Page 17 of The Rogue’s Countess

A smile that was as warm as it was kind curved the dowager marchioness’s lips. There was also a look of pleading in the woman’s gray eyes. A fleeting thought whispered through her head as she tried to remember where she’d seen eyes of the same color. Before she could isolate the memory, Lady Wrotham caught Phoebe’s hand in hers.

“I truly do need help. I love my son, but I know without a doubt, Gideon’s choice will be either a curmudgeon or a busy body. I can abide neither. I think we would do well together, and despite Constance’s misstep, I trust her instincts.”

As Phoebe stared into the woman’s eyes, she saw no pity, only compassion. Swallowing hard, she pushed her pride aside and nodded her agreement. The relief crossing Lady Wrotham’s features as she squeezed Phoebe’s hand made her realize the marchioness’s plea for help was genuine.

“Thank you, my dear.” The kindness in the woman’s gaze was quickly replaced with a no-nonsense expression. “Now then, I need you to start right away. I am afraid I’ve made a terrible mess of the charity’s books in the short time since Lydia left. I would not be surprised if it takes you weeks to correct the damage I’ve done.”

“I doubt it is quite that bad,” Phoebe said with a small laugh. “But I must give Madame Sabine some form of notice. I do not wish to leave her without someone to handle her accounts.”

“You are thoughtful as I knew you would be. I shall call on Madame Sabine and make arrangements for an immediate replacement.”

“Oh, but—”

“I was one of her first customers. Sabine will be more than happy to accommodate me, especially when I offer to pay for a new bookkeeper.“ The dowager marchioness waved her hand in a placating but dismissive manner. “Now then, I am something of a workhorse, and I have a tendency to work late into the night. So I think it best you move into Chelmsford House.”

“Chelmsford House?” Phoebe struggled to keep the horror out of her voice as she stared at the dowager marchioness in dismay. Her heart began to pound frantically as she remembered how she’d mocked the Earl of Chelmsford in several recent installments of the Currier Chronicles.

“Yes, I live with my son when I’m in town. Although my step-son has invited me to stay at Wrotham Place whenever I wish, I prefer Chelmsford House. Abner and Miriam are very kind, but I have little in common with them. Gideon is in Holland at the moment, so the two of us will be well-settled in our routine by the time he returns.”

As Phoebe remembered how unflattering her depiction of the earl had been in her serial, she realized she’d agreed too hastily to the dowager marchioness’s offer. From the gossip she’d overheard at Madame Sabine’s, the man had not been happy with her caricature of him as a Lothario who danced from one woman to the next like a bumblebee did flowers. If he were to discover who she was—Phoebe’s mouth went dry at the possibility. Before she could think of a reason to retract her acceptance of the marchioness’s employment, Lady Wrotham tucked her arm into Phoebe’s and pulled her back toward the salon.

“Come along now, my dear. We must put Constance out of her misery. The poor woman was distraught at having caused you pain.”

With another gentle tug on Phoebe’s arm, Lady Wrotham pulled her back into the salon. Deep in the back of her brain, she heard a voice cry out a warning, but she’d already agreed. Drowning out the word of caution was another voice that said she would no longer have to choose between food or coal for a fire.

That was something Phoebe had done for months now when she received her first payment for the first installment of the Currer Chronicles. She had been determined to go cold and hungry if necessary rather than dip into her savings. Every farthing she earned from her serial was set aside to purchase a small cottage in the country. She only had a few more months before she would be able to escape the city altogether, at which time P. Currer would vanish into the mist from whence he’d come.

She would simply have to do her best to stay out of Lord Chelmsford’s path. For the past two years, she’d walked right under the noses of the Marlborough Set. Surely it wouldn’t be any more difficult to do the same where the earl was concerned.

Chapter 5

Gideon Lethbridge, Earl of Chelmsford, rubbed the back of his neck to loosen stiff muscles as the carriage turned onto Curzon Street. The trip home had been longer and more arduous than he’d expected. His conversation with Willem Ruigrok at his tulip farm in De Zilk had caused him to miss the passenger steamer out of Amsterdam yesterday.

Usually, he didn’t find traveling exhausting, but with no seats available on the passenger steamer for two more days, he’d been forced to take passage on a cargo ship to the port of London. The amenities on the steamer were few, and the Channel had proven to be a rough journey. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever been more ready to sleep in his own bed than now.

Despite the fatigue he was suffering now, missing the passenger steamer had been well worth it. His conversation with Ruigrok had been insightful, and the bulbs the expert horticulturist had sold him were unique to the man’s farm. The tulip grower’s advice about the proper storage of the bulbs was certain to go a long way with the bulbs he already had. It meant his small tulip bed in the orangery would hopefully produce enough bulbs to plant in the garden at Lethbridge Farm. Ruigrok had indicated that his bulbs would last up to six years with the right care, which would provide him with new bulbs to plant for years to come. The carriage rolled to a halt in front of Chelmsford House, and Gideon stepped out of the vehicle. He looked up at the coachman and nodded.

“Thank you, Jeremy,” he said as he started toward the front door then suddenly stopped to face the driver again. “Oh, please tell Brown I’ll be riding a little late tomorrow morning, say ten o’clock. I imagine Xerxes will be unruly, but have him saddled him all the same.”

“Yes, my Lord. Mr. Brown hired a new stable hand who has been exercising Xerxes. I don’t think that horse will be any more difficult than usual,” the driver said with a cheerful grin.

“Should I look to my laurels when it comes to the beast?” Gideon arched his eyebrow at the young coachman with a small smile. The man shook his head and grinned.

“You have nothing to worry about at all, my lord. Myers was thrown the first time he tried to ride the horse. Xerxes has never thrown you because he knows you’re the master.”

Gideon laughed at the driver’s words and waved him on his way as he climbed the steps to the front door. It opened before he reached the top step. Removing his hat and gloves, he handed them to his butler.

“Welcome home, my lord.”

“Thank you, Pendleton. Is her ladyship still up?”

“Lady Wrotham is in her sitting room with her new secretary.”

“New secretary? What happened to Miss Smithers?”

“She dashed off to Gretna Green with her young man shortly after you left for Holland.”

“And how did my mother find…never mind, I’ll ask her myself.” Gideon waved his hand as he headed toward the staircase.