Captain Durant's Countess

by Robinson, Maggie

  Poor Peter said nothing, looking much like a chubby trapped fox.

  Reyn saw his chance to assist. “I was under the impression, Countess, that Hazel Grange is not part of the entail. Didn’t your husband purchase it specifically for you and any daughters that might result from your marriage?”

  “Exactly so, and that is what I’ve been trying to explain to C-Catherine. Hazel Grange is mine outright. Mr. Woodley can explain it all.”

  “That fussy old woman?” Catherine Kelby scoffed. “He tried to turn me out of the Hall yesterday, but I know my rights. It is David’s family home, and we are David’s family, whether he acknowledges us or not. I have the marriage lines. No one will dare say my boy is a bastard.”

  “Mama!” Peter Kelby was in agony.

  “Stop interrupting, Peter. You’ve done nothing but contradict me at every turn today. What will the countess think? You’ve been most impertinent, talking out of turn.”

  Pot, meet kettle. Reyn found Catherine Kelby outrageously outspoken. For a clergyman’s daughter, she was not meek or mild.

  “Would you like another biscuit, Peter?” Maris asked kindly.

  The boy nodded, mute and miserable.

  What a trial it must be to have two such awful parents, Reyn thought. Kelby Hall’s butler Amesbury would have a fit if Maris bore a daughter and David and Catherine moved in to ruin the tone of his household.

  Reyn caught Maris’s eye. The smile she gave him was so dazzling—so loving—he was knocked back into his chair.

  She might have wanted to thwart David, but depriving young Peter Kelby of his future was an entirely different proposition. An honorable woman like Maris could never do such a thing.

  Maris set the china tea pot down. “Captain, do you remember the proposal you made to me the other day?”

  “The proposal?” Reyn asked, his tongue suddenly thick.

  “Yes. I’ve been giving it a great deal of thought, and realized I was thinking overmuch. I find I am very agreeable to your suggestion. In fact, the sooner we can plan the renovations, the better. Before the baby comes, certainly. I might not have time to make all the necessary arrangements once the child is born.”

  Reyn knew his mouth was hanging open.

  “Why would you care about making improvements to Hazel Grange if you may wind up back at Kelby Hall?” Catherine asked, helping herself to a sliver of candied ginger.

  “I have no intention of returning to Kelby Hall.”

  Catherine Kelby’s mouth joined Reyn’s. For once, she was wordless.

  “Not return?” asked Peter once he had nearly choked on his vanilla-infused biscuit. “What about all those magnificent artifacts? Great-Uncle Henry’s Etruscan finds? The library? It’s all museum-worthy. I’ve never seen the like!”

  “Do you know, Peter, it was my husband’s fondest wish to turn part of the Hall into a museum and open it to the public. He wanted me to be the curator, can you believe it? I spent most of my life working toward that ideal, but now I have other things to occupy me. It’s time the Kelby Collection found a new curator. Henry would be so pleased with your interest. Your father tells me you’re quite a scholar.”

  Peter blinked. “He did? My father spoke of me?”

  Maris nodded. “He came to war—inform—me that you both might come to pay me a visit, and I’m so glad you did. There’s enough at Kelby Hall to keep you busy and expand your classical education for a lifetime. By the time you become earl, you might actually have everything organized.”

  Catherine put her cup down with a clatter. “I’m afraid I don’t understand you, Lady Kelby.”

  “No, I don’t expect you do. There are some days I hardly understand myself. Please enjoy your tea, and if you wouldn’t mind terribly, see yourself out when you’re done. You must be anxious to get back to the Hall before dark, and there are things I must discuss with the captain. He is so busy, you know. Very much in demand, which is why he rackets about the countryside half dressed and with no neck cloth, but no matter. There is a . . . problem with one of my horses. Captain, you’ll accompany me to the stables?”

  Reyn stood, a bit unsteadily. “Of course.”

  Maris stood, too, speaking directly to Catherine. “I’m sure Mr. Woodley will get in touch with you about the particulars of this property. Give my best to David when you see him. Peter is a fine young man. He—you both—should be proud.”

