American Heiress [1]When The Marquess Met His Match

by Laura Lee Guhrke

  “I understand,” the countess said gravely, and reached for the bellpull. “We shall see what we can find out.”

  Chalmers, Lord Trubridge’s valet, was sent for, but he could provide little information as to His Lordship’s whereabouts.

  “Heavens, Mr. Chalmers,” Belinda said, forcing a laugh, “has your master fallen off the edge of the earth?”

  Before the valet could even attempt to answer that question, Lord Conyers walked in, whistling. He stopped at the sight of Belinda. “Why, Lady Featherstone, what a pleasure! You grow lovelier every day.”

  “You flatter me, Conyers.”

  “Edward,” Lady Conyers said, tugging at his coat to tear his attention away from Belinda, “Lady Featherstone is on a hunt for Somerton and Trubridge.”

  “On their trail, are you?” He gave her a wink. “Poor fellows.”

  Belinda, accustomed to such witticisms about her profession, laughed as expected, then said, “They are not at their club, so I can only conclude they are off punting or fishing or engaged in some other sport, but I really must—”

  “Sport?” Lord Conyers interrupted, and it was his turn to laugh. “Oh, no, my dear lady, you’ve got it all wrong. They are engaged in business matters.”

  “Business matters?” the two women said in unison.

  “Indeed. I can give you the address where they might be found, though I’m not sure Commercial Road is the most desirable place for ladies to go visiting.”

  Commercial Road? This situation was growing more intriguing by the moment, so intriguing in fact that Belinda didn’t care what neighborhood they were in, she intended to find them and see what they were up to. “I would appreciate that address very much, Lord Conyers. Thank you.”

  Half an hour later, Belinda was gazing with doubt at a brick building on Chelsea’s Commercial Road that had clearly seen better days. What on earth could Nicholas and Somerton be doing down here? Whatever their purpose for this building, part of it involved improving the look of the place, for workmen were swarming over the building like ants, replacing broken windows, repairing the roof, and patching the crumbling brick.

  Davis appeared beside the carriage door. “Are you certain you wish to go in, my lady?” he asked. “A construction site isn’t quite the nicest place for a lady.”

  At that moment, Belinda caught a glimpse of Nicholas passing by one of the broken-out windows. “I shall be quite all right, Davis.” She waved aside her driver’s offer to accompany her and alighted from the carriage. “I shan’t be long. Wait for me here.”

  She crossed the sidewalk, nodded to the pair of workmen scrubbing the brick on either side of the doorway, and passed through the entrance. Coming in from outside, the interior seemed dark despite the many windows, and she blinked several times before her eyes grew accustomed to the dimmer light and she could make out her surroundings.

  She was in a single room that took up the entire ground floor of the building. Half a dozen workmen moved amid the reinforcing pillars of the vast space, sweeping up debris from the concrete floor, pulling jagged panes of broken glass from the windows, brushing cobwebs out of corners, and scrubbing down walls. To her right, a plain staircase of rusted wrought iron led to the upper floors, and the only furnishings in the place were a battered oak table in the center of the room flanked by a pair of wooden chairs. The chairs’ peeling paint was a contrast to the fine wool jackets draped over them.

  Nicholas was leaning over the table in his shirtsleeves, Lord Somerton and two more workmen with him, and the four were discussing what seemed to be a set of architectural plans laid out on the table.

  “We’re connected to the main line here,” Nicholas was saying as he pointed to a spot on the plans, his voice raised to be heard over the bang of hammers and the clink of glass around and above them. “Westminster has assured us that we’re turned on. So why haven’t we any water?”

  One of the workmen launched into explanations for what repairs needed to be made to the plumbing, and Belinda studied Nicholas as he listened.

  His hair, burnished and tawny even in this dim interior, recalled to her the first afternoon he’d come to see her and evoked again the sunshine of some exotic place. The sight of him in his shirtsleeves reminded her of the muscles and sinew she’d seen in the moonlight of the maze. Desire unfurled within her, spreading to every part of her body before she could stop it, and any resolutions she’d made to be coolly professional and indifferent went to the wall.

