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Mr Fairclough's Inherited Bride
Georgie Lee
Facing the past… To build a future together! Silas Fairclough’s new life in America is dramatically changed when he learns his mentor’s dying wish is for him to wed his ward. Silas’s marriage to beautiful, quiet Lady Mary Weddell will be a practical, sensible arrangement. But now his family in England need him – and that means taking his bride back to the land of scandal and ruin she’d left behind…!
Facing the past…
To build a future together!
Part of Secrets of a Victorian Household. Silas Fairclough’s new life in America is dramatically changed when he learns his mentor’s dying wish is for him to wed his ward. Silas’s marriage to beautiful, quiet Lady Mary Weddell will be a practical, sensible arrangement. But now his family in England needs him—and that means taking his bride back to the land of scandal and ruin she’d left behind…
A lifelong history buff, GEORGIE LEE hasn’t given up hope that she will one day inherit a title and a manor house. Until then she fulfils her dreams of lords, ladies and a Season in London through her stories. When not writing she can be found reading non-fiction history or watching any film with a costume and an accent. Please visit georgie-lee.com to learn more about Georgie and her books.
Also by Georgie Lee (#ub7613846-1a01-5896-82ec-7f2018bc81c0)
Scandal and Disgrace miniseries
Rescued from Ruin
Miss Marianne’s Disgrace
Courting Danger with Mr Dyer
Secrets of a Victorian Household collection
Miss Lottie’s Christmas Protector by Sophia James Miss Amelia’s Mistletoe Marquess by Jenni Fletcher Mr Fairclough’s Inherited Bride
And look out for the last book
Lilian and the Irresistible Duke by Virginia Heath coming soon
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Mr. Fairclough’s Inherited Bride
Georgie Lee
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-0-008-90117-2
MR FAIRCLOUGH’S INHERITED BRIDE
© 2019 Harlequin Books S.A.
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Note to Readers (#ub7613846-1a01-5896-82ec-7f2018bc81c0)
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To Anne, always in our hearts.
To Grandma, thank you.
Contents
Cover (#ue831a05b-220e-5a27-87c5-62de9e8c4bac)
Back Cover Text (#uc1d1bd24-fa57-5d9e-8a94-fdfe7f242813)
About the Author (#ubc4b5c5d-e76f-565d-9dea-c702d9fa63c7)
Booklist (#u3ea1e9cf-0977-597c-86f2-b2d81dd8fffa)
Title Page (#ubee33dde-9d4a-5a52-ba9d-d7be30052e53)
Copyright (#u3851159c-154b-55a9-8832-600b16cc4566)
Note to Readers
Dedication (#u55d392fa-6650-55ad-a6b7-6bf99b4b3ce9)
Chapter One (#ud2590747-613c-57a3-bba1-89e1786e695b)
Chapter Two (#u1c8fce74-ff03-57d6-9022-bac5f47736b3)
Chapter Three (#ufce03184-1fcc-580a-aec3-cfcf127a3c3c)
Chapter Four (#ub212bd3a-bd34-5440-9fab-87d0da9ea818)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ub7613846-1a01-5896-82ec-7f2018bc81c0)
Baltimore—September 1842
‘Gentlemen, listen.’ Silas rapped his knuckles on the polished top of the rosewood dining table, bringing the boisterous men in their black dinner jackets and white waistcoats surrounding it to attention. ‘If we can manufacture iron rails in America instead of relying on England, we could dominate the competition.’
‘But the English rails are far superior to ours,’ Mr Penniman answered, resting his hands on his round stomach. ‘As are their engines.’
‘They’re cheaper, too,’ Mr Baxter added, flicking away a small crumb sitting beside his plate.
‘The prices will shoot up if the government changes the tariff rates or something interrupts the English supply,’ Silas reminded them, determined to win these investors over to his idea. ‘If we build our own foundries and hire the best iron workers, buy from the best domestic suppliers, we can produce our own rails and lay them ten times quicker than the competition. It’ll ensure that the Baltimore Southern Railroad is the most impressive in America and at the forefront of innovation and development. We could even manufacture our own locomotives.’
