His Christmas Countess

‘Yes, but the building work is proving far more disruptive than we thought with all the work they are doing on the chimney flues.’ He was using what Kate thought of as his husband being reasonable voice. It usually amused her, especially as she won half of the battles that necessitated the use of it. Now she dropped the toast, jam-side down, on to the plate and stared at him as he continued, just as reasonably. ‘We can’t use half the downstairs rooms because we can’t light fires there and the house is getting colder and colder. And you said yourself only the other day that it is making a lot of work for the staff, trying to keep all the dust under control. If we weren’t here, they could shut up all the rooms, put dust covers on the furniture, retreat into the warm part and let the builders get on with it. I thought we could go down next week.’

‘Next week?’ Kate echoed faintly. Over Christmas week London would be quiet and starved of fashionable company because most of the ton would be at their country estates. But at the beginning of December she was sure the capital would seem as busy as always. It might not be the Season, but society would still be there in force.

‘I’m sure I said something.’ Grant shrugged. ‘Perhaps I just remarked about it to Grimswade and Bolton. And Wilkinson.’ He picked up the paper again. ‘I’m sure I mentioned it to Wilkinson.’

‘My lord.’ Kate kept her voice level because it would not do to shout in front of the footmen. ‘You may have told your butler, your secretary and your bailiff, but you did not tell your wife.’

‘There is no need to worry, my dear.’ Grant seemed blissfully unaware that he was within an inch of having the jam pot thrown at him. ‘The staff are well practised in getting packed up for London. We’ll take the chaise for ourselves and the travelling coach for the children and Jeannie and Gough, and then another coach for the luggage. This fine dry weather seems set to hold.’

‘Thank you, Giles, that will be all.’ Kate waited until the footmen had gone out and the door had closed. ‘My lord, I do not want to go to London.’

‘Why ever not?’ Finally she had his full attention. Probably the repeated use of his title gave him an inkling that all was not well.

‘Because—’ My lover will be there. Anna’s father. The man who ruined me and who has every cause to wish to see me in prison. My brother might be there and will try his damnedest to ensnare you in his schemes. Because you’ll find out that I told you a pack of lies. Because I am terrified that everything we have built is going to fall apart. And she could say none of that.

The six months that Grant had been at Abbeywell had been months of contentment. They had grown closer and had fallen into a domestic routine that appeared to please both of them. Their nights were filled with passionate lovemaking and Grant showed no sign of tiring of her, even though he had not declared any feeling for her beyond affection. The children were flourishing.

We have become a family, Kate thought, but it is all founded on lies. My lies. They were companionable, but sometimes that companionship felt merely polite and distant and Kate knew there was an invisible barrier between them that stopped them achieving the closeness that might lead to a mutual love. She suspected it was her own guilty conscience that had raised that sheet of glass. She dared not break it and the more time went past, the harder it became to even contemplate telling him the truth. It was as though the right moment had slipped through her fingers and was now vanishing, too far gone to catch.

The marriage was like a house built of cards. If Grant discovered the truth, then it would all come tumbling down—their family life, the children’s security, Grant’s reputation if, as she suspected he would, he insisted on confronting the criminality of what Henry had done. At some level Grant must sense that she was holding something back from him, but he was too much the gentleman to force the issue.

Or perhaps he does not care enough, she thought in her darker moments. He must have had enough drama and emotion with Madeleine not to want to demand a confrontation with her. Surely now he wanted only a quiet life with a wife who satisfied him in bed and loved his children. But it is so lonely sometimes.

‘Why are you so reluctant to go to London?’ Grant asked.

‘Charlie will miss Christmas at home.’

‘The town house is familiar to him now—besides, this house at Christmastide can only hold bad memories for him. Let him have this year somewhere entirely different and then the following year the recollections will be dimmer, the house will be much changed and we can enjoy the festive season here.’