Contracted As His Countess. Louise Allen
It was the Master’s instructions that they were to be paid only on the threat of… I mean, not immediately.’
‘I see.’ And she could, only too well. No wonder her father was a rich man if he never paid those he owed until the point of legal action. He had used loans and mortgages to make his money work all the harder, she supposed, but she was hazy about how that would function.
‘Well, Mr Lansing, my instructions are that all outstanding debts will be paid in full immediately. All future bills will be met within the month and all loans and mortgages will be repaid.’ The man’s jaw dropped. ‘I am getting married, Mr Lansing, and I wish to start married life with an absolutely clear slate.’
‘I… But, Mistress Aylmer, I would have to make some sales to meet those obligations at short notice. The debts are one thing, but the other obligations… It is very complex, you understand.’
‘No, I do not. There is this estate and there are the Dersington lands. It appears simple.’
‘Well…er…yes. Although there is also the… I mean, it will be necessary to sell out of funds, sell some property.’
‘I thought my father was a rich man.’ She turned to stare at him. Had Lansing been dipping into the money chests?
‘He was, he was, Mistress. But finance is a complex matter. Having cash sitting around is bad policy—it needs to be out there, working and earning.’ He was gabbling now. ‘This sort of demand at short notice—’
‘Do it, Mr Lansing. You will not sell any of the Dersington properties, you understand. It is Lord Dersington that I am to marry.’
‘I am certain His Lordship will not wish for anything hasty to be done. You do not quite understand—’
‘It seems quite clear to me. And I assume you are perfectly aware of the trust relating to this property. Are you telling me that what I am asking is impossible for some reason?’
‘No, Mistress Aylmer. But—’
‘Do you wish to retain your position, Mr Lansing? Because it seems to me that you are very reluctant to carry out my instructions. And I am your employer.’ Inwardly, she was quaking. What had come over her? In one day she had proposed to a complete stranger and now she was threatening someone who had been in her father’s employment for years. She never threatened anyone, not even the most careless kitchen maid.
‘Of course, Mistress Aylmer. It will be exactly as you order.’
The poor man has gone quite pale. I am as bad a bully as my father, it seems.
‘Thank you, Mr Lansing. That is very satisfactory,’ Madelyn said with a smile.
She left him mopping his brow with a vast spotted handkerchief. Now he was probably even more convinced that women were not capable of dealing with financial matters, but she did not care. She would not have unpaid debts to hardworking people on her conscience.
15th August
The settlements having been agreed and signed, and given that your period of mourning has passed, I suggest that now would be the best time for you to come to London to acquire your trousseau and for us to make arrangements for the wedding.
Madelyn tapped one finger on the page as she looked out of the carriage window and tried to decide whether what she was feeling—besides plain panic, of course—was irritation or apprehension.
I have engaged the services of a companion for you.
Louisa, Lady Fairfield, is a widow in her thirties with admirable connections. I am sure you will find her of the greatest use as you accustom yourself to London life.
Of course what Lord Dersington really meant was as you are dragged kicking and screaming into the nineteenth century. That and, as you are remodelled so as not to embarrass me.
It was definitely panic churning inside her, she decided. And irritation with the bland euphemisms her betrothed was using and the way he was making decisions without consulting her.
If you would be so good as to inform me of a convenient date I will send a coach with outriders and the abigail that Lady Fairfield has found for you.
It was amazing how temper calmed nerves. Perhaps it was the novelty—she had never been allowed, or allowed herself, to lose her temper. Madelyn inhaled a long, calming breath, then let it go as she read on, even though she could probably have recited the letter by heart now.
Naturally, if the woman does not suit, then changes can be made when you reach here.
I am assuming that you will wish to reside at the Dersington town house in St James’s Square. Your man of business informs me that it has been maintained in good order, although it has not been occupied for some months. He assures me that the building will be prepared for your arrival and a full complement of staff engaged.
Trusting that this finds you in good health,
Yours,
J.R.
There really was nothing to take exception to, she told herself for perhaps the fiftieth time as the carriage rolled into Sittingbourne. She had agreed to marry the man and she had to learn how to go on in fashionable society. Everything he had done was correct, scrupulously so. That was probably what was so annoying, Madelyn concluded. That and her own naivety. Jack Ransome was not her lover, or her friend. He was not even an acquaintance and it was foolish to think of him as any of those things. This was an arranged marriage between strangers, organised by her father from beyond the grave. She should be grateful that her betrothed did not insult her with protestations of emotions he did not feel, or expect her to pretend reciprocal affection.
‘Miss Aylmer? Do you wish to go into the inn to take refreshment?’
That was another thing. Maud Harper, the abigail who had arrived with the carriage and its two outriders, two grooms and coachman, was perfect. Of course she was. Competent, tactful and highly skilled. Chosen to perform a transformation.
‘Thank you, Harper, no.’ Then she thought again. She did not want to use the facilities, but the maid perhaps did and would be too well trained to leave her mistress alone while she did so. ‘On the other hand, it would be sensible to take a cup of coffee and, er, so forth.’
They trooped into the George Inn, footman in front to open doors, Harper one step behind. Her new gown, sent down by the unknown Lady Fairfield, seemed insubstantial and far too flimsy; the unaccustomed stays were uncomfortable; the weight of her hair, plaited, crimped and caught up by some alchemy of Harper’s, was entirely wrong, leaving the nape of her neck cold and exposed. The image staring back at her from the mirror had seemed totally unfamiliar—nose too long, lashes too pale, bone structure lost against curls and frills.
The landlord remembered her esteemed father so there was much bowing and scraping even though the carriage was a hired vehicle, as were its horses, driver and grooms. She had wondered that the Earl had not sent his own carriage, then realised that he probably did not own one. It was interesting, she thought fleetingly, that he had not been spending her money in anticipation.
I am going to have to get used to this, too, Madelyn thought, sipping a cup of coffee she disliked but knew she was must learn to drink and pretend to enjoy. Is this what prisoners feel like when the gates swing open after years of captivity and their longed-for freedom proves to be a frightening new world? I want my garden. My moat. My walls. My safety.
It was not until the carriage had rolled over the drawbridge, sending echoes rumbling round the old walls, that she realised that over the past few months she had been free. Free of the fear of