She waved at her friend, and began to walk down the church steps, hand in hand with Moses, when a man stopped them with a beaming smile.
“Wandorne, this is the most marvellous day. Congratulations to you both!”
Chloe did not recognise the gentleman, but by the warm welcome that her husband gave him, knew him to be an old family favourite – for all others had been lost by the wayside. There was a woman standing beside him, with strikingly bright red hair, and green eyes like jade that glittered in the sunlight. She was also heavy and swollen with child.
“I cannot say how pleased I am to see you so happy, Wandorne,” the gentleman was saying.
Moses laughed and shook his head. “Rather different from our last meeting, eh Dewsbury?”
The name nudged Chloe’s memory. Ah yes, Luke, Marquis of Dewsbury. He was another man recently married, and if she recalled correctly, was there not a whiff of a scandal over their marriage?
“My wife, Adena,” he was saying, and the beautiful woman curtseyed as low as she could with the weight of her child resting heavily on her. “Lady Wandorne, permit me to introduce you to my wife.”
For a moment, Chloe waited quietly for this Lady Wandorne to be introduced, and it was only when her husband’s gentle laughter began that she coloured, and smiled.
“You know, I think that it will take me ever so long to become accustomed to that,” she said, slightly embarrassed. “Lady Wandorne, wife to a baronet!”
“You will be surprised,” said the Marchioness prettily. “I believed the same, and yet it was but a few months later that I realised I no longer respond to Miss Garland at all.”
There was pleasant chatter on the summer breeze, and Chloe found herself standing beside the Marchioness, who put her slightly from her ease, so heavily was she with child, and with such a title.
“I greatly enjoyed the ceremony, and I am most grateful for our invitation,” said the Marchioness. “How did you manage to organise the wedding in such a short time?”
Chloe blushed slightly, fully aware of the hint that was being given. “We were just determined to make the arrangements,” she said with an innocent smile. “Really, when it all comes down to it, there is not much that comprises a wedding, is there?”
“And how is Anthony?” Her husband was asking Luke in a low voice, but loud enough for their wives to hear. “I have not heard from him myself. Have you seen him?”
The Marquis shook his head sadly. “I am sorry to say that I have not – but my apologies, we are keeping you from your other devoted guests! Congratulations again Wandorne, Lady Wandorne.”
Luke took his wife’s arm in his own, and started to walk off to greet other friends.
Chloe moved closer to her husband, and whispered. “Anthony?”
“The Count of Stratham, you know,” replied Moses quietly.
She rolled her eyes. Were men to ever be so opaque, could it not be trained out of them? “Yes, thank you, I remember my first introduction to the Count and his sister quite well! I meant, who is Anthony?”
For a moment, Moses hesitated. Then he jerked his head slightly to indicate that a quieter place around the church was a better locale for that conversation.
Interest piqued, Chloe smiled and nodded at well wishers as they strode around the churchyard, and within a minute they had left the majority of their wedding guests behind.
“Well?” She asked immediately.
Moses chuckled. “You were not underestimating your level of curiosity, were you?”
Chloe had no reply save for a kiss, and that she gave more than willingly. When they eventually broke apart, Moses’s eyes had dilated and he moved towards her, hands outstretched.
“Not now!” Chloe hissed with glee. “You will have plenty of time for all that later! Now, tell me about Anthony. What has happened? Why are you worried about him?”
It was one of Moses’s most endearing features, she decided. When he cared, he cared deeply and forever. Anthony had been a childhood friend, he had said, and she could see now that he was truly worried about him. His forehead was crinkled, and he bit his lip unconsciously.
“Anthony and I were not just friends, we were business partners,” Moses said quietly, taking Chloe’s hand in his and walking slowly throughout the churchyard. “We discovered three weeks ago that one of our investments was going to go bad. Very bad. We decided to get out.”
A chilly wind blew through them, and Chloe shivered. “And after you got out of the investment, what happened?”
Moses sighed. “That is just it. I managed to get out in time, sold my interest to another, but Anthony … I do not think that he was as fortunate. The shipping company went bankrupt two days ago, and I have not heard from Anthony since. If he was not able to extricate himself in time …”
His voice trailed off, and Chloe shook her head sadly. “We shall have to pray that he did. Why not extend our time in London to call on him? The continent will still be waiting for us.”
Moses squeezed her hand. “You truly are the best of women, you know that? Thank you for storming into my house.”
Chloe laughed, and her heart soared at the thought, at the knowledge that he loved her. “You do not have to thank me! Believe it or not, I believe that I knew the moment that I saw you.”
“Knew what?” Moses asked, as they turned a corner in the churchyard and started to make their way back to the chattering crowds.
“That I would have no choice but to love you,” she declared, and her husband raised his eyebrows at her quizzically.
“That does not sound nearly so romantic as you think it does,” he said. “No choice? My darling Chloe, you always have a choice.”
Chloe smiled to herself. Was this the moment? It did seem perfectly formed for such a revelation, and she had been keeping the secret now for six full weeks. It did not seem fair that he was unable to share in her joy, in their joy.
