The Decadent Countess Read online

  Hah!

  As she descended the final three steps to the kitchen door, Miranda heard a burst of loud laughter barely muffled by the thick wooden panels. If she had not known better, she might have thought there was a party in progress.

  A party, she thought angrily, at her expense!

  Miranda moved to open the door.

  ‘And what does her ladyship say but “Bennett, you have a large stain on your coat”!’ It was rather a good imitation of her voice, considering that the imitator was an elderly man with a strong west country accent.

  ‘Aye, that were a lovely mutton pie!’ Nancy’s son declared above the laughter. ‘Is there any left, Ma?’

  ‘I sent the rest of it to Cousin Annie in the village, and that nice piece of ham. I’ll see her ladyship gets some more in—the last lot went so quick she only got a tiny slice!’

  More laughter. A chill struck Miranda, followed by a hot blast of anger. She wondered at her own stupidity in not realising before that her servants were playing her for a fool. In Italy, she had been vigilant for just such goings-on, but somehow, here, in Julian’s home, she had thought it would be different. That they would welcome her, eventually, as she longed to be welcomed.

  She swung open the door.

  The laughter stopped abruptly and the persons taking their leisure by the roaring fire turned to stare at her. Remembering the tiny, smoky fire she was normally privy to, Miranda glared back. They were all there, Nancy and her old father and son and daughter, as well as the scrawny woman who didn’t dust, and the skinny young girl called Esme, who was peeling vegetables over a pail.

  She appeared to be the only one who was actually doing any work.

  Miranda let her eyes linger on the greasy surface of the kitchen table, the sumptuous, half-eaten meal, the soot coating almost every uncluttered surface. Bennett shuffled to his feet, smirking at her in an ingratiating manner that she found particularly repulsive.

  Miranda took a deep calming breath.

  ‘I do not employ servants who do not work,’ she said, forcing herself not to shout. ‘Nor do I employ servants who steal or give away what belongs to me. From this moment on matters will change. If you wish to leave The Grange, then go now. Those who want to stay, come to the library and we will discuss the new terms of your employment.’

  ‘We’re owed wages!’ Nancy burst out. ‘You can’t send us away. You owe us money!’

  Was that why the servants, under Nancy’s tutelage, had so thoroughly abused her generosity? Because they believed themselves immune from retribution, because they were ‘owed wages’?

  Miranda took a step towards Nancy, and, such was her anger, the woman actually cringed back. Miranda allowed her gaze to rest on the groaning table. ‘If I ever owed you wages, you have more than made up the deficit!’

  She turned away, but not before Nancy cried out again. ‘We’ve been here longer ’an you! You can’t toss us out, we belong here! There’ve been Bennetts at The Grange since King Henry’s time. ’Tis you who should go!’

  Miranda kept walking until she reached the library. She was trembling with emotion, she was angry, disgusted and upset over what she had just overheard and witnessed. This latest incident was almost too much for her.

  She waited a very long time before the timid knock sounded on the door. It cracked open and Esme peered in, her cap so big the brim of it rested on her eyebrows. A pair of frightened eyes met hers.

  ‘Ma’am?’ she whispered.

  ‘Come in, Esme.’ Miranda forced a reassuring smile. Esme came in, inching nervously towards the desk. ‘Is there anyone else out there, Esme?’

  Esme shook her head warily. ‘No, ma’am, they all be gone.’

  ‘I see.’ Miranda sighed inwardly. She knew she was better off without Nancy and her family. Even if Nancy had gone and the others had stayed, she would have had difficulty in trusting them—they seemed to be completely in Nancy’s power, either too afraid or too indebted to her to say no to her. But she was going to find it difficult to replace them.

  ‘Never mind, Esme,’ she said bracingly, trying to buck up her own spirits as much as the young girl’s. ‘I’m sure we shall do very well without them.’

  Esme nodded uncertainly. ‘I can cook a little, ma’am, but ’tis an awful big house.’

  ‘Yes, Esme, it is. But don’t worry, we’ll get more servants, and things will improve.’

