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‘Algernon is an ass. Always has been. Always will be. Hopefully his new wife will make something of him.’
‘He is getting married? Was that something your stepfather envisaged?’
‘I am sure you came here for reasons other than to discuss the terms of my late stepfather’s will or his nephew’s matrimonial status, Lord Whittonstall.’ Eleanor picked up her fountain pen and pretended to make a notation. She’d regained control of the situation now. She’d moved the conversation away from the dangerous shoals of the will and back to the less dangerous one of why he was there and what he wanted. ‘Shall we discuss your business? I am sure it is far more interesting.’
He leant forward. His eyes sparkled with hidden fire. ‘Why did you give my cousin that sword? What was so desperate that you had to see him today? What sort of trouble are you in, Mrs Blackwell?’
‘I explained that at the house.’ Eleanor set down the pen with a shaking hand. It was as if they were fencing again, but this time she was the one with a poor grasp of the rules. She’d given her excuse. He should have accepted it rather than coming here and asking questions. ‘For his birthday. Sir Vivian understood.’
‘His birthday is not for another two months. It is unusual to give such a gift early.’ Lord Whittonstall lifted a solitary eyebrow.
The heat crept up Eleanor’s cheeks. If she kept calm he might ignore the blush. Please let him ignore it. Confessing the whole truth would be a lesson in abject humiliation. The more she thought about it, the more pathetic and naive she had been even to try. She hadn’t understood how wrong it might have gone. What a mistake she’d nearly made. And how could she explain about that moment when she’d thought Lord Whittonstall was going to kiss her? No. Anything but that.
‘I wished him to take it to London,’ she said, when she considered that she’d mastered her emotions. Those few extra heartbeats had helped her to formulate the perfect answer. ‘To show it off. If I had waited for his birthday he would have departed. Gentlemen such as your cousin never stay long in these parts.’
‘Until you gave him the sword my cousin had no plans to quit the county. He’d retired up here with his tail between his legs. A gaming debt. But I don’t think your visit had anything to do with his finances. It had something to do with you and your current predicament.’
She shuffled paper about the desk. Against all reason she wanted to lay her head on his chest and confess. She shook her head. She could just imagine his recoiling from her, and that was a thousand times worse. The last thing she wanted was pity from him.
‘It was a straightforward request, Lord Whittonstall,’ she said briskly. ‘I don’t see why you think it a mystery.’
‘Have you given swords away before?’ he asked, tilting his head to one side.
‘It is a new initiative.’
‘How new?’
‘Very new.’
Eleanor pushed away from the desk, stood up, and began to pace the room, stopping in front of her grandfather’s portrait. The compulsion to confess grew with each passing heartbeat. But she simply couldn’t. It would be opening up a Pandora’s box of questions. And she might inadvertently blurt out how she’d wanted him to kiss her. She bit her lip. How much she still wanted him to kiss her. She couldn’t remember ever being this aware of a man before. And she’d met hundreds during her fifteen year tenure running Moles.
‘A sudden inspiration,’ she said, in a tone that few within Moles would question. ‘I’m so pleased and relieved your cousin agreed to the scheme. It solves a multitude of problems.’
‘How good to know that my cousin was the first to receive your largesse in this manner.’
Eleanor glanced over her shoulder and he gave her an ironic bow.
‘A genuine request from my heart, Lord Whittonstall,’ she said, putting her hands on her hips. ‘I believed when I went to his house, and I still believe now, that Sir Vivian can help this company to succeed. All he needs to do is show off the sword, hold it in combat as I taught you, and the rest will follow.’
She drew a breath. She had told the truth in a roundabout way. Nothing to be ashamed of. She waited for him to concede the point.
‘You were desperate for his help—so desperate you were prepared to risk your reputation. You even challenged me to a duel so that you could remain in that library. Then Viv arrived and you made your milksop request. What did you truly want from him? What were you afraid to ask for?’