“Well, I do not know that I quite agree,” she said carefully. “I would say that I did not have a choice the moment that I discovered that I was pregnant … with your child.”
Moses stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her in utter amazement. “Discovered … pregnant. Pregnant with our child?”
“Yes!” Chloe laughed as she nodded her head at his astonishment.
He looked her up and down. “Are - are you sure?”
Her laugh grew as she saw incomprehension blossom into excitement, mingled with disbelief. “As sure as I can be! We have not always been as careful as we should have been. Of course, I will need to see a doctor to be entirely sure, but – ”
Chloe’s words were stopped with a kiss, passionate and yet reverent, from her husband. “A baby,” he said emotionally, barely able to speak without his voice cracking. “Our baby, oh Chloe!”
She returned his kiss with ardour, for what gift could she ever give him that he would appreciate more?
“I cannot wait to see if it is a girl or a boy,” he whispered, holding her face in his hands. “Do you know – is it possible for you to tell? Can you feel it inside you? Do you feel any different?”
Chloe smiled at his excited words, and felt as though the sunshine in the sky could not hold so much happiness as she did right at that moment. “I suppose I shall have to run an experiment to compare … but I will have to carry many a child before I have enough empirical data to accurately hypothesise. Although my mother was a twin, and her mother before her, so you never know…”
“Oh, Chloe!” His kiss was deep and powerful, rocking her to the core and making her want to melt in his arms as she had done time and again in secret before their wedding. “You are the best natural philosopher I ever knew.”
“And yet not the best sailor,” Chloe managed with a laugh as Moses kissed her hands and held her close. “Though being beached with a baronet has led to the greatest happiness that I could ever know.”
* * *
Concerned about Count Anthony? Continue his story in his own Ravishing Reg
encies story in Catastrophe with a Count – read on for the first chapter…
You can also read Adena’s story in Marooned with a Marquis!
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Catastrophe with a Count
Chapter One
After managing to tread water for what felt like hours, it was the wave that finally pushed Anthony, Count of Stratham’s head under water that finally caused despair to enter his heart.
Spluttering and coughing, tasting the burn of saltwater in his lungs and retching in his throat, his eyes darted once more to the tantalising close shore. If he could only get there, the destination that he left England for – but the current was strong, and he was tired. No one could fight drowning this long.
Finally his boots slipped from his exhausted feet, to his relief. Ah, but what did it matter, Anthony thought, dazed with confusion and exhaustion, the hot Caribbean sun beating down on him.
If one is to drown, why not do it quickly? None of this flailing about, attempting to rescue oneself. And what was the point, after all? What did he have to save himself for? What waited for him on those distant golden shores?
Nothing but shame, ruin, and scandal.
Misery overwhelmed him, until he could not tell whether it was seawater or tears that were staining his face with salt.
He should never have come here. Considered paradise by some, Anthony could view it with nothing but disgust and contempt, for there did Mr Fairchild live. Mr Un-Fairchild.
Another wave interrupted his thoughts, causing him to splutter once more and try to bring hot air into his lungs, but he struggled.
As soon as the news of his bankruptcy had reached him, Anthony had taken the last of his money, borrowed a few guineas from friends who could be trusted to be discrete, and started his long and trying journey to Port Royal, Jamaica.
He had to find Mr Fairchild. It was all his fault, and he must be paid to pay for his crimes.
And so the last thought in Anthony’s mind, before he drifted out of consciousness and into the welcoming arms of the deep and the pull of the sea, was that come hell or high water, he would pay Mr Fairchild back for what he has done.
So convinced was Anthony that he had drowned that when he found his lungs coughing up an inordinate amount of seawater, and sensed that he was lying on his back, he could not quite comprehend what had happened.
“Whahst the…”
Not the most eloquent speech, he thought to himself hazily, but speech nonetheless. And that meant a mouth to speak and ears to hear. And a mind, a mind to notice these things. And that could only mean…
Spluttering out water, Anthony opened his eyes and saw a white sail fluttering madly in the stormy wind above him. His palms moved, and found sand. It was warm, and as he brushed it between his fingers, he could feel small exotic and unusual shells.
Had…he had he made it?
“Ah, here he is.” A head appeared above him, with a grey beard and an appraising look. “Now then, sir, how are you feeling? Are you hurt in any place?”
Anthony heard the words, but disregarded them. If he had indeed made it to Port Royal, then that could only mean one thing: that he could find Mr Fairchild and make him pay.
“Fairchild?” He managed, trying to sit up and finding that his head swam as he did so. “Where is Fairchild?”
His eyes felt almost blinded by the sunlight, but after blinking a few times he saw a crowd, well dressed and elegant, standing in a semi-circle about twelve feet from him, as though he were a mildly entertaining show but could also bite if they got too close. There were curious looks, and a few admiring looks from the ladies.
Anthony’s pride swelled ever so slightly. Well, it was a comfort to know that the Count of Stratham could still gain attention, even as a bedraggled and half-drowned stranger.
