The Substitute Countess

by Lyn Stone

  “Two o’clock.” Infinitely glad to have something positive to do, Jack nodded. “Meet you at Gibb’s landing?”

  “In one hour,” Neville agreed. Though the man moved methodically, seemingly without haste, Jack noted that he wasted not a motion. He envied Neville’s ability to remain calm in a crisis, but then, it wasn’t Neville’s wife who was missing.

  Two hours later, they were making their way down the Thames to the channel in a modest little trade vessel on which Jack had purchased passage to Calais.

  “First, we’ll question the coachmen. Every man, until we find the one she hired,” Neville said, his gaze flitting over the other boats crowding the river.

  “What if no one remembers her?” Jack asked, stating his worst fear, recalling his lack of success with the past coachmen. “What if we can’t find her?”

  Neville smiled and slapped him on the back. “Of course we’ll find her, Jack! This will be nothing compared to tracking most of the fellows I’ve ferreted out.”

  “When you were a spy?”

  “Intelligencer,” Neville corrected absently. “We have her assumed name, excellent description, down to what she is wearing and carrying with her. We also know how much money she has, which will determine how she travels and how far she can go on it. With that much information, I could find damn near anybody.”

  Jack wished to God he shared Neville’s confidence in his ability, but he dared not question it aloud.

  Neville paced beside him as Jack tried to rid himself of the tightness in his muscles. “Surprises me you’d forgive her, Jack. Must be love,” he said with a smirk.

  “I don’t care what she did. I just want her back. I do love her, which means I have to take her as she is, faults and all. Why didn’t I see that before?”

  “Excellent conclusion, however late in its arrival. I think you had the girl on a very high pedestal, a very difficult position for her to maintain,” Neville observed.

  “She forgave me for marrying her for the money I thought was hers. I can forgive her for this.”

  Neville issued a short laugh. “So you just tell her that she’s let off the hook, and you think everything will be rosy from there on?” He shook his head.

  “Why shouldn’t it be?” Jack asked, stopping to face Neville with the question.

  “You don’t broach that topic at all with her. Never bring it up again unless you want another squabble.”

  Neville sighed and walked on as he continued speaking. “When you and she were newly married, you viewed Laurel as a little saint with no flaws.”

  “I did not!” Jack argued, then realized his friend was right. “Well, for the most part I suppose I did, but later there were things about her that I wished were different.”

  Neville smiled. “List them now, my friend, and never mention them again, especially not to her.”

  Jack nodded. “Well, she showed her intimidation when it didn’t suit. Several times, when it wouldn’t do at all. But we had that discussion and she saw the wisdom of bluffing it out.” He pondered, finding it difficult to come up with many detractions. “Sometimes she presumed on duties that weren’t hers. But she corrected herself when I insisted.”

  “Oh, my lord, Jack,” Neville growled. “You must stop trying to fix her so you can keep holding her up to perfection. It’s a wonder she didn’t shoot you before she left!”

  He pursed his lips and pinned Jack with a glinty-eyed glare as he elaborated. “In future you will see more of these little things that make you roll your eyes and groan. Trust me on this.”

  “Speaking from experience, are you?” Jack thought the baroness must be the standard of perfection in a wife. A little amused, he raised an eyebrow in question.

  “Miranda is always late,” Neville informed him. “Never been on time for anything in her life. Now, there were times in my work when a half second’s delay could have meant the difference between life or death, so this made me cringe, as you might imagine.”

  “You brought her up short about that, I’m sure,” Jack said with a nod.

  “Ha. I wouldn’t have done that on a dare,” Neville said evenly. “You see, that lack of promptness is very much a part of who Miranda is, so I knew I simply had to adjust to it. Marriage is a continuous compromise of these little things. Think of your own faults that Laurel must tolerate. God knows you have those!”

  “What faults?” Jack demanded.

  “This bloody pacing of yours for one thing. It’s always driven me mad, so I can well envision what it must do to a wife who must accommodate to it all the time.” He took a deep breath and glanced sidewise at Jack. “And there’s that bloody temper of yours. That’s what sent her running.”

