Mr. Fairclough's Inherited Bride (Secrets 0f A Victorian Household Book 3)

by Georgie Lee

  ‘He hasn’t rejected it.’

  ‘That’s hardly comforting.’

  ‘When it comes to Silas Fairclough, the lack of an outright rejection is good. He takes time to consider things. I’ve done my best to demonstrate the advantage of a union with you. It’s up to you to close the deal.’

  Mary resisted the urge to sigh. She’d been reduced to nothing more than a foundry to be negotiated and invested in. Well, it was better than being damaged goods that couldn’t even be given away four years ago. She smoothed her gloved hands over her dress, wondering if she should have allowed the modiste to cut the bodice of the gown a touch lower. Mary had learned a long time ago what really caught a man’s attention—there was no point in not advertising its availability to Mr Fairclough along with the potential for her more monetary assets. He might be thoughtful when it came to making decisions, but he was a still a man and, thankfully, a very nice-looking one with an admirable physique. She might not be pursuing him out of affection, but even she wasn’t about to chase after any man, no matter how old or pudgy he was, simply because he might make her a wife. She wasn’t so desperate yet.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll succeed. You have Silas’s tenaciousness and good sense and he has your forgiving and kind-hearted nature, and both of you possess an eagerness for life that I admire. The two of you will get on well.’

  ‘I hope so.’ The future she wished to claim seemed to depend on it. Although she wasn’t so certain she was as forgiving as Richard believed. The grudges she held against those still living across the ocean made the Rock of Gibraltar seem like a pebble in comparison. She took a deep breath and reached up to caress the watch, but it wasn’t attached to her dress. She’d left it at home, but she pictured Ruth and the many hours she’d spent coaching Mary in patience and forgiveness, encouraging her to see past people’s shortcomings. Mary had done her best to learn those lessons, but not even Ruth’s influence had been enough to soften Mary’s heart against her family. Mary adjusted the skirt of her dress, putting the old grievances aside. This ball was about claiming a different destiny than the one the people in England had chosen for her, not being bogged down by the past.

  The carriage finally rolled up to the front walk and a footman opened the door. He offered Mary one gloved hand to help her down and she took it, Mr Fairclough momentarily forgotten in her eagerness to rush up the steps and into the light, music, voices and energy spilling from the house. There had been little life in the country with Ruth and a sedate and quiet one with Richard in Baltimore, but the self-imposed semi-seclusion which she’d endured for the past four years ended tonight. She would make her presence in Baltimore known in a way that even sitting at the head of Richard’s table hadn’t done. There would be no going back to anonymity after the ball and it terrified her as much as it thrilled her.

  Richard escorted her inside and Mrs Parker following behind as expected of a respectable chaperon. In England, a lady’s maid would never accompany her lady to a ball, but things in America were different and Mary was glad. She needed the comfort of friends around her tonight. Mary and Richard stepped into a rectangular hall with a black and white marble floor, white walls and more of the tall columns that had dominated the front of the house. They waded through the crush of people, Richard exchanging greetings with fellow businessmen while Mary smiled pleasantly at them. It wasn’t long before they were in the receiving line and in front of the hosts.

  ‘Lady Mary, it’s a pleasure to have you here,’ Mr Penniman greeted from where he stood beside his plump wife. ‘May I introduce Mrs Penniman?’

  Mary curtsied to their hostess, noting the fine flowers embroidered on the mauve silk of the other woman’s ball gown and the massive diamonds encircling her wrists and throat. Mary’s mother had once looked this radiant in her silks and family jewels and Mary had admired and coveted them the way she did Mrs Penniman’s. If all went well tonight, she might enjoy such elegance again. It made her heart flutter as she rose, smiling respectfully at the matron who offered a beaming a smile in return.

  ‘Lady Mary, you honour us with your presence. I never thought to have the daughter of an earl in my humble home.’