Eleanor stopped and faced her grandfather’s portrait. His stern features frowned down on her. She hated the feeling of being judged and found wanting. She had never considered that Lord Whittonstall would be so perceptive.
‘It no longer matters because all I want from him now is to publicise the new sword.’ She turned and smiled triumphantly. Her point was the killer blow.
Lord Whittonstall took a step towards her. Their eyes met and she became intensely aware of him—his long fingers, the way his dark hair curled at the nape of his neck and his scent. Especially his scent. Extract of masculinity. Her pulse increased its speed and she knew her cheeks flamed. But it didn’t matter. She’d won. He’d have to back down.
‘I believe it had to do with your stepfather’s will. You wanted help with the conditions your stepfather has imposed. But once you saw Viv you changed your mind and invented this scheme.’
Eleanor stared at him, astonished. He’d accomplished the verbal equivalent of sending her sword flying through the air. ‘How did you know?’
‘I am far from unintelligent, Miss Blackwell. The truth, if you please. Why did you go to see my cousin? How did you think he could help you? And why did you decide he couldn’t?’
Eleanor stared at Lord Whittonstall. He’d guessed, but he couldn’t know everything. For a wild moment she considered lying but knew she couldn’t. It would only make Algernon’s accusations true. And she had no wish to play those sorts of games with Lord Whittonstall. Only the entire humiliating truth would do.
‘I went to see your cousin to ask him to marry me, but I decided against it once I had met him again. We would not suit.’
‘You would not suit,’ Lord Whittonstall agreed. A dimple played in the corner of his cheek. ‘Why on earth did you think you would?’
‘I was desperate.’ She clasped her hands together and tried to keep the panic at bay. ‘Absolutely and completely desperate. Your cousin had sent a note, begging for the new sword. It fell out of a ledger when I came back from the reading of the will. Serendipity, I thought. I suspect I wasn’t thinking clearly or I wouldn’t even have tried. I am sorry if you were caused any discomfort by my feeble attempt to solve the problem. I should have known better.’
He gave her a sharp glance. ‘What does marrying my cousin have to do with your stepfather’s will? Start at the beginning, Miss Blackwell, and perhaps I will understand.’
‘In his will my stepfather gives me Moles and all its investments provided I marry. If not, everything goes to Algernon. He also left instructions for him on how to challenge any marriage.’
Lord Whittonstall’s eyebrows drew together. He was puzzled more than angry. ‘Why would he do that?’
‘To taunt me and keep me in my place. To create the illusion of keeping his promise.’ Eleanor gave a light shrug to show that she was over the hurt. ‘He knew my feelings on the subject of marriage and the inequities that women can suffer. I’m not very good at holding my tongue, but he tolerated me because he enjoyed the prosperity I brought to Moles and his purse.’
‘You are not overly enamoured of marriage?’ He gave a little nod of understanding. ‘Perhaps he was acting for the best. Most parents want their children or indeed their stepchildren to be secure within the confines of marriage. Perhaps he had your best interests at heart and chose to show them in a unique fashion.’
‘I saw how my stepfather treated my mother.’ Eleanor caught her bottom lip with her teeth. There was no need to catalogue her stepfather’s verbal cruelties. He might have abstained from physical violence after she’d threatened him with a sword but his tongue had been razor-sharp and he had had the unerring habit of finding weakness.
‘That is a shame.’ He regarded her with sorrowful eyes.
After this interview she doubted if she’d ever see Lord Whittonstall again. But his pity was the last thing she wanted or required.
‘Until my stepfather’s will was read I was determined never to marry. I wanted to put my energy into the family firm, rather than into hating him.’
‘Not all men are beasts like your stepfather,’ he remarked, his face becoming resolute.
She knew then that he understood.
‘I am sure you will find someone. But what is the hurry? Why did you rush out and contact my cousin? The instant after you returned here from the will-reading you must have sent the note. It is the timing, Miss Blackwell.’
