The Earl's Inconvenient Wife

by Julia Justiss

  ‘This way, Gifford.’ Through the roaring in his ears, the eerie sense of unreality that suffused him, he heard Lady Sayleford’s voice. ‘Give them some room, please, ladies and gentlemen,’ she continued, her hand on his arm as she led him out of the parlour.

  ‘Brandy,’ she ordered the butler who followed after them, before pushing Giff towards a sofa in a room he vaguely noted was the family’s private back parlour. ‘Sit here, catch your breath.’

  ‘Admit the Lattimar brothers,’ she told Overton as he returned from the sideboard with a brimming glass, ‘but no one else. Temperance, help him with that.’

  Temper put her hand up to reinforce Giff’s trembling one, until the hot burn of the brandy down his throat steadied him.

  Temper’s brothers entered, their faces grave. ‘Gregory told me what happened, Giff,’ Christopher said. ‘I’m so very sorry.’

  ‘What can we do to help?’ Temper asked, cradling his fingers around the whisky glass. ‘You’ll want to go to Fensworth as soon as possible.’

  ‘Yes. I must prepare to leave at once. My mother...the solicitor says she was so distraught when they broke the news, they had to dose her with laudanum. She’ll be devastated. She doted on Robert.’

  ‘She has another, equally capable son,’ Temper said stoutly.

  He managed a grim smile. ‘Not that she ever seemed aware of it.’

  ‘She will be now,’ Lady Sayleford said gently. ‘You’ll want your new wife to accompany you. Plan on taking my carriage for the first stage; you can arrange for post chaises for the rest.’

  He nodded distractedly. ‘Yes, I’ll have Temper and her maid travel later, but I must ride now, so I can reach Fensworth as quickly as possible.’ Turning to Christopher, he said, ‘I’ll send you my notes on the factory bill. Can you take over attending the hearings for me?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll send you reports, since we don’t know how long you’ll need to be...away.’

  Gregory froze, his eyes widening. ‘Hell and damnation—excuse me, ladies! Giff won’t be coming back to Parliament, Christopher. At least, not to the House. Behold, before you, the new Earl—and Countess—of Fensworth!’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Returning late the next morning from a flurry of shopping for appropriate garments—the last time she’d lost a relation close enough to require the wearing of mourning having occurred when she was thirteen—Temper began directing her maid to organise and pack the few articles of clothing she currently possessed that were suitable to wear on the trip into Lincolnshire.

  While she was engaged at that task, Overton came in to inform her that Lady Sayleford was awaiting her in the downstairs parlour.

  Curious what Giff’s godmother might require of her—and surprised the Dowager Countess had called on her, rather than sending her a note requesting that she present herself in Grosvenor Square—she quickly tucked back the stray strands of hair that had escaped her careless coiffure and hurried down to the parlour.

  ‘Lady Sayleford,’ she said, curtsying as she entered. ‘What can I do for you? Would you like tea?’

  ‘No tea, thank you. I came to see if there was anything I could do to assist your departure,’ the Countess said, rising to return Temper’s curtsy. ‘Although you know,’ she said as she resumed her seat, ‘I should now curtsy first. You outrank me, the Fensworth Earldom predating the Sayleford honours by a century.’

  Temper laughed ruefully. ‘I’m afraid it’s going to take some adjusting. Within a space of twenty-four hours, I’ve gone from being “Miss Lattimar” to “Mrs Newell” to “Countess of Fensworth”. When the shopkeepers “miladyed” me this morning, I kept looking around to see which titled female had arrived.’

  ‘How is Gifford doing?’

  ‘Honestly, I don’t know. I haven’t seen much of him. After the guests left the reception yesterday, he went off with Gregory to expedite the transfer of my dowry funds to his bank, then back to his lodgings to pack up the rest of his things. Our decision to marry having been...accelerated by events, we’d not yet had time to decide where to set up our own household. Giff intended to stay here at Vraux House in the interim.’

  ‘Not much of a wedding night,’ Lady Sayleford observed.

  ‘No,’ Temper answered shortly, not about to reveal that the doors between their adjoining bedchambers had remained closed.

