Читать книгу An Unconventional Countess - Jenni Fletcher - Страница 14

Anna closed and latched the window shutters, drew two iron bolts across the shop door and then trudged up the back staircase to the parlour, wearily untying the ribbons of her bonnet as she went. A walk through Sydney Gardens had been the last thing she’d needed after a day that had started twelve hours before. Her neck felt stiff and her feet ached with tiredness, even more so than usual, but at least now she could rest.

From a shopkeeper’s perspective, however, she couldn’t complain. It had been another profitable day. She oughtn’t to complain at all, she chided herself, especially when she had so much to be grateful for—an honest and reliable source of income, a warm and dry home, and independence to boot. The shop that her parents had founded almost twenty-five years earlier had become so popular with the spa visitors of Bath that they’d eventually been able to buy the whole building on Swainswick Crescent, narrow and compact as it was. There were three floors: the shop and kitchen below, a parlour in the middle and two small bedrooms in the attic. The parlour was the biggest room overall, with one large window where her mother liked to sit and watch the comings and goings on the street below. No doubt she would have seen Captain Delaney and his irritating companion earlier. Anna wondered what she’d thought of them, not to mention her and Henrietta’s unprecedented early departure...

‘Good evening, Mama.’

She found the scene just as she’d expected, her mother sitting in her customary armchair with an open book in her lap.

‘Good evening, dear.’ Elizabeth Fortini looked up from her reading with a smile. ‘I was starting to wonder where you’d got to.’

‘Henrietta wanted a walk in the park so I said that I’d join her.’ Anna dropped down onto a sofa, telling herself that it wasn’t a lie exactly, even if it wasn’t the whole truth, either. ‘It was nice to get some fresh air.’

‘I’m surprised you had the strength after such a long day.’ Her mother tipped her head to one side sympathetically. ‘You work too hard, my darling. I wish I could help more.’

‘It’s not your fault, Mama.’ Anna gestured towards her mother’s swollen fingers. ‘I know you’re in pain.’

‘It pains me to see you looking so exhausted, too.’ Her mother stood up, wincing as she put weight on to her ankles. ‘I’ll make us some dinner.’

‘It’s all right, I’ll do it in a few minutes.’

‘You will not.’ Her mother limped slowly across the room. ‘I may not be much help in the shop any more, but I can still be useful in other ways. Now you have a rest and I’ll be back soon.’

Anna smiled gratefully, too tired to argue. She was almost too tired to eat, although she knew that she had to. More than that, she was tired of simply being tired, but there seemed to be no way around it. There was always so much to do. When she wasn’t baking, she was wrapping or stacking or cleaning or sweeping or preparing tins or doing one of the hundred other tasks that seemed to require her constant attention. Henrietta was an able assistant, but she only arrived at seven o’clock in the morning when the baking was already done and left again at four in the afternoon. Anna couldn’t afford to pay longer hours, which meant that any remaining jobs fell to her and they were...relentless.

Yawning, she tipped her head back and closed her eyes. Things hadn’t been so bad while her father was still alive. After the swelling in her mother’s joints had started ten years before, first in her fingers and toes, then in her hands and feet, Anna had taken on more and more of her responsibilities in the shop and enjoyed them, too. She’d enjoyed running a business, unlike Sebastian who’d gone off in search of adventure the moment he’d turned seventeen. She’d been the one to suggest they start making cinnamon and rosewater-infused biscuits and to start offering tins as well as cloth-wrapped bundles.

In return, her father had taught her everything he knew, which was a great deal, but unfortunately not how to find extra hours in the day or how to go without sleep, either. His sudden heart failure had left her with a shop to run as well as an ailing, grieving mother to take care of. Not that she resented either task, but it was hard sometimes not to feel trapped in an endless cycle of monotonous chores. No matter how much she saved, it still wasn’t enough for a holiday—just a few days, or weeks preferably, to break free of the routine and maybe travel a little. It didn’t have to be far, just somewhere different. Somewhere to enjoy a little free time to read or to walk or to simply lie around daydreaming...

For some reason, the thought of daydreaming conjured up an image of Captain Delaney. His hair, somewhere between chestnut and auburn, those startling pale eyes and that deep voice that made her insides feel curiously soft and malleable, like an undercooked biscuit. He’d looked so handsome waiting for her and Henrietta in the park that she’d almost been tempted to take his arm when he’d offered it to her, but common sense had prevailed. She’d known better than to trust a gentleman.