  Suddenly, he seemed to sense he was being watched, and he looked up to see her standing there amid the bustling workmen. He smiled, making her stomach dip with a giddy weightlessness and her heart twist in her chest with a pang so strong that it hurt—for it reminded her forcefully of a shy, tongue-tied girl standing on the verandah of the Grand Union Hotel. She wanted to look away, leave, run for her life, but she couldn’t seem to command her body to take any of those actions. She could only stand there, happy and terrified, smiling back at him.

  “Somerton,” he said without taking his eyes off of her, “we have a visitor.”

  “A visitor?” his friend echoed, turning to look. “Why, it’s Lady Featherstone!”

  The viscount’s surprise forced her to tear her gaze from Nicholas. “Somerton,” she greeted, turning her smile on him. “Your mother will be glad to know you are well and haven’t taken off for parts unknown.”

  “Father knows. He told you, I suppose? How like him not to bother telling Mama about any of it, though. She’s always the last to know the family secrets.” He smiled back at her. “Worried, is she?”

  “Not worried, exactly,” Belinda said. “Puzzled might be a more accurate way of putting it. And a bit concerned about what people would say if they knew the two of you were engaged in commerce.”

  “Poor Papa. He’ll be raked over the coals for helping us now.”

  “I did my best to assure your mother it was perfectly acceptable for titled gentlemen to also have business interests.” She glanced around as she approached the table. “I can see the pair of you have been busy, but what is the purpose of all this?”

  Before either man could answer, a loud whistle sounded outside that made Belinda clap her gloved hands over her ears with a grimace.

  All work stopped at once. Hammers were set down, leather gloves pulled off, brooms laid aside. Clattering on the stairs had her glancing to her right as a line of workmen came marching down from the upper floors. They touched caps to her respectfully as they came down, nodded to Nicholas and Somerton, and flooded toward the door in an inexorable line. The two workmen standing by the table followed suit, and in less than a minute, she and the two gentlemen were the only people in the building.

  An awkward silence followed the departure of the workmen as Somerton glanced from Nicholas to her and back again. “Right,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I think I’ll be off as well. I must catch the evening train if I’m to go to Kent today, and I’m not even packed. Are you going down to Honeywood on the same train?”

  “No, I’m going tomorrow. I want to give a few more instructions to the foreman before I leave since I expect to be away for four to five weeks. How long will you be at Arcady?”

  “Only a fortnight. Until I return, we’ll put Jenkins in charge of things here, yes?” When Nicholas nodded, Somerton turned to her. “Lady Featherstone.”

  With that, Somerton pulled his jacket from where it was draped over one of the chairs and departed, leaving her and Nicholas alone.

  There was still a smile lingering at the corners of his lips as he looked at her. “It’s good to see you, Belinda.”

  With those words, a bubble of happiness rose up within her, pressing against her chest and making it hard to breathe. She wanted to tell him she was glad to see him, too, but the words caught in her throat, held there by a wave of her girlhood shyness. It suddenly became vital to look away,
but though she transferred her attention to her surroundings, she knew he was still watching her.

  “So,” she said at last, forcing the word out, “this is what you’ve been doing instead of answering my letters.”

  “I did answer your letter.”

  “The first one.”

  “Have you corresponded with me since?” He gave a laugh. “Sorry, I’ve been so busy that I’ve barely had time to eat and sleep this week. I haven’t even glanced at my correspondence.”

  “But what’s keeping you so occupied? What is it you and Somerton do here? What is this place?”

  “My lord?”

  Both of them turned as a gnarled old man in worn tweeds entered through the front door. At the sight of Belinda, he stopped and doffed his cap.

  “Ah, Mr. Jenkins,” Nicholas greeted, beckoning him forward. “Please tell me you’ve located our copper brewing kettles?”

