His Unsuitable Viscountess

by Michelle Styles

  Algernon in his tracks.

  ‘Not the vicar. It was the curate who wanted advice, apparently. Algernon is well-known within his circle for the quality of advice that he gives,’ Eleanor said, fixing Algernon with a steady gaze. ‘Algernon has informed him he must ignore the request. However, I suspect Algernon will now inform Mr Percy that he made an error of judgement.’

  Algernon tugged at the bands about his neck, his watery eyes blinking furiously. ‘He is a friend of Miss Varney’s and wanted to keep me apprised of the situation. I have known Eleanor for years and she has never had even the faintest whisper of an offer before. The timing seemed too good to be true.’

  ‘Miss Varney is Algernon’s fiancée,’ Eleanor explained at Ben’s perplexed expression. ‘A very recent acquisition.’

  ‘I must offer you felicitations, Reverend Forecastle.’ Ben made a deep bow. ‘When is the happy date?’

  All the gesture did was increase Algernon’s discomfort. ‘It isn’t settled. Miss Varney is of a delicate nature, and negotiations with her father are proving difficult.’

  ‘I can only surmise that a part of the reason she accepted him was his inheritance from my stepfather—or rather what he supposed he would inherit,’ Eleanor confided. ‘A terrible thing to be married for your money—isn’t that what you said to me, Algernon?’

  ‘I may have done,’ Algernon admitted reluctantly.

  ‘You should find someone who wants to marry you for who you are now, Reverend Forecastle, and not for your expectations,’ Ben said with a severe frown. ‘Expectations have a way of slipping through one’s fingers.’

  Algernon threw back his shoulders. ‘Miss Varney is the sweetest of women, and her parents are naturally desirous of an excellent station for her in her married life. Expectations maketh the man. My uncle only put in that blasted codicil because he promised Eleanor’s mother on her deathbed. He didn’t actually expect Eleanor to fulfil it.’

  ‘In my opinion, character and integrity is what makes a man,’ Ben said pointedly.

  A tremor of pride went through Eleanor. Ben had demolished Algernon without raising his voice or giving way to temper.

  ‘Expectations count for very little.’

  ‘They count for something with Miss Varney and her mother!’ Algernon replied haughtily.

  ‘Confiding about your good fortune before you’ve actually acquired it generally leads to humiliation, not to acceptance,’ Ben said coolly.

  Algernon blinked furiously. ‘Miss Varney might have accepted Francis Percy’s offer, and I couldn’t have had that! She will be my ideal companion for life.’

  ‘Indeed. And the ends justify the means.’ Eleanor suddenly understood the young curate’s desire to best his rival. It did not have anything to do with trying to stop her marriage or seeking advice but with underlining the precariousness of Algernon’s position. A stab of pity went through her, but it was something that Algernon had to solve on his own and without jeopardising Moles.

  ‘Your rival told the truth,’ Ben said, looking hard at him. ‘Miss Blackwell is doing me the honour of becoming my wife.’

  ‘Why? Why marry someone like her?’

  A deathly silence fell over the room. Even Algernon had the grace to look embarrassed as the full rudeness of his outburst slowly but inexorably dawned on him. Ben’s look of astonished disbelief spoke volumes.

  ‘It is none of your business, Algernon,’ she said into the silence.

  ‘Surely you must have a reason?’ Algernon persisted.

  Eleanor hated the way her stomach tensed. The last thing she wanted was for Ben to give Algernon a detailed explanation about the reasons why they were marrying. It was a business transaction. That was all. No finer feeling or romance. It was no good her suddenly becoming attached to him.

  ‘Because I want to,’ Ben explained, in a voice that dripped with long-suffering patience. ‘Isn’t that the reason that most people do things?’

  Algernon’s Adam’s apple bobbed. ‘Huh? I don’t follow. You want to?’

  ‘I shall leave you to puzzle that out for yourself.’ Ben looked Algernon up and down. ‘I am not a man you wish to cross, Reverend Forecastle. I advise you to remember that. I trust that our banns will be posted in good order and that there will be no more attempts at sabotaging this marriage. I know where the blame would lie.’

