Chapter Fourteen

W ith no little reluctance, Ophelia opened a fraction of her eyes to see the dawn approaching. But what had awakened her was the swish of fabric. Her head followed the sound and discerned her husband taking off his pajamas .

"Up so early?" Her voice dripped in drowsiness.

He sent a glance at her. "I am seeing the Chandrakars off." He picked up yesterday's shirt and dressed it in quick movements. For sure, he did not wish to wake Collins this early.

Her back lifted from the mattress. "I will come, too."

One leg dived into his breeches. "Better not. The docks are quite busy." What with the vessels sailing with the tide.

Her brows pleated. "What does this have to do with anything?"

The second leg went in. "It will be dangerous to walk about." He rounded a wrinkled cravat over his neck. "And the doctor did not release you from taking it easy if memory serves."

She rolled her eyes as she lay her head back on the pillows. "But he did say I was in good health." She was becoming sick of everyone telling her what to do though she understood the point.

His coat flew onto his back. "Yes, well." He turned to her. "I shall not be long." He caught his hat, and with a formal nod, strode to the door.

"Am I to wait for you for breakfast?" she asked as her arms crossed over the covers.

Leonard checked his pocket watch and raised his head to her. "Yes, that works fine." Then he disappeared into the hallway.

Later, Ophelia called Mrs Slater, who entered followed by Mrs Crawley, who'd been waiting for her colleague to arrive.

"I would like you to check on me and see if I can do something more exciting than sit around all day." Ophelia's voice held a pinch of impatience. The only less boring thing she did in these last weeks was to visit the Foreign Office, and even that had been underwhelming in terms of her usual activities.

The other women exchanged a look.

"Lady Ramsgate." She heard caution in the midwife's tone. "If we pronounce you in conditions to go out and about and something happens…"

"We will be to blame." The apothecary finished the thought.

"So you prefer me to act like an invalid," Ophelia concluded.

"My lady, we would be delighted if you could resume your daily affairs, but an heir is at stake here," Emily said with the utmost seriousness.

"Perhaps, Doctor Archer can be of more help." Sarah hinted.

Ophelia tilted her head. "I trust you more. Men do not have personal experience in these things."

"I have delivered a few babies in my time." Sarah exhibited a modest smile. "A little sacrifice may go a long way."

"I will follow your advice in this case," Ophelia pronounced.

"Let us wait for the third month," Sarah said.

"It tends to get better," evaluated Emily.

"Thank you for your honest opinions." Ophelia offered them a grateful smile.

Lady Ramsgate would have to find compatible activities to preserve her health.

"You know, all is well and such," cheered Brunswick, as the men met at the club.

"Not thanks to the Foreign Office," Rutherford said.

"And for how long is anybody's guess." Came Ramsgate's none-too-trustful remark.

"Big or small," Titus resumed. "We should drink to this victory."

The three gentlemen raised their glasses in accord.

"Rumour has it that you bent the old goat." Leonard turned to see the Marquess of Worcester nearing their table as the newcomer said this.

"I would not put it quite that way," Hadrian retorted. "More like call him to task."

"I could not believe his people allowed the Company to go that far." Drake took a seat and rested his glass by the others'.

"A lot is going on in the colonies that the papers do not report," Titus explained as he tossed his drink.

Leonard rolled his glass between his thumb and forefinger. "And there is no telling if they are doing this with other protectorates."

"True." Hadrian scoffed. "With the added aggravation that there is very little protection involved in it."

"I feel lucky to be involved with the theatre." Drake exhibited a winsome grin. "At least the pretending is undisguised."

"We can't complain, considering." Titus tilted his head. "We managed to clean up one act at least."

"It would not be a bad idea to put a bill about this in Parliament," Hadrian ventured and earned a few nods of approval.

"Good luck with that," Worcester wished with no small amount of scepticism.

Ophelia stabbed her finger for the umpteenth time in her fruitless attempt at embroidery. She'd never been good at it. Rather, she'd created some quite avant-garde pieces back in the day. That no one gave them their due credit summarised her sad story with needlework.

In her favoured drawing room, a tea tray at the side table and Ann sitting across from her organising the yarns promised a cosy afternoon. If only…

She released a breathed imprecation, attracting Ann's attention. "Are you alright, my lady?" The lady's maid lifted her gaze from the basket on her lap.

