His Countess For A Week. Sarah Mallory

‘I think we shall manage.’

      Within minutes the luggage was strapped to the coach and he and Joseph were settling themselves inside, together with Mr Chislett.

      ‘I have booked rooms for you at the Admiral,’ said the lawyer. ‘I am staying there myself and I hope it will suit. I thought that we might meet after breakfast tomorrow to discuss your situation.’

      ‘Why wait until the morning?’ said Randolph. ‘The sooner this business is concluded the better.’ He looked out of the window as the carriage began to slow. ‘Are we here already? Capital. Let us go in. Arrange dinner for the three of us in a private parlour, if you please, Mr Chislett. In, say, an hour. Joseph, I will leave you to organise our bags while I go and order hot water sent up to our rooms.’

      With that he jumped out of the carriage and strode into the inn, leaving the lawyer staring in surprise after him.

      Joseph Miller chuckled. ‘His Lordship’s not one to stand back and let others do all the work. Nor will he walk if he can run. Come along, Mr Chislett, let us get on with it!’

      Ran sat back in his chair and gave a loud sigh of satisfaction.

      ‘After months of ship’s rations, I enjoyed that meal!’

      He was sitting at the table in the private parlour of the Admiral with Joseph and Mr Chislett. The dishes had been cleared away and a decanter of the landlord’s finest brandy now stood on the table beside a jug of small beer.

      Miller filled two glasses with brandy and pushed one towards the lawyer.

      ‘You’ll be wanting to get down to business,’ he remarked, picking up the second glass and preparing to leave.

      Ran waved him back to his seat. ‘No need to go, Joseph. Heaven knows I have no secrets from you.’ He poured himself a tankard of small beer and turned to the lawyer. ‘Now, Mr Chislett, if you are ready, let us proceed with the business. Perhaps you might start by explaining to me again, and not in the legal jargon you used in your letter, just how it comes about that a disgraced baron, who was transported from this country in chains, is suddenly become the Earl of Westray? The connection was never even mentioned in my family.’

      Mr Chislett picked up his glass and warmed it between his hands for a moment.

      ‘It is a simple story, my lord, but a tragic one,’ he began. ‘The Seventh Earl had two healthy sons and three younger brothers. As a mere cousin, your grandfather never considered the title would come down through his line. The youngest brother died without issue, the second had a son who was killed at Waterloo, and still no one saw it as a cause for concern. Then the Earl’s two sons were taken—one by fever, the other in a hunting accident—and the remaining brother discovered he had left it too late to marry and have a child. Thus, when the Earl died eighteen months ago, his brother succeeded to the title, but lived to enjoy it for only a few months. The Earldom therefore falls to the next male relative. That is you, my lord. You are now the Ninth Earl.’

      ‘And if I do not want it?’

      ‘As I advised you in my letter, the Earldom of Westray is an ancient title and includes several properties. There are any number of tenants, staff and their families all dependent upon the successful running of the estates. If you do not wish to claim the title, then we would do our best to administer the estates from London, as we have done since the Eighth Earl died nine months ago. The title would be dormant and pass on to your son in due course. If you die without issue, the title becomes extinct.’ The lawyer’s thin mouth turned down a little, expressing his disapproval of such a thought. He continued, his voice devoid of emotion, ‘Of course, my lord, you might choose to leave the administration to your stewards and enjoy the...er...fruits of your new station. That, of course, is up to you.’

      ‘You mean live like a lord while someone else does all the work? No. I thank you. If I decide to take this on, I would do my utmost to improve the estates, not milk ’em dry!’

      Randolph sipped his beer. He had made a good life for himself in Australia. He had revelled in the outdoor life, running his farm, building it up into a thriving business. Also, the climate suited him and he was healthier than he had ever been, so much so that he had positively enjoyed the long sea voyage. It had been very different from the first one, when only Joseph Miller’s devotion had kept him alive.

      ‘Lord knows I don’t want the title,’ he said slowly, ‘but it is mine now and I cannot ignore it. As a boy I evaded all my responsibilities, leaving my sister to bear the consequences. I am deeply ashamed of the hell she went through for me. I will not shirk my duty a second time.’

      The merry crackling of the fire filled the awkward silence. At last Joseph Miller spoke.

      ‘So, Lord Westray, we stay in England?’

      Ran met his eyes, read the same affection and faith in them that had helped him through the darkest days. He smiled and raised his glass.

      ‘We stay in England.’

      With the decision made, the atmosphere in the little room lightened. The canny lawyer was not given to displays of emotion, but Ran could almost feel the older man’s relief.

      ‘Very well, my lord. Firstly, I must give you the Westray ring.’ He pulled a small velvet pouch from his pocket and handed it over, watching as Randolph took out the ring and tried it first on one finger, then another. ‘If it does not fit, my lord, we can have it made larger.’

      ‘No, no, it fits snugly on my little finger,’ said Ran, holding up his hand. The gold signet ring felt heavy, but he would get used to that, as he would accustom himself to being Earl and all that entailed.

      The lawyer looked relieved and permitted himself a little smile.

      ‘I am glad. Now.’ He fetched a thick wallet from the sideboard and carried it to the table. ‘I have one or two documents here that require your attention.’

      When Randolph walked into the private parlour the following morning, he was surprised to see the lawyer already there and finishing his breakfast.

      ‘Good God, man, do you never sleep? It was well after midnight when we went to bed!’

      ‘I find a few hours is sufficient for me,’ replied Chislett. He nodded to Joseph, who was following his master into the room, then turned back to Ran. ‘If you have no further questions or instructions, I plan to set out for London as soon as I have broken my fast.’

      ‘I am sure I shall have a hundred more questions,’ retorted Ran cheerfully. ‘However, for the moment I am content with all we have arranged.’

      ‘Then I shall be on my way.’ Chislett drained his coffee cup and got to his feet. ‘Do not hesitate to write to me, my lord, if anything else comes to mind, and I shall look forward to seeing you in town in the spring. Good day to you, Lord Westray. Mr Miller.’

      The lawyer went out and Ran walked to the window to watch his departure. Only when the carriage had drawn away did he turn back to survey the breakfast table.

      ‘By heaven, I have an appetite this morning, Joseph. I want more than bread rolls and coffee! Will you go and see if the landlord can provide us with eggs and perhaps some ham?’

      ‘Aye, willingly.’ Miller grinned at him. ‘Do you wish me to tell him who you are, puff off your consequence?’

      ‘No, damn you! I am not dressed for the part yet and want to enjoy my anonymity for a little longer.’ He hesitated. ‘You realise, old friend, our lives are going to be very different from now on. There are estates to be managed, staff and tenants to be considered.’

      ‘Aye,