My Favorite Countess Read Free Page A

myself to blame.”
    Disbelief slowly replaced confusion on the earl’s kind face. She couldn’t look at him, so she pushed out of her chair and began pacing the threadbare carpet. More than anything she wanted to run from the library and from this house full of never-ending responsibilities and bitter memories. She wanted to run all the way to London, never to set foot in Ripon or Yorkshire again.
    Mr. Oliver rose from his chair and began stacking the ledgers. When he had completed his task he turned to Bathsheba, watching her with patient sympathy. She and Mr. Oliver had worked together for years. He was one of the few men in her life she had come to respect.
    â€œWill there be anything else, my lady?”
    She stopped in front of the old chimneypiece, painted with a bucolic but sadly faded scene. She had to resist the temptation to lean against the mantel and burst into tears.
    â€œThank you, Mr. Oliver,” she said, dredging up a smile. “That will be all for now.”
    Silence fell over the room after he left, and for a moment it seemed imbued with the peace of a warm summer day in the country. She let her gaze drift round the library, her perceptions sharpened to painful acuity by their impending disaster.
    The late-afternoon sun streamed in through the mullioned windows, casting gentle beams on the old-fashioned Queen Anne chairs, the venerable but scarred desk, and the cracked leather wingchair stationed in front of the empty grate. To others it might all look old and worn, but the weariness of the room was lightened by bowls of yellow roses on side tables, and by Matthew’s collection of antique globes, polished to a high gleam. The servants had to make do with very little, but they were fanatically loyal to the earl and did their best to transform the run-down estate into a home—more of a home than it had ever been during the time she had resided there with her husband, Reggie.
    â€œSheba, what are we going to do?”
    She jerked around. Matthew hadn’t moved from behind his desk, paralyzed, no doubt, by her incompetence. But a moment later he leapt to his feet and hurried over to join her.
    â€œDon’t look like that, my dear,” he said. “You’ll think of something—I know you will. You always do.”
    He gazed at her with perfect confidence, and her heart almost broke under the strain of his trust. Unlike most people she knew, Matthew had never lost faith in her. And he would do anything he could to help her.
    She straightened her spine, disgusted by her momentary weakness. Matthew could no more help her than he could help himself. As usual, she was the one who would have to make things right. If that meant giving up her freedom, well, that was infinitely preferable to living in poverty and disgrace.
    And there was Rachel to consider. Bathsheba would slit her own wrists before she let anything happen to her sister.
    Pinning a confident smile on her face—marriage had taught her never to appear vulnerable—she led Matthew back to his desk.
    â€œI do have a plan, and I must return to London on the morrow to put it into effect.”
    â€œCapital! I knew you’d have some trick up your sleeve.” He sank into his chair, looking enormously relieved.
    That made her laugh, but even to her own ears it sounded bitter.
    â€œHardly a trick. I see only one way out of this mess, and that’s for me to find a rich husband. I’ll demand—and get—a very large settlement. That way I can help you alleviate your debt, and you’ll be able to rent the town house in Berkeley Square once I move out.”
    Her heart contracted painfully at the thought of leaving her elegant mansion, but Matthew had let her live there on sufferance. After Reggie died, the new earl would have been well within his rights to ask the widow Randolph to vacate the premises.
    Matthew stared at her as if she’d lost her wits. “No, Bathsheba. I