  “Granted,” Jack ground out through gritted teeth.

  Neville went on. “You can also be overbearing and you have no sense of fashion whatsoever.”

  “Well, thank you, Mr. Brummel! So I’m not flawless,” Jack grumbled. “Neither is she. Neither is anyone for that matter.”

  “My point precisely. But you want her back in any event. Selfish reasons, Jack? Sex? Household management? What?”

  Jack heaved a sigh. “I don’t think I can live without her. And she needs me. I just love her, damn it all.”

  “Well then, when you find her—”

  “Don’t try to change her,” Jack interrupted, finishing the thought with a nod. “I’ve already decided that. Since I love her, perhaps her particular faults are part of the reason why I do. She would not be who she is without them.”

  “Good for you,” Neville said. “If she proves to be as deceptive as you thought at first, you have to understand why she deceived you and learn to read her intent in future.”

  “Lord, I need a drink,” Jack muttered.

  Neville laughed and slung an arm around Jack’s shoulders. “They’ll drive us to it, and that’s a fact. C’mon, man, let’s see what sort of wicked liquid they stow on this tub.”

  “Probably rum that’ll have me casting up my liver.”

  Jack thought long and hard about their conversation as they crossed the channel. He vowed that Laurel would never hear a word of criticism out of his mouth, ever again, no matter what she did.

  He and Neville shared a tot of rum and drank in silence for a while. The self-styled expert on marriage had had his say, leaving Jack convinced that his own thinking had been on the right path, if not quite there.

  Neville had only clarified what Jack had already been thinking with regard to Laurel. He must love her just as she was and hope that she would return the favor.

  Only then, aboard the small packet and facing into the strong sea breeze, did Jack pause to think how he might approach Laurel once he reached her. If he knew Laurel, she wouldn’t fall into his arms, smiling thankfully because he had come after her.

  When he considered how he had threatened her and Hobson, he could hardly blame her if she turned him away. She had changed her name, and that meant she did not want to be found.

  * * *

  The evening of the next day, Jack fully realized what a daunting task he would have had if he had come alone, the questioning at every place hiring out coaches and describing Laurel when his French was so lacking. Thank God, Neville had agreed to come and assist.

  They had found no success as yet, but there were more coachmen—a great many more—to question tomorrow. Jack had great hopes of finding her here. They had taken a room for the night at one of the inns near the docks, a rough establishment, but reasonably clean. Neville had fallen asleep the moment he lay down, but Jack could not rest.

  Oddly enough, he didn’t feel the expected sting of resentment in having to ask for and accept the help of his friend for a second time. Perhaps he was mellowing a bit, learning to allow someone else to shoulder a part of his burdens. At least he was at last able to admit he couldn’t do everything by himself.

  One fault mitigated, he thought with a bitter smile. Maybe that was how it should be, altering his own flaws to make himsel
f a better mate for Laurel might prompt her to do the same for him.

  One thing he knew for certain. He could never give up until he found Laurel and she was safe in his arms. The emptiness he felt without her could not go on.

  He really had ceased to care whether she had deceived him at first. She had not known him then, just as he had not known her. Both of them had been concerned only with bettering their own lives.

  There would be no talk of forgiveness on his part. All he wanted was for her to come home, to be his wife again.

  The very thought of returning to Elderidge House without her could not be entertained, even for a moment. She was his one source of joy and contentment, the anchor that held him steady in the unfamiliar sea of responsibility.

  The old, too-familiar uneasiness with its plaguing constancy soon set him trodding back and forth upon the planks of the inn’s floor, his insides screaming for action, his mind dragged down in the undertow of worry.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Laurel chafed at the delay in Mrs. Grierson’s decision. She wished to heaven the woman would make up her mind. They had languished here in Cagnes-sur-Mer for four whole days. While the surroundings were unsurpassed in their beauty, Laurel felt on edge, trapped betwixt the too-luscious land and the Ligurian Sea.

