Counterfeit Countess (13 page)

“Very well.” She understood the importance of knowing the people she did business with. John would need to take the word of this man.

Thomas opened one of the ledgers set on his desk and they began to review recent transactions and upcoming ones.

Apart from a few terms she didn’t understand, Faith followed most of the reasoning. And realised she was married to a wealthy man in his own right. Except that she wasn’t married to him. The information made her wonder how she could cope. The soldier she’d admired from afar had turned into a brilliant businessman.

“All this in two years?” she wondered.

“No,” John told her. “I always invested, from when I realised I would be nothing if I did not. After a time, I wanted to do something else. I turned to soldiering when my fortune had grown large enough for me to ensure my continued independence.”

That made sense. John was a man of honour, and if he’d thought his country needed his assistance, making money wouldn’t have
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been enough. “I never imagined...” she began.

“Wealthy men often become targets,” John said. “If people had known, I’d have been captured, maybe ransomed, and I would certainly could not have moved around as freely as I did. When you have a private fortune, people expect things and you receive begging letters, petitions and so on. I didn’t want that, either. Now I’m the earl, I fear that might come to an end.”

“Did you think of walking away?”

He gave her a particularly warm smile. “Not when I discovered I had a wife.” He glanced at Thomas who sat, seemingly engrossed by a column of figures. “I didn’t know about her, Thomas. I had a head injury, remember?”

Thomas glanced up and smiled. “Ah. I see.”

Faith wondered what he saw.

Thomas had concerns everywhere, all over the world. She would find it far more difficult to get away, if she decided to take that course. But increasingly she was wondering if she had not choosen the coward’s way out. Her concern remained that she was barren and wouldn’t provide him with the family he so obviously needed.

She could still go. If she lived in a small town, went about her business as a humble widow, he would not find her. Her only problem would be money, which, when she listened to the fabulous sums John and his agent were discussing seemed altogether ridiculous. “I lived comfortably on a hundred a year,” she said. “I thought myself lucky.”

John smiled at her, warm and understanding. “You’re an excellent manager. It’s why I want you involved in this. What you did in a small way you could do in a much larger way. Forget about the noughts at the end of a number. Think of what it does and how it can perform best.”

If she did that, cut the last part of the number away, he was right, she could think of it as a tangible amount. See through the dazzling wealth to what the money was actually doing. Making
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them wealthy, providing employment, paying taxes that helped the government run the country. That was the theory, anyway, and John was fulfilling his part.

When John pulled out his watch and pressed the repeater, the paucity of
tings
shocked her. Only one. They’d been here for two hours? He glanced at Faith and rose. “I have another call to make before I can return home. I intend to visit Roker in his offices.” He grinned. “Without an appointment. It should be interesting. I don’t want to give him time to prepare.”

Pickering caught Faith’s attention with the grin that transformed his features. “He did that to me until he trusted me.”

“Don’t take anything for granted, my friend,” John said with an answering smile.

“Your husband,” Pickering continued, “Is a financial genius. He works through me and others, but he remains in control.”

John shrugged, obviously uncomfortable by the way he stared out the window instead of meeting the gaze of anyone inside the room. “I have some skill, but don’t ever forget that I also had some luck at the beginning of my career. I heard something that I used to my advantage.”

“Very few people would have had the nerve to do that,”

Pickering said. “You threw your money at it, and it could have ruined you.”

John laughed. “I had no dependents, so I could afford to take that risk. I still had the army, I wouldn’t have starved.” He got to his feet and helped Faith up. She loved how he treated her like china one moment, but trusted her to understand complexities that many would consider way over a mere woman’s head. A fascinating mix she wanted to experience again and again. His hand brushed her waist. “My secret?” He paused and waited, a wicked grin on his lips.

“I never thought too much about it. I never gave money the respect it demanded. It’s a tool, nothing more.”

