How I Met My Countess Read Free

thought she had until a few moments ago when he’d tumbled back into her life.
    And here she’d been worried about him breaking a bone!
    Thank goodness he hadn’t, for it left him hale enough to leave. And leave soon. For the growing panic on Thomas-William’s nearly apoplectic features said only too clearly that she should send the earl on his merry way. Yet there was still one piece of the puzzle that she had to know.
    For she was her father’s daughter, and as he’d always said, “ Information is what keeps you alive .”
    Lucy pasted a smile on her lips and asked, “And what was it that brought you here to Brook Street, of all places?”
    Of course there was always her father’s other favorite adage.
    Know when to stop asking questions.
    “I was looking for Lady Standon—” the earl began.
    “Lady Standon?”
    She’d have been less surprised if he’d professed his undying love for her—and had actually meant it this time.
    Instead she shot a panicked glance over at Thomas-William, who was even now scanning the luggage as if deciding which pieces to grab if a hasty departure became necessary.
    The earl nodded, his blue eyes fixed warily on the door behind her. “Yes, do you know her?”
    “I-I-I-” Lucy looked helplessly down at Thomas-William.
    But thankfully, the earl missed the point of her distress entirely. “My thoughts exactly. The lady just sent me packing with a flea in my ear.”
    “She did?” Lucy replied warily, then rallied and tried to sound nonchalant. “I mean, whatever did you want with Lady Standon? She’s quite the terror …” Lucy shuddered, making a good show of it. “Or so I’ve been told.”
    Thomas-William shook his head and got to work gathering up the hatboxes, tossing them back in the boot of the carriage.
    Wonderful man, Thomas-William. He knew how much she loved those hats.
    Clifton paused and studied her for a moment. After all, he’d been a student of her father’s as well, and thus he knew all the old adages too. “Some old business. Of no matter. Must be all a mistake anyway, though quite unlike Strout to make such an error—”
    “Strout?” she muttered faintly. Oh, heavens, she hoped Thomas-William could manage the smaller blue trunk. Her best gown was in it.
    “Yes, Mr. Strout,” he repeated. “But of course you’d know him. How foolish of me. He did business for your father, didn’t he?”
    She could only nod.
    “Well, I can’t see Malcolm having any association with that harridan. Not that I can imagine how he’d ever have met her,” he said with a nod toward the door.
    “Malcolm?” she echoed. Dear God, she was starting to sound like a parrot. What she needed to do was change the subject and do so quickly.
    “Yes, you did hear about him, didn’t you?” the earl managed. The pain in his voice tangled around her heart, so much so that she nearly reached out for him, like she might have done once before.
    Instead, she folded her hands together in front of her and uttered polite, simple words. “I did. I was most sorry to learn of his … his …” Of his what? Death? She couldn’t say that, for it was hardly the truth. Murder, really. Shot as a smuggler on a beach near Hastings.
    When Malcolm had been no such thing, had been so much more.
    Just like his brother …
    She stammered over how to finish, and finally rushed to say, “I would have written, but I didn’t know where to send—”
    “Yes, well, I understand,” he said in a formal, tight voice that cut through her yet again.
    Oh, heavens, Malcolm’s death must have ripped him in half, as it had …
    The situation grew from bad to worse, for a terrible awkwardness sprang up between them, and they both looked left and right and not at each other.
    Then Clapp, dear old fretful Clapp, came to her unlikely rescue. “Lucy, is this the place?” she called out from the carriage window. “Or must I stay out in this draft all day? You know this wind is likely to have terrible