  More servants, from where? Money to pay them, from where? Miranda did not know the answers, but Esme would not know that. She opened her mouth to suggest they start by lighting a fire to warm the chilly library, when a sound outside caught her attention.

  The crisp clip of hooves on the gravel drive. Miranda came out of her chair and moved to the narrow library windows that overlooked the front of The Grange. A horseman had pulled his chestnut stallion to a halt and was now dismounting.

  Miranda gripped the window sill hard.

  For a crazy moment she thought she would send him away, but almost at the same time she knew that would not do. More than likely he would not go, but, apart from that, to send him away, to hide here, was cowardly and Miranda had never been a coward. No, she must face him and vanquish him once and for all.

  ‘Esme,’ she said, her voice surprisingly mild for someone whose heart was leapfrogging into her throat and whose blood was running hot and cold, ‘there is a gentleman come to see me. You must bring him in here. Can you do that? We will discuss your duties later.’

  The girl nodded, bewildered, and went out. Miranda returned to the chair behind the desk and sank down.

  Why, oh, why had he come now! Of all times, now, when everything was in such an uproar!

  A scratch on the door announced Esme’s return. ‘The Duke of Belford to see you, ma’am,’ she whispered.

  At once Leo Fitzgibbon strode into the library, closing the door on Esme with a snap. He removed his hat and tossed it, and his whip, on to a table. A small cloud of dust rose and hung in the chilly air.

  Miranda could not think of a thing to say, and if she had tried to stand she was certain she would have fallen over. She felt frazzled and dowdy—for some reason an image of her ugly woollen stockings came to mind. No, she was not at all up to this encounter.

  In contrast Leo was immaculate, his riding boots mirror-clean, the fit of his coat perfection. The dark blue of his eyes bright with some emotion Miranda could not immediately place and was too overcome to try.

  Leo raked her with a glance. ‘Oh, very good, Countess. I suppose I am to believe from your pose behind that desk that you have the reins of your household firmly in hand? Well, I regret to inform you that I have just met your servants at your gate!’

  Miranda lifted her chin and glared back. ‘Not all my servants,’ she retorted huskily.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he mocked, ‘there is that child outside the door remaining to run the household with you. What on earth do you think you’re doing?’

  Pride came to Miranda’s rescue. She would not allow him to browbeat her when she was down. And if her dark eyes were a little brighter than usual, Belford would put it down to temper rather than tears.

  ‘They refused to work, and they were cheating me. What was I to do? Give them an increase? I expect that is what you will do! It pleases you very much, does it not, that I have had such a welcome to my new home?’

  Miranda’s tirade seemed to have quenched Leo’s fire. ‘What did you expect, Countess?’ he retorted more mildly. ‘Bouquets and red carpets?’

  ‘I expected…I expected…’

  ‘As for stealing,’ he went on thoughtfully, as if she were not spluttering for an answer, ‘I must agree with you there. By the look of the cart they had with them, they were making off with half of your household.’

  White-faced, Miranda rose on shaking legs, but Leo’s next words halted her.

  ‘Be still, I have dealt with them. They will return what they have taken or I will know why. Unlike you, Countess, I am a force to be reckoned with.’
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  Slowly, shakily, Miranda dropped back into her chair.

  ‘I must thank you—’ she began, wondering how it could be that he had turned the tables on her so swiftly.

  ‘Please, think nothing of it. I would do the same for anyone. Even you, Countess.’

  That strange light was back in his eyes, as if he mocked himself. Miranda tried and failed to think of something to say. Moments ago, she had been in full spate, and now he had deflated her like a pricked balloon. She felt a shocking urge to throw herself into his arms and indulge in a good cry.

  He was watching her curiously, as if trying to read her mind.

  ‘I would offer you refreshment,’ she rallied, ‘but I doubt Esme can spare the time from her other duties.’

  Leo gave a reluctant crack of laughter. ‘I shouldn’t think so. It will take her from dawn to dusk to deal with this barrack of a place. What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘I will employ other servants—’

  ‘From where?’ with an arch of his left eyebrow.