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In a blinding flash of understanding, she saw how brilliant, how ruthless he was. Someone who didn’t care for money but knew how to use it would always beat a person overburdened with caution.

It seemed impossible that he would want her for long, since he moved from project to project. Except his consistency as an army officer was never in doubt. He’d never let anyone down and had led his company in the worst situations imaginable.

Faith had never felt so alive, or so out of her depth. Her two years of quiet living seemed tame, and she began to wonder how she’d managed with the lack of excitement. Maybe she’d needed that time to hide away and heal. Now she felt ready to begin again, although she still had serious doubts about her ability to keep up.

For now, she would try.

Having escorted her to the Royal Exchange John excused himself to walk to Roker’s office nearby, leaving her Robinson and the footman. Faith had visited the Royal Exchange a few times before. She enjoyed its heady blend of business and commerce. It contained many of the finest stores in London, even though the fashionable world had moved on to the West End. Its three tiers, ranged around a central courtyard, where businessmen gathered making deals and exchanging information, held a mixture of small, select shops, coffeehouses and businesses. Unfortunately, women never darkened the doors of the coffeehouses, although some inns had begun to put rooms aside exclusively for the use of women.

They should have done that years ago, Faith thought, since there must be a lot of business available. The recent meeting must have caught her interest, because she found herself wondering about women-only public places of refreshment, examining the establishments with an eye to privacy, ease of access and commercial possibilities.

Damn, she was thinking like her husband, seeking out business opportunities. Instead, she turned her mind to her purchases and within half an hour had a selection of mourning goods. She spread
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the largesse over several establishments and ensured they knew she was the Countess of Graywood, and that she could bring them useful custom if she wished. Making an impression, telling people she had arrived. After a while, she found her progress easier. Word must have passed around the traders, messenger boys and runners exchanging the information so shopkeepers were waiting to usher her into their establishments, a chair set ready for her. She wasn’t sure she enjoyed it after the first few visits. Several had known her as Mrs. Dalkington-Smythe. They used that information for all they were worth, lavishing her with “My lady”’s and “Your impeccable taste” and other such blandishments which she didn’t appreciate in the least.

The expedition tired her more than shopping as an ordinary person. Sometimes she’d seen the grand ladies in the Exchange, felt herself nudged aside so the proprietor could accommodate their needs. But now she discovered that being at the receiving end exhausted her just as much. People watched her, stared at her and she had to keep smiling, as if their attention didn’t disturb her. She was still Faith, although nobody treated her that way. Except for John.

After she left the shop she sent the footman ahead to stow the packages in the carriage, and order the driver to get ready. Robinson remained with her. If John was tied up with Mr. Roker, she’d go home and send the carriage back for him.

Home! Already, the large house seemed to contain some of those attributes, even if the dauntingly grand suite assigned to them still appeared to belong to someone else. Not her. Maybe John, after what she’d learned about him today.

She wanted to take off this stylish but too-new gown, put on her old robe and sit with her feet up for an hour before she had to dress for dinner. Recalling what John had considered ‘a rest’ the previous day she smiled, and led the way down the stairs towards the main central area and the exit.

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At the bottom of the stairs lay a relatively sheltered space, with no shops or other establishments leading off it. It tempted her to linger, where nobody was watching her, but she’d ordered the carriage brought around and the lure of tea drew her.

“Mrs. Dalkington-Smythe.”

A voice she knew, a voice she thought she’d left behind cut into her musings. Spinning around, she saw Robinson gripped none too gently in the arms of a big bully, his hand clamped over her mouth.

Her eyes bulged wide with panic over the beefy fingers clasped across her mouth and nose.

She stared into the face of her worst nightmare.

Faith had seen worse looking ruffians in her life, but not many. The men who stood, or rather, swaggered, before her, all had a degree of evil attraction, although they’d never attracted her. The last time she’d seen them was just under two years ago, because she’d hidden and made sure she stayed hidden. “Clever girl, to grab an earl,” the main one said. He stood in front of this colleagues grinning, the two front teeth he had left gleaming white, the gold one at the side still glinting when he spoke. Just as she remembered it, saw it in her nightmares.

