‘Chapter and verse!’ the twins chorused in unison.
Returning to the drawing room, Eloise was even more flustered than when she had left fifteen minutes earlier. The fact that Alexander, when he crossed the room to take the tray from her, looked even more handsome on second viewing, did nothing to improve her fractured composure. It was a huge relief, she told herself, nothing more. It wasn’t that she wanted an attractive husband, but facing this man over the breakfast table would be no hardship.
‘Were you thinking that I had fled the country in embarrassment?’ Irked at the breathless note in her voice, Eloise sat down beside him and began to set out the cups. ‘Please try a biscuit. Phoebe made them. They are not sweet, but spiced.’
‘I take it, then, that you reassured your sisters, while making tea, that I am neither odiferous nor do I have bad breath. They would have seen for themselves that I don’t stoop or wear spectacles. I spotted them peering out of the window at me when I arrived.’
Eloise stopped in the act of spooning tea from the walnut caddy. ‘How embarrassing. I am so sorry.’
‘There’s no need to apologise. It’s perfectly understandable that they would be protective of their big sister and want to give me the once over.’ Alexander helped himself to another biscuit. ‘Am I to assume, then, that they endorse your decision to meet with me today?’
‘Oh, yes, very much so.’ Would he think them all money-grasping harpies? ‘Not that I made the decision lightly, you understand. In fact, we discussed it a great deal.’ Was that worse? ‘What you are proposing—well, it would be to our mutual advantage, wouldn’t it? A—a quid pro quo.’ She smiled, but it felt more like a wince. ‘And it’s not an unfamiliar concept to me, of course. Kate—Lady Elmswood—and my uncle have already made a success of a similar accommodation.’
‘Yes. Daniel was quite frank with me on the advantages of his own arrangement.’
‘You are old friends, I understand.’
Alexander smiled blandly. ‘We bump into each other occasionally. Tell me a little more about yourself. I know next to nothing, save what Daniel told me.’
‘That I am a mother hen with an overdeveloped sense of duty!’
‘Was his assessment correct?’
‘No! At least—that makes me sound—I suppose I have been—Kate thinks that my sisters will benefit from being out from under my wings, and I think she might be right. I keep forgetting that they are twenty years old, young women and not children.’
‘There are four years between you, I believe?’
‘Yes. It doesn’t sound a lot, but when we were little it made a big difference.’ Eloise set her teacup aside. ‘They have been my responsibility since—I was going to say since they were born, but even Mama was not quite so careless as to leave a pair of babes in my charge. We had a nurse, but later, from the schoolroom I suppose, when the first of our governesses left, I have taken care of my sisters.’
‘You make it sound as if there was a procession of governesses.’
Eloise rolled her eyes. ‘We lived in the wilds of Ireland. Not many genteel ladies could endure the life, and when they left, as they invariably did, it was sometimes a while before Mama noticed. She spent a great deal of time with Papa in Dublin, when the—the dibs were in tune—have I that right?’
Alexander frowned. ‘Your father was a gambler?’
‘Well, yes, though not in the sense that your cousin is. He only placed wagers on his own runners—or so he claimed. My mother did not approve of his obsession with the track. He bred racehorses. Papa said that, as an Irishman, the turf was in his blood. Sadly, his obsession outstripped both his luck and his judgement, and he lost a great deal more than he won. When he lost, and had to retrench, then he and Mama would rusticate with us girls.’ Suddenly realising that she had been cajoled into discussing the very subject that she wished to avoid, Eloise picked up the teapot. ‘Would you care for another cup?’
Alexander shook his head. She was horribly conscious of his eyes on her as she poured herself one, of the spark of anger in her voice which always betrayed her when she talked of those days. ‘Your parents,’ he said, ‘you did not look forward to their visits?’
