Free An Unlikely Countess by Jo Beverley

woman.
    “I’ve been in the army until recently.”
    That seemed to satisfy her, but she still considered carefully before saying, “She wrote me a letter, sir. From Darlington. The vicar read it to me.”
    “May I see it?”
    Again, he was weighed, measured, and dissected, but she turned and opened a pretty wooden box to take out the obviously precious letter, neatly returned to its original folds. She passed it over reluctantly, so he handled it with care.
    The paper was of good quality. Another excellent sign. He glanced at the address on the outside. Hesther Larn, White Rose Yard, Northallerton. The handwriting was neat and without flourishes, but conveyed a distinct impression of the strength he remembered. He unfolded the sheet and suppressed a smile of satisfaction. At the top, as he’d hoped, was her direction.
    Prospect Place, Darlington.
    An auspicious address.
    My dear Hetty . . .
    You will share my satisfaction that I am now comfortably settled in my brother’s house and already, by his kindness, acquiring a new wardrobe, as fine as could be. I have gone with my brother and sister-in-law to a musical evening, and with my sister-in-law alone to the shops and to stroll in the parks.
    I thank you for your many kindnesses.
    Your friend,
Prudence Youlgrave
    Prudence Youlgrave.
    He had all the details he needed, but they were of no moment. She was miles from here and content, and he had pressing business elsewhere.
    He refolded the letter and passed it back. “She does seem well settled. I’m glad of it.”
    “She was a while in ’ardship, sir,” Hetty Larn pointed out.
    “I was in the army,” Cate reminded her.
    “Ma! Ma!” Two small children ran in, excited about something in the lad’s hand, a small dog at their heels.
    Children and dog halted to stare at the stranger, but then Toby came forward, tail wagging.
    “Looks like ’e knows ye,” Mistress Larn said.
    “We met once. He has no discrimination.” She clearly didn’t understand. “He doesn’t know friend from foe.”
    She chuckled. “That’s the truth, sir. But does that mean you’re a foe?”
    “No, on my honor. But Toby has no reason to know that. Thank you for your assistance, Mistress Larn.” He took out some coins, deliberately choosing two shillings. “May I give you these for your children?”
    She studied him a moment and then took the coins. “Thank you, sir. Would you happen to be traveling to Darlington, sir?”
    “No, but if you see Miss Youlgrave, kindly give her my regards. The name’s Burgoyne,” he reminded her.
    “Right, sir, I’ll do that.”
    Cate walked back down the yard and crossed the wide high street to the Golden Lion, putting away his irrational disappointment.
    Only ten miles to Keynings, his heaven and his hell.
     
    Prudence studied her hands—her smooth, soft, lady’s hands—and maintained an impassive face. “Mr. Draydale, Susan? He is a little old.”
    And fleshy, and robust, which were not in themselves faults, but not really to her taste. Cate Burgoyne was to her taste—lean muscled and strong, and gentle at times. Henry Draydale didn’t strike her as gentle.
    “He’s only in his forties, Prudence, and more than fits your requirements. He rivals my father in wealth and is of higher birth. His brother is a baronet.”
    But the brother had the manor house, not Mr. Draydale, merchant of Darlington.
    They were taking tea in the small room Susan called her boudoir. Prudence had been living in Darlington for six weeks now, and had to admit that Susan had kept their unspoken bargain. Her place in the house was that of sister, not some indigent relative. She had new gowns, hats, footwear, and everything else necessary for her presentation as a lady.
    As far as the merchants were concerned, Aaron was paying the bills, but the money came from Susan. In a marriage everything should be his, but by some legal device her brother had only an allowance. The rest of Susan’s marriage portion was