  “I have, Yer Lordship. They’ve been sitting dockside at Pimlico Pier the whole time if ye can believe it, but they’ll be delivered when we want ’em.”

  “Excellent.” Nicholas gestured to her. “Belinda, this is Mr. Jenkins, who has been the brewing master down at Honeywood for . . . oh, at least thirty years. Mr. Jenkins, this is Lady Featherstone.”

  “My lady.” He gave a bow and glanced again at Nicholas. “I’ve also found ye a supplier for oak barrels. You’ll be wanting oak.”

  “Yes, indeed.” He laughed. “I remember you’ve always insisted oak was the only acceptable wood for beer barrels.”

  “Oak and no other, my lord. With your permission, I’ll be going over there now to have a look at ’em?”

  “Yes, of course. We can’t make beer without barrels, can we?”

  “No, sir. Ye be leaving for Honeywood tomorrow?”

  “Yes. If you simply must reach me, cable me there. Lord Somerton will also be gone, so you’ll be in charge here until he returns. Make those men work while we’re away, Jenkins,” he added with a wink.

  “Indeed, I will, sir. Won’t allow ’em to shirk just because the master’s away.” He nodded to Belinda. “Good day, ma’am,” he said and departed out the door.

  “He’s such a slave driver,” Nicholas whispered to her, as Jenkins walked toward the door. “You should see him and my land steward supervising the day laborers at Honeywood during hops-picking time. Ruthless, both of them. They only allow those poor day laborers a quarter hour for their lunch rest. I think—” He broke off, pausing until Jenkins was gone, then went on in a normal voice, “I think I’ll have to insist upon a half an hour for them now that I’m taking charge of it all. Hops picking’s hard work.”

  Belinda stared at him, trying to take it all in. “You and Somerton are making beer?”

  “Well, not yet,” he said with a laugh. “We need hops and barley first. But yes, once we have a harvest, we’re making beer. It’s something I know how to do, you see.”

  “I didn’t realize you knew anything about brewing.”

  “Well, Honeywood grows hops and barley, and the home farm has always had a brewery. Honeywood makes all the ales, bitters, and stouts for Landsdowne’s estates, so I’ve been around beer making all my life. So has Somerton. His estate, Arcady, grows hops and malting grains also. Many estates do in Kent. We’ve both been selling almost our entire crop every year on the open market, but with agricultural prices so low, there’s little profit in the harvest itself. From now on, both our estates will sell all their hops and grain to our own brewery. Fair prices, of course, but the real profit shall be in the beer.”

  She smiled, appreciating the excitement in his voice. “You sound as if you can’t wait to start.”

  He laughed. “Yes, well, I’ve always been fascinated by the process. As a child, I was forever following Jenkins around, asking questions, getting in the way, and being a pest generally.”

  Belinda studied his face, seeing there a hint of the boy who had wanted to study the sciences at Cambridge.

  “When Landsdowne cut me off,” he went on, “I racked my brains trying to think of something I could do to earn my own living, but I never thought of this, probably because it’s never been a business to me. It’s always been part of the estate, not a source of income in itself. I’d never thought of turning it into a business for profit until now.”

  “But you’ve no capital. Did Somerton fund the entire investment?”

  “No, Lord Conyers did. He’s agreed to buy ten percent of the shares and to stake us a loan for the rest. We had to give him a detailed prospectus before he’d agree, which is what we’ve been so occupied with during the past week. We presented our plans to him two days ago, and he agreed to the venture.”

  “But, when . . . how . . . what made you . . . ?” She stopped and shook her head, laughing at her stuttering attempts to gain explanations. Nicholas’s doing something like this was so unexpected, she didn’t know what to make of it. “How did the two of you come to decide to do this?”

  “It was my idea. I was coming back from Highclyffe, and the train stopped right out there.” He paused, pointing toward the open front door, the canal, and the railroad tracks beyond. “It was Providence, Belinda, that the train stopped right there. It was Providence pointing me to a purpose for my life.”

