An Unconventional Countess. Jenni Fletcher

      ‘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