As it turned out, however, she’d been wrong about him. She’d been so certain that he’d been trying to distract her in the shop, but apparently he really had been there to buy biscuits. She’d assumed the worst and discovered the exact opposite. Aristocratic though he obviously was, he was also a naval captain and not just any naval captain, but a national hero, a brave and honourable man instead of the rake she’d assumed. Their conversation in the park had been genuinely interesting and without any of the mocking undertones she’d detected earlier. Instead, his manner had been open and honest, enough that she’d felt able to appeal to his better nature to save Henrietta. Admittedly, he’d seemed somewhat taken aback by the request at first, so much so that for a few moments she’d thought he’d been offended on his friend’s behalf, but to her relief his words had eventually proven otherwise.

Only the severity of his expression when he’d asked if her comments about gentlemen were based upon personal experience had unsettled her, conjuring up memories she preferred to forget. Then his gaze had seemed to bore into the back of her head, giving the uncomfortable impression that he could read all of her secrets. Thankfully he hadn’t persisted in his questioning, asking her to trust him instead, and his gaze had softened then, causing a warm, tingling sensation in her chest. The feeling had actually been quite pleasant, as if some kind of unspoken communication were passing between them. It had made her decide to trust him, although she still couldn’t help but wonder if she’d done the right thing by leaving Henrietta.

Whether she had or hadn’t, however, she was far too tired to think about it now. But she liked his name, she thought sleepily. Captain Samuel Delaney. It had a nice ring to it, an authoritative ring, and it was nice to know that a few real gentlemen still existed in the world, even if it was unlikely that she’d ever see him again. Gentlemen who looked even more attractive when they turned out to be captains and bought biscuits for their grandmothers...

‘I have a present for you.’ Samuel deposited the tin he’d been carrying for the better part of two hours into his grandmother’s narrow lap. ‘Don’t say I never give you anything.’

‘Except for white hairs and anxiety, you mean?’ Lady Jarrow regarded the offering with an air of suspicion. ‘What is it?’

‘They’re Belles... Biscuits,’ he clarified as his grandmother stared at him blankly. ‘I’m told they’re famous in Bath.’

‘I’ve never heard of them in my life.’

‘I have.’ His grandfather’s steel-rimmed spectacles peered over the top of a newspaper opposite. ‘They’re something of an institution, actually.’

‘Do you mean to say you’ve eaten them before?’ His grandmother sounded as shocked as if her husband had just announced an illegitimate child.

‘Dozens. I discovered them a few years ago and now I insist upon having one every morning when I’m in town. Two, sometimes.’

‘Then why haven’t I eaten one before?’

‘I’m sure you have, my dear.’ The newspaper lifted again. ‘Only you were probably busy thinking about a new saddle or something.’

‘Harumph.’ Lady Jarrow made short work of the ribbon. ‘I have a perfectly good collection of saddles, as you very well know. If anything, I’d be thinking about riding boots. I could do with a new pair.’ She removed the lid and tossed it at Samuel. ‘Well, this looks very pretty, I must say. I’ll ring for tea. I can’t abide sweet things without it.’

‘I’m glad that you approve, Grandmother.’

Samuel sprawled in an armchair, looking between his grandparents with a combination of amusement and affection. Aside from his mother and half-sister in Cumberland they were the only family he had, not that he’d ever had a great many family members to speak of. Thanks to his father’s notoriety in gambling, drinking and generally throwing away his inheritance, no one from the paternal side of the family had ever deigned to acknowledge Samuel, too afraid he might prove to be a chip off the old block. They’d all thought of him as tainted, refusing to budge from that opinion no matter how hard he’d tried, during the past ten years anyway, to prove otherwise.

Fortunately, his maternal relations had been made of sterner stuff, refusing to let the sins of a detested son-in-law influence their feelings for his offspring. His grandmother in particular had always been a force to be reckoned with, a renowned beauty in her youth as well as an heiress, though she’d always preferred spending time with her horses to listening to recitations of love poetry from her many admirers. She’d sat doggedly on the shelf until the shockingly great age of eight and twenty, until the day she’d set eyes on the bookish and shy Lord Jarrow. Seven years her junior, the young Baron had been as surprised as anyone by her sudden interest. Somewhat alarmed, too, since, as he frequently remarked to his grandson, when it came to a battle of wills he’d known he hadn’t stood a chance. Where Georgiana had a will, she got her way. Their marriage had gone ahead with almost indecent haste and they’d immediately retired to the country to build a new block of stables and restock the library. He’d had his books, she’d had her horses, and they’d lived in perfect contentment for fifty years ever since. It was, in Samuel’s opinion, an excellent example of a happy marriage. Quite unlike that of his parents.

‘Have you been to the Pump Rooms today?’ he enquired of the newspaper.

‘Of course he has,’ his grandmother answered, as was frequently the case, for her husband. ‘It’s the reason we’re staying in this wretched city, after all.’

‘There are still parks for riding in, Grandmother.’