  Algernon looked as if he’d swallowed a particularly nasty plum. ‘Sabotage is a harsh word.’

  ‘Next time, Algernon, make an appointment.’ Eleanor waited a beat and added, ‘Please.’

  Algernon gave a great harrumph and seemed ready to argue. But another glance from Ben made him scamper out of the breakfast room, muttering under his breath as he went.

  ‘I believe we have seen the last of him,’ Ben said with a smile.

  ‘He is very determined.’ Eleanor sank down on her chair. Her limbs trembled as if she’d fought a long bout.

  ‘He has no idea how determined I am.’ A muscle in Ben’s jaw jumped. ‘Eton was full of bullies like him, and some far worse. I learnt to fight my corner.’

  ‘Thank you for your help.’

  ‘The banns will be read. We will be married before the time runs out. I gave you my word.’

  A warm tingling rushed through Eleanor and she fought the desire to throw her arms about his neck. Rather than drowning in his eyes, she concentrated on the pile of papers.

  ‘It is good to know,’ she said when she trusted her voice.

  ‘I regret you found out in that way.’ Ben’s fingers curled around hers. ‘I hadn’t considered that the curate might be indiscreet. I was seeking to do the most expedient thing. And I suspected that the Reverend Forecastle might be installed in a parish around here.’

  She pulled away. His apology did strange things to her insides, making her want to kiss him once more. But she also wanted him to know that she could stand on her two feet quite ably. She didn’t expect or require his help. ‘You weren’t to know. Algernon would have found another excuse to ruin my morning. Hopefully now he will understand that his inheritance is only the small legacy my stepfather left him.’

  ‘You need to contact your solicitor for the precise wording of the codicil.’

  She glanced up at him, startled. ‘We are getting married. That should suit.’

  ‘Best to avoid any contest to the marriage. Moles could be tangled in chancery for years if we are not careful.’

  Eleanor began to rearrange the pens and papers. He was actually concerned about Moles and its prospects. That should be enough. It would be so easy to start to have feelings for him, but that wasn’t what this marriage was about. It was purely business. ‘Algernon is not that clever. Bombastic and full of his own importance, but he wouldn’t resort to something like that.’

  ‘He is desperate, and desperate men do desperate things,’ Ben said.

  Eleanor concentrated on the inkwell rather than watching his mouth and the way the dimple flashed in and out of his cheek. Later, when she was alone, she knew she’d go over each gesture, but for now she wanted to appear calm and collected. ‘I will keep that in mind.’

  ‘You haven’t asked me why I am here.’ He dug into his pocket and withdrew a tiny box. ‘I saw it in the jeweller’s in Consett. It seemed appropriate. It reminded me of you.’

  With trembling fingers, Eleanor opened the box. A small pearl was embedded in a simple band of gold. Not showy, but definitely expensive. Tears pricked at the back of her eyelids. She blinked rapidly and took an unsteady breath. For the first time she allowed herself to believe. It was going to happen. Ben would make it happen. Moles would remain hers. She’d fulfil her promise to those people who mattered.

  ‘Why?’ she breathed.

  ‘To forestall awkwardness such as you just encountered. I hadn’t anticipated a lovelorn curate seeki
ng to score points from his rival.’ A smile transformed his face. ‘Put the ring on. See if it fits.’

  She slipped it on. The ring made her hand feel heavy and alien, as if it belonged to someone else. ‘It fits.’

  ‘I am a reasonable judge of size.’ Ben frowned. ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘It is most unexpected.’ She turned her hand from side to side, trying to marshal her thoughts. She wanted to like the ring. She knew it was important to wear it. And yet she felt like a fraud, as if she was claiming to be something she was not. ‘It will take some getting used to. I’d never anticipated wearing a wedding ring. Let alone an engagement ring.’

  ‘Most brides do wear one.’

  ‘Ours will be a different sort of marriage. We both know why it is happening and that there is no pretence towards finer feeling.’ The words came out in a rush.

  He shrugged. ‘But it will be a marriage all the same, and you shouldn’t have to explain to everyone why there will be one. It will put your employees’ minds to rest.’