  The ancient port, so verdant and lovely at first with its swaying palm trees, rock-strewn shoreline and picturesque buildings, seemed cloying to her now. It reeked of holiday laziness, its languid horde of foreign inhabitants lacking any real sense of time or purpose.

  Laurel craved action and diversion. She wondered at times if Jack’s dislike of inertia had transferred itself to her. She began to understand and appreciate his innate urge to tackle any and every issue that presented itself simply to keep from standing still and stagnating.

  Mrs. Grierson had promised to consider what they would do next as she took her morning constitutional. She had insisted on going out alone again. Laurel didn’t worry about her since there were so many families about, either in residence or enjoying a holiday.

  Now that Mrs. Grierson had returned from her stroll in the sun, perhaps she would have an answer at last as to when and how they would leave France.

  The lady made free with Laurel’s room, treating it as a part of her suite, coming and going as she pleased. Laurel didn’t mind, but even if she had, it would have made little difference.

  The accommodations were of fine quality in the old mansion newly converted to an inn catering to well-to-do tourists. She learned there were quite a few of those now that the war was over and everyone felt free to travel. The Grand Tour was no longer restricted to wealthy scions out to add exotic sights and culture to their education.

  Laurel felt an eagerness to get on with their tour and experience new things and places. She hoped the busyness of it all would help to banish the hopelessness that overtook her whenever she thought of Jack.

  Dreamy-eyed, pink-cheeked and windblown, Mrs. Grierson had swept in as usual without knocking. “I declare this is the most wonderful day, and it has only just begun!”

  It was nearly noon. Laurel could not contain her impatience. “So what do you think? Do we go over the Alps, ma’am, or do we take ship for Livorno?”

  “Neither for the nonce,” her employer replied dreamily, tossing her reticule on Laurel’s bed and flopping down beside it with a merry grin.

  She was obviously delighted with her latest amble along the Promenade des Anglais, a favorite haunt for Englanders on holiday by the sea.

  Mrs. Grierson seemed obsessed with that opulent trail of late, so much so that Laurel feared she would never agree to leave it behind. She suspected a certain gentleman was the main attraction for the widow Grierson.

  “The ship would prove faster, and I’m not certain either of us would stand the journey well across the mountains,” Laurel said. “Most do that for the adventure of it, I think. I understand it is arduous and most uncomfortable, especially for ladies.”

  Mrs. Grierson appeared too preoccupied to be listening to a word Laurel uttered. In fact, she was acting like a tabby with a secret source of cream.

  Almost since the day of their arrival here, the woman had shed at least a decade of her age. It was as if she left all her cares in the coach that had brought them.

  “I have the most remarkable news,” she said to Laurel with a girlish laugh and a confiding tone. “You will never guess what has just happened! I must tell you or burst!”

  Before Laurel could say anything to that, Mrs. Grierson rushed on. “Paolo has proposed! I am to be married!” She clasped her hands under her double chin. “Isn’t it wonderful, Laura?”

  Shock struck Laurel silent. Married? To the Italian gentleman whom they had only met the day they arrived? He, Mrs. Grierson and Laurel had dined together almost every meal since, but this was entirely too soon for any close attachment to have developed, especially an engagement.

  Paolo Giordano seemed haughty to her, a man with the occasional sardonic smile and very little to say. Laurel thought he might consider his attitude that of a romantic. To her, he just seemed odd. A strange match that would be, given Mrs. Grierson’s overly effusive nature.

  However, he was not ugly, perhaps handsome by some lights, and at least a decade younger than Mrs. Grierson. Also his manner of dress and speech did indicate wealth and privilege. Laurel could not fault Mrs. Grierson for seizing the opportunity to make another marriage, especially when it seemed prompted more by affection than the man’s worldly assets. Mrs. Grierson rarely gave a thought to money and so, should fare much better with a husband who had plenty of it.