‘It was rather that they did not care for them. Or for us.’ Eloise sighed. He was not going to give up, she realised. ‘Until Diarmuid, my brother, was born, I would have said that my parents were the sort who were indifferent to their children. They didn’t exactly dislike us, don’t get me wrong, but aside from Papa and his thoroughbreds, all they really cared about was each other. But then Diarmuid came along. He is—he was five years younger than Phoebe and Estelle and from the moment he was born, Mama and Papa were quite besotted with him. I have never understood why they did not care for my sisters in the same way, it’s not as if they were troublesome or demanding children.’
‘Sometimes,’ Alexander said, ‘it is simply that there is room in a parent’s heart for only one child.’
His tone was even, his expression neutral, but Eloise was certain he must be thinking of his brother who died and she, who had long ago decided she would not be hurt by her parents’ blatant favouritism, recognised a similar resolve in Alexander. It made her warm to him. Her instinct was to commiserate, but that would be to recognise a scar that he would not acknowledge existed.
‘Well,’ Eloise said, ‘in our family that child was Diarmuid. The golden child, quite literally—he had a mass of sunny golden curls. Such an endearing little boy he was too when he was very little, with the kind of smile that no one could resist. We all adored him. I often wonder, if he had not been such a favourite, whether he would have been a more endearing little boy, but he was so very spoilt, the sulks and the tantrums on the rare occasions he didn’t get things his own way were inevitable, I suppose. Mama and Papa were forever telling him how wonderful he was, it’s not surprising that he believed them. Perhaps he’d have grown out of it.’
‘You don’t believe that, do you?’
‘Not really. It’s a dreadful thing to say, but though I loved him because he was my brother, I liked him less and less with every year. He was moulded too much in the image of Mama and Papa. Smothered with love, and quite ruined by it, while we girls were utterly neglected and all the better for it. I am sure there is a happy medium to be found, but I have never been tempted to discover it for myself.’
‘That is something else we have in common, then.’
Eloise gave herself a shake. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean the conversation to take such a melancholy turn.’
‘Then let us change it.’ Alexander took another biscuit. ‘These are very good. My compliments to Phoebe.’
‘She will be pleased, for they are made to a receipt of her own invention. She is a very creative cook. When she first invaded the kitchens—she can have been no more than five or six—her concoctions were much less appetising. I remember one cake in particular, which she told us had a very secret ingredient. It kept us guessing for a very long time before she finally revealed it to be new-mown grass.’
‘What about Estelle, does she also have a particular talent?’
‘She is musical. Not in the way people describe most young ladies—she doesn’t simply strum the pianoforte or the harp—she can pick up any instrument and get a tune from it. And she writes her own music too, and songs. She is really very talented.’ A talent which her parents had been utterly indifferent to. ‘She wrote a piece to welcome Mama and Papa home once. My sisters would so look forward to Mama and Papa coming home. They would forget what it had been like on previous occasions and imagine—’ Eloise broke off, swallowing the lump in her throat. ‘Needless to say, they were suitably unimpressed. I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have mentioned it—but it used to make me so angry, you see. It wouldn’t have taken much to make the twins happy, but it was still too much for them to make an effort.’
‘So you made it instead, is that it
?’
There was sympathy in his eyes, but she was embarrassed at having betrayed so much. She had tried so hard to compensate, and to shield her sisters too, from her parents’ callousness, her mother’s infidelities, her father’s cuckolded fury. They never talked of those days now, it was too painful for all of them, but she knew that the twins were as scarred as she by their experiences. ‘You’re thinking that Daniel was right when he called me a mother hen.’
‘I’m thinking that your sisters are very lucky to have you.’
‘And they would agree with you. Most of the time.’ She smiled, making light of the compliment, but she was touched all the same by it. ‘I’ve told you a great deal about me, it’s only fair that you reciprocate.’
‘Oh, you already know everything there is to know about me. I’m the younger son who bucks family tradition and does something boring at the Admiralty.’
‘What, precisely, is it you do that is so boring?’
‘Mainly, I count weevils and anchors.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Well, technically I don’t count the weevils, I count the ship’s biscuit that they consume.’
‘What on earth is ship’s biscuit?’
