His Countess For A Week. Sarah Mallory

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       Chapter One

      The short November day was coming to an end when the Apollonia entered Portsmouth Harbour, its sails turned pink by the setting sun. On the bustling deck one figure stood motionless, a gentleman wrapped in a heavy cloak. He wore no hat and his thick blond hair was ruffled by the breeze as he stared out across the water, his eyes narrowed against the evening sunlight. He did not look at the sturdy walls and menacing fortifications rearing up around them, but back out through the narrow harbour entrance towards the open sea.

      The Captain approached him. ‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir, we’ll be docking shortly.’

      ‘What?’ He turned, his gaze and his mind taking a moment to focus on the Captain. ‘Ah, yes. You’ll be wanting me below decks, out of the way, I suppose.’

      Reassured by the friendly tone, the Captain allowed himself a grin.

      ‘Aye, sir, if you will. There’s that many sacks and crates piled here...’

      ‘And you don’t want your men tripping over the passengers. Very well, Captain. I’ll go below, out of your way.’

      ‘I thank ’ee for it, sir. We’ll get you off as soon as we can, rest assured o’ that.’

      With a smile and a nod, Randolph made his way back to the dark, airless cabin. It had been his home for the past six months; another few minutes could be easily borne. He threw himself down on the bunk and put his hands behind his head, listening to the shouts and thuds from the deck above him and wondering, not for the first time, if he had been wise to return to England.

      He had been in Australia for six years and had made a good life for himself. He had maintained his health and had enjoyed running his own farm in Airds, on the land granted him following his pardon. However, when Chislett’s letter had arrived, it had not taken him long to convince himself it was his duty to return.

      But now he wondered what awaited him. When he had left England, the country was recovering from the long and bruising campaign against Bonaparte. Randolph had taken little interest in English affairs since leaving the country, because he had never expected to return. He had not even expected to survive.

      A gentle knock on the door roused him from his reverie.

      ‘Excuse me, my lord, I see your valise is not yet packed. If you will allow me...’

      ‘Oh, yes, Joseph. Come in.’

      Randolph swung his feet to the ground and watched as his man collected up the few remaining items. He wrapped the folding bootjack in a cloth and pushed it into the already bulging bag, followed by the hairbrush and comb. When he picked up a penknife, Randolph held out his hand.

      ‘I’ll take that, Joseph. Thank you.’ He pushed the small knife into the pocket of his coat. ‘Are you sorry to have come back to England?’

      ‘It makes no odds to me either way, my lord. If you’d wanted to remain at Airds, I’d have been content to see out the rest of my life there.’

      ‘If this current venture turns out badly, we may yet return,’ said Randolph.

      ‘As you wish, my lord.’

      ‘Confound it, Joseph, must you always be so damned cool?’

      The grey-haired servant gave one of his rare smiles. ‘Why, sir, I’d not have survived so long if I’d been anything else.’

      ‘True!’ Randolph laughed. He rose to his feet and put a hand on the older man’s shoulder. ‘What a sad trial I have been to you over the years, СКАЧАТЬ