by Fanny Walsh
Copyright
Copyright © 2019 by Fanny Finch
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Table of Contents
Copyright
Table of Contents
A Countess in her Own Right
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
The Extended Epilogue
Be A Part of Fanny Finch’s Family
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
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Chapter 1
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A Countess in her Own Right
Chapter 1
The flames enveloped everything. Mary could hear the screams of her mother and father as the fire spread.
She rushed around the top floor of the house, searching in vain for a way to slow the fire or, perhaps, to escape the house and get her family to safety.
She looked around wildly, catching a glimpse of the grounds surrounding the Earl of Linden’s home through an open window.
The flames had swallowed it, too, and was quickly making rubbish of her father’s land in mere moments. Panic seized Mary, and she raced to the stairs.
Before she could begin her descent, a large, flaming beam fell from the burning roof and crashed in front of her, blocking her access to the lower floor of the house.
She shrieked and ran back the way she came, desperate to find some way to save her family.
It was at that moment that she realized the sounds of the screams had ceased.
She prayed for her family’s safe rescue from the burning wreckage, but in her heart, she knew it was too late.
Just then, more of the roof threatened to cave on the very spot where she stood. She retraced her steps and moved towards her room, hoping the flames had not yet made refuge impossible.
The fire had just begun to climb along her bedroom walls, but there was a clear path to her window.
If she were to survive the fire, she must hope that the trellis outside her window remained intact enough so that she could descend to the ground below.
Coughing, she moved quickly to the open window. With dismay, she saw that the trellis was, indeed, demolished, and would be of no use to her.
She made her next decision in mere seconds. With a quick, silent prayer and a deep, smoke-filled breath, she leaped out the window.
Her limbs flailed as she rushed toward the ground. Upon impact, a searing pain shot through her left leg. Mary screamed…
…and bolted upright in her bed, her scream dying on her lips.
She gasped, trying to regain her bearings and steady her racing heartbeat.
It took her a moment to reconcile that she was, indeed, safe in her bedroom, and not still racing against the tragic fire that claimed the lives of her parents and brother one year prior.
A twinge of pain lingered in her left leg, and she rubbed it absently, cursing the horrible nightmares that still frequented her sleep.
She felt she should be far past continuing to relive the horror in her dreams. Wasn’t it enough that she missed her family dearly, without the endless reminder of what happened to them?
Shaking off the remnants of the dream, she swung her feet over the edge of the bed. Part of her wanted desperately to remain in her bed and rest. Despite having a full night’s sleep, the nightmare had robbed her mind and body of much-needed energy.
However, she knew that she had many responsibilities to which she must attend. As much as she wished, she knew doing such a thing would be entirely inappropriate.
Mary gingerly placed her feet on the cool, wooden floor, and the pain in her leg flared. Just then, her lady’s maid threw the bedroom door open, eyes wide.
“Are you alright, milady?” she asked.
“Oh, Susan, thank goodness. Yes, I am fine. Please, do come in,” Mary said, still trembling.
The maid stepped in quietly, closing the door behind her.
“Another dream.” Susan’s words were more of a statement than a question.
“A rather horrific one,” Mary admitted.
Susan crossed the room to the porcelain bowl filled with water sitting beside Mary’s vanity table. Satisfied that the water was clean, she plucked a clean cloth from her apron pocket and dipped it into the bowl.
She walked over to Mary and sat beside her on the bed, dabbing her face with the damp material.
“You look a terrible fright, milady,” she said. “Are you sure you are alright?”
“Yes, yes, please don’t fuss so,” Mary said, more harshly than she intended. She softened her tone. “Thank you for asking.”
Susan smiled, and Mary was relieved that her maid had not taken her abrasive words to heart.
“I could have your breakfast brought up to you if you wish,” Susan said, tucking the cloth away in her other apron pocket.
“That is very kind of you,” Mary said, “but the day waits for no one.” Not even terrified, brand new countesses with wild nightmares, she added silently.
Mary could feel Susan’s sympathetic gaze. This made her aware of the tears that had materialized.