  Mary’s stomach tightened at the mention of her lineage and she braced herself, sure someone would step up to call her a fraud, but no one did, leaving it to her to make an impression on the hostess. ‘Your home is as fine, if not finer, than most in Grosvenor Square and I’m delighted to be included in tonight’s festivities.’

  ‘Thank you so much, Lady Mary.’

  Mary could see the matron sought as much approval as Mary did when it came to her efforts to entertain. She wondered from what humble roots Mrs Penniman had risen. She would have to ask Mrs Parker later.

  The required pleasantries complete, Richard escorted Mary away from their hosts. They strolled through the high-ceilinged main hall with its white plaster and marble curving staircase leading up to the higher floors, past the ancient Roman sculptures and towards the large ballroom at the back of the house. It was slow going as they stopped every few feet for another meeting or introduction. Mary did her best to give her full attention to each new person, all the while aware of everyone around them. She was, without being too obvious, searching for Mr Fairclough.

  When they finally extricated themselves from Mr and Mrs Baxter, who proved as eager as Mrs Penniman to meet Mary, Richard escorted her to the ballroom. The sight of it took her breath away. It was as impressive as any in England with a soaring-glass and wrought-iron ceiling. Tall columns interspersed with numerous windows dominated three of the four walls, allowing the city lights from outside to twinkle like the candles did in the chandeliers and sconces. On a raised dais at one end, the musicians played for the dancers who whirled and turned in their wide-skirted dresses and dark suits. It was everything she’d dearly loved once and that had comprised so much of her life, and everything she thought she would never delight in again. She longed to rush into the crowd, find a partner and enjoy the dances that had marked her Season in London before her life had collapsed but she remained beside Richard. She didn’t want to crave it too much and have it all pulled away from her.

  Without thinking, she glanced around, still searching for Mr Fairclough, eager to see him. A very small part of her, the one that had been tricked by Preston, stirred before she stamped it out. The idea that she was chasing after a man again frightened her, but this wasn’t intended to be that sort of arrangement and she must be sensible and level headed in this matter. This was about a respectable marriage and a better future, not some clandestine tryst.

  ‘I’ll leave you two ladies here.’ Richard, removed her hand from his arm. ‘I’m off to the game room with the gentlemen.’

  ‘So soon?’ She hadn’t imagined facing the ballroom without the surety of Richard’s reputation to help bolster hers or to navigate the Mr Fairclough matter alone.

  ‘I trust you’ll be fine with Mrs Parker.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mr Jackson, I’ll watch out for her as if she were my own daughter,’ Mrs Parker assured him.

  ‘I don’t doubt you will. Ladies.’ With a bow, he made for the smoky gambling room where the married gentlemen and confirmed bachelors would hole up for the evening, leaving the single men of marriageable age to the debutantes and their mothers.

  Those debutantes and mothers watched Mary who pretended not to notice their curious scrutiny as she waded into the crowd. She and Mrs Parker stood on the edge of the dance floor as the dancers twirled by during the rousing reel. The young women’s cheeks were flush with the thrill of the dance or the attention of the gentleman holding their hands. They were innocent in their white dresses of cascading ruffles accented with pink ribbons and bows and everything expected of well-bred young ladies, everything Mary no longer was. The men dancing with them gazed down at their simpering partners with an adoration verging on worship, as if they weren’t worthy to hold the gl
oved hands of these fair maidens.

  ‘I don’t know how I’ll compete with them for Mr Fairclough’s attentions,’ Mary said to Mrs Parker. The dancing women were only a few years younger than her, but they didn’t know disappointment, betrayal, shame and guilt as intimately as she did, and if they or their mothers knew the truth about Mary they’d promenade right out of the room to get away from her.

  ‘Chin up, Lady Mary. You’re a woman of experience, that’s more than most of them can say, although I could point out the ones who could say it but I won’t, at least not yet. You need to meet them first.’ She winked and Mary stifled a laugh.

  ‘Are you suggesting that they aren’t as innocent as they look?’