‘It is also known as hard tack—a form of bread, which does not go stale though it is inclined to attract weevils. Weevils,’ Alexander said, waving his hand dismissively, ‘are a way of life in the navy, no sailor worth his salt minds them. It was the diarist, Samuel Pepys, who regularised victualling, as we call it,’ he said, seeming to warm to his subject. ‘Pepys came up with the table of rations which we quartermasters use today to calculate the supply required for each of our ships. One pound of ship’s biscuit per man per day is what we calculate—that is the weight before the weevils have taken their share, of course. And a gallon of beer. So now you know all about me.’
‘I know more about the role of a Victualling Commissioner, at any rate,’ Eloise said, biting back a smile.
‘There is no one else at the Admiralty who understands the need as well as I do, to ensure that hard tack is made to the same recipe, no matter which part of the world the raw ingredients are sourced in.’
‘You mean the correct ratio of weevils to biscuit?’
‘I mean the correct ratio of flour to water,’ Alexander said reprovingly.
A bubble of laughter finally escaped her. ‘I am tempted, very tempted, to ask you for the receipt, but I am fairly certain that if you don’t know it you would surely make it up.’
‘I do know it, in actual fact. I make it my business to know every aspect of my business.’
‘And such a fascinating business it is too.’
‘I think so, at any rate. I don’t find it boring at all,’ Alexander replied. ‘Of course my duties will be curtailed for a period while I establish my marriage. I am required to travel abroad a great deal, but I could not, if the veracity of my marriage is to be maintained, abandon my wife within a few weeks of making my vows, and so will work from the Admiralty building in London for the foreseeable future.’
She could not make him out at all, for while she was fairly certain he had been teasing her at first, now he seemed to be quite sincere. ‘You would not contemplate resigning, now that you are the Earl of Fearnoch, and all that entails?’
‘No. My life is with the Admiralty. I am willing, for very good reasons, to find a compromise for a few months, but give it up—absolutely not.’
His primary very good reason being to make provision for his mother, and his second to rid himself of most of the wealth he was marrying to inherit. Not for Alexander, a life of privilege and leisure. He was a man with a strong sense of duty, to his mother and to his country, and a man determined to do both on his own terms. Her admiration for him climbed several notches.
‘Miss Brannagh...’
‘Eloise.’
‘Eloise. From Heloise?’
‘I believe my mother rather fancied herself as La Nouvelle Héloïse. A free spirit, though I think she radically reinterpreted Monsieur Rousseau’s creation to suit her own notion of freedom which meant, by and large, the freedom to do exactly as she pleased and beggar the consequences. And now you will think me disloyal for being so disrespectful towards my own mother, especially since she is deceased. What is it they say, never talk ill of the dead?’
‘From what you’ve told me, Miss Brannagh—Eloise—it is more than justified.’
‘Well, it is, frankly, but I cannot help thinking—forgive me, Alexander, but I can’t help but contrast my finding fault with my mother and your truly honourable behaviour towards your own.’
‘I am merely providing the settlement I believe her entitled to. Do not make a saint of me, I beg you.’
‘I imagine your mother must think you a bit of a saint, since you are marrying in order to provide for her. In fact, I’ve been wondering why she hasn’t put forward any candidates for the post? The position, I mean. Of your wife. Or perhaps she has?’
‘You are the only current candidate. You have a very inflated idea of my attractions as a husband. First you line up queues of women for me, and now you have me rather arrogantly going through some sort of process of elimination.’
‘If you eliminate me, what will you do?’
‘I have no idea what I will do if you—if we decide we don’t suit. I will certainly not be asking my mother to, as you most eloquently phrased it, put someone forward for the post.’ He was silent for a moment, clearly struggling with his thoughts. ‘She would not help me, even if I asked her. She does not believe that the reasons I outlined to you are sufficiently compelling. In short, she disapproves of marriages of convenience, even if mutually advantageous. She was quite vehement on the subject.’
‘Despite the fact that it means she will likely starve?’
‘It would not come to that.’