Ophelia's lips drew a self-deriding side grin. "I will be." She paused. "Nothing to worry about."

They spent the next half hour chatting when she heard the door open. The needle buried itself in her finger at the sight of her husband.

"Ouch!" she exclaimed and led the injured finger to her mouth just as her skin flushed crimson.

Ann curtsied to the Earl and neared Ophelia. "Here, my lady, a handkerchief."

Ophelia slid the finger out of her mouth to wrap it in the lacy square of fabric. Her gaze flew back to her husband, who had his eyes fast on her. On the finger, to be more specific.

"Ann." His deep voice reverberated in the room. "Will you please excuse us?" His stare remained firm on his wife.

"Yes, my lord." The maid scurried from there and enclosed them in the frilly room.

The man paced to the middle of the room, scrutinising every inch of her as the silence stretched to an unbearable length.

"Did you have a pleasant day?" she wished his tone did not bathe her in so much warmth with the memories of their nights flooding her mind.

To knit a sensible reply, she filled her lungs with cool air. "Yes." Not bad, considering her heart was trying to jump out of her chest. "Apart from my disastrous embroidery, that is."

He took a seat on the same settee as her. Even on the opposite end, it felt too close for her peace of mind.

"If embroidery is not something you enjoy," his eyes perused her hands. "Perhaps you could choose another activity."

Her hands joined on her lap, handkerchief and all, her eyes lowering to them. "I enjoy dealing with finances, but you took it over so…" A slight shrug moved her shoulder.

"It would be a huge favour if you went back to managing it." He leaned back with one elbow on the top of the backrest.

Ophelia sat up and faced him. "You mean—"

"You are so exceptional at it." He crossed his long legs. "For me, it is akin to your embroidery. No offence."

She shook her head, signalling she took none. "No wonder." She gifted him with a smile. "You are a linguist by choice and a diplomat by necessity."

"You get the picture." A lopsided grin pulled at his mouth.

The Countess mused for a few minutes. "Would I have full control of it?" Her mind already raced with the chance of increasing their heir's assets.

"Absolutely." He paused, as she did not contain a dazzling smile from morphing her face into a picture of ecstatic enthusiasm. "I will write to everyone involved saying they answer to you alone."

"That will make my days so exciting!"

His eyes acquired a quizzical tint, but his lips smiled. It meant his idea of excitement had very little to do with finances and everything to do with linguistics.

Ophelia wasted no time as she sat in the study after breakfast the next morning to update herself on the numbers from the last few weeks. She drowned in the endless rows of figures with eagle eyes.

A click of the doorknob had her absent eyes going to it. She could not tell how long she'd been sitting on the sturdy chair absorbed in her work.

Leonard entered with a leather file full of papers. It hit her that this used to be his inner sanctum since he returned, at least.

"Sorry." She made to stand. "I will take the ledgers somewhere else."

He raised a hand to stay her. "No need. I can work at this smaller desk." The one at a corner destined for an eventual secretary.

"But—" she started.

"I shall have another desk brought in so we can share the study." He placed his file on the other desk and sat down.

"Thanks." Then peered as he unloaded the leather file. "Are those documents related to the estates' management?" she dared ask.

"Not really." His answer came with his gaze fast on her. "In these last years, I have drafted several articles on linguistics." A shrug moved his broad shoulder that endeared her for the modesty they denounced. "I mean to publish them as a book."

She was not so daft that she did not know that linguistics examined how languages came about rather than the languages proper.

"You seem to have kept busy in Madala." The position he'd found himself in back then could not have been a comfortable one, yet he made the most of it.

"I was in a privileged environment with people speaking several regional dialects." He made a gesture with his hands. "So, I took advantage of it."

The conversation died as they concentrated on their respective work.

Doctor Archer clicked his bag shut and looked at the Earl. "Lady Ramsgate is in perfect health." He pronounced as he stood from the bed where his wife lay with ill-concealed impatience.

"This means I can resume my previous activities." Her voice revealed a drop of eagerness Leonard felt sure she did not intend to show.

Archer offered her a smile that smacked too much of condescendence. "Mostly, my lady. But you must avoid strenuous undertakings."

As the doctor turned to the Earl, only Leonard saw her rolling her eyes as though he'd imparted the most obvious advice on the planet.

