Page 9 of A Countess of Convenience

Her long-time friend frowned. “I cannot believe you were ill, and I did not hear a word of it.” Gesturing toward Dora with one hand, he took up the cup of tea with the other. “I danced with Miss Harper at Christmas, and she did not mention it at all.” He sent a stern look to Dora. “I assumed you had simply chosen not come to Town for the holiday.”

“It was in Town that my sister-in-law fell, my lord.” Dora sent him an earnest look with just a touch of contrition. The girl might not be worldly, but she knew how to handle a man. “At the time we hoped she would recover swiftly, but that was not the case. We returned to Harper’s Grange shortly after the Braeton’s ball so my sister-in-law could recover at home in a timely manner. Unfortunately, she did not.” Dora’s frown lifted. “But please tell us of your elevation. How wonderful for you.”

“Yes, do tell us, John.” Judith nodded and smiled, glad to be back on a less stressful topic. “I was quite amazed when Inman announced you as Lord Haxby. I told Mamma I had no idea who that was.”

“Oh, there’s not that much to tell, my dear.” He accepted another cup of tea from Mamma, sipped it, and set it down. “Not an unusual situation, really. I’d known, of course, my uncle was the Earl of Haxby, but he had two sons, so I never dreamed I would inherit. But two years ago, the second son, Harry, went out to India and died of a fever. That left my cousin Richard, who was actually betrothed, so again we thought the title secure.” He shook his head sadly. “But before he could marry and get an heir, he was stupidly killed coming home one night by a footpad. My uncle never got over the shock. His health has been deteriorating this past year, and in January he succumbed to winter fever.” He touched the black silk band on his arm. “So I assumed the title.”

“I am so sorry, Lord Haxby.” Mamma looked sorrowful as she clasped her hands in her lap. “You have had one tragedy after another strike you these past years.”

John didn’t reply, and Judith struggled for a topic not so melancholy. She remembered well the story of the tragic loss of his wife and son in childbed.

Seeming to summon strength from somewhere deep inside him, John nodded and deftly changed the subject. “I have come back to Donningham Hall for a few weeks. It will remain my primary residence for the time being. The Haxby seat is in north Yorkshire, near Strensall.” He sipped more tea then turned directly to her. “Will you be staying in Cambridgeshire long, Judith? If so, I would like permission to call upon you before you leave again for your home in Wiltshire.”

Mamma cut her gaze from John to Judith. All Judith could see were enormous white rings around her mother’s normally placid blue eyes. “You have not heard then, my lord.” She swallowed but continued. “Judith’s husband was killed in January. A duel, it seems. So as soon as Judith could be readied to travel, she was sent here.” Mamma nodded so hard her chin bounced off her chest. “And here she shall remain.”

John’s head swiveled sharply toward Judith. “Your husband was killed, Judith? I hadn’t heard that. I’m terribly sorry for your loss. May I offer my condolences?” But he didn’t sound sorry. Neither did he look it. He looked like a man who’d glimpsed salvation. His large, dark brown eyes had gone black. On alert, ready to pounce at any moment.

If she was right, John could look elsewhere. She wasn’t ready to be anyone’s salvation. Neither did she intend to marry a man just because it would make a sensible match, or a convenient one. Suddenly overcome by the gravity of these thoughts, Judith’s head throbbed. She couldn’t wait to be alone in her bed again where no one would ask any questions.

“Mamma, I am suddenly feeling unwell.” Judith laid her napkin on her plate of barely tasted sandwiches. “A headache likely brought on by my exercise today. I should not have tried to do too much. Will you come tomorrow, John? Perhaps we can continue our conversation.” Then she could impress upon him her need to continue grieving her husband.

“Of course, my dear.” John jumped to his feet. “Please forgive me if I’ve caused you fatigue. I will pray for your continued recovery. Mrs. Welbourne, Miss Harper.” His gaze bored into Judith, and a chill raced down her spine. “Good afternoon, Judith.”

He bowed and retreated through the door, leaving Judith weighing the possibility of leaving with Dora if that meant she could escape the attentions of her neighbor. Dear though John was, she wouldn’t encourage that look in his eyes. She had no intention of marrying John or anyone, and she’d best find a way to disabuse him of the notion as soon as possible.

* * * *

Excitement churned in John’s stomach as he collected his hat and stick and strode from the front door of Ruecroft Manor toward his waiting carriage. While his sensibilities said he should be saddened by the news of Mr. Harper’s death and its obvious effects on Judith, he couldn’t summon an ounce of pity for the wretch. Judith was much better off without the man. If only he’d been able to convince her of that eight years ago.

He entered the carriage, and Porter started the team on their way, a journey John had often taken in his youth. His family and the Welbournes had been good neighbors, his and Judith’s parents being longtime friends. It seemed as though he’d known her forever—one of his earliest memories was of him, Judith, and his sister Kitty playing hide and seek in their rose garden.

Judith always hid behind the Eglantine rose bush, the thick shrub of dark pink roses affording excellent cover. Still, he found her every time, to her surprised delight. Even as a boy he’d thought she wanted him to find her. Little wonder then he’d always assumed he’d marry her when they grew older.

John sighed as the carriage turned into the manor house’s driveway. He’d have plenty of time to attend to several pieces of business before dressing for dinner. Out of habit, he still kept very early dinner hours in the country, as he and his late wife had been wont to do. It had provided them more time afterward for the pleasures of their bed. He supposed he could now dine later if he chose. His cold bed afforded him little pleasure these days. Although that could change now that Judith was a widow. The thought put a smile on his face.

He entered the house and went directly to his office, pausing only to send for his steward. A methodical man, John never shirked or delayed the business of running his estates. He took out his leatherbound ledger and turned to the current page.

“Good afternoon, my lord.” Westcott arrived swiftly to the summons, as John had come to expect. The steward had been with him since he’d assumed the title of the viscountcy ten years before. They knew one another’s habits and worked well in tandem.

“Good afternoon. Do you have the figures for the expected yield from the tenants in the southern quadrant of the property?”

“Of course, my lord.” From a black valise, Westcott removed a sheaf of foolscap with neat lettering. “I have them for all four quadrants, if you’d like to take a look at them.” Westcott handed John the sheets he’d asked for then dipped back into the valise and withdrew a larger handful.

“Excellent, Westcott.” John took the additional pages, arranged them in neat a pile next to the ledger. “When will you begin the spring plowing?”

“According to the almanac, we need to begin in late March so we can sow early April before the weather becomes too wet.”

“Very good. I should still be in residence here until the middle of April in case there are any problems.” John leaned back in his chair. “We had discussed switching the corn to barley. Have you given that any more thought?”

“I have, my lord, and I think we should stay with the corn for one more year.” The steward looked at him eagerly. “I think we can best last year’s yield then next year the change won’t be so much of a gamble.”

Good man. “Very well, Westcott. We will continue with the corn and hope for the best.” John gave a nod of dismissal.

Westcott beamed, bowed, and departed.

If only everyone were as easy to deal with.

Leaning far back in his chair, until he could stare straight up at the plaster medallions on the ceiling, John closed his eyes to better remember Judith’s face this afternoon. She’d been a beautiful woman eight years ago, the year she’d had her come out.