The table erupted in a cacophony of disbelief and amazement with Mr Penniman and Mr Baxter astounded by the idea while Mr Wilson and Mr Farrow marvelled at the possibility.
At the far end of the table, Richard Jackson, Silas’s business partner and mentor, remained silent where he sat beside Lady Mary Weddell, his ward and hostess for tonight. He allowed the men to argue among themselves and left it to Silas to convince the wealthy investors to part with more money than they’d already supplied to the Baltimore Southern. Silas would not disappoint Richard or himself or allow other men’s lack of vision to dry up his income and keep him from sending home the money his family relied on for their upkeep. The Baltimore Southern would grow and succeed. He’d make damn sure of it.
‘America is heading west, gentleman.’ Silas raised his voice to gather the men’s attention. ‘When her boundaries reach the Pacific Ocean, new ports and trade routes with South America and the east will open up and provide untold opportunities. The railroads will be key to bridging the continent and reaping the benefits of those new opportunities.’
‘You can’t imagine the railways will stretch that far?’ Mr Penniman leaned forward to see past the other men to Silas. ‘It would take an engineering feat of immense proportions to traverse the Sierra Nevada.’
‘In time we’ll have those engineers and the equipment capable of conquering mountains. Already we’ve made it so that a man travelling from Kentucky to Washington, D.C. can do it in four days by rail instead of three weeks on horseback. Imagine being able to cross the county in a matter of weeks, of goods and raw materials reaching factories and markets as quickly. With your investment in the foundry we can take the first steps towards claiming this magnificent future.’
The men nodded and mumbled their agreement. Even those who’d been hesitant tilted their heads in thought at Silas’s proposal. Silas shifted in his chair, determined not to betray the excitement surging inside him. He’d won them over. He could feel it.
‘You do dream big, Mr Fairclough,’ the balding Mr Penniman said before leaning over to take the last sweet from the platter in the centre of the table.
‘His big dreams will overshadow all of us one of these days,’ Richard added, finally making his presence as the senior partner and the owner of this house felt. He held a handkerchief to his mouth and coughed as quietly as he could before sliding it back into his pocket. ‘The smart man would buy into the future while it’s still affordable.’
‘I assure you, gentleman, we aren’t the only ones having this discussion, but we must be the first to put our plans into action.’ Silas motioned for his valet, Tibbs, to instruct the footmen silently waiting along the periphery of the dining room to refill the brandy glasses with the fine vintage Silas had procured from one of his best English sources. None of the servers made a move to top up Silas’s glass, though. Tonight required a clear head.
Mr Penniman covered the top of his crystal glass with his hand, glancing at Lady Mary Weddell to say that it was in deference to her that he exercised restraint. ‘No, thank you, I think I’ve had enough for the evening.’
‘Don’t deny yourself the pleasures of Mr Fairclough and Mr Jackson’s generosity on my account, Mr Penniman,’ Lady Mary encouraged, offering him and a number of the other gentlemen a smile that saw them sit back and allow their glasses to be refilled. ‘I refuse to let my presence parch a gentleman, especially while discussing matters that require a robust thirst.’
She motioned for a footman to place a new tray of sweets on the table in front of Mr Penniman. She’d been so sly in her ordering of the extra treats that not even Silas had noticed their arrival in the dining room. Clever girl.
Mr Penniman didn’t hesitate to select the largest chocolate dusted with white sugar. ‘You’re a very smart woman, Lady Mary. You’ll make some man very lucky one day.’
Lady Mary’s smile remained as beguiling as before but the sparkle she’d turned on Mr Penniman dulled. He was oblivious to the change in her as he savoured the chocolate, but Silas noticed it. It was the same painful regret that used to mar the drawn faces of the women who regularly appeared on the doorstep of the Fairclough Foundation, begging for help. He doubted Lady Mary shared that sort of misery, but the nagging feeling that something unpleasant had brought her to America was as difficult to ignore as her help in wooing the investors.
Silas motioned for Tibbs, who leaned down beside him. ‘Send Lady Mary a nice gift, something to thank her for her assistance tonight.’
‘How nice a gift, sir?’ The mental tally of Tibbs’s contacts at various Baltimore shops and goldsmiths was almost visible in his light grey eyes.