  ‘The village.’

  ‘I doubt it. Half the village is related, and by the time Nancy Bennett has finished with your character no one will dare work for you. Besides which, you’ve dried up the free food supply for a good many of them. They won’t love you for that.’

  Miranda stared back at him and found herself once more fighting the tears. ‘I am growing used to being not loved,’ she said huskily.

  Leo froze, as if, she thought afterwards, she had struck him.

  ‘I would imagine a woman like you would receive a surfeit of love rather than too little.’ His voice was strange, his gaze compelling.

  Miranda swallowed.

  He leaned towards her over the desk, so that she was obliged to tilt her head. An auburn curl brushed her cheek. Slowly, as if he were compelled, Leo reached out and tucked the bright strands behind her ear.

  ‘Love may elude you, Countess, but I would not see you starved for food and comfort as well. I will send some of my people from Ormiston to replace your servants.’

  Mesmerised by the expression in his eyes, Miranda struggled to break this strange spell. ‘I don’t think I—’

  ‘I had no right to interfere in Julian’s household’s affairs before, but I should have done something about Nancy Bennett when he died. I suppose I did not wish to interfere in your domain. Now, as head of the Fitzgibbon family, I wish to make amends.’

  ‘I can’t—’

  ‘I have come to make you another offer, Countess.’

  His change of tack startled her, waking her from whatever dream she had been in. Her cheeks flushed becomingly. ‘You are wasting your time—’

  ‘Let me finish first.’ Leo stepped back, straightening his cuffs with brisk movements. ‘I want to buy The Grange. My offer is extremely generous, considering the state of the place, but this house has been in the Fitzgibbon family for generations—it was built by the first of our name—so you must blame my lack of good business sense on sentimentality.’

  ‘Forgive me, but I doubt you possess an ounce of sentiment! You are wasting your time. I do not need your permission to remain here. This was Julian’s house, and he left it to me because he wished me to live in it, and live in it I shall!’

  Leo’s eyes darkened, but he went on as if she hadn’t spoken. Miranda could not know the unexpected bolt of jealousy that had shot through him at the mention of his cousin.

  ‘You will have plenty of money to return to Italy and to live well. You may even procure for yourself another husband, only this time, Countess, make quite sure he has plenty of blunt.’

  It was unforgivable.

  Miranda shot up out of her chair. ‘How dare you! I do not want another husband! The Grange belongs to me. You cannot force me to sell no matter how much money you throw at me!’

  ‘No,’ he agreed mildly, ‘but I can make things very uncomfortable for you, Countess.’

  Miranda laughed wildly. ‘They are already uncomfortable! How much more uncomfortable could you possibly make them?’

  The truth of what she had said startled them both into a brief silence.

  Miranda went on, desperately trying to regain control, though her hands were clenched and her eyes shooting fire.

  ‘We may live at opposite ends of the same village, Duke, but we need not see each other. Indeed, I did not know you lived here at all until someone told me. The news was, you can imagine, most unpleasant. I had hoped to have left you, and your offers, behind me in London. You are an intelligent man. Can’t you grasp the fact that I never want to see you again?’

  Leo collected his whip and hat, his stiff movements at odds with his coolly polite tone. ‘I do not need to see you to know that you are here, Countess.’

  ‘Then pretend I am not, I certainly shall! I shall be pretending you are at the other end of the world!’

  ‘The Grange belongs to the Fitzgibbons,’ he said flatly. ‘It always has.’

  ‘As I keep reminding you, I am a Fitzgibbon.’

  ‘You are a brief and undesirable holder of the family name, Countess. Agree to my offer now before it is too late!’

  Somehow Miranda restrained the terrible, roaring wave of anger he had generated in her so effortlessly. ‘Get out,’ she whispered, her voice trembling. ‘Get out before I have you thrown out!’

  He laughed. God rot him, he laughed.

  ‘No, thank you, I won’t put Esme to the trouble. Consider well what I have said, madam.’