  Laurel’s main qualm was that the two hardly knew one another. She supposed they must have made the most of their time walking out together each morning. Still, how much could one learn about another person in four days?

  Then she remembered her own brief contact with Jack before their hasty marriage. Laurel figured she had no room to object on the grounds of their short acquaintance. They hardly needed her approval anyway, so any protestations she made would prove useless.

  But more to the point, Laurel wondered what this marriage would mean to her with regard to her employment as Cornelia Grierson’s companion? A new bride would not need or want another woman’s company.

  Mrs. Grierson reached out for Laurel’s hand as if she realized what troubled her. “You are not to fret for yourself, my dear. I shall write you the grandest letters of recommendation ever written, and I know at least three widows in London who will welcome your company. You may have your choice of them!”

  Laurel found her voice and forced a smile. “Thank you, ma’am, and may I be the first to wish you happy.”

  She felt as if a ball of lead had settled in her stomach. Where was she to go now, and what should she do? Certainly not back to London, and she hadn’t enough money left to settle herself anywhere. She had barely enough to continue on to Italy alone and would have none left to live on once she arrived.

  Laurel really wished she had not bent to Mrs. Grierson’s order that she purchase two new gowns and matching shoes for their journey before leaving Paris. She would need that money. Perhaps she could sell the clothes.

  Mrs. Grierson slid off the bed and began to dither about the room. She lifted a fichu Laurel had carelessly tossed aside to be laundered. Then suddenly she turned. “Oh, in my excitement, I almost forgot to tell you! There was a gentleman asking after you as I came into the hotel.”

  “For me?” Laurel gasped.

  “Um-hmm. Quite by chance, I overheard him speaking with the manager, Monsieur Beaumont, asking for Laura Smythe, so I interrupted them and said you would be down for the noon meal.”

  She lifted the small timepiece she wore on a chain. “Oh, my, we’ve only a quarter hour until it’s served. Paolo is meeting us in the dining room.” She plucked at the graying curls peeking from the edge of her bonnet. “I wish we had time to do something with my hair.”

  Laurel had frozen in place. No one knew her
as Laura Smythe except Mrs. Grierson herself, the Nicots in Paris and Paolo Giordano. No one would be looking for her other than Jack.

  “Wh...what did he look like?” she stammered. “The man who asked for me?”

  Mrs. Grierson laughed. “Oh, a rough-looking sort, that one. Untidy, he was. Gruff, too. Someone’s messenger, no doubt. Never fear, child. I shall be with you when you see what he wants.” She swept out of Laurel’s room through the connecting door to her own.

  Laurel felt sick. Jack must have hired someone to find her and fetch her back for trial. That was the only explanation. Now that she considered it, he would never come for her himself.

  Besides, the description did not fit Jack at all. But he could look rough and untidy. And he certainly could be gruff. No, she decided, it would not be him.

  “I want you to have this,” Mrs. Grierson said as she glided back into Laurel’s room. She quickly pinned a brooch of jet and pearls at the neck of Laurel’s gown and stepped back. “Lovely!”

  Laurel touched the pin. “I can’t accept this, ma’am.” But maybe she could. If she sold it, she might have enough money to...to what? Run? Where, then? If someone had detected her whereabouts here, he could likely find her anywhere she fled.

  “Of course you can!” Mrs. Grierson exclaimed. “It’s only a mourning brooch I had made after Clive died. I shan’t wear it ever again, and it should continue to have good use. Besides, it looks very well with your new gown, though I wish you would wear a bit of color now and then. Or hasn’t your mourning period passed?” She squinted at Laurel. “How long has it been, dear?”

  “Long enough.” Laurel sighed, wishing the grief would go away with time. She feared it never would. Something precious to her had died, though it was only Jack’s love for her that had expired.

  There was nothing for it but to go back to England and face what she must. Even transportation to New Wales would be preferable to running for the rest of her life, constantly looking over her shoulder for someone pursuing, wondering if Jack would ever give up and forget what he thought she had done to him. She would go back. At least she would see Jack again, for all the good that would do her.