  ‘Most people aren’t, that’s a good rule for anyone to remember, especially you who has suffered enough for her mistakes and doesn’t deserve any more.’ Mrs Parker slipped her hand in Mary’s and gave it a comforting squeeze.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Parker, that means a great deal to me.’

  ‘Smile, Lady Mary, and look merry, you have a man to catch.’ Mrs Parker levelled her hand towards the opposite side of the dance floor. There, Mr Fairclough stood with a young woman on either side of him. They peered up at him with eyes so round it was a wonder he didn’t fall into them. He smiled in delight at their adoration, making Mary want to gag. She’d seen that expression on a hundred young ladies’ faces during her Season, their hopeful mothers standing behind them wondering if they’d found a real catch. It was all an act she knew well. They wanted Mr Fairclough for nothing more than his money. They had no real interest in him, although Mary wasn’t certain her reasons for pursuing him were any more noble than theirs.

  ‘What do you think of Richard’s proposal of me and Mr Fairclough?’ Mary’s judgement had failed her once before. It was time to rely on other people’s more clearheaded opinions.

  ‘I’ve known him since he arrived in Baltimore and I haven’t a bad thing to say about him. My brother is the foreman at his machine shop and all the workers there speak highly of him, too. He’s good to his employees, paying poor Mr Stone who was sick and has three children at home who would have starved if his pay had been withheld. Unlike some of these hard-hearted businessmen in here who care only for profits, Mr Fairclough takes care of his workers. I think Mr Jackson is right, the two of you will suit, but not if you lose him to one of those gadflies flitting about him.’ Mrs Parker set her plump shoulders, hidden beneath the lines of her dark blue dress devoid of all ruffles and frills, and faced Mary. ‘Come. It’s time to shoo them away.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’ Bolstered by Mrs Parker’s support, Mary took hold of the sides of her skirt and accompanied her companion around the edge of the ballroom towards Mr Fairclough.

  The music ended and couples entered and left the dance floor. The change in partners made Mary walk faster, afraid Mr Fairclough would escort one of those fawning women out for the next dance and give the little vixen a chance to snare him. Mary wasn’t about to lose out on becoming a wife just because, like the horses to Gretna Green, she hadn’t been quick enough. If she and Preston had arrived at the anvil a day or even a few hours sooner, it would have all been done, and then everything that had happened afterwards wouldn’t have mattered. She wouldn’t have been cast aside because she would have been wed.

  ‘Mr Fairclough, you promised me the next dance,’ Mary announced, stepping between him and one young woman and catching Mrs Parker’s congratulatory smile from where she stood just behind him. The women flanking him all but sneered at Mary. It wasn’t their reaction she cared about, but Mr Fairclough’s. He could easily laugh at her the way Preston had while she’d lain in the inn’s old bed, still in pain, asking if they’d continue on to Gretna Green when she felt better. Then he’d walked out the door, leaving her to the hard innkeeper’s wife who’d demanded payment from her father for the stained sheets and what little care she’d offered Mary. When her father had returned from paying the greedy woman, things had become far worse than she could have imagined when the bleeding had first started in the carriage or when Preston’s back had faded down the inn’s dark hall.

  The memory of it nearly made Mary mumble her apologies and flee into the crowd, but she stood her ground. She wasn’t about to run, not with the mothers whispering about Mary’s forwardness. They must wonder who this young woman was who wasn’t a debutante judging by her dress and wasn’t married either given her bare ring finger. She shouldn’t have asked him to dance—it wasn’t done—but she’d made her statement and there was no backing down from it.

  Mary’s stiff stance softened when Mr Fairclough’s surprise changed into delight. ‘You’re right, Lady Mary, I’d forgotten. Can you forgive me?’

  The Lady before her name silenced the mothers and their daughters who gazed on Mary with more respect than they’d shown when she’d first trounced between them and the object of their hunt. If only her title had guaranteed her this much respect back home.

  ‘How could I hold such a small oversight against you?’ she answered with a graciousness to impress even herself.

  ‘If you ladies will excuse me?’ He offered Mary his arm and she took it, allowing him to escort her to the dance floor.