‘Pshaw! It’s hardly riding when one’s constantly expected to stop and make conversation. You’d think that horses were simply chairs! If people don’t care about their animals, then they’d be better off using their feet.’

Samuel chuckled, though the very fact of his grandmother’s presence in Bath made him uneasy. On every other occasion when his grandfather had come to take the medicinal waters she’d remained at their home in Rutland. The fact that she’d joined him this time suggested the seventy-one-year-old Baron’s health was worse than either of them were letting on.

‘I thought we might all go together on Monday,’ his grandfather commented, folding his newspaper as the tea tray arrived. ‘We could make a family outing of it, so to speak.’

‘I’d be delighted, Grandfather.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t, but I will because I’m a good wife.’ The Baroness lifted her eyebrows provocatively, though neither Samuel nor his grandfather were foolish enough to contradict the statement. ‘But only on two conditions. One, that I don’t have to drink any of that disgusting liquid. Two, that Samuel wears his uniform.’

‘Grandmother...’

‘Yes, I know, you’re officially on sick leave, but you’re still a captain until this whole inheritance matter is resolved and you look so dashing in uniform.’

‘Let him be, Georgiana.’ The Baron’s bushy white eyebrows gave his frown a somewhat ferocious aspect. ‘You know it only makes him feel worse about the whole business.’

‘How anyone can feel worse about potentially inheriting an earldom is beyond me. Most reasonable people would be thrilled by the prospect.’

‘Because of the entail.’ His grandfather shook his head. ‘It’s a bad business altogether. Cruel, really. We just have to wait and see whether the widow has a boy or a girl.’

‘Well, I wish that she’d hurry and make up her mind.’ Lady Jarrow snorted contemptuously. ‘I had a boy first and a girl second because that’s what I wanted. It’s all a question of mind over matter.’

‘In which case, she’ll have a boy for certain, my dear.’

‘Only if she has a strong enough will, which I doubt. I met her once and she seemed insipid. No interest in horses at all. She hasn’t even had the decency to reply to Samuel’s letter.’

‘What could she say, Grandmother?’ Samuel shifted in his seat uncomfortably. ‘The letter I sent was one of condolence.’

‘She might still have acknowledged the situation. Yes, the entail makes things awkward, but you should be allowed to visit Staunton at least. If the estate turns out to be yours, then you need to know how it’s run.’

‘I’ve no wish to visit Staunton.’

‘Well, somebody should. She could be undermining your inheritance as we speak.’

‘Since it might be her son’s, then I doubt it.’

‘The whole situation is completely ridiculous. Your injury’s recovered, but your life is on hold while we wait for some insipid woman to give birth.’

‘It’s far worse for her. She’s lost her husband and now her whole future depends on the gender of her baby.’ Samuel reached into the tin of biscuits with a sigh. For some reason, the rows of tissue paper looked comforting. ‘I don’t want the inheritance anyway. I just want everything to go back to the way it was a year ago.’

‘A year ago Trafalgar hadn’t happened. You’d still be blockading the English Channel and giving me new wrinkles from worry.’ His grandmother sniffed. ‘Personally I’m glad the Admiralty won’t let you go back to sea until matters are settled. They’re probably worried about drowning a peer of the realm.’

‘It’s not just that.’ Samuel took a bite of biscuit, surprised to find that he liked rosewater flavour even more than cinnamon. ‘The Admiralty thinks that the war at sea is over and all the fighting will be on land from now on. They’re trying to get captains off the payroll, no matter what they say about my duty to Staunton.’

‘None the less, I’m afraid they’re right about it, my boy.’ His grandfather threw him a sympathetic look. ‘If you do inherit, then you have a duty to look after the estate, not to mention all the tenants who live there. You’re the last man standing, so to speak, on your father’s side of the family anyway.’

Samuel rubbed a hand over his forehead. ‘That’s what’s so strange about it. My father’s father and brother never wanted anything to do with me. They’ve practically disowned me since birth, yet now I’m the heir to some cousin I’ve never even met.’

‘Stranger things have happened.’

‘If they didn’t want it to happen then they should have had more sons themselves!’ There was an iron glint in his grandmother’s eye. ‘This is all their own doing.’

‘Perhaps they oughtn’t to have died either, my dear. That was rather weak-willed of them, too, don’t you think?’

Samuel made a wry face as his grandfather winked at him. ‘Their lawyers must have scoured the entire family tree looking for somebody else to inherit.’

‘Perhaps, but the law’s the law. You’re the heir, whether people like it or not.’

‘If it’s a girl.’

‘Well, I for one hope that it is,’ his grandmother declared. ‘It’ll be a poke in the eye for anyone who ever cut you in society. I might not have approved of your father, which is a ludicrous understatement, but I always said that my daughter was free to make her own choices, however unutterably stupid.’ Her face softened. ‘But their marriage did give us you so I suppose it wasn’t all bad. Now we just need to get you established and breeding heirs of your own.’