  The boy was scarlet. “Thank you, my lady.”

  It was clear Catherine Kelby did not know what to make of Maris’s little speech. The last Reyn saw of her, she was frowning, reaching for a strawberry tart.

  He hurried alongside Maris as they left the room. “What—?”

  “Hush. Not yet.”

  The footman Phillip opened the front door for them and Reyn followed her outside. The sky was blue and cloudless. Maris’s little black lace cap fluttered in the warm breeze as she led Reyn to the rear of the house and a gated garden. She turned the key in the iron lock, moving quickly on a mown grass path to sit down on a shaded bench

  Reyn remained standing. “I see no horses.”

  “I lied. Thank you for coming. Who sent for you? Betsy?”

  “Aloysius.”

  “Bless him. That Kelby woman is insufferable. But I see great promise in her son.”

  “His mother wouldn’t let him get a word in edgewise.”

  “I had the chance to speak to him alone while Margaret gave his mother a tour of the house. A long tour, or as long as it could be in a house of its modest size. I begged off.” Maris winked, placing a hand on the black fabric that covered her stomach. “Too exhausting for a woman in my state. So I sat in a comfortable chair and coaxed him to talk while his grasping mother probably pilfered my jewel box, not that there’s much in there. The boy is very smart and seems to have inherited neither of his parents’ objectionable qualities.”

  “What are you saying, Maris?”

  “I’m going to marry you—if you’ll still have me. I must talk to Mr. Woodley about the legalities, but I believe any child born into wedlock will be acknowledged to be my husband’s, no matter how brief the marriage. We can raise our child together, Reyn. No more deceit. Henry would have liked Peter, I’m sure of it. If he’s managed to remain as pure as he has with that harpy for a mother, we can only imagine how well he’ll turn out with some schooling and Mr. Woodley looking out for his interests.”

  “What about David?”

  Maris shrugged. “He may rise to the occasion. If not, how much harm can he do? He should have his hands full keeping his wife under control. Poor man.”

  Reyn sat beside her and took her hand. “I disagree. How can you feel any sympathy for him? A secret marriage? Deserting his own child all these years?”

  “Exactly. One should never desert a child. That was your concern all along, wasn’t it? Why you didn’t want to follow through with Henry’s plan.”

  “At first. But now there is the small matter that I fell in love with you and can’t bear to think of living without you.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes damp. Damn, but her tears always slayed him. “You won’t have to.”

  “Are you sure, Maris?”

  “Oh so very.”

  Kissing her seemed the right thing to do. The only thing to do. They were to be married, after all, and if anyone saw them through the ornate iron fence, what did it matter? Reyn touched his lips to hers and was lost.

  It was all too good—the kiss, the weather, the neat solution to their dilemma. But he had never been one to look for trouble. It had usually found him . . . if he waited long enough, anyway. If Maris thought she could leave her old life behind and marry him, he wouldn’t try to talk her out of it.

  Or talk to her at all—just kiss—although, to be honest, there was nothing just about it.

  First Epilogue

  September 1821

  “I cannot bear it. How can she?”

  “Now, Captain Durant, your wife is doing beautifully.” The mid
wife, Mrs. Lynch, handed him a clean damp cloth.

  Reyn had lost count of how many clean damp cloths she’d given him over the past twenty hours.

  “If you are to remain—it is most indecent of you, really, although it seems Mrs. Durant wants you, though why she does is anyone’s guess as you’ve done your part already and gotten us all into this mess—you must put a smile on your face and wipe hers.”

  Reyn gave it his best shot, which was more grimace than smile.

  “Not like that. You look like you’ve eaten something nasty. Be brave for the lass as she’s been brave for you.”

  After a career in the army, Reyn had thought he knew what bravery was, but he had been mistaken. Maris was braver than anyone. After almost a day’s labor, the baby was not slipping into the world easily, despite Mrs. Lynch’s efforts.