  Eleanor closed her hand about the ring. Not only her employees. The ring made it seem far more real to her. It was tangible proof that he intended to honour his commitment. And she knew that in the middle of the night, when she worried, all she had to do was to look at the ring and believe.

  She hadn’t expected kindness from him. Most of the other aristocracy she’d encountered never seemed to bother about the small details. They expected someone else to do it for them. ‘Was that the only reason why you came over here?’

  A smile tugged at his features. ‘A picnic seemed in order.’

  ‘A picnic?’ Eleanor glanced out of the window, hoping for a good excuse to refuse. He was being kind, but with every heartbeat she found him more attractive. His words from yesterday thrummed in her mind—this marriage was about duty. She’d be wrong to hope for anything more. The late-morning sun shone down. The sky was the sort of blue that only happened in the spring and only a few clouds dotted the sky. ‘What sort of picnic?’

  ‘Eating outside. Being out in the fresh air...with me.’

  ‘There are things I have to do at the forge,’ she said quickly, before she gave in to temptation.

  ‘You employ a foreman. Is it a crisis? Why not take time to enjoy the day?’

  Eleanor considered telling him that it was a crisis, but knew if it was serious she’d already be there. And, what was more, she guessed he knew that as well.

  She averted her gaze. ‘I like to keep to a routine. Prevent crises before they happen. My men need me.’

  ‘Why not try trusting your men? For the afternoon?’ He lifted an eyebrow. ‘You could consider it a meeting if you must. We’ll discuss the wedding and other serious matters.’

  Eleanor held her breath. Did she dare spend more time in his company? She shouldn’t, as it would be too easy to pretend that it meant something more than a business transaction. ‘Yes, I will.’

  She stopped. She had meant to refuse.

  His eyes twinkled with hidden lights. ‘You won’t be sorry.’

  Eleanor took another look at the ring, turning her hand this way and that. The girl who had once longed for a real marriage and family threatened to escape from the box she placed her in all those years ago, when she’d discovered her father dead in the office and his suicide note by his side. She slammed the box shut.

  ‘One time only. Moles must come first.’

  Chapter Five

  Ben relaxed against the dark blue horsehair cushions of his carriage while Eleanor sat bolt upright facing him. Her hands were holding a heavily beaded reticule, and a bonnet marginally less ugly than the one he’d destroyed was perched on her head, shielding her expression.

  He hated not seeing her eyes, not having a clue about what she thought. To his surprise, he wanted to know.

  He blamed himself for Forecastle’s intrusion earlier. But now all that was behind them and he could concentrate on Eleanor. Every time he saw her he found something more to look at—yesterday it had been her eyes that had haunted him, today it was the shape of her lips and the way her hands moved.

  ‘Have you been on many picnics?’ he asked, to keep from reaching out and drawing her to him.

  The spark from yesterday had grown, not diminished. He wanted to taste her lips and see if they were as sweet as his memory of them. But he also wanted her to trust him and learn more about her. She intrigued him. He’d never met anyone like her before. What sort of woman sacrificed her life for business? Particularly one who seemed to hold such passion for life?

  ‘Not many. There hasn’t been time recently.’ She picked at the beads of the reticule. Ever since they’d left her house she’d seemed nervous and uncertain. Answering his questions with the minimum amount of words and keeping her head down, only allowing him the briefest glimpses of her amazing grey eyes. ‘But I haven’t just worked. I do enjoy myself.’

  She gave a little nod, as if the subject was closed and satisfactorily explained. Ben drummed his fingers on the seat. His guess of this morning was correct. Eleanor Blackwell had had very little frivolity in her life.

  ‘Name a ball you’ve been to.’ He leant forward so that their knees brushed. ‘The one you remember the most.’

  She laced the reticule strap between her fingers.

  ‘Go on,’ he urged. ‘Which one holds the most precious memories?’

  ‘Before my father died I went to the Assembly Rooms in Newcastle,’ she said in a low voice. Her bonnet tipped backwards, revealing her face. ‘When I entered the grand ballroom it was as if I had entered a magical place, touched by a mysterious fairy glamour, something that couldn’t exist in the real world.’

