Page 44 of The Countess Caper

The man looked up even as the others froze. He smiled. “You must be Rue.”

“If you know that much, you know I’ll shoot you where you stand, pretty boy.”

“You think I’m pretty?” He rather was, with long red hair and a quick grin. Idiotic, unfortunately, to be taunting Rue.

“Fergus, enough,” the older woman said. Her hair was streaked with gray and curled in a perfect chignon. Her eyes were very black. “We did not mean to take you by surprise, Lady Dartmoor. I am Mrs. Pompadour.” A fake name, if Tessa had ever heard one. She liked her immediately.

And no one knew she was Lady Dartmoor yet. To the rest of the world, barring Lord Beville, she was still Lady Tessa Kilkenny. She hadn’t sent any notices to the paper. It hadn’t occurred to her, to be honest.

She lowered the musket, only slightly. Rue, predictably, only pushed hers further out the window. A piece of glass broke and fell to the ground, somewhat ruining the effect. “I suppose the earl sent you?” Tessa asked.

“He did, my lady.”

“A few days late,” Rue muttered.

“I’m afraid I’m going to need proof of that.” Tessa ruthlessly squashed the urge to ask if he was also on his way. Or if he was even right now sitting inside the carriage waiting on the drive behind them. Of course he wasn’t.

“I am glad to hear it,” Mrs. Pompadour said approvingly. She pulled a letter from her pocket. It bore the wax seal of the Earl of Dartmoor. Tessa set the musket against the wall despite Rue’s sound of disgust coming from above.

The letter was simple, brief. Roarke had sent three men and Mrs. Pompadour to help keep housebreakers at bay, as well as curious owls who had lost their bearings. He had sent her a coachman and a small army. Fergus alone looked as though he could pick up three men at once and toss them across the pond. Useful, that.

If they could keep a secret.

For her, not for Roarke.

“You work for the earl,” she said flatly.

Mrs. Pompadour shook her head. “We work for you.”

One of the men grinned. “But the earl pays us.”

“That’s Peter. Fergus you’ve met. And Lennox.”

“I’m Tessa. That’s Rue up there.”

Fergus winked up at Rue. “Marry me, lass.”

Rue snorted and disappeared.

“She will actually shoot you,” Tessa felt bound to warn him. He only looked more pleased.

“Peter, you old goat,” Atticus called out, coming around from the stables. Tessa noticed the cudgel he held and how he lowered it immediately. He had heard about Lord Beville’s visit after the fact, having been in the village at the time. He was still sore about it.

They greeted each other with solid pats on the back, further confirming that Mrs. Pompadour and her men were who they said they were. Tessa let the tension in her shoulders release slightly. Just enough to ease the ache threatening to shoot into her temples.

“I don’t think the accommodations will be to your liking,” she admitted, telling herself not to feel embarrassed. “You might want to lower your expectations about the house of a countess.” Her father’s housekeeper would have been horrified. George’s mother would say it was no more than she deserved. “I wasn’t a countess until a few days ago.”

“Nothing a little elbow grease can’t sort out, I’m sure,” Mrs. Pompadour said. Tessa couldn’t place her accent. “Peter, get yourself to the gatehouse and see what needs doing.”

“Course, Mrs. P.”

Tessa led the others inside, asking them to wait in the front hall. “If you go wandering, you might get hurt.”

She undid the first trap. And then knocked on the stair railing again, adding a whistle shrill enough to reach most hidden corners of the house.

Women came scrambling out of walls and stairs and appeared on the stair ladings. Rue scowled, musket lowered but still in hand. Holly suddenly materialized at the end of the hall. Lennox jumped. Bryony, pale as a ghost, emerged last.

“Cor,” Fergus said.