  ‘That was quite a bold invitation to dance,’ Mr Fairclough complimented as he laid one hand on her waist and faced her for the Viennese Waltz. Mary would have preferred a gallop or a vigorous polka to these slow steps, but she hadn’t exactly given either of them a choice. She’d simply demanded a partner. She was getting what she’d asked for.

  ‘I’ve learned the hard way that tarrying can lose one many opportunities.’

  ‘So have I. One does not form companies and forge ahead with a railroad by being shy.’

  ‘Nor does a woman secure a dance by standing near a wall.’

  ‘Something tells me you aren’t in the habit of standing by walls, Lady Mary.’

  ‘I’ve held up my fair share of them.’ Too many in the last four years, not that she and Ruth had ever attended anything like a dance, but if they had, Mary would have done all she could to fade into the decorations. Standing out in London had landed her in the worst trouble of her life. Even now apprehension made her steps a little heavier. She’d been this forward with Preston, triumphant at having snatched him away from the other ladies, but that achievement had been no victory in the end. She wondered if she’d failed to really learn from her mistakes, but Mr Fairclough was nothing like Preston. This man had built himself up through hard work instead of resting on the family laurels. ‘But not any more.’

  ‘Good.’

  * * *

  Silas turned them in time to the swaying melody of the music. The slow movement allowed him to admire the woman in his arms and the stunning change that had come over her since the last time he’d seen her. She wasn’t dressed in the white and cream satins of the other ladies her age, but she wasn’t swathed in plain grey or black either. She wore a yellow silk gown overlaid with a netting of fine red roses. The waist of the dress was cut in tight to her natural form, the bodice sloping down to reveal the barest hint of the tops of her breasts. Her slender arms, curved to match the angle of his and the dance, were covered in long, white gloves that complemented the dress, all of it whispering of mature elegance, taste and wealth. She was without jewellery, but her hair was pulled off her face and neck and arranged in small ringlets that shivered with each dance step. ‘Even if you wished to fade into the drapery, you’re too much of an interest to everyone to allow them to forget you or your daring dance invitation.’

  An enticing pink spread across Lady Mary’s cheeks, bringing a glow to her smooth skin that heightened the one created by the warmth of the ballroom. ‘I’m sorry for my unconventional request. It wasn’t my intention to make a spectacle of either of us.’

  ‘Make a spectacle of us. It’s to your advantage and mine.’ The other women had simpered and whined at his sides. She’d stood
in front of him and made her intentions clear. It was an admirable trait that could serve the wife of a businessman well. There would be no guessing what she wanted or needed. Her flaunting of convention was also intriguing. A man who wanted to succeed had to think differently when everyone else was doing the same thing. It was clear she was aware that doing something different could get results. After all, it was she dancing with him instead of either of those two women who’d been hanging on his every boring word. However, one dance wasn’t enough to make him drop on his knee and propose. What Richard was suggesting could influence the rest of his life and he would take as much time as necessary to decide as he did with any other venture, unless she proposed first. It wouldn’t surprise him if she did.

  ‘You want to be spoken about?’ she asked.

  ‘Better spoken about than ignored.’

  ‘I’ve never found either choice to be particularly endearing.’ She slid a hard glance at the young ladies who’d been angling for his attention where they stood whispering together while they watched Silas and Mary dance.

  ‘I suppose that depends on one’s station in society. You’re new so people are curious about you. It’ll make you a much sought-after guest and lend you an aura of mystery that people will scramble to delve.’

  ‘Or they’ll create stories to fill in the gaps.’

  ‘Not if you give them stories to take home first.’

  ‘I’m sure the gentlemen at the dinner took home enough of an impression of me for their wives.’

  ‘Men are useless there.’

  ‘You’re right. My brother, Peter, could never be counted on for news of a new neighbour.’ Her smile faded to the same sorrowful look that sometimes came over her when he saw her at Richard’s. ‘Of course he was vocal enough when it was of no benefit to me.’