The Decadent Countess Read online

  Sophie’s green eyes widened in her pale, pointed little face. ‘Why, yes! Am I gabbling? Jack always says I gabble and confuse everybody. I don’t mean to, it’s just that the thoughts come into my head so very quickly and I can’t seem to get them out without mixing them all up. Does that make sense?’

  ‘I—I think so.’ Miranda wondered if she was going mad, but knew with a cold, dreadful certainty that she was not. It could not be, oh, let it not be…

  ‘Did you know that Jack, my silliest of brothers, has it in his head that I should marry Leo? He cannot see that we would never suit, never in a hundred years, Mrs Fitzgibbon! Leo would be bored with me within a day, and probably strangle me the next. You must know that he has been used to the most beautiful and clever women, and is yet to show the least partiality to any of them. Some people say he has no heart and that is why he cannot love, but I don’t believe that. Leo can be so kind, and I think that a man with no heart would be quite incapable of kindness. Don’t you?’

  Miranda stared. ‘I-it seems to follow, I agree.’

  Sophie barely took a breath before launching into speech again.

  ‘I have received a letter from Jack this very morning, which is why I am out riding so early. I am quite cross with him. He has written to tell me that Leo is travelling down to Ormiston, and that I must make myself agreeable to him, if you please! As if I would ever be disagreeable, for I have known Leo as long as I have known Jack, and I am never disagreeable to him, although there have been times when I wished very much to be disagreeable and—’

  She broke off, eyeing Miranda uneasily.

  ‘Are you quite well, Mrs Fitzgibbon? You are gone very pale.’

  Miranda had not gone pale. The colour had been bleached completely from her face. She had to clear her throat several times before her voice would emerge.

  ‘How can Leo…do you mean that the Duke of Belford is coming here, Miss Lethbridge? But…the Duke of Belford lives in London!’

  Sophie nodded gently, as one would humour an invalid. ‘Well, that is true, but Ormiston is the Fitzgibbon family seat. Are you thinking he should reside at The Grange? I believe the family did live here in the early days, but The Grange was never large enough or grand enough for the Dukes of Belford, so they built Ormiston and The Grange was left to Julian’s branch of the family.’

  She continued to rattle on.

  Miranda no longer heard her. Leo Fitzgibbon was here, in the same county. He was not safely in London. He was lurking dangerously close… She sat up with a jolt. Just how dangerously close was he?

  ‘Where is Ormiston?’

  Sophie stopped her chatter in mid-word, not at all disconcerted. She must be used to being interrupted. ‘Ormiston is some five miles beyond the village. Belford and my father are neighbours, although of course Ormiston is a very large estate indeed. Why, Mrs Fitzgibbon, didn’t you know? Did Julian not tell you? How utterly amazing! Perhaps he did not want to frighten you. Not that Leo is frightening, exactly, just a little intimidating. He came into the title very young, you know.’

  Miranda was far too shocked to reply. How could she have known that on the other side of the village where she had thought to make her home was a nest of Fitzgibbons? Just waiting to strike out at her.

  Oh, good Lord, what must Leo Fitzgibbon have thought of her when she told him she was going to live at The Grange and he need never see her again? He must have laughed himself sick, or decided she was a complete fool. She remembered now his stunned expression in the private parlour at Armstrong’s, and his words, ‘As a matter of interest, do you know where The Grange is situated, Countess?’ And then, that last time, after the appalling scene with Mr Harmon, ‘Do not think this is the last you will see of me.’

  Miranda almost groaned aloud.

  And worse, still worse, what would he tell his friends and neighbours about her? He was now convinced she was the Decadent Countess—she herself had convinced him! Her life here would become insupportable!

  ‘Mrs Fitzgibbon, are you quite well?’ Sophie’s bright, inquisitive eyes met hers. ‘Have I given you the headache? Jack says I give everyone the headache!’

  With an enormous effort, Miranda rallied. It would never do for Miss Lethbridge to guess the awful truth, and if Leo should mention the small matter of the Decadent Countess, Miranda wanted Sophie to be able to find no parallels between his views on her character and her own observations.