“Do you know how much interest accumulates in two years?”

said the man she knew as Cockfosters. Of course, that could not be his name, but some babies didn’t have the fortune to be baptised.

He could call himself what he liked, he’d always be an evil bastard.

Robinson struggled in the restraining hold of another ruffian, his hand clamped over her mouth, his other around her waist, clamping to him with insulting ease. Fury and terror coursed through her, driving her to move, to run, but she couldn’t leave her maid behind. Besides, someone else stood in front of the small enclosed space, picking his teeth with a knife, effectively deterring curious visitors.

“You can’t dun me for the debts of a dead man,” she said.

“Yes we can,” he said gently. “You’re a countess now. We ‘eard about that.” She remembered the occasional dropped ‘h’ and the flat, London accent too, although the last time they’d met was in Belgium. They’d been scum then and they were scum now.

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“Try it.”

“Let ‘em know what you did, what your ‘usband did? By the way, when did you marry this one?” He moved closer, the single step a menace she worked hard not to retreat from. If she did, she’d back herself against a wall, and never have a chance to run. “Because we saw your husband alive and well the night before Waterloo. Did you marry this one after? Because look at this.” He dug a hand in the capacious pocket of his greatcoat and dragged out a single sheet of paper. “They’re talking about you already. Look ‘ere.” He could read, and he did so now, quoting from the paper. “
The sad deaths of
the fifth Earl of Graywood and his brother at sea have left us with a
new earl, and countess. His lordship has taken up residence in the
London house in Grosvenor Square. He recently returned from
abroad. Word says he had no previous memory of a wife, but he surely
remembers her now.
” He put on a false upper-tier accent, sneering the words nasally. “
Her la’ship has lived in London since the victory
at Waterloo, believing herself a widow. She received a severe shock on
her husband’s return from abroad, but maybe it was a welcome one. It
is said that the current earl was on board ship with his cousins when
the tragedy occurred. We wonder why the earl and his two heirs would
choose to travel on the same vessel. But perhaps that can be explained
in ways less suspicious than the ones currently circulating around the
city.
”

“That’s libel!” she gasped but pamphlets and news-sheets appeared every day, untraceable, so the lies they perpetrated could not be denied or their creators punished.

“It’s not libel if it’s not a lie.”

“He never wanted to become an earl!” She closed her mouth with a snap, appalled she’d let that much out.

Cockfosters sneered, his full mouth curling in a way that someone else might find sensual. She found it deeply sinister. She put up her chin, her invariable habit when scared out of her mind.

What could she do now? She’d prayed they’d given up the hunt.

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That was why she’d run so hard and so fast when her husband had died. Because they’d come back.

“You owe me, missy, and now you can pay. And pay and pay.”

He thrust the paper in her face. It smelled of him. He stank worse, but she stood her ground, ready to fight.

She put up her chin. “Or what?”

“I’ll make you listen. I can make the world listen. You’re not the only nob I’ve got in my pocket, you know, and I worked something out about you. You ain’t married to that man, are you? Fuck knows why ‘e’d take you in. Maybe ‘e likes your company.” He winked, lascivious and hateful. “Maybe he knows and he’s using you before he throws you out, but ‘e wouldn’t want the world to find out, would he? Or maybe you’re taking him in. I reckon it’s the last one.

You’re no better than us. If you want to stay in ‘is lordship’s bed, you’ll share what you’re getting’ with your old friends.”

“You’re wrong,” she said, protesting desperately. “And I owe you nothing.”

The bully holding Robinson moved and although she couldn’t follow his movements, he had a knife in his hand. He touched it to the maid’s cheek and a bead of blood appeared. Robinson squeaked as she stifled her scream, and stared at the knife, her eyes. Bulging as she strained to keep them in focus.