  ‘I’m glad that he’ll be able to tap some funds immediately.’ The Countess shook her head. ‘Poor Gifford has been coping on a pittance for years. Now, suddenly, he’ll have all the expense of managing an estate.’

  ‘If the transition from commoner to countess was—disorienting—for me, it has to be so much worse for him. Saddled now with the responsibility for the care and upkeep of an inheritance he knows hardly anything about.’

  ‘I never approved of how his parents focused all their attention on his brother, virtually ignoring my godson. He should have been taught about the estate from childhood. After all, with his brother having not yet married and produced another heir, Gifford was next in line. His father shouldn’t have left him in ignorance about how things stood.’

  ‘It never seemed to me that either parent valued him as they ought.’

  ‘No. It’s going to be a difficult adjustment for him, taking up duties for which he has been given no adequate preparation. Having those new duties compel him to leave London at such a crucial moment, with the factory bill he’s been working so hard for soon to come to a vote. Then, once he can return, having to find his place among an entirely different set of political associates in the Lords.’ She paused. ‘He will need help and support, my dear. Which makes me thankful that he managed to wed you before this happened.’

  Temper gave a rueful laugh. ‘I shall do everything I can to lighten his burden, certainly. But I can’t help thinking that if he had become the Earl of Fensworth before the...contretemps with Miss Avery...he would have been so besieged by matchmaking mamas and eager maidens of quality, he would have ended up marrying a woman much better suited to becoming a politician’s wife and a countess than I am.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that, my dear,’ Lady Sayleford said with a smile. ‘Gifford would look for more than just “suitable” qualities in a wife. So I hope you will be...gentle with him. He’s in love with you, you know.’

  ‘In love with—!’ Temper echoed, astounded. ‘Lady Sayleford, I am certain you are mistaken! He still sees me as the troublesome little sister of his best friend. A madcap whose disreputable exploits dragged him into a situation that, according to his overly fine sense of honour, could only be resolved by marriage.’

  ‘You are a bit too prone to act or speak before you think,’ Lady Sayleford acknowledged. ‘But you also possess courage, intelligence, compassion and a fierce independence, traits that will endure and will make you a valuable wife and a worthy countess. And I assure you, though of course he hasn’t realised it yet, Gifford does, in fact, love you. Why else would he have gone to so much trouble to ensure you had a Season? Or have kept so close a watch over you? Or so quickly decided that the only answer to Miss Avery’s treachery was to marry you at once?’

  Chuckling softly, she shook her head. ‘So I repeat, be gentle with Gifford. He is worthy of your loyalty and your deepest consideration. Now,’ she said, rising, ‘I’ll return you to your packing. My coachman is prepared to leave as soon as you are ready.’

  Still flabbergasted, Temper rose as well. ‘Remember,’ Lady Sayleford said, pressing her hand as she walked out. ‘The key to your happiness—and his—lies in your own hands. And I must say, I’ve never sponsored a more entertaining debut.’

  Scarcely knowing what to reply to those parting words, Temper merely curtsied as the Countess made her departure. Sinking back on to the sofa, she stared into the distance, trying to wrap her mind around what she’d just been told.

  Gifford Newell—no, the Earl o
f Fensworth—was in love with her? She simply couldn’t credit it. She knew he desired her. She was pretty sure he liked her and she was certain that she amused and entertained him. But...love her?

  If anyone other than Lady Sayleford had uttered such nonsense, she would have laughed in her face. But...the omnipotent Lady Sayleford, who knew everything about everyone?

  Still, Gifford Newell was her godson. Perhaps her fondness for him had skewed her perceptions.

  But what if she was right...if Giff truly had fallen in love with her...? Even though he didn’t know it yet?

  Putting her hands to her aching temples, Temper shook her head. She wouldn’t, couldn’t think about that possibility now. She was still struggling to comprehend all the implications of going in a few short hours from a maid to a politician’s wife to the wife of a peer.

