His Countess For A Week. Sarah Mallory

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       Chapter Two

      Randolph spent the day going over the paperwork Chislett had left him, putting it away only when it was time to change for dinner. He went off to dine with Lord and Lady Gilmorton at the King’s Arms, the hostelry that was enjoying their patronage.

      Apart from the lawyer, whom he had sworn to secrecy, Ran had told only his sister, Deborah, and her husband that he was bound for England, and he was not surprised to receive a message that they planned to meet him at Portsmouth. He was delighted they should come so far, but slightly apprehensive, too, and he could not help putting a hand up to his neckcloth before he entered the inn.

      As the tap boy showed him into the private parlour, Ran looked over the man’s shoulder to catch his first glimpse of his sister in six years. His heart swelled. He would have known her anywhere, neat as a pin in her Pomona-green gown and her brown hair swept up.

      ‘Deborah.’

      She barely waited for the servant to close the door before she flew across the room, her green eyes over-bright with tears.

      ‘Oh, Ran, Ran. Is it really you?’

      He caught her to him, laughing. ‘Well, I hope you wouldn’t throw yourself like this at a stranger!’ Keeping his arms tightly about her, he nodded to his brother-in-law. ‘How are you, Gilmorton?’

      The Viscount came forward to meet him, a smile lightening his rather serious countenance, made all the more sombre by the scar running down his left cheek.

      ‘Very well, Randolph, thank you. If you put my wife down, I will shake hands with you!’

      The tension melted away. Between laughter and tears he was dragged to the settle close to the fire while Deborah bombarded him with questions.

      ‘My love, give the poor fellow a chance to catch his breath,’ murmured Gil. He added, with a glint of humour, ‘She has been in alt ever since you wrote to say you were coming home.’

      ‘Then I pity you,’ replied Ran, dodging a playful blow from his sister.

      ‘Your letters were always so cheerful,’ she said now, clinging still to his hand and her eyes searching his face. ‘And you are well, now. Really well?’

      He squeezed her hand, knowing what was behind the question.

      ‘Yes, truly. I avoid laudanum, never drink spirits and partake sparingly of wine. I have never felt better.’

      Her eyes misted. ‘Then you were telling the truth in your letters, when you said transportation saved your life.’

      ‘Aye. I believe it did.’

      He had told them nothing of the arduous months he’d spent aboard the transport ship to Sydney Cove. All the prisoners suffered from the harsh conditions, the sickness and deprivation, but he had also had to endure the unbearable craving for laudanum. There had been periods of delirium, even longer stretches of dark despair. He knew he was lucky to be alive and how much he owed to his valet. It had been Joseph’s diligent care that had saved him. His valet had given up his freedom to accompany him and it was a debt Ran could never repay.

      ‘Is Miller still with you?’ asked Gil, as if reading his thoughts.

      ‘Aye. I suggested he might remain and run the farm for me, but he preferred to come back. Mayhap he thought I would be as ill on this journey as the first time, but apart from a few days of seasickness at the start, the voyage was uneventful. Even enjoyable.’

      ‘So Joseph Miller has returned with you,’ murmured Deborah, her eyes twinkling with mischief. ‘My maid, Elsie, will be pleased to hear that.’

      ‘Do not tell me she has been pining for him all these years!’ exclaimed Ran, alarmed.

      Deborah laughed. ‘No, no, of course not. But they were very friendly, at one time, and I did wonder—’

      ‘My wife is an inveterate matchmaker,’ the Viscount interrupted her, shaking his head. ‘Let it be, Deb. Give your brother and his man time to settle into their new life!’