  She gave a long sigh. From where he sat Ben could see her eyes glow with the memory. It transformed her face, softening it and making her seem vulnerable and heart-stoppingly beautiful. Only the memory of a doomed romance could have made her look like that.

  Hers was not a conventional beauty, not like Alice’s had been—fair and sweet—but striking, with more than a hint of latent passion. He struggled against the temptation to pull her into his arms and lose himself in the depths of her mouth. Eleanor was to be his wife, not his mistress.

  ‘Go on,’ he said, not wishing to think about the man who had made her look like this. ‘Why was that ball at the Assembly Rooms magical?’

  ‘I have never forgotten the profusion of colours. How the dresses shimmered like a sea of rainbows and the chandeliers twinkled like stars.’

  ‘Was that all?’ Ben tilted his head and regarded her shining eyes. Surely there was more? ‘No clandestine meeting with a handsome man who swept you off your feet? No fairytale romance?’

  She wrinkled her nose. ‘Mama became upset because one of the candles dripped on my new gloves and insisted we leave before the ball was over.’

  ‘And later...?’

  ‘Someone had to make sure that Moles was properly run.’ A firm note in her voice implied any further discussion of romance was unwelcome. ‘There wasn’t time to attend balls at the Assembly Rooms. My mother and stepfather went to Newcastle or Durham several times, but I stayed at the foundry where I was needed. Balls meant so much more to Mama.’

  Ben silently vowed that Eleanor would have the time to enjoy life now she was under his protection. She had given her youth for her employees and her selfish mother and stepfather. Once her period of mourning for her stepfather was up he intended to make sure she possessed a wide range of dresses in any colour she chose. Along with hats and bonnets that complemented her face and colouring rather than draining the vitality out of her.

  Unexpected guilt tugged at him. He knew the heady feeling of falling in love and being loved back. He’d experienced it once with Alice. But Eleanor would never experience it. She’d have to settle for second-best—friendship. He pressed his lips together
. Yes, he could be Eleanor’s friend and make life easier for her, more pleasant and perhaps a little more frivolous.

  ‘How many balls have you been to since the Assembly Rooms?’ he asked when Eleanor didn’t answer his question.

  Eleanor crossed her arms and glared at him. ‘I have been to a number of dinners for the guild of swordmakers. They have dances as well. It wasn’t all work. In any case, attending any function with my stepfather was always a trial.’

  ‘And did you dance?’

  ‘Very rarely.’ She shifted slightly on her seat, sitting bolt upright. ‘I wanted people to think of me as Mrs Blackwell, the woman who runs the best sword manufacturer in the world. Not Miss Blackwell, the one who can’t get the steps to the Harlequin right or whose lace has slipped.’

  Ben smiled at the picture. Somehow he doubted that Eleanor’s lace ever slipped. ‘I’m sure dancing would not upset your dignity or the regard the world holds you in.’

  ‘Will it be necessary for your wife to dance?’

  ‘I would hope my wife would enjoy it.’ He closed his eyes and clearly saw Alice’s flushed and happy face shining up at him as they exited the dance floor at Almack’s. The memory was not as painful as it once had been. Surprisingly. ‘Alice adored dancing. She was an excellent dancer. There was always a queue of men wishing to dance with her. But she always saved the Roger de Coverley for me.’

  ‘Are you a good dancer?’ Eleanor asked, bringing him back to the present.

  ‘Passable,’ Ben admitted. ‘I do have vouchers to Almack’s, and Mama insists that I take lessons in order to know the latest figures and sets. She doesn’t want people to comment that her son is a disappointment.’

  She fiddled with the clasp of her reticule. ‘Your mother sounds very involved with the social whirl.’

  ‘Mama is. It is her lifeblood,’ Ben confirmed. His mother had a different way of dealing with grief than he did. She was determined to enjoy life and to play her full part. As soon as she had been able to she’d re-entered society, and spent her nights flitting from one party to the next. Instead he had discovered the pleasures of solitude since Alice’s death.