  Whatever else he was or might be, Gifford had been first and foremost her friend. A friend who had been saddled with a heavy burden he’d not been trained to handle, had had the new calling he’d come to love snatched away from him and was dealing with the shock of losing almost his entire family in one blow.

  Her first task, as both wife and friend, was to help him weather those catastrophes.

  The question of love, and what she was going to do about the ever-increasing pull of passion between them, would have to wait.

  * * *

  A week later, after several days travelling in a series of jolting hired vehicles, Temper’s carriage halted in front of Fensworth House. With a solid central block flanked by two wings, all constructed of Elizabethan brick, it had a timeless quality...though the grey skies reflected in the thousand panes of the mullioned glass windows gave it a look of fatigue and sadness, too.

  Small wonder, when it had lost both master and heir at a blow.

  Wondering where the new master might be, Temper let the post boy hand her down and walked up the entry steps, her maid trailing behind.

  She had to knock twice before the door was answered—by what looked to be a housemaid. Who froze, gazing awestruck at Temper’s fashionable cloak and bonnet, before hurriedly dropping a curtsy. ‘Can I help you, ma’am?’

  With the butler nowhere in sight, Temper concluded that Fensworth didn’t often receive callers. ‘I’m...Lady Fensworth,’ she said, still finding it hard to identify herself by that name. ‘Is Lord Fensworth at home?’

  Her eyes widening, the girl took a step back. ‘Oh!’ she breathed, once again staring at Temper. ‘You be the wild beauty Master Gifford up and married!’

  So that was the staff’s assessment of the younger son’s bride. Suppressing a wry smile at that frank assessment, Temper realised that her first job would be to demonstrate to the staff that, however wild a bride they might think her, she meant to be the unquestioned mistress of the house.

  A quick gaze around the hall solidified that intention. Knowing that the estate had been purse-pinched for years, she’d expected the furnishings might be somewhat shabby and they were—the aged window hangings needed replacing, the carpet was worn and the furniture dated from the last century. But poverty was no excuse for the layer of dust sitting atop the mahogany hall table, or the grit she felt under the soles of her travelling boots.

  Either Giff’s mother had been too absorbed in her own concerns to bother about housekeeping—or the staff thought the ‘wild beauty’ who had unexpectedly become their mistress would be too ignorant to properly run a household.

  Before she could decide how to proceed, a tall, stooped man in the garb of a butler approached from a door opening on to one of the wings. ‘You may go, Maisie,’ he said to the maid, who bobbed another curtsy and scurried off.

  Turning to Temper, he bowed. ‘You must be the new Lady Fensworth. Welcome to Fensworth House, your ladyship. I’m Mixton, the butler.’

  ‘Thank you, Mixton. Is his lordship at home now?’

  ‘No, your ladyship. He and the steward left early this morning to inspect the northern fields. He is usually gone most of the day, sometimes not returning until late evening, but I’ll send a groom out to let his lordship know you’re here.’

  ‘Thank you—but tell him he need not change his plans. I’ll see him whenever he gets home. Now, if you’d have a footman bring up my luggage and send a maid up with hot water, I’d like to be shown to my rooms and settle in. And I’d like you to send the housekeeper up to see me.’

  ‘Of course, your ladyship. Had we known the time of your arrival, I should have mustered all of the staff to welcome you.’

  ‘I’m sure you would have. But the circumstances have been...most unusual, haven’t they? Please convey my sincere regrets to the whole staff on your loss. It must have been devastating for all of you.’

  A wave of sadness briefly creased the butler’s impassive countenance. ‘It was...difficult. The late Earl was a good master, and we shall all miss him. Miss them both.’

  Especially since they were now saddled with a mistress about whom they knew nothing and a master they knew scarcely any better.

  Which, however, was certainly not Giff’s fault.

  ‘You will find your new master to be a fine, capable, compassionate man, as well,’ she said. ‘How is the Dowager Countess?’

  ‘Still laid up in her rooms, your ladyship.’

  ‘Then you needn’t notify her of my arrival. I shall have my husband introduce us when it is convenient for them both.’

  ‘Very good. This way, your ladyship.’