  There was a reason men were barred from their wives’ side at such a time. A reason they drank themselves into a brandified stupor waiting downstairs after listening to the wailing from above. Maris had done her share of wailing, and each cry had pierced Reyn’s heart.

  “We should send for Dr. Crandall,” Reyn whispered as he blotted Maris’s brow. Her eyes were closed and she was white as the sheets she lay on, her brown braid soaked. She had given up screaming some time ago and was silent. He thought he much preferred the screams.

  “Too far. He’ll never get here in time. It really won’t be long now.”

  “Dr. Sherman, then.”

  Mrs. Lynch tsked. “The man’s a drunkard. Be patient, Captain. There’s my girl. I think we’ll get you up to walk again, my dear. How does that sound?”

  Maris’s bloodless lips barely moved in response. “Whatever you think best.”

  “Lean on that strong, handsome husband of yours. Well done, dear. Just to the chair and back. And again. And again.”

  Reyn felt as if they were marching back and forth to their doom. His wife slumped against him, her body shaking, each step a massive effort. He had never felt so useless. If this child was ever born, he’d never touch her again.

  “It will be easier with the next baby,” Maris said, causing Reyn to stumble.

  “Planning a large family, are you?” Mrs. Lynch asked.

  “Yes.”

  “No!” Reyn growled.

  “At least one more after this. We wouldn’t want him or her to get lonely.” Maris gave him a watery smile.

  “You are impossible, wife.”

  “So you have told me. Oh! Oh!”

  Reyn panicked at her sharp intake of breath, but Mrs. Lynch smiled. “Ah, well done, Mrs. Durant. We’ve started up again. Just a few more turns around the room and I’ll have you get back into the bed and sit up. Captain, plump those pillows and give her your hand to squeeze. Don’t be surprised if she breaks some bones, and anyway, you have another hand, don’t you?”

  Reyn shut his eyes so he wouldn’t see Maris’s mouth twist in pain. The contractions were steady now, and very close together. Maris went back to groaning, then screaming. Mrs. Lynch murmured encouraging words, directing Betsy, who had been making herself small in a corner of the bedroom, to help her.

  He would never forgive himself if something happened to his wife.

  They had been married by special license by Mr. Swift, who was somewhere downstairs with Ginny and Miss Holley, probably not partaking of any brandy while they waited. It had been a quiet wedding in the gated garden of Hazel Grange, with only their servants and his sister as witnesses. Neither Reyn nor Maris cared what the neighbors had thought of the sudden, scandalous union. In time, the gossip would die down and people might even forget that Maris was ever a countess.

  Reyn had no idea yet what they’d tell a son or daughter. He only hoped he’d be equal to the task once the time was right.

  The Durants had decided to make their home at Hazel Grange. Once Ginny was married to her vicar, the Swifts were welcome to live at Merrywood, if they could stand the comings and goings of horses and foals at all hours.

  What had Reyn been thinking of, volunteering for this duty? Just because he’d delivered a few foals did not make him an expert. But Maris had implored him, her eyes huge and wet. He had never been able to resist her tears, not from the first day he met her.

  “Lovely, my dear, just lovely. Give a push now, there’s a good girl. Yes, just like that. Isn’t she doing a splendid job, Captain?”

  “Splendid.” Reyn felt light-headed.

  “Look there. The babe’s crowning, Captain.”

  Reyn was used to following orders, but he was very much afraid the sight of the coming child would be his undoing. Instead, he looked at his wife. “I love you, Maris.”

  “And . . . I . . . you . . . oh!”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Reyn saw something dark and bloody slither onto the bed. His heart stopped.

  “Reyn, you are hurting my hand.”

  Mrs. Lynch moved her hand over Maris’s stomach. “Betsy, the twine and scissors, if you please. You have a pretty little girl, Mrs. Durant. Just one more hard push and we’ll have the placenta out and your baby ready for you to hold. Isn’t she sweet, Captain?”

  His daughter made a tiny snuffling sound. Reyn thought babies were supposed to be slapped across their buttocks so they would give a lusty cry. This little scrap looked barely alive.

  “Is she all right?” Reyn croaked.