She dabbed at her eyes and drew a shaky breath.
“No, the only thing that can be done is for me to go on as normal and handle the necessary business of the day.”
Susan nodded, still scrutinizing Mary’s features. At last, she crossed the room to Mary’s large wardrobe.
She withdrew Mary’s cane and selected a dark lavender mourning dress. She laid the items carefully on the end of Mary’s bed. Then, she began helping Mary out of her night garments.
When Susan finished, Mary regarded herself in the mirror. She didn’t hate purple hues, but she’d always preferred deep reds and golds.
But that was before tragedy gave her ample reason to mourn for, she felt, the rest of her life.
She frowned at the sight of the cane in her hand, and wished, not for the first time, that her broken leg had healed properly after her escape from her family’s burning home.
It was burdensome enough that the leg still often ached, but the limp with which she now lived was, in her eyes, very unladylike and unsightly.
Moreover, it attracted the wrong kind of attention - the kind that added to the cynics that doubted her ability to be a reliable, trustworthy heir to her father’s title and estate.
She often wondered if a miracle existed that would allow her to resolve the problematical limb. However, she also knew how foolish it was
to hold such a wild hope.
Susan smiled kindly at Mary. “Are you ready to go downstairs, milady?” she asked.
“Yes, I suppose I am,” Mary said. She leaned on her cane and walked with her lady’s maid toward the stairs. Her leg ached but she masked her pain as best she could.
Weakness was something she couldn’t afford to show anymore, not even in front of Susan.
***
After escorting Mary to her seat, Susan retreated to the back of the room, should her mistress need her. A footman served Mary breakfast.
Her leg still throbbed, and she winced. It didn’t escape Susan’s keen eyes.
“Should I send for the doctor?” she asked. Mary shook her head firmly.
“No, that is alright,” she said. “I believe I still have some of the medicine prescribed by the doctor who examined me right after the fire.”
“Would you like me to fetch it for you?” Susan pressed. Mary thought for a moment, then shook her head again.
“As I recall, it makes me quite sleepy,” she said, a little wistful. “I might ask for some tonight before bed, though.”
This answer seemed to satisfy Susan. Mary sighed, again doubting her ability to function as a proper countess.
“Could I have a moment of privacy, please?” she asked, and everyone in the room nodded and obeyed.
Left alone with her thoughts, Mary was finally able to let out a deep breath and allow her shoulders to droop.
It was her brother who had been raised and groomed for the position of the Earl of Linden, not her. Although her great-grandfather had ensured that either a male or a female could inherit the title - for fear of having no sons of his own - her brother had been the elder sibling.
With his death, she was made the heiress, and a countess in her own right.
Her father’s role was a rather large one to fill, even for the most prepared gentleman. And her brother had most certainly been that, and more. She could not begin to guess how she could ever hope to properly fill the position.
The tears returned as she thought of her brother. Apart from being the most suitable for the title, he had also been a wonderful brother. He had been very protective of her, and she had loved him fiercely.
Her parents had been very kind and loving, too. For the first few weeks after the fire, she felt at a loss, unable to continue even breathing without them.
Had it not been for her uncle’s unconditional love and support for her during that time, she was certain she would not have survived. Without Uncle Kent, she would have failed in everything, time and time again.
While the emptiness her family’s demise had left in her heart was no secret, she did her best to not say so aloud too often.
She feared persecution by those who questioned her abilities as the countess. She knew her place, and public grieving was improper for a lady, especially one in her position.
It would also serve as fuel for the nay-sayers to perpetuate rumors that her sentiment was only because she was ill-prepared to maintain her title.
Yet now that she was alone, she could not stop the tears welling up in her eyes from falling. And, relishing the opportunity to express her sadness, if only for a brief moment, she allowed herself to weep.
At last, she dried her tears and frowned at her cooling breakfast. While the food was delicious, her emotion had quelled her appetite.
But she knew that fainting halfway through the day from hunger would do little to detract attention from herself. So, she forced herself to eat a little something, albeit without enthusiasm.