Leonard motioned for the doctor to precede him out in the hallway before closing the door to the bedchamber.

"Archer, I have a question."

Darren stopped in his tracks and turned to the Earl. "Anything."

Leonard's broad palm rubbed his nape. "Yes, well, you know." He cleared his throat. "Could my wife and I enjoy—" Words lost him as a ruddy colour surfaced on his cheekbones.

The doctor opened a bright smile of understanding. "Most couples can continue enjoying … themselves." He tilted his head. "But I am afraid you will have to wait awhile or consider alternatives …" Find ‘enjoyment' elsewhere, he meant.

"Do not even say it, Archer," Ramsgate demanded with a crumpled expression.

The bright smile faded into sobriety. "Very well, my lord." He gave a swift bow. "If that is all, I should be on my way."

When he next sat in the study, him in his new desk and her at the usual one, concentration eluded him. Even so, he forced himself to continue with the article.

He'd felt like an arse for going after Darren to ask that stupid question, but this constant proximity threatened to kill him. All because of his stupidity, of course. Who insisted she stay in his chamber? Who told her to share the study with him? His good intentions were all going to hell.

He dared lift his head to her sitting straight back at the desk, several ledgers opened around her. In a simple cream day dress and a casual bun holding her hair, she read something on the one in front of her and made a notation on a loose parchment. Her index roamed the page as she made another notation. Her head bent to the page, then looked at the notations. The delicate brows pleated as she returned to the page and turned the ledger a few pages back and then forth. The dainty hand pulled one ledger from the pile by her side to open it and check the myriad of numbers written on it.

He could not see what lay in them from his vantage point, but he'd gone through the estate's affairs enough to know what she looked at.

A little sound came from her as the index that had been aiding her reading travelled to lodge under her chin. She flipped more pages on the ledgers and made further notes. Still, another ledger came on top of the others, rushed flipping of pages on this one, too.

"Is anything the matter?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Her head snapped up, her eyes refocusing to meet his. "I am not sure." Distraction coated her tone. "Some entries here are not adding up." Her gaze slid to the ledgers again.

"It might have been my mistake," he suggested as numbers were not his forte.

Her eyes returned to him. "It is not that." The remark contained speculation. "These are from before you arrived." She pointed at the ledgers she'd been checking. "The amounts do not correspond to the present ones." Her palm covered her neck. "And I must have missed it."

"I doubt that very much," he said it with utter certainty.

"I will go over it again." Her attention resumed on the numbers.

Hours later, he entered their chambers to spot her sitting on the bed with her parchment full of notes. Her puzzled expression remained, which made him worried.

"Did you find the glitch?" he asked as bedtime neared.

Her eyes rose to meet his. "Not yet." She sighed, rubbing her temple. "Perhaps I should write to Mr Barret."

The mention of his man of affairs reminded Leonard of his meeting with the man soon after his return as the Earl and Countess travelled to his seat in Oxfordshire. Something in that man had sowed a seed of weariness in Leonard. But he could not put his finger on it.

"Why write when we may as well travel to the country and breathe some fresh air?" A letter would only state what she already knew. "The doctor allowed for less rest, did he not?"

For the first time since this morning in the study, her lips stretched in a smile. "Capital idea, husband."

In his pajamas , he lay down and extended his hand to her. "Come. You need rest."

She'd already changed into her nightgown, which wrinkled as she swivelled to him. "You are right." Her gaze sought the bump, and her hand held it with incredible tenderness. The sight of her threatened to melt his guts.

His wife rested her head on the pillow, giving him the chance to come closer and bury his face in the curve between her head and shoulder. He rained kisses on the delicate skin, eliciting a sound of satisfaction from her.

Careful not to hurt her, he lay his palm on her midriff, exploring the changes their child made in her. She placed her cool palm over his and followed his caresses. More butterfly kisses came to her throat, his arm lacing her, to pull her to him.

"Husband," she moaned. "You are very … alert."

His lips dared further down her neckline. "You have no idea." He pressed his hips on her hipbone. "That villain Archer forbade us from any risqué behaviour."

Her head twirled to him. "You talked to him about this?" A note of absurdity entered her question.

His shoulder moved up and down. "I wanted to be sure about what we can do."