  The door shut.

  Miranda sank her head between her arms, not knowing whether to scream or howl. He had found her at her lowest ebb and promptly set about abusing and insulting her. He had threatened her, intimidated her, he had—

  Suddenly Miranda lifted her face and stared, open-mouthed, at the closed door. He had threatened, yes, threatened her servants into returning what they had stolen! And now he was sending replacements from his own household, so that she would not suffer the inconvenience of their loss.

  It made no sense. Why had he done that? When it would have suited his purposes so much better to have been cruel and left her alone but for Esme in a cold, empty, broken-down house.

  Now, as head of the Fitzgibbon family, I wish to make amends. Was that what it was? A sense of duty?

  Leo is kind, Sophie Lethbridge had said. Could that be true, too? Why, then, if he was so kind, had he used his influence to prevent Mr Ealing from sending her Julian’s money? If indeed he had. Why hadn’t she thought to ask him when she had the chance?

  Miranda dropped her head back on to the desk again and this time she did groan aloud. Her life was a mess and even she, who had always prided herself on her ability to untangle disorder, felt it to be beyond her.

  Leo kicked his horse into a gallop. There was a bitter taste in his mouth, and he looked neither left nor right. He knew the driveway to The Grange well enough. He had spent much of his time here as a child. Although the house had always been Julian’s, he knew its history and its beginnings, and the legends that had been wound about it. The Grange was part of the Fitzgibbon family history.

  Now that woman was there, the scheming beauty who had captured his foolish cousin’s heart.

  Leo Fitzgibbon was not a man used to losing control. He prided himself on his strength of character, his reserve, his tranquillity. Until he met the Decadent Countess he had never imagined he was capable of such rash behaviour, such reckless urges. Now he was afraid to be in a room with her in case he throttled her.

  Or kissed her.

  Some of the words he had just uttered to her were unforgivable. You may even procure for yourself another husband… How could he have said such a thing? He hardly understood it himself, except that when she had begun speaking of Julian in that soft, longing tone something inside him had broken.

  He was jealous.

  Leo Fitzgibbon, the Fifth Duke of Belford, that gentleman famed for his cool head and cooler emotions, was jealous. It beggared belief! And yet it was so, and it
was jealousy that had betrayed him into speaking words which should never have been spoken, even to such a woman as she.

  And yet, he frowned thoughtfully, when he had first entered the room she had not seemed dangerous and deceitful. Her beautiful eyes had been sad, and he had wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and protect her.

  And kiss her, of course, that went without saying.

  Leo knew he had been wrong when he said she was an undesirable person to bear the family name. She was a very desirable person, very desirable indeed. And, by reputation at least, bore an uncanny resemblance to the first Fitzgibbon wife.

  Could there be something to this talk of the Fitzgibbon curse after all?

  Leo knew that if he had any sense he would pack up now and return to London. Unfortunately, he appeared to be singularly lacking in that faculty.

  Because he had no intention of going anywhere.

  Chapter Six

  The Ormiston servants arrived the following morning, a veritable army of them. Miranda’s instinctive protests were overridden by the army’s commander, an upright man with silver-grey hair and the expression of someone who had eaten a very sour plum. He was also vaguely familiar, and when he informed Miranda that his name was Pendle, that he had been in the service of the Fitzgibbon family all his life, and that he had come to take charge of her domestic affairs, she remembered where she had seen him last.

  At the Fitzgibbon home in Berkeley Square.

  Despite her determination not to be intimidated, Miranda found that she was. But the idea that someone could come in and take over her house was infuriating to say the least, and soon restored her courage.

  ‘When the Duke told me he would replace my servants I expected one or two, not…not…’ Words failed her.

  Pendle didn’t move and yet still gave the impression of peering superciliously into every dank and dusty corner.

  ‘One of two would not be nearly enough, madam.’

  It was true. Miranda’s face coloured but she held her ground, chin raised. ‘I must be frank with you, Pendle. I cannot afford this many servants. I cannot pay their wages.’