‘But aside from that, Alexander, and even aside from all the tenants who are now yours but who must have once been hers, are you seriously saying your mother wishes you to hand over the Fearnoch fortune to your cousin?’
Once again, he was silent, painfully silent, his expression taut. Eloise touched his hand tentatively. ‘Alexander?’
He blinked, shook his head. ‘I can only conclude that my mother, having relied first upon her husband and then my brother to support her, underestimates the impact on her standard of living unless I intervene. Nor, I must assume, can she have any idea of the havoc my cousin would wreak on the estates.’
‘But even if she is somewhat deluded,’ Eloise said doubtfully, ‘surely she would prefer you to inherit rather than your cousin? Is it your plans to rid yourself of the estates, perhaps, that she objects to?’
‘I told her nothing of my plans, save that I intended to marry, and by doing so, to secure her future. The purpose of my visit was not to explain myself, but simply to reassure her. I failed. In fact, she became overwrought. Since my mind was set, I saw no point in attempting to reason with her.’
Eloise’s heart sank. It was clear to her that Alexander’s mother didn’t wish her son to marry a gold-digger, and it should be equally clear to him. ‘Your mother is to be admired,’ she said carefully, ‘for putting your interests before her own. Knowing that your preference would be to remain unmarried...’
‘She can know no such thing. My mother and I are, to all intents and purposes, strangers to each other.’
‘Strangers! What on earth do you mean by that?’
‘Like your own mother, mine had interest only in one child. That child was not me. I was packed off to school at an early age, and spent most of my holidays in the country while my parents remained in London with Walter. I joined the Admiralty at sixteen and have spent the majority of my time since then abroad. Though we have met on occasion since—at her husband’s funeral, and most recently, when I returned to England after Walter died—they have been only very occasi
onal meetings, and my mother seems perfectly content for that state of affairs to remain unchanged.’
‘You are implying that she abandoned you. But why? And now, when she has lost her husband and her only other son, why—oh, Alexander, I’m so sorry, this must be incredibly painful for you.’
‘I have long become accustomed to her indifference. I would have thought, after what you told me of your own upbringing, that you would understand that.’
Eloise was nonplussed. There was a world of difference between uninterest and outright rejection, but to say so would be cruel. Alexander might well believe himself reconciled to it, but the way he spoke, the way he held himself, told quite another story. She would not rub salt into the wound. ‘You’re right,’ she said, deciding to risk covering his hand with hers, ‘that is one thing we have in common. Your determination to provide for her, despite—it is an extremely honourable and admirable thing to do. Although it strikes me that she might be, as a consequence, disinclined to like your wife,’ she added awkwardly.
‘My marriage will allow me to right a wrong. I am not interested in my mother’s gratitude nor am I interested in her opinion of the woman I choose to marry. As I said, we have never been close, and I see no reason for my marriage to alter that state of affairs. Now if you don’t mind, I think we have more important matters to discuss than my mother.’
* * *
Alexander was furious with himself. Though he had striven to keep his tone neutral, it was clear, from the sympathy in her voice, in the way Eloise had touched his hand, that his feelings had betrayed him.
‘Will you excuse me just a moment?’ He strode over to the window, staring out sightlessly at the view of the ordered drive, the neatly clipped yew hedge which bordered it. When Robertson, the lawyer, had informed him in that precise way of his that the Seventh Earl had chosen to abide by the Sixth Earl’s terms with regard to the Dowager Lady Fearnoch, Alexander had been first confused, then outraged on his mother’s behalf. When he called on her, he’d expected to find her deep in mourning, perhaps bereft with grief, for her beloved eldest son had been dead only five months. Instead she had seemed, as she always seemed, aloof, cold, firmly in control of herself. Only when he informed her of his plans had she become animated, begging him not to marry for her sake, or for any other reason than love. Love! As if he would ever take such a risk. There was no place for love in his life, save the one which had ruled him since he was sixteen, and that was for his country.
The Earl's Countess 0f Convenience (Penniless Brides 0f Convenience Book 1) Page 4