  “Of course she is. They both are. Buck up, sir. You’re white as a ghost.”

  There was more blood and mess. Reyn had been in battle countless times, but nothing had prepared him for this. Mrs. Lynch massaged the umbilical cord until she was satisfied, then tied it in two places and snipped between them. She gave the baby to Betsy to clean and wrap up while she tended to Maris. A lifetime seemed to pass before his child made her presence known, objecting to Betsy’s ministrations.

  “A daughter. Jane. I’m so glad, Reyn.”

  He was, too. There would always have been some lingering regret and confusion if Maris had born a son.

  “You’ll have your boy next time.” Mrs. Lynch winked at him, and Reyn decided it would be most improper to strike her. To have Maris go through all this again was simply not to be imagined.

  “Here she is, my lady.” Betsy was beaming. According to her, she’d helped her mam with several confinements and knew all about babies.

  Reyn watched as Jane nestled into the crook of Maris’s arm.

  “The wet nurse is downstairs, I expect,” Mrs. Lynch said.

  “She is, but I’d like to try myself first.”

  Reyn had been aghast when his countess insisted on feeding her own child, but Maris had reminded him she wasn’t a countess any longer. Her fingers shook as she attempted to unbutton her night rail.

  “Let me, my love. Undressing ladies is my specialty.”

  “You’d better not be undressing any lady but me.”

  He kissed her damp forehead. “I wouldn’t think of it. Are you really all right?”

  “How can you doubt? Look at Jane and tell me she is not the most beautiful thing in creation.”

  Reyn was not entirely in accord with his wife, but he was wise enough to nod. No doubt someday Jane would be a great beauty and drive everyone to distraction, especially her father. She had already frightened him half to death.

  “We’ll go down and tell the others and give you a little privacy,” Mrs. Lynch said. “But Mrs. Durant will need her rest, Captain. Do not tire her out.” The midwife and Betsy left them alone in the sunny room.

  Reyn didn’t even know what time it was. “She’s as bossy as you are.”

  His wife and child began their acquaintance. Jane’s little mouth hovered, then latched on with all its might. “Hush. You know I’ve always got your best interests at heart. How very odd this feels, Reyn. It is nothing like when you kiss me there.”

  Reyn suppressed a groan. How would he endure abstinence? But how could he not?

  Well, there were always French letters. And withdrawal. He’d managed all his lif
e not to get anyone pregnant.

  “Reyn, whatever is the matter? You are looking quite gothic.”

  “Nothing. There is absolutely nothing wrong. I am the happiest man in the world.”

  Second Epilogue

  January 1822

  Maris was so happy she thought it might be criminal. She examined each tiny toe and fingernail once her daughter had drunk her second breakfast. Jane was perfect, with the Durant dimple already visible and a head of midnight hair. Lots of it. Reyn called her his little monkey, which Jane wouldn’t like at all once she was older, and so Maris told her husband.

  Her husband. Once, she had never expected to marry. Somehow, she’d found two good men to love her. Her life had really unfolded in a most unexpected way.

  Mr. Woodley had not batted so much as an eyelash when she’d explained her plans last summer. He had assured her Henry’s financial arrangements for her were secure and her widow’s jointure—including Hazel Grange—were untouchable by the new Countess of Kelby. He shuddered a bit when he mentioned the name, but perked up when discussing young Peter. The boy had been enrolled at Eton and had a good head on his shoulders, no thanks to either of his parents.

  Mr. Woodley had visited several times since. He told her Catherine’s father had retired from his parish and was living at Kelby Hall. He was a scholarly fellow who had volunteered to poke around the attics to make himself useful now that he was no longer tutoring his grandson. What might he find in the abandoned boxes? Maris realized she didn’t much care.

  The new earl preferred to stay in London, which was best for everyone concerned, except perhaps for any young women whose hearts he might break. How long David could play Lothario now that it was known he was married was anyone’s guess.

  “Your father will keep you safe from any men like him,” Maris said to the baby in her arms. “I daresay he is just the man to recognize a rake, as he used to be one before he met me.”