“I am looking,” he tried again, “for – ”
“Yes, we heard you,” said the man kneeling beside him, and with a strong arm he helped Anthony to his feet. “Now can you stand on your own?”
Standing, sitting, drowning, it was all the same to Anthony. He had travelled over four thousand miles with just one thought in mind, and that was to find Mr Fairchild.
“I have come a long way to see him,” he said, gazing out at the crowd and finding to his surprise that few gentlemen were willing to catch his eye. “I must speak with Mr Fairchild immediately.”
There was movement in the crowd and it caught his eye – and it kept his attention when a strikingly beautiful lady with golden hair that shone in the blustery sunlight stepped through to the front of the crowd.
Anthony smiled, and saw with pleasure the effect that it had on the young ladies either side of the woman who had stepped forward. He had always been considered handsome, with his dark cropped hair and his broad shoulders, but typically his admirers knew of his title and rank. It was rather flattering to receive such adoring looks from ladies who knew none of this.
And then his stomach contracted as he remembered that without his fortune, it was unlikely any of these delectable women would give him the time of day.
He focused back on the woman who had stepped forward. She did not seem impressed by his physique, and if anything looked a little disdainful, which piqued Anthony’s interest.
“My lady,” he said with a deep bow and a winning smile.
She did not return the smile nor the courtesy. “What is it that you want with Mr Fairchild?”
Anthony’s smile disappeared. “I have come from England for the express purpose of speaking with him, Miss…?”
“Fairchild,” she said smoothly, with a wry and knowing smile that caused a shudder to ricochet through Anthony’s chest. “Miss Nerissa Fairchild. And who shall I say is looking for him?”
Anthony swallowed, and felt the burn of seawater at the back of his throat coupled alongside the burn of interest that this beautiful woman sparked in him. My my, so old Fairchild has a daughter. It was difficult to remind himself just how angry he was at Mr Fairchild when looking at Nerissa. She was tall herself, with an elegance not often seen in one so young.
She was staring at him, one eyebrow raised, and it was only then that Anthony recalled that he had not actually replied.
Anthony focused on his hatred of the Fairchilds, both of them, and glared at Nerissa. “Because of the catastrophe your father has caused, I am here to ruin him – as I have been ruined.”
Nerissa Fairchild swallowed, and fiddled with the strap of her reticule in her lap. It was almost impossible to concentrate in the heat of the day at Port Royal, and the court house had not been properly aired for over a month, and it showed.
Over twenty people were packed in to watch the proceedings, and it had already been a long hour waiting for this Count to turn up.
Nerissa felt anger rise in her stomach, and tried to ignore him. It was ridiculous, to hate this man so much when she barely knew him. But then, all she knew of him was ill: his determination to ruin her father and his bitterness at his own loss.
Her gaze flickered over to her father. He was standing there in the dock, waiting. She bit her lip. It was not good for him, this waiting around, this tension. It was causing her own heart rate to rise, fluttering in her chest with nervous anxiety. What was it doing to him?
“…a great scandal in London, I heard…”
The chatter of the Port Royal ton mingled around her, and Nerissa fought every instinct within her to look around and see who had just spoken. What did it matter, anyway? Her reputation was safe, just about, as long as the judge found in their favour.
But if he did not? If her father was ruined in turn, and left them destitute – what then?
Nerissa swallowed once more. Her throat was dry, and it hurt, but there was nothing she could do. She would not le
ave to find a drink for her parched throat, not when they had waited so long for this Count.
Another flicker of irritation rose in her soul. Where was he? So eager was he to force her father into the dock, now he was late?
“…could have done something, I am sure. Mr Fairchild never was one to…”
Nerissa did turn around this time, and the gentleman behind her trailed off with an embarrassed look.
She turned to face the court once again, blinking to ensure that the tears rising did not fall. Her father had done nothing wrong, could no one see that? As bookkeeper of the Olympic Shipping Company, he had been unable to prevent the bankruptcy, and it was not his fault that so many had lost their incomes and fortunes.
Only this ridiculous Count had thought to blame his own misfortune on another.
The door was thrown open, and the very man on whom her thoughts ran strode into the building with an air of entitlement and pride.
The chatter in the court room grew, but Nerissa said nothing. She just stared at the man, curiously. So, this was the gentleman who was out to ruin her father. What a shame he was so handsome: a fine mouth, proud eyes, and an air of wealth and education that few in Port Royal had in truth.
You just had to look at this man once and you would see breeding and good taste. But the more Nerissa looked, the more bitterness she saw, and it had twisted his features, fading his good looks.
The judge entered, and Nerissa rose with the rest of the gallery here to watch the case. It was only then that she noticed how tall the Count was, compared to those around him.
“Plaintiff, come forward.” Judge Matthews spoke in an almost bored voice as he took his seat, and Nerissa bit her lip once more. If he was not going to pay attention, perhaps he would misunderstand the situation, and find against her father. “Pronounce your claim.”
Beached with a Baronet Page 9