"How will I ever look at him again, you blackguard?" She turned her full body to him.

"He must be used to such talk." His splayed palm massaged her spine. Eyes closed, he inhaled her scent of wildflowers and woman.

Quietness stretched as they revelled in each other's warmth.

"Leonard." Laziness entered her tone.

"Hm?" He lifted his head to look at her.

"There is nothing I crave more than you inside me."

The combustion her words unleashed in him could explode the entire house. "Damn it all to hell, woman!" If they did not take care, they would be burning with passion in seconds. "Tell me about the numbers on the ledgers." They needed to numb this fire. Now.

"First there was the price of agricultural implements," Ophelia started, understanding his intention. "Then the number of lambs born each year. And calves." She paused. "Let us not forget the amount of land destined for grains. Or how much we harvest."

Her melodious voice listing those atrociously dull figures had them falling asleep in a heartbeat.

The carriage jolted into motion just as the sun gave off its first rays through dawn. The Earl and Countess of Ramsgate sat across from each other. On another one, Collins, Ann, and Mrs Crawley had already departed with the baggage to warn the country staff of the Earl and Countess' arrival.

Despite the sexual frustration from last night, Ophelia slept like the proverbial log. When her husband kissed her good morning before dawn, she felt restored. Which caused her to leave the bed with an eagerness to see the country again. In these last weeks, her ambivalent feelings towards the estate had resolved themselves in an optimistic light. That the next generation was underway to receive and care for it changed her overview on the subject. Enthusiasm, therefore, dominated her as Cornell navigated the still-empty streets of London to leave it behind.

The sunny weather and mood made the ride a fast and pleasant one. In no time, they were climbing up the tree-lined driveway to the magnificent house.

But as Leonard helped her alight from the carriage, she spotted Mr and Mrs Jones standing at the entrance, straight uniforms, hands behind their backs, and serious countenances. Leonard said hello to them and excused himself to walk straight to the study.

"My lady," both greeted with a stiff courtesy. Their cheerfulness had vanished. And Jessie, the cook's daughter, was nowhere to be seen when she used to rush to the Countess' side as soon as the latter set foot in the country house.

Ophelia's mouth turned down with this lukewarm reception. Bewildered eyes downcast, she murmured a greeting and entered.

She climbed up the stairs and the upstairs maid, Mary, was clattering downwards, duster in hands.

"Hello, Mary." The Countess smiled.

Mary, a skinny girl of about eighteen, halted before her. "Good morning, my lady." Curtsied and continued on her way.

When the footman came in with her trunk, she eyed him. "Hello, Jeff, it has been a while."

The footman put the trunk on the carpet and curtsied. "Good day, my lady."

"Do you know where Jessie is?" she asked, even if the lad did not seem in the mood to talk.

"Playing with the village kids."

"Thank you." A wobbling grin fluttered on her lips but died a swift death.

He curtsied again and left with no more ado.

Her eyes strolled around her vibrant, yellow room as, in slow motion, she sank into the beige Ottoman at the foot of the bed. In general, seeing her redecorated bedchamber cheered her in the darkest hours. But with the servants' reception, confusion spread over her. The blonde head bent and tendrils of honey hued hair escaped her chignon and floated in the flooding light.

A knock on the connecting door announced her husband. He froze and sent one look at her slumped shoulders and downcast eyes.

"What is wrong?" He strode to where she sat and knelt before her. "Are you feeling ill?" she did not miss the disquiet in his voice.

"I am fine," she answered. "It is that the servants are acting strange."

He gave a curt nod. "I noticed as much." His fingers put the tendrils behind her ear with utmost tenderness. "They must be overworked after the busy spring."

A wan smile drew her lips. "Yes, you are probably right."

"I have sent word to Gregson and Barret to meet us after luncheon." He referred to Timothy Gregson, the steward, and John Barret, the man of business.

"Alright. I will prepare everything."

He kissed her forehead and headed to the connecting door. Before he reached it, he swivelled to her. "Your new decoration is stunning, by the way." He sent her a heated stare. "Just like you."

That made a genuine smile bloom on her lips.

The four of them met in the spacious study. John Barret sat on a chair in front of the large desk. And Timothy Gregson, a strapping man in his late thirties, on the other. Ophelia had more contact with Mr Barret, who oversaw the affairs of all the Ramsgate's properties, saving time and too many trips.