‘You would make a good detective. One final twist.’ Eleanor clasped her hands together and struggled to keep her voice even. ‘I have to marry within the month.’
Lord Whittonstall’s eyes had opened wide. Thank heavens! He finally understood the truly shocking nature of the will. All the nervous energy flowed out of her.
‘There would not be time for a proper settlement if you had to marry within a month,’ he said. ‘Lawyers are notoriously slow about such things. They often take longer than posting the banns.’
‘You appear remarkably well informed.’
His lips turned up in a smile. ‘I’ve a variety of cousins. Some of my female cousins are more headstrong than others and have wanted to marry quickly out of devotion to their fiancés. But it would be financial suicide. Their interests have to be protected. Fortune-hunters are ten a penny in London these days.’
A warm glow filled Eleanor. Against all hope or expectation Lord Whittonstall understood the obstacles she faced.
‘I see you appreciate the crux of the problem. I know only too well what happens when there is no proper settlement.’
‘You do?’
‘My mother married too quickly. I think she wanted to erase the shame of my father’s death from her conscience. She was the sort of woman who wanted to be married and have a home.’
Eleanor bit her lip. All her mother had wanted to be was petted and admired. A decorative object rather than something useful. Eleanor’s strength was her brain rather than her beauty, and therefore she trod a very different path from her mother.
‘But why did you stay if you found the situation intolerable? Surely you could have started a new company? Or, failing that, found a job elsewhere.’
‘I gave a promise to the employees when my father died,’ she said, needing him to understand her reasoning. ‘I promised them that if they stuck with me and the company I would give my all for them—and I have. Moles has more than prospered in my tenure.’
‘These men are all skilled. They could easily find jobs elsewhere. Would they do the same for you?’
‘A promise, Lord Whittonstall, is a promise.’
‘And you were prepared to compromise your life for a business?’ His eyes showed his incredulity.
Eleanor pressed her hands together and held back a frustrated scream. It wasn’t just a business. It was her heritage. Something that had been built with the sweat and blood of her forefathers. It was the only thing of her family’s that she had left. She was the last one. It was the only place where she truly belonged.
Suddenly she knew what she had to do. She had to make him understand. Then he’d see why she’d changed her mind, and that it had nothing to do with her reaction to him.
‘Come with me. See the forge. Meet the men who work here and then you will understand.’
‘I doubt I will.’
‘You doubted I could best you at swords.’
He gave a sudden barking laugh. ‘I stand corrected.’
Giving in to her impulse, she led him out of the office and gave him a brief tour of Moles. She showed him where the iron was kept, how it was made into steel, and then how the swords were made. All the while, whenever they encountered anyone, she introduced him to the men who made Moles—from the most junior errand boy to Mr Swaddle, who was busy with his experiments. To her great relief Lord Whittonstall asked intelligent questions and didn’t patronise her. He seemed genuinely surprised to learn how long some of the men had worked there, and of their hopes for the future.
‘There,’ she said, when the tour was done and they had stopped outside the office building, underneath the apple tree that her great-grandmother had planted. The blossom was late this year and had just started to open. ‘Do you understand now?’
‘They certainly hold you in high esteem. When the blacksmith needed you to inspect the latest shipment of iron Mr Swaddle took me aside to explain about how you had single-handedly rescued this company.’
‘Mr Swaddle is given to exaggeration. We worked together. Everyone did. The men did the physical labour. I simply did the accounts and worked to get the swords where they would be appreciated. If a fifteen-year-girl could do it, how hard could it have been?’
She found it hard to keep the bitterness from her voice. She shook her head. Algernon’s pompous pronouncements had affected her more than she’d thought possible.
‘And you have continued to do it for the last fifteen years?’
‘It has become a habit.’ She ducked her head. ‘I enjoy my work and enjoy working with the men. Mr Swaddle, for all his eccentric dress, is a genius with steel.’
‘He doesn’t like Algernon Forecastle. Doesn’t trust him. He made that quite clear.’