‘Grandmother,’ Samuel groaned. ‘I’ll inherit the earldom if I really must, but I draw the line at starting a dynasty.’

‘You’ll have to someday.’

‘Not necessarily and definitely not straight away.’

‘Pshaw, now you’re being selfish. All I want is another little boy like you, even if I’ll be too old to raise him myself this time.’

Samuel smiled affectionately. For all his grandmother’s strong opinions, he couldn’t have asked for a better surrogate mother. ‘In that case, how can I refuse to wear my uniform on Monday? Just this once.’

‘Excellent.’ Lady Jarrow looked satisfied. ‘And I wouldn’t be surprised if the Pump Rooms are slightly busier than usual. News of a certain eligible bachelor’s presence in Bath has already spread. I should imagine that several debutantes are on their way here as we speak.’

‘Good grief, aren’t there enough prospective husbands in London?’

‘Not enough to go around, apparently. Besides, the Season hasn’t started yet.’

‘Well, I’m not eligible, not yet anyway.’

‘True, but I imagine a few of them will want to get in the running early, just in case.’

‘Then that makes them gamblers and you know how I feel about those. They remind me of Father.’

‘You could always go to Staunton.’

‘Grandmother...’

‘Oh, all right, I’ll settle for the Pump Rooms. We’ll cut quite a dash with you in uniform.’

‘And forget all about me, I suppose.’ The Baron dipped his hand into the tin of biscuits. ‘I say, all three types. It’s hard to know where to begin.’

‘Have one of each,’ Samuel suggested.

‘He will not!’ His grandmother sounded outraged. ‘We’re here to make him fit and healthy again, not to fill him with treats.’

‘I’m not a horse, my dear, and some things are a lost cause.’ Her husband gave her an inscrutable look.

‘Not if I have anything to do with it. You may have one biscuit and that’s all.’ She took a bite of her own, screwing her face up as if preparing to spit it out again, before nodding approvingly. ‘Quite tasty. What did you say they were called again?’

‘Belles. That’s the name of the shop, too. It’s a charming little place.’

‘Indeed it is.’ The Baron scooped up another biscuit before his wife could stop him. ‘Have you met the eponymous Annabelle? A delightful young lady.’

Samuel lifted an eyebrow in surprise. Was she delightful? Prickly and forthright seemed like a more apt description, except for during those last few minutes in the park when she’d appealed to him for help. Then she’d been fairly inspiring...

On the other hand, maybe she was delightful in a way. If they’d met under different circumstances, then he might have thought so, too, from the start. She was definitely unique, or at least he didn’t think he’d ever met anyone quite like her before. She wasn’t impressed by rank, that much had been obvious by the contemptuous way she’d spoken to him and Ralph, seeming far more likely to lift her nose in the air than to bow or scrape, and she certainly knew how to stand up for herself. He liked both of those things about her, just as much as he liked her bouncy dark curls and the swirling depths of those wide coffee-brown eyes. She wasn’t as obviously beautiful as the employee she called her friend, but in his personal opinion she was a hundred times more appealing. He even liked her voice, with its hint of an accent he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t that of Bath, though it contained hints of the west country and even an occasional Italian inflection. It was...unique. He kept coming back to that word. It seemed like the perfect way to describe her. Not that he was about to tell his grandparents any of that.

‘I met her briefly, yes,’ he answered when he realised his silence had gone on a few moments too long. ‘She seemed pleasant enough.’

‘Aye, very pleasant. Do you know, we once talked about bees for half an hour?’

‘Bees?’

‘Yes, I thought that they looked like a pair of bees, her and that other girl in their yellow dresses, and that put me in mind of the hives at home. Before I knew it I was telling her all about them. I completely lost track of the time.’

‘Poor girl.’ The Baroness batted his hand away from the box as it drifted back again.

‘She seemed interested, my dear.’

‘She’s a saleswoman. She had to seem interested or you might not have bought anything.’

‘Ah...you may have a point. None the less, Miss Fortini makes excellent biscuits.’

‘Fortini?’ His grandmother’s voice sharpened abruptly.

‘Yes.’ Samuel lifted an eyebrow. ‘What’s the matter with that?’

‘I’m not sure. There’s just something familiar...’ She pursed her lips and then shook her head. ‘Well, never mind. I’m sure it’ll come to me eventually. When I’m out riding most likely. In any case, I approve of her biscuits. You may bring me a tin whenever you wish.’

‘I’ll remember that.’ Samuel popped the remainder of his own biscuit into his mouth and reached for his tea. Unfortunately, the beverage itself was disappointing. Tea was all well and good, but he still felt a powerful craving for coffee.