As soon as the Earl and Countess entered, both men stood and curtsied. Leonard motioned for her to sit at the high-backed chair behind the desk in a clear sign that she oversaw the finances. She sat, then placed the ledgers she'd been hugging on the desk, while the Earl pulled a spare chair to her side.

"Thank you for coming," she started as she folded her hands on the books. "I was double-checking the numbers from the last couple of years and the ones noted for the current one." She gave a direct look at both men. "They do not match." It occurred to her that with her husband back, he would check the books from then on, unaware of the previous years' numbers.

"How so, my lady?" Gregson's question contained utter respect and a quizzical look. "I always send Mr Barret the accounts for this estate after I check them several times."

"As you know, each year's results are transported from the previous ledger to the present one." She opened the ledgers and cited the information. "So, we have an overview of what to expect for the current year." She'd established this method when she took over the finances.

Leonard bent his head to the papers. "But these amounts differ!" He shuffled through the pages. "They show a loss of thousands of pounds."

Mr Barret shifted in his seat. "May I remind you, my lady, that you managed all the finances while the Earl was away?" He tilted his head. "How come you did not see it?"

With her elbows on the wooden surface, she rested her chin on her joined hands. "I just did." Her eyes met his full-on.

The middle-aged man scoffed as he shook his head. "My lord, if you allow me," he sat up. "This ghastly mistake tells us that ladies should not meddle in business that men understand better."

"I disagree, Barret," Gregson dared. "Lady Ramsgate has been doing a perfect job of increasing the earldom's assets." He sent an approving glance at the noble couple.

"Which means someone must be increasing side assets, too." The man of affairs threw an accusing glare at the lady.

Ophelia's eyes widened as her brows pleated. "Excuse me?" Her cheeks were tinted with deep red.

With a dead, serious expression, Leonard stared at the man. "Explain yourself, Barret." His quiet tone came across as threatening as a lion's roar.

The man of affairs lowered his gaze but gave a shrug that did not appear as casual as he might have intended. "Everyone knows what is going on around here." An impertinent glint entered his eyes. "All you have to do is ask them."

Ophelia scrutinised the balding man. If everyone heard about such an outrageous notion, it would be because someone had spread it. And she did not need to be a genius to detect the culprit.

"Fine, Mr Barret." She made sure to inject a condescending note there. "I will investigate it with more thoroughness." She unfurled from the seat with a straight spine. The others followed. "We will meet again when I have answers."

"The right ones this time round, I hope." Barret sounded more like her superior rather than the opposite. He strode out of the room as though he'd been the slighted party.

Gregson tried for an uncomfortable smile. "It has to be a misunderstanding." He fidgeted with the hat in his hands. "There was not a single penny out of place in all these years."

Ophelia's tense expression relaxed a little. "I appreciate your trust, Mr Gregson."

He also vacated the study, leaving Leonard and Ophelia to face each other.

With a bewildered look, Ophelia spoke, "I promise you I did not—"

Her husband held her shoulders, causing her to trail off. "I may not be as good as you with the accounts, but even I know you kept them in meticulous tidiness."

"And I have no intention of stealing from our daughter, or son." Her troubled face lifted to him.

"I will make a few enquiries, and we will straighten this." His thumb caressed her cheek before he turned and left.

Ophelia filled her lungs as her palm rubbed her temple. She took a few moments to calm down as she rang the bell and sent for Mrs Jones.

When the housekeeper entered, the lady called for tea for both.

With a motion, she invited the other woman to take a seat at a settee and sat by her side.

"Mrs Jones," she paused as the housekeeper met her eyes. "I have just come into some disquieting news."

Mrs Jones lowered her eyes to stir her tea. "What about, my lady?"

"I suspect you already know that people resorted to calling me a thief." A sip of tea made her feel a drop better.

The housekeeper raised her head as though with a new resolution. "Rumour has it that you stole from the estates and the Earl."

"That is the reason you are all acting strange towards me."

The other woman rolled her shoulders. "I think we have the right to be disappointed in you after you treated us with such consideration."

"Well, Mrs Jones, it so happens that I did not steal even a straw from anywhere or anyone." Ophelia put the china on the side table. "And I will prove it."