Page 1 of The Countess Caper

Chapter One

On the last Wednesday of September, Lady Tessa Kilkenny stole a man.

She didn’t mean to.

But she wasn’t giving him back.

At least, not yet. There simply wasn’t time. She needed his carriage, and he happened to be inside of it. That was his own bad luck and nothing to do with her.

Mostly.

Anyway, he would survive. Her cousin Dove might not.

And to think that this time last year she had been sitting down to another interminable tea, her ankles crossed, her gloves pristine, her smile polite and as sweet as the teacakes being served. She had told stories, played the pianoforte when asked, laughed when appropriate, murmured when necessary, her spine straight no matter how tired she was.

She’d survived it with another of those terrible smiles because it was meant to protect her, to make her family love her. She was a lark, always up for a laugh. It was meant to save her cousin Deirdre from ruin, and so much worse.

When it did neither, what, as a woman, was she to do?

Burn it all down.

Metaphorically, of course. She would never damage a three-hundred-year-old house with better bones and a better reputation than anyone in her life. Than herself, come to that. Her reputation had not improved. Not to mention Mayfair, with its cobbled stones and marble pillars, would be a bit of work to burn, to be honest.

Still, The Incident followed her.

A week later, a month later. A year later.

And she wasn’t the least bit sorry for it.

Lord Tewksbury got what he deserved. He deserved far worse, but she had acted on impulse with the tools at hand.

And now here she was.

Ruined. Banned from Society. Disdained.

And stuck in a thunderstorm with her cousin crouched in the mud, shouting obscenities.

As one of Tessa’s first forays into being a highwaywoman, it left something to be desired. But she could hardly be held responsible for Dove’s situation. Or the timing of babies deciding they were ready to fling themselves into the world. If she was, she’d have chosen a much warmer day, and a much closer proximity to a midwife. Any midwife, but preferably Noni from the village, which was an hour’s walk away.

She didn’t know the first thing about childbirth.

Neither did Dove, regrettably. She went by Marigold now, changing her name as they all did when moving to Magpie House. It was safer that way. Only Tessa kept her name because she was not in hiding. And no one was looking for her. Certainly, no one wanted to find her.

Dove—Marigold—hadn’t even realized the night she spent with a viscount could result in a pregnancy. Her parents could choke on their indignation and embarrassment. They kept their daughter ignorant and handed all of the power to an unscrupulous viscount who would choke on something more than shame the very moment Tessa found him. He’d pay dearly, both figuratively and literally.

And now here they were, waiting for said viscount, so that Tessa could threaten him with her pistol and steal all of his coins. She planned to shoot at the sky very dramatically if he pressed her. Babies were expensive. Marigold should be in her rickety bed at Magpie House with her feet up, but she had insisted on coming along, just so she could spy from the bushes to watch him squirm and sputter.

The viscount had yet to make an appearance. Instead, Marigold was the one squirming. And panting. And holding on to a tree while seething with curse words. Her cheeks went from pale to red and back to pale.

“I love you,” Tessa said. “But I can’t boost you into the saddle. It would be like lifting a whale.”

“I’m going to punch you for that remark, Tessa Kilkenny.” Marigold made a strange sort of sound and clutched her belly. “Later.”

“Do not have this baby in the lilac bush before I get back,” Tessa ordered her.

“Hurry.”

Tessa paused, momentarily undecided. She didn’t want to leave her alone. But they needed a midwife. And a carriage to get there. “Bollocks.”