Captain Durant's Countess(15)

“O-of course.” As if she could ever tell Henry . . .

“I will see you at dinner, Maris. Captain, I’ve instructed the staff to take your meals to your suite. I hope you’re not offended, but things are bound to become only more peculiar the longer you stay here. I thought for all our sakes we would keep unnecessary fraternization to a minimum.”

“I understand, my lord. I’m only an employee, after all.” There was no trace of emotion in Durant’s voice, but Maris thought he struggled to keep his expressive face neutral.

“Good man.” Henry pushed himself up from his chair. “I’m back to work. I suggest you both do the same.” And just like that, he hobbled to his desk and Maris and the captain were dismissed.

Maris returned her cup and saucer to the tea cart. “Shall we begin, Captain?”

“I’m ready when you are.”

Maris was not ready. Might never be ready. But she picked up her wine-colored skirts and moved swiftly down the central corridor running the length of Kelby Hall, taking the narrow staircase at the end that led to Captain Durant’s rooms. The captain followed at a respectful distance.

She wondered what he was thinking? What would he do when they climbed that final set of stairs?

She had ordered the whole of the attics swept and all the windows washed when she’d come back from London. In one of the chambers near the entry, cast-off furniture had been arranged into an office area, a long table serving as a makeshift desk with two sturdy chairs brought up from below. There were inkpots and reams of paper. A row of well-thumbed history books. Sets of tools and rags and cleaning solvents. A spirit stove for making tea. The chaise behind a torn screen would be a logical place to lie down when one’s head was swimming with measurement figures and descriptions.

It was a proper workspace for the highly improper business they were about to conduct. Anyone inspecting the room would be convinced it was Captain Durant’s new office, but Maris had instructed the servants that they did not want to be disturbed. The sooner they finished the inventory, the sooner the earl could be satisfied as to what the entire Kelby Collection contained. The staff knew of Henry’s frail health, and if knowledge of what all the boxes held could add to his life, they were all for it.

A bit breathless, Maris climbed the last stair and opened the heavy door. A rush of cold air greeted them.

“I was half asleep in school, but I could swear the masters told us hot air rises,” the captain quipped behind her.

“There is a working fireplace in the room . . . the room you will use,” Maris replied. “You should be quite comfortable.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.”

“It is not I.”

“What?”

“The verb to be—think of it as an equal sign. The subject and the pronoun must agree.”

“Ah. You’ve fobbed me off as an historian. I cannot be responsible for grammar and mathematics as well.”

So, he was not entirely stupid, and had a bit of wit as well.

But she refused to smile back at him. “Do you want to tour the attics first, or . . . or . . .”

“I am not going to leap upon you, Lady Kelby. Not today. Perhaps not even tomorrow. When were your last courses?”

Maris stopped in her tracks. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your menses. I believe that’s a correct term. There’s been a debate over the centuries when a woman’s optimal time to conceive is. Augustine of Hippo even waded into it. St. Augustine, you know. I’m afraid my schoolmates and I ignored his philosophy, but were very interested in his views on conception. We all wanted to have carnal relations, but none of us wanted to be fathers, as you might expect. We were children ourselves. I believe the prevailing theory is that a woman is the most fertile directly after her courses have ceased for the month, but one cannot be sure of anything when it comes to the mysteries of women.”

Maris pulled a face. “Well, it’s pointless then. It’s been well over a week. I cannot believe we are discussing such a subject. It’s . . . unseemly.”

“I’m afraid we’re apt to get unseemlier as the days go by. Do you suppose that’s a word? If it isn’t, it should be.”

“Stop making jokes, Captain! This is serious business.”

“Aye, it is—which is why jokes are so necessary. You are thinking far too hard, Lady Kelby. You shouldn’t be afraid. Coitus is ridiculous in itself. ‘To shoot betwixt wind and water,’ ‘to dance the goat’s jig, ’ ‘to take a turn in Cupid’s alley’ are all euphemisms for what is sweaty and messy and necessary for the continuation of the human race. But not dignified. It’s never dignified. You can forget all those paintings of angels and amorous couples in their flowered bowers. Cupid is having a chuckle at all our expense, stripping us naked with all our warts and bumps and lumps on display.”

If that was Durant’s attempt at getting her to relax, he was failing badly.

“You forget I’ve seen you naked already,” Maris pointed out.

“And did you like what you saw?”

Odious man. “I am sure you are adequate for the occasion.”

The captain rumbled in laughter. “I see you will be a difficult mountain to climb, Lady Kelby. You are obdurate—granite itself— with lots of icy patches to keep me unbalanced. I believe it will be a worthwhile trip to your summit, though. I’ve been entrusted with your safekeeping . . . and your pleasure.”

“M-my pleasure!” Maris did not intend to derive one moment’s pleasure out of the next few weeks. “Do you think likening me to rock will smooth your path?”

“I’m just being honest. I think we owe that to each other.”

“We owe each other nothing.” Except the extra money he will get once this was all done. Maris didn’t approve of Henry’s generous impulse to sweeten the already sugary deal, but one couldn’t argue with Henry and win very often.

“Suppose we stop disagreeing. Why don’t you conduct me through all this? Are the boxes we are to open all in the same place?”

Maris shook her head. “Not really, but they’re all clearly marked. Most of the storage rooms contain the usual sort of thing—old toys, ball gowns, and bad pictures. The other end of the attics are the servants’ quarters.”

“They won’t be taking turns with their ears pressed against a wall?”

Maris flushed. “We shall have complete privacy. You know how long Kelby Hall is. There’s plenty of space between the inhabited portion of the attic and the workroom. It’s just through that doorway.”

The captain let out a low whistle when he saw the arrangements she’d made. “Very nice. You’ve thought of everything.”

Rectangles of bright sunlight slanted through the room’s newly scrubbed west-facing windows. “I tried. I will be doing all the real work up here, after all.” She thought of the pillows and blankets stacked neatly on the chaise behind the screen, praying he wouldn’t go looking into that corner quite yet.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure my brawn will be good for hauling crates and jimmying them open. I’ll leave writing down all the historical details to you. I wouldn’t know a Roman frieze from a Greek one. Shall I start a fire?”

There was a plain brick fireplace along the south wall. One of the servants had already laid it. A basket of wood, as well as several hods of coal were nearby.

“I haven’t a tinder box with me.”

“I do. In my room. Make yourself comfortable while I go get it.”

Maris shivered despite standing in a patch of sunlight by the window. She felt she’d never be warm again.

Perhaps she wouldn’t have to disrobe entirely, just hike up her skirt as she had with David. Their few encounters had been hurried and somewhat brutal. The whole thing had been sordid, which only seemed to make him enjoy it more. She had been scared to death of discovery and had never achieved with him what Henry had been able to do with his hand in the early years of their marriage.

She and Jane had been used for David’s own sense of consequence. He had toyed with them—the sheltered wife and daughter of the man who held so tight to his purse strings. Henry was not as generous with David as he was with his tenants and servants, and rightfully so. David had run through his own inheritance in the blink of an eye.

While he could be charm itself, Maris had come to know his ruthlessness. But Jane’s suicide seemed to have sobered him a little, and he’d ceased bedeviling Maris with constant threats to reveal their affair. Over the years, she had given him most of her pin money for his silence. Unlike David, she had more than she could spend.

Were men born evil or did they learn it? Could one do evil and still be good? Maris felt the beginning of a headache but turned from the window at Captain Durant’s footfall. She watched as he shucked his jacket and knelt before the hearth, rearranging the carefully laid fire.