  Following the butler up the stairs, Temper noted that the head male servant, at least, seemed to know his job. Glancing around at the state of the stairs and the dusty hall furniture she passed on the way to her room, she wasn’t sure about the housekeeper.

  Her suspicions deepened after she’d been shown into a spacious bedchamber—whose dusty curtains were drawn, whose bed linens had obviously not been aired and which boasted an equally dusty hearth on which no fire had been laid.

  The staff might not have known exactly when she would arrive, but there was no excuse for not having properly prepared a room for her. Temper frowned, girding herself for the confrontation to come.

  The housekeeper was either too old to do her job properly, incompetent—or perhaps so loyal to Giff’s mother, she fiercely resented her replacement? Or thought, with her former mistress prostrate with grief and the new mistress a ‘wild beauty’ with no knowledge of how to properly run a house, she might get away with neglecting her duties?

  Whatever the cause, the slovenly condition of the house must be rectified immediately. Giff had enough worries to deal with. At the very least, he deserved to return to a home that was clean, warmed and welcoming.

  * * *

  Half an hour later, a stout middle-aged woman knocked at her door. ‘I’m Mrs Hobbs, the housekeeper, your ladyship,’ she said, curtsying.

  ‘Good day, Mrs Hobbs. First, let me extend condolences on your loss. I imagine the entire household has been at sixes and sevens, and I do sympathise. However, I must tell you candidly that what I have seen of the house thus far has been...disappointing. I may be young, but I assure you, I have been thoroughly trained in how to maintain a gentleman’s establishment. And Fensworth is not just a gentleman’s establishment—it is the home of an earl! There is no excuse for the state of neglect I have observed.’

  The woman’s face paled, then reddened. ‘We... We’ve never had funds enough to properly staff—’

  ‘Funding will be no problem now. Send to the village for extra staff, if you must. But before my husband returns today, I expect all the floors in the public areas to have been swept, all the furniture dusted and polished, and a fire laid in any room his lordship might be expected to occupy. By the end of the week, I expect every room in the house to have been thoroughly cleaned, the linens aired and pressed, the window hangings taken down and brushed, and all the windows themselves washed. I will add any additional re
quirements I notice when you give me a tour of the house. What have you planned to serve his lordship for dinner tonight?’

  ‘We—Cook doesn’t prepare a formal meal. As his lordship usually comes in so late, we just send up a tray of cold meats and cheeses.’

  Incensed that they would treat Giff so shabbily, Temper shook her head. Obviously, his mother’s slighting assessment of her younger son had been communicated—openly or subtly—to the staff. Temper meant to ensure that evaluation was changed forthwith.

  ‘Henceforth,’ she said in icy tones, pinning the woman with a glare, ‘you will ensure that the cook prepares the Earl of Fensworth a proper meal every evening and have it ready to be served in the dining room. If he chooses to have a tray in his room, that will be his lordship’s decision.’

  ‘Y-yes, your ladyship,’ the woman stuttered.

  ‘My husband may not have been brought up to be the Earl—but Earl he is. I expect him to be served, and his home to be run, in a manner befitting his rank. If you and your staff are not capable of meeting that standard, I shall find staff who can. I trust I’ve made myself clear?’

  ‘Y-yes, your ladyship,’ Mrs Hobbs stammered again.

  ‘Good. Later this afternoon, after I’ve rested, I would like that tour of the house. Also a list of the menus Cook proposes to serve for the next week. You may go now.’

  Curtsying, the housekeeper turned and fled.

  Temper went over to the window to pull open the curtains, coughing at the cloud of dust disturbed by their movement. At least the window had a pleasant view over the park. Sighing, she sank down on the sofa.

  She might have made an enemy of the housekeeper, but there was no remedy for it. The woman needed to know that Temper was taking the reins and would hold them in a firm grip. If Mrs Hobbs resented the ‘outsiders’ who had arrived to take over from her beloved master and his heir, she would either get over it, or be replaced.

  Besides, dealing with one recalcitrant English housekeeper would be good training for managing the coterie of foreign servants Giff would insist were necessary to protect her, once she began her foreign travels.