  ‘No, no, I am quite well. I am sorry if I have been distracted. It is just that I believed Belford a London creature, more at home there than in the country. Do you know why it is he visits Ormiston?’

  ‘Oh, you are wrong, for he very much enjoys the country. He is a great rider, you know. As to why he comes, I had thought he was making this visit to see you. To assure himself you were properly settled in at The Grange. He always prides himself on doing everything that a man in his position should.’

  Miranda nodded, pretending to listen with close attention, but really her thoughts were elsewhere. It was just as she feared. He had come to see her. Or rather, he had come to see the Decadent Countess.

  What was she to do now?

  Sophie had been rattling on again, but now she ended with, ‘You are probably wishing me a dozen miles away, Mrs Fitzgibbon. Jack says I am rather like a whirlwind, creating chaos wherever I go.’

  Despite all that had befallen her over the past half-hour, Miranda was rather proud that she was able to laugh at this. ‘You must tell him from me, Miss Lethbridge, that I was very glad of your visit.’

  Oh, yes, what if Leo had come upon her without Sophie’s warning! It didn’t bear thinking of!

  Sophie leaned forward impulsively. ‘Please, do call me Sophie. You are so much younger than I had imagined. Do you think we could be friends? I am on the shelf, you see, and you are a widow. We might keep each other company.’

  Now Miranda laughed without restraint. She considered the other girl, with her bright curls and bright eyes. ‘On the shelf? You are very pretty. I do not for a moment believe you are on the shelf. Are the gentlemen of Somerset blind or foolish? Both, perhaps.’

  Sophie blushed becomingly. ‘Oh, no! I have had my season in London, you see, and it was a dismal failure. My father says that one idiotic waste of money is enough, and as I didn’t make a hit or snare a rich husband I shall stay home now. Not that I am not very happy to do so!’

  Sophie, thought Miranda, did not seem terribly happy. There was a brittle edge to her vivacity. Was her father the kind of man who would prevent his only daughter from finding happiness, preferring to keep her as his housekeeper?

  ‘Then we must be friends by all means,’ she said kindly. ‘And you must call me Miranda. Will you visit again soon, Sophie?’

  Sophie said that she would, and they parted.

  Friends in adversity, Miranda decided with grim amusement, as she stood in the hall with a beam of sunlight shining through the dust motes. It was as well she had some friends. She would need them when Leo Fitzgibbon, whom some said had no heart, unleashed his wrath upon her.

  But what Miranda felt most in need of right now was a brisk walk.

  Fetching her cloak, she set out for the copse which fringed the edges of a steep rise to the north of The Grange. The exercise lifted her spirits and the shadow of depression which had begun to fall over her. And, unexpectedly, when she reached the top of the rise, she found that because of the clear day and the rather flat cast of the rest of the countryside, she could see for miles in all directions.

  For a moment she paid particular attention to her own house, gazing over the tall chimneys and golden bricks of The Grange. There was evidence of what had once been a moat surrounding the house, but it was almost completely filled in now, swallowed up in the wilderness of garden. Bennett, when she had approached him about it, had replied that it was dangerous and ‘smelled like rotten fish’, so it was decided to fill it, ‘long before I were thought of’. Which, considering Bennett’s age, must have been a long
time indeed!

  Miranda could not help but wonder what The Grange had looked like when it was new, and what sort of people had lived in it. Fitzgibbons, of course, but were they kind and amiable like Julian, or darkly handsome and dangerous, like Leo?

  The village of St Mary Mere appeared as a jumble of cottages and smoking chimneys. Several largish houses were visible in the distance beyond, but although Miranda strained her eyes she could not make out which was the Fitzgibbon home five miles past the village. The estate was large, Sophie Lethbridge had said.

  Had Leo Fitzgibbon arrived yet?

  Just as the question occurred to her, a movement caught her eye. Glancing towards the road that led from the village, Miranda saw a horseman approaching The Grange. Even at this distance, there was something familiar in the set of his shoulders.

