Jenni Fletcher - An Unconventional Countess

Yawning, she tipped her head back and closed her eyes. Things hadn’t been so bad while her father was still alive. After the swelling in her mother’s joints had started ten years before, first in her fingers and toes, then in her hands and feet, Anna had taken on more and more of her responsibilities in the shop and enjoyed them, too. She’d enjoyed running a business, unlike Sebastian who’d gone off in search of adventure the moment he’d turned seventeen. She’d been the one to suggest they start making cinnamon and rosewater-infused biscuits and to start offering tins as well as cloth-wrapped bundles.

In return, her father had taught her everything he knew, which was a great deal, but unfortunately not how to find extra hours in the day or how to go without sleep, either. His sudden heart failure had left her with a shop to run as well as an ailing, grieving mother to take care of. Not that she resented either task, but it was hard sometimes not to feel trapped in an endless cycle of monotonous chores. No matter how much she saved, it still wasn’t enough for a holiday—just a few days, or weeks preferably, to break free of the routine and maybe travel a little. It didn’t have to be far, just somewhere different. Somewhere to enjoy a little free time to read or to walk or to simply lie around daydreaming...

For some reason, the thought of daydreaming conjured up an image of Captain Delaney. His hair, somewhere between chestnut and auburn, those startling pale eyes and that deep voice that made her insides feel curiously soft and malleable, like an undercooked biscuit. He’d looked so handsome waiting for her and Henrietta in the park that she’d almost been tempted to take his arm when he’d offered it to her, but common sense had prevailed. She’d known better than to trust a gentleman .

As it turned out, however, she’d been wrong about him. She’d been so certain that he’d been trying to distract her in the shop, but apparently he really had been there to buy biscuits. She’d assumed the worst and discovered the exact opposite. Aristocratic though he obviously was, he was also a naval captain and not just any naval captain, but a national hero, a brave and honourable man instead of the rake she’d assumed. Their conversation in the park had been genuinely interesting and without any of the mocking undertones she’d detected earlier. Instead, his manner had been open and honest, enough that she’d felt able to appeal to his better nature to save Henrietta. Admittedly, he’d seemed somewhat taken aback by the request at first, so much so that for a few moments she’d thought he’d been offended on his friend’s behalf, but to her relief his words had eventually proven otherwise.

Only the severity of his expression when he’d asked if her comments about gentlemen were based upon personal experience had unsettled her, conjuring up memories she preferred to forget. Then his gaze had seemed to bore into the back of her head, giving the uncomfortable impression that he could read all of her secrets. Thankfully he hadn’t persisted in his questioning, asking her to trust him instead, and his gaze had softened then, causing a warm, tingling sensation in her chest. The feeling had actually been quite pleasant, as if some kind of unspoken communication were passing between them. It had made her decide to trust him, although she still couldn’t help but wonder if she’d done the right thing by leaving Henrietta.

Whether she had or hadn’t, however, she was far too tired to think about it now. But she liked his name, she thought sleepily. Captain Samuel Delaney. It had a nice ring to it, an authoritative ring, and it was nice to know that a few real gentlemen still existed in the world, even if it was unlikely that she’d ever see him again. Gentlemen who looked even more attractive when they turned out to be captains and bought biscuits for their grandmothers...

‘I have a present for you.’ Samuel deposited the tin he’d been carrying for the better part of two hours into his grandmother’s narrow lap. ‘Don’t say I never give you anything.’

‘Except for white hairs and anxiety, you mean?’ Lady Jarrow regarded the offering with an air of suspicion. ‘What is it?’

‘They’re Belles... Biscuits ,’ he clarified as his grandmother stared at him blankly. ‘I’m told they’re famous in Bath.’

‘I’ve never heard of them in my life.’

‘I have.’ His grandfather’s steel-rimmed spectacles peered over the top of a newspaper opposite. ‘They’re something of an institution, actually.’

‘Do you mean to say you’ve eaten them before?’ His grandmother sounded as shocked as if her husband had just announced an illegitimate child.

‘Dozens. I discovered them a few years ago and now I insist upon having one every morning when I’m in town. Two, sometimes.’

‘Then why haven’t I eaten one before?’

‘I’m sure you have, my dear.’ The newspaper lifted again. ‘Only you were probably busy thinking about a new saddle or something.’

‘Harumph.’ Lady Jarrow made short work of the ribbon. ‘I have a perfectly good collection of saddles, as you very well know. If anything, I’d be thinking about riding boots. I could do with a new pair.’ She removed the lid and tossed it at Samuel. ‘Well, this looks very pretty, I must say. I’ll ring for tea. I can’t abide sweet things without it.’

‘I’m glad that you approve, Grandmother.’

Samuel sprawled in an armchair, looking between his grandparents with a combination of amusement and affection. Aside from his mother and half-sister in Cumberland they were the only family he had, not that he’d ever had a great many family members to speak of. Thanks to his father’s notoriety in gambling, drinking and generally throwing away his inheritance, no one from the paternal side of the family had ever deigned to acknowledge Samuel, too afraid he might prove to be a chip off the old block. They’d all thought of him as tainted, refusing to budge from that opinion no matter how hard he’d tried, during the past ten years anyway, to prove otherwise.

Fortunately, his maternal relations had been made of sterner stuff, refusing to let the sins of a detested son-in-law influence their feelings for his offspring. His grandmother in particular had always been a force to be reckoned with, a renowned beauty in her youth as well as an heiress, though she’d always preferred spending time with her horses to listening to recitations of love poetry from her many admirers. She’d sat doggedly on the shelf until the shockingly great age of eight and twenty, until the day she’d set eyes on the bookish and shy Lord Jarrow. Seven years her junior, the young Baron had been as surprised as anyone by her sudden interest. Somewhat alarmed, too, since, as he frequently remarked to his grandson, when it came to a battle of wills he’d known he hadn’t stood a chance. Where Georgiana had a will, she got her way. Their marriage had gone ahead with almost indecent haste and they’d immediately retired to the country to build a new block of stables and restock the library. He’d had his books, she’d had her horses, and they’d lived in perfect contentment for fifty years ever since. It was, in Samuel’s opinion, an excellent example of a happy marriage. Quite unlike that of his parents.

‘Have you been to the Pump Rooms today?’ he enquired of the newspaper.

‘Of course he has,’ his grandmother answered, as was frequently the case, for her husband. ‘It’s the reason we’re staying in this wretched city, after all.’