  “I don’t know what to say, Nicholas.” She pressed a hand to her chest, laughing, for his exhilaration was infectious. “You’ve flummoxed me.”

  “Have I? The cool, self-possessed Lady Featherstone is flummoxed? That’s quite a treat for me—having the tables turned this way.”

  “Table turned? What do you mean?”

  “Whenever I’m with you, I’m utterly at sixes and sevens. Hell, half the time, when I look at you, I can’t even remember my own name.”

  She stilled, her laughter fading as her heart gave a leap. “I don’t know why,” she whispered.

  He reached out and cupped her cheek. “Don’t you?” he asked tenderly.

  She ought to pull away. She didn’t want to, but the door was wide open, and they were in full view of anyone who might walk by. She felt as if she could stand here like this with him forever, and though she knew she should withdraw, she didn’t want to. He let his hand fall before she had to decide.

  “If you don’t know why,” he said, “then I shan’t tell you. It makes me feel better to know that my whole heart isn’t sitting on my sleeve.”

  His words were light, carelessly uttered, but she knew that was not a reliable indication of his true feelings. She never knew what was genuine, not with him. She wanted his heart on his sleeve, she wanted to see it and know what was in it, but she couldn’t say that was what she wanted. Not after all the other things she’d said.

  “Did you see the sign out front?” he asked.

  She blinked at this abrupt change of subject. “What?” she said, and shook her head, knowing she was the one who was at sixes and sevens. “Sign? What sign?”

  “I’m glad you didn’t notice it. That means I can show it to you myself.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the open doorway. “Come on.”

  She allowed herself to be pulled through the doorway and out to the sidewalk. There, he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. “Look,” he said, and pointed to the white insignia and name painted over the brick.

  “Lilyfield’s,” she read, and laughed, looking at him. “Lilyfield’s?”

  He grinned. “Fitting, don’t you think?”

  “Not for long,” she pointed out. “Not if you keep up with all this.”

  “I told you this was Providence. I was sitting on the train, as I said, still resenting that tongue-lashing you’d given me in the maze the night before when you called me a lily of the field—”

  “It was unbearably rude of me to presume—”

  “Don’t,” he cut her off, reaching out to touch her again, pressing his fingert
ips to her lips right there in the street. “Don’t be proper and polite and apologize for being honest. I hated hearing the things you said, but they were true. We both know it.”

  Once again, his fingers slid away from her mouth. “You made me see that I have to do something with my life, find a purpose for myself. I know if I don’t, I’ll never earn your respect. And I want that, Belinda. I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

  She tried to remind herself of all the hard truths she’d learned about rakes, of all the insincere things they were capable of uttering without a qualm, but such reminders floated right past and came apart like smoke on the wind.

  “You realize what this means, don’t you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “It means that I won’t be needing you anymore.”

  Her heart gave a queer, hard thump against her ribs, as if that bubble of happiness had burst. “What . . .” She paused, but then forced herself to ask. “What do you mean?”

  “There’s only one way to say something like this, and that’s straight out.” He cupped her cheeks in his hands, lifting her face. “Belinda,” he said as he ducked his head beneath the brim of her hat, “you’re fired.”

  He kissed her, but the touch of his mouth was only a light graze against hers, too quick to be anything but a tease.

  “You know,” he said as he pulled back, his brow creasing in a slight frown as he looked into her upturned face, “if you insist on flinging yourself at me in this blatant fashion, you really mustn’t do it on a public street. What will people say?”

  He grabbed her hand again. “Come with me, and I’ll show you the rest of the place.”

  As he pulled her back through the doorway and started up the stairs with her in tow, she felt compelled to set him straight regarding his choice of words. “I did not fling myself at you.”

  “Lady Featherstone, society’s shining example of ladylike propriety,” he continued as he turned at the landing, his voice conveying that breezy carelessness that always told her he was teasing, “the model for all her fellow Americans of how to be a proper British lady—”