  Miranda’s heart stuttered and began to pound.

  Not yet, she could not face him yet!

  A wave of heat washed over her, and she pressed her hands to her mouth as if she might cry out.

  As she continued to watch, the rider reached The Grange, dismounted and strode to the door of her house. He was only gone a moment when he reappeared and, standing darkly silhouetted against the golden façade, peered upward towards the hill and the copse where Miranda was standing.

  She held her breath, as if that might cause her to become invisible. While she stood there, trembling, waiting, she was assailed by conflicting desires. On one hand she wanted Leo Fitzgibbon—for she knew it was him—to climb once more upon the back of his chestnut horse and ride away. On the other, she longed for him to ride towards her, galloping up the hill like a knight impatient to reach his lady.

  It was preposterous.

  It was ridiculous.

  Not surprisingly, he didn’t do the latter. He remounted, hesitated a moment, then turned back down the driveway until he reached the road to the village. He gave his horse its head.

  Miranda stood and watched him go, watched him until he was nothing but a moving dot in the distance.

  ‘Good,’ she murmured to herself. ‘I’m glad he’s gone.’

  After another moment, she turned and began to trudge slowly back to The Grange.

  Chapter Five

  Miranda woke to the soft patter of rain against her windows and Nancy’s pronouncement, made over the unappetising smell of burnt toast, that she had received a letter.

  On further investigation, Miranda found that it was indeed a letter, and the paper was of a superior quality. For a moment Miranda thought, her heart jumping about in excitement, that it might be from his Grace the Duke of Belford—he had not reappeared at her door since she saw him from her hidden vantage point. However, the letter’s seal was not that of the Fitzgibbon family, and her heart returned to normality.

  Nancy had plunked down the jug of tepid water and moved to draw the bedcurtains.

  ‘I have some business to attend to this morning, Nancy,’ Miranda said in a brisk voice. ‘Be sure to light the fire in the library, won’t you? Mr Thorne is coming.’

  Nancy smirked. ‘Aye.’

  Thorne was Julian’s estate manager. Not that there was much of an estate left, only a very few acres and two tenants. However, those tenants had been quick to present themselves to Miranda. Their complaints were valid, and honestly represented the state of their houses and Thorne’s total lack of interest in his job.

  Ever since then, Miranda had been trying to obtain an interview with Thorne, but he was well versed in avoidance. Several times Miranda had sought to run him to ground, only to have him slip away at the last moment. To make matters worse, his craftiness at eluding these meetings had become a joke among the servants.

  Then, yesterday, he had sent a note with a promise, sworn upon his mother’s grave, that he would present himself at the house at nine o’clock sharp.

  Nancy had finished her duties, but seemed inclined to linger. She was probably hoping Miranda would open her letter so that she could discover who had sent it and what it contained—all good gossip for the kitchen. However, Miranda had no intention of opening it in front of her, and in the end Nancy bobbed a bit of a curtsy and left the room.

  Alone with the sound of the rain, Miranda fought the depression which was threatening to settle over her shoulders like a weighty cloak. Problems appeared to beset her at every turn, and although in Italy she had been used to ordering her stepmama’s and her own affairs, here it was, well, different. Lack of funds, Thorne, and servants who smirked at her orders—all these things constantly threatened her authority and the dreams she was attempting to make real.

  She had even thought of accepting Adela’s cousin’s kind offer of assistance. If nothing else, Mr Harmon could give her advice and at the moment Miranda felt herself sorely in need of that. And yet, in her periods of deepest anxiety, it was not Mr Harmon who sprang into her mind.

  Dark hair and remarkable eyes monopolised her thoughts whether she willed them to or not. Several times she found herself, for no apparent reason, standing lost in dreams rather than setting about her tasks. Knowing he was so close, only five miles on the opposite side of the village, had acted powerfully upon her emotions. In her wilder moments she imagined his presence like a beacon, beckoning her forth.

  No one needed to tell her how foolish she was being, and how ridiculous it was to dream of a man who thought her her wicked stepmama and wanted nothing so much as to be rid of her…when he wasn’t kissing her.