As she nibbled at her food, she allowed her mind to wander. For a few moments, she let herself imagine that she was just another normal woman of four and twenty years.
In her fantasy, she was enjoying the life of courting and marrying a handsome young man. She’d always hoped to find the love of her life and live in bliss as a doting wife and mother.
This had been the plan for her life, until she became the sole surviving heir of her father.
Now, the land was all but useless. The fire had destroyed a great portion of it, and the rest was an incredible strain to salvage. Without her family’s guidance, she hardly saw how she could manage to become a proper countess.
She thought again of her uncle, and how grateful she was to him for all the guidance and comfort he gave her.
Her faith in her abilities to successfully grow into her role was little, but her uncle believed in her wholeheartedly. And she believed in him as well. She allowed this idea to give her a measure of comfort.
At last, she pulled herself from her thoughts, pushing her plate aside. Wallowing in her misery solved nothing. There was work to be done.
She called once again for Susan. She entered the room with two housemaids who murmured greetings and cleared away her breakfast dishes.
“Could you ask Johnson to bring the mail to the study presently?” Mary asked.
Susan agreed. “Would you like me to walk with you, milady?” she offered.
“No, thank you, Susan,” Mary said smiling. Susan nodded and left to find the butler. Mary rose slowly from the table and made her way to the study.
She had to suppress a groan with each step, and again she silently cursed her malady.
By the time she reached the room, the butler was waiting for her. He held the stack of mail in his hand, which he pressed against his abdomen as he bowed to her.
“Good morning, milady,” he said.
Mary smiled, taking the letters from the butler’s hand when he rose. “Good morning, Johnson.”
“Do you require anything else just now, my lady?” he asked.
“No, thank you. That will be all for now.”
“I shall be tending to duties nearby, should you need me again,” he said. He bowed again and left the room.
After the butler exited, Mary surveyed the letters. The first, she saw, was from her dearest friend, Beatrice Beaumont.
Smiling, she opened the letter. Beatrice, too, had lost her father, though in the completely different circumstance of a mugging that went wrong while he was abroad on business.
Their shared pain and struggles served to strengthen their friendship and bring them closer together.
Her smile faded, however, as she read her friend’s letter. Beatrice seemed convinced that her father’s death was more than a terrible accident.
She believed that her father had been targeted, with the intent being murder, not robbery. She felt sure that there was some ulterior motive for the crime and had employed investigators to seek evidence of this theory.
Mary could not fathom something so sinister, and she frowned, wondering at the inspiration for such a notion.
Unsure whether she could agree with Beatrice, Mary put aside her letter for the time being. She was not even certain she could say something comforting to her friend’s distressed words.
She decided that she would make a trip to visit her friend and discuss it with her. Perhaps she could help Beatrice see reason and bring her some comfort.
Sighing, she moved to the next letter. It was, she observed, from one of her father’s old business partners in London.
With a deep breath, she opened and read the letter. The very last thing she wanted to do was face her father’s partners just then. There was still so much about his business and affairs that she did not understand. Not to mention all the paperwork in which she constantly felt she was drowning.
Nevertheless, the letter requested her prompt attention to the matter, and she felt it best that she handled it in person.
She rose, tossing the letter onto the desk and stepping out of the study, dejected by her fate. If this was how her life was going to be from now on, then she had better get used to it, fast.
She asked for her carriage to be prepared and, soon after, she was departing for the city of London.
Chapter 2
A loud, aggressive thudding roused Duncan Winstanley, the Viscount of Tornight, from his sleep.
He sat up slowly, peeling a page from a book off his cheek. Disoriented, he glanced around, trying to understand what was happening.
After a brief moment, he realized that he was still in his office. He must have fallen asleep at his desk while studying some of his medical books the previous night.
The banging came again. Duncan recognized that the sound was coming from the door of his office. He staggered around his desk to answer it.
After a clumsy moment, he managed to turn the knob and pull open the door. His father stood poised to knock again, giving Duncan another start.
The Earl of Bellston appraised his son with a critical eye. Duncan glanced down and noticed that he looked a disheveled mess.
