that it was Abigail. “You know Port Royal, ma’am. There is little here but building, and rebuilding. It is something within men, my mother thinks. Something that makes them want to build towers in the sky, to touch the clouds, she says.”
It was an innocent thought, and it made Nerissa smile sadly. It was the sort of thing that her own mother would have said.
“And the Sea Scout,” she said quickly, more to push away the thoughts of her mother than anything else. “Is it still giving tours of the bay to any newcomers?”
“Oh, yes,” nodded Abigail as she moved towards the door slowly, cradling the small clock in her arms. “Yes, though they will not be able to do so for much longer, what with the rainy season coming, ma’am.”
At her words, Nerissa was filled with the impulse to go. She had been half a dozen times already of course. Everyone who lived in Port Royal had done so to break the monotony of a warm summer’s day. But there was nothing for her here, not while her father was at work, and she would do anything to feel the wind in her hair and leave Port Royal – and Count Anthony – behind for a few hours.
Without saying another word, she rose swiftly from the sofa and grabbed the shawl that she always left lying near the piano.
“Ma’am?” Abigail was looking at her, concerned at her rapid movement. “Where are you – ”
“Please inform my father when he returns that I have gone out,” Nerissa interrupted, finding her reticule abandoned on a chair and striding towards the door to the hallway. “I will not be long.”
Abigail’s mouth was open, and she followed her mistress out into the hall, stammering, “But – but Miss Nerissa, you will need to wait until Mrs Henderson is ready, you cannot go without – ”
Nerissa sighed and pulled the shawl around her shoulders – an effort made for proprietary’s sake, rather than as a response to the weather. The heat of the sun had been pouring into Port Royal all morning, and sticky heat was oozing through the now open front door.
“I am too old for a chaperone,” she snapped with little malice at the housemaid. “I am tired of being looked after as though I could break in half. Tell my father I shall be back before tea.”
The concerned murmurs of Abigail followed Nerissa as she strode out of the house, but she was accustomed to ignoring anything that didn’t quite agree with her wishes. Mrs Henderson indeed! She had long outgrown the need to be paraded up and down the streets with an elderly woman by her side to prevent abductions and seductions!
Nerissa snorted. That kind of adventure never happened to someone like her.
Port Royal’s main street was empty. Few people liked to venture outside during the hottest part of the day, and those that had did not seem to have much choice.
“Pass it here!” A shout echoed in the street, and startled, Nerissa raised her eyes above the buildings to stare at the men who were putting the town back together. “No, a little more to the left, Eddie!”
A statue of a large angel was rather precariously balanced between two young men at the top of a building, while an older man stood in the street and directed them.
“We will never get it straight if you do not listen,” he said in exasperation. “When I say left, I mean my left!”
Nerissa hid a smile as she passed them. To be sure, nothing had quite been the same after the hurricane in 1774, but it was still encouraging to see that human nature at the very least had not changed.
It did not take her long to reach the dock, and just as she had expected, the Sea Scout was still accepting passengers on board for a trip around the bay. It was a little weatherworn, with a few gaps in the boards, the rigging a little ragged, but it had always made its way back to port.
She had been a part of the town for so long now that as she stepped gently onto the gangplank, walked across it gingerly to reach the Sea Scout, and handed over her two shillings to the sailor accepting fares, he gave her a smile and returned one to her.
“I think you’ve been our guest enough times, Miss Nerissa,” the man wrinkled as he smiled at her, “that we don’t have to worry so much about the shillings. Half fare today, but no word to the captain.”
Nerissa grinned. That was one of the few advantages of living in a town as small in Port Royal. Everyone knew you, and while that could be the downfall of a girl whose behaviour was not discreet, for someone like her it was an opportunity to walk the streets safe at night whenever she wanted.
She strode to the bow of the boat, and sighed deeply as she looked out at the churning waters. The ocean had always held something for her, something that she could not describe. A gateway, a path, a way to another part of the world. The whole of civilisation was out there, somewhere, thousands of miles away. And here she was, stranded in the catastrophe that Port Royal was, where nothing but disasters ever seemed to happen.
“All aboard!” The captain’s gruff voice rang out, and Nerissa turned to see the last passenger to ascend the gangplank and join her, currently the only other passenger. It did not give her any sort of joy to see Count Anthony of Stratham stride onto the deck and turn le
ft to look out over one side of the bow.
Her stomach lurched. The last thing that she wanted was to be stuck spending the entire afternoon on a boat with that man.
She did not even think, she just acted. It was only twelve steps back to the gangplank and she could disembark, return home where comfortable boredom was preferable to that man’s company.
But it was gone. The captain had been as good – or as bad – as his word. The sails were full, and the Sea Scout was moving.
In a very low voice under her breath, Nerissa said a curse word that her father would faint to have heard.
“Now then, ‘tis no word for a lady.”
She knew that voice. Nerissa spun on the spot and saw Count Anthony standing on the deck, grinning at her. It was more than her patience could bear, and the fact that he was wearing a very dashing cutaway coat did not help.
“You would hardly know what a lady would say,” she snapped. “You are barely a gentleman.”
She swayed slightly as the ship started to pull its way out of port, the breeze lifting both the sails and a few curls of her hair. Count Anthony, on the other hand, was spluttering again.
“I am unaccustomed to people attacking my status as a gentleman!”
Nerissa rolled her eyes and walked away from him with a parting quip. “You will become accustomed to it soon.”
Heavy footsteps behind her told her that the loathsome Count was following her, and her hearing was correct. Before she had reached the other side of the admittedly small boat, he was by her side.
“And what does that mean?”
Nerissa folded her hands on the bow of the ship and looked out onto the waves. “It means that both I and my father have good positions here in society, and we are respected. You only set yourself up for failure, should you continue setting yourself up against my father.”
He was close, very close, and although they were not touching she could feel the heat of his presence.
“Nonsense,” was all he said before he turned away.
Catastrophe With a Count Page 2