  If only there were some medicine she could take to erase her mind of all memory of the wretched man!

  To distract herself, Miranda broke the seal of the letter. She spread the sheet of crackling paper and ran her eyes over the message. It was brief and to the point, and had the effect she desired.

  Dear Mrs Fitzgibbon,

  I regret there has been an unexpected delay in releasing the monies of your late husband’s estate to you. Please be assured we will complete this business as speedily as possible.

  Yours etc.

  Mr Ealing

  Miranda read it once, twice, and then set it aside. Slowly she lifted her head to gaze beyond the window. She had been in desperate need of Julian’s money. Not only because there were urgent repairs to be made to The Grange, but because her new household required the bare necessities of survival.

  How could there have been a delay? Was it possible that Belford had something to do with this? Could he have interfered in her affairs? Was he so devious? Was he even now laughing at the mischief he had made?

  An involuntary shiver ran through Miranda. If Mr Ealing’s delay was Belford’s doing, he would find her no weakling opponent! Whatever madness had assailed her in London was past; she was herself again. Calm, practical and determined. She had not come all the way to Somerset to turn tail and flee just because a few minor obstacles were thrown in her pathway.

  No, indeed!

  The Duke of Belford would do well to reconsider if he imagined he could bully Miranda into doing anything she did not wish to do. She would live on tea and toast, if necessary.

  Burnt toast!

  Thorne was not waiting in the parlour. Why had she expected him to be? Her spirits, a moment ago buoyed up with indignant anger, plummeted again. She tried to lift them with the observation that the table in the hall had been dusted and flowers arranged—more or less—in a vase. Nancy had not, however, lit a fire in the library and it was cold and dank and filled with the smell of mouldy books.

  Bennett tottered towards her from the shadows leading down to the kitchen.

  ‘That Thorne won’t come to see you, mistress,’ he said gummily. ‘He knows that if he do come you’ll tear strips off him. He’s too slippery for ’at.’

  ‘He deserves strips torn off him, Bennett.’

  ‘You’ll never get the best of that Thorne, mistress.’

  ‘Indeed! Well, we shall see.’

  Miranda took a moment to eye the old man critically. As usual, he looked like a compost heap on bowed legs.

 
; ‘Bennett, you have a large stain on your coat.’

  Bennett grinned and smacked his lips. ‘That’ll be Nancy’s mutton pie. Best in Somerset, mistress.’

  ‘I didn’t mention the stain to compliment Nancy on her cooking, Bennett.’

  ‘Oh, aye?’

  Miranda would have said more but her eye caught the vase of flowers again and she realised there was something else different about the hall. The picture over the table had gone.

  It was not a particularly pleasing picture, being dark and concerned with cattle in a small pen, but it had been there yesterday evening when Miranda went up the stairs to bed. She turned to question Bennett, but he was already shuffling back the way he had come. Indeed he was moving faster than she had ever seen him move, which was suspicious in itself.

  Slowly, Miranda returned to the library and stood in the doorway. No fire, though she had specifically instructed Nancy to light one. What else? She began a list in her head of all the tasks in urgent need of attention.

  The linen cupboard was in an atrocious state, there was dust and dirt everywhere, the larder was near enough to empty, there was another picture missing, and Julian could certainly not be blamed for its absence this time.

  Miranda shivered. The silence of the house suddenly struck her as unpleasant. Where were the servants? Where was Nancy?

  It was time for some plain speaking.

  It was time the servants of The Grange learned that, young though she might be and a stranger, Miranda was their mistress and they must obey her.

  She set out in search of them.

  The most likely hiding place was the kitchen. Miranda made her way quickly down the cold flag corridor towards that area of the house. She had visited the kitchen before, but had not as yet thoroughly examined it…apart from the larder.

  Perhaps she had erred in that. Perhaps she should have asserted her authority from the first, no matter how unpopular it made her. But she had thought—she had hoped that by showing kindness, by giving the Bennetts time to adjust to her presence, she would win their trust and thus gain their loyalty.