‘These people depend on me. I can’t allow Algernon to ruin their lives.’ Eleanor drew a deep breath. ‘I went to see your cousin to secure their future. I went to offer to pay his debts in return for a marriage on paper. But I couldn’t do it. And I shall have to live with my selfish decision for the rest of my life. When the time came I was a coward and couldn’t even say the words. So I asked your cousin for his help in another way. It may do some good. There—now you know the truth and my reasons. I hope you are satisfied.’
‘You care a lot about these people?’
‘Yes, I do.’ She stood with her feet firmly planted on the ground and dared him to make a derogatory comment.
A light breeze blew a strand of hair into her mouth. She pushed it away and still he looked at her.
He put a hand on her arm, keeping her there. His brows drew together and his eyes darkened to coal black. ‘Marry me.’
Eleanor froze. A thousand disconnected thoughts flew through her brain. A huge part of her screamed that this was the miracle she’d been longing for. Lord Whittonstall had asked her to marry him. But she also knew she didn’t want him offering out of pity. She had her pride. ‘I wasn’t begging you for help. I was attempting to explain.’
‘Is there something wrong with marrying me?’ Ben stared at Eleanor Blackwell. He had not intended to ask her to marry him when he’d arrived at Moles, but now, seeing her here and hearing her story, he knew it was the right thing to do. The perfect solution to his problem and to hers. Mutual assistance.
She pulled away from him. ‘You have no reason to want to marry me. Don’t patronise me. I can’t stand it.’
‘It is far from a joke.’
A deep frown appeared between her delicate brows. ‘But why would you want to marry me?’
‘You mean I’m no wastrel and therefore don’t need your money?’
She bent her head and picked at her glove. ‘Something like that.’
‘I took an irrational dislike to the Reverend Forecastle.’
‘Enough to marry someone to spite him? I doubt it.’
Ben watched the crown of her head. Her bravery impressed him, but he also wanted to touch her hair. His desire to kiss her had grown, not diminished. Most unexpected. He desired her. ‘You want the truth?’
Her grey eyes met his. ‘I find it best. You could marry anyone. Why me? Why now?’
How to answer her? He could hardly explain about the spark and his desire to pursue it. It remained far too new and tenuous. In any case, this marriage was not about desire or romance; it was about the possibility of companionship and duty. A new start—one in which he’d atone for old mistakes. He didn’t want to make false promises.
He pushed the unwelcome thoughts away and concentrated on the apple tree behind her.
‘Like you, duty drives me. In this case my mother has impressed upon me the necessity of marriage. I need a wife. You need a husband. It is quite simple. For my part, it solves a multitude of problems which show every sign of increasing rather than diminishing.’
‘Things are never that simple.’ Her brow furrowed as if she was trying to find a hidden flaw.
‘I’m a widower, Miss Blackwell,’ Ben said slowly. ‘I loved my wife, but she died before we had children. I have an heir in Viv but my mother keeps pressing me to marry. Her demands are growing in strength with each passing year.’
‘And you listen to your mother? You hardly seem the type.’
Ben paused. After her revelations, she deserved an explanation. She didn’t need to know about Alice, or the way she’d died. All that was in the past. However, he could explain about what drove his mother.
‘My father died before I was born. Mama devoted her life to raising me. Within reason I try to listen to her. And each year the season has become more intolerable as she artfully arranges for me to meet more eligible young women. Each year the age gap grows and I find less and less in common with her protégées.’
‘Why don’t you tell her to let you choose your own bride in your own time?’
He captured Miss Blackwell’s hand and raised it to his lips. ‘You are very alike in your determination. Do your employees say no to you after all you have done for them?’
She withdrew her hand and moved away from him, turning her back on him. Her black dress hung limply about her body, emphasising her slender angularity and the straightness of her back. Ben found it impossible to discern what she was thinking. Silently he willed her to accept his offer.