‘Ladylike exquisite.’ Silas raised his half-drunk glass of brandy to Lady Mary, who nodded serenely. She was a plain young woman he guessed to be about three or four years younger than his twenty-five, with lively and intelligent brown eyes which seemed to miss nothing about her surroundings. She wore her blonde hair in a more mature fashion without the barrel curls most young women preferred. Her slender waist and stomach were accentuated by full breasts that were well hidden beneath a high-necked and far too plain dark grey gown. Despite the puritan simplicity of her attire, she sat with the poise of a queen, seeing over the table and the dinner arrangements with the panache of an experienced hostess. If she wore better dresses and did her hair in a more becoming fashion, she would be striking, but standing out, as Silas had learned during the three months that she’d lived with Richard, was not her habit. Instead, she remained discreetly present, understanding the gravity of what Richard and Silas were trying to accomplish and coyly doing all she could to help them achieve it.
‘Yes, sir.’ Tibbs straightened and Silas was certain Lady Mary would like whatever Tibbs selected for her. Silas couldn’t speak to her tastes for he’d never enjoyed a private conversation with her beyond the weather. Despite them both being from England, she didn’t hail from the same barely respectable part of London that Silas did. Thankfully, most Yanks didn’t recognise the subtle difference in their accents, all to Silas’s benefit. The higher up the social ladder they believed him to be, the more favourably they viewed him and his wild ideas.
‘Gentlemen, here’s to us and the future success of the Baltimore Southern’s expansion.’ Richard raised his brandy glass, the level of the liquid inside of it as unchanged as Silas’s glass. The guests raised their drinks in answer, offering up a supportive cheer that made Silas smile. They’d secured the investors, even Mr Penniman who smiled at Lady Mary as widely as he did whenever his horse placed first in a race. Silas drained his brandy and motioned for Tibbs to refill it, ready to celebrate before tomorrow and the hard work began.
‘We did it.’ Silas relaxed into the leather wing-backed chair in Richard’s study and stretched his feet towards the roaring fire in the grate. The study was an impressive room full of fine wood furniture and leather chairs where Richard had spent years building up his wealth through various business ventures, though it was the railroads that were closest to his heart, as they were to Silas’s. Silas had been speechless the first time he’d stood in here, having stepped off the boat from England the day before, and he’d promised himself that one day he’d have a room like this. It was a pleasure to sit in this chair tonight and think of his study at home and how he’d achieved almost every goal he’d set for himself since leaving Liverpool nearly five years ago.
‘Not we, you.’ Richard removed his handkerchief from his pocket and coughed into it.
‘They wouldn’t have supported me if it weren’t for your influence.’ Silas traced the bottom of his brandy glass, wishing his ideas could stand on his reputation and merit, but he had yet to cultivate that kind of influence. More years in Baltimore establishing roots and a string of successes as long as the Baltimore Southern’s tracks would earn him the respect he craved. Until then, he was thankful for Richard’s influence and every opportunity he’d provided Silas since Silas had arrived in America. Without Richard, Silas would still be the penniless, prospectless nobody he’d been when he’d left Liverpool. Silas tapped his glass with the pad of his finger. He’d never be that man again. ‘I’ve already applied to the English patent owner for permission to build his locomotive here. Given what we’ve already invested in the steam works, it needs to start producing engines as soon as possible.’
The rails manufactured in the new foundry could be sold to other railroads to offset the cost of the Baltimore Southern’s investment, but stronger, faster engines were the real key to railroad’s future. Silas wished there were better American models to be had, but his adopted country had yet to produce a winning design. In time he was sure they would, but at present he needed the rights to the British one.
‘That engine will take the Baltimore Southern to new heights and success.’ Richard inhaled, the air rattling through his chest. ‘But sooner than any of us would like, you’ll have to win over investors without me.’
‘You aren’t thinking of retiring, are you?’ Richard lived for his work.
‘I’m dying, Silas.’
The same tightening of his stomach that’d almost made him retch ten years ago when his mother had stepped out of his father’s sickroom to hand Silas his father’s signet ring hovered about him like the heat from the fire. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I consulted a number of medical men while I was in Philadelphia, the best in the country. They confirmed what I’ve suspect for some time.’
