His Unsuitable Viscountess

by Michelle Styles

  ‘My mother used to enjoy such things as well, but...’ She gave a small shrug. ‘Providing a living for the men had to come before everything.’

  ‘The truth, Eleanor. You used your employees as an excuse.’

  ‘At first I couldn’t take the risk of people commenting. Everyone expected me to fail. Giving them something to whisper about was not an option. I had to work twice as hard as a man.’

  ‘And later...?’

  ‘Later I had better things to do with my time.’ There was no mistaking the firm note in her voice.

  But Ben wondered about the tone. Was there an underlying fear? Anyone who could fence as well as Eleanor had to be able to dance. Ben gave Eleanor an indulgent smile. The memory of Eleanor’s eyes when she spoke about the sea of rainbows and the chandelier twinkling niggled and pulled at his conscience. Eleanor deserved better than she had had. She deserved a chance to enjoy those things, a chance not to work twice as hard as a man.

  ‘My mother will smooth your way if you require it. Mama has a kind heart, and is always looking for someone to sponsor. In recent years she has regularly sponsored one or two young ladies.’

  ‘Has she indeed?’ she asked in an arch tone.

  ‘Mama will look on it as her duty to introduce her new daughter-in-law to society. Only the best will do.’

  Silently he vowed that was all his mother would do. Eleanor had the strength of will to withstand his mother, and he had learnt from the past—his wife would know whose part he took.

  She dipped her head so that he could see only the crown of her bonnet. A vague disquiet filled him. It was what she wanted, wasn’t it? For Alice, society had been everything. She’d lived for the social whirl—or he had thought she had.

  ‘Yes, when we go for the season I will ask her advice...if I require it.’

  Not the enthusiastic response he’d been looking for, but it meant that he didn’t have to warn Eleanor about his mother’s tendency to take over. Eleanor had far more backbone than Alice.

  The memory of how Alice had excitedly caught his hands, twirling round and round, after she’d learnt of his mother’s proposed sponsorship assaulted him. On the other hand Eleanor seemed less than pleased. Retreating back into her shell, becoming Mrs Blackwell again instead of the passionate woman he wanted to see.

  ‘You’ve been to London before?’ he said carefully, attempting to understand what was wrong.

  ‘Ben, my company sells swords,’ she said with a forced laugh. ‘London is a major market. I’ve been to London before. I generally go several times a year. I know many members of the ton. Personally. I know how to behave in the correct manner and have no need of a nursemaid.’

  ‘What is the problem?’ he asked, perplexed at her vehemence. ‘My mother would only want to help. Alice used to lean on her for advice. Mama has exquisite taste, and Alice endeavoured to emulate it.’

  ‘There isn’t a problem.’ She turned her head and gazed out of the window. ‘Where we will be having the picnic? Is it far?’

  ‘Not too far.’

  ‘Good, I want to go to Moles afterwards. It wouldn’t feel right if I missed a day.’

  Ben pressed his lips together. She had neatly ended the conversation. But it wasn’t over. He would give her the things she had missed. He’d ensure that she took her proper place in society when the time came. She deserved a bit of frivolity in her life, something to make her eyes sparkle.

  * * *

  Eleanor dusted the final crumbs of poppyseed cake from her fingers. True to his word, Ben had laid on a splendid repast on the banks of the Derwent River, right near Broomhaugh Hall. She had eaten everything, determined to enjoy it rather than worry about the proposed visit to London where she’d be sponsored by his mother.

  A shudder went through her at the mere thought of an endless round of parties, lunches and dancing, surrounded by some of the brightest and most beautiful. She’d been to London and seen what they were like—the wit, the beauty and the up-to-the-minute fashions.

  How could she possibly leave Moles for so long? How would her employees cope? The season took months and months.

  And there were the hours of dancing lessons and fittings to consider. Exquisite taste. Her stepfather’s words flitted through her brain—awkward, lacking in any grace, two left feet. And the final insult, when she’d had a new ballgown last year—a beanpole wrapped in gaudy rags. Somehow she had to find a way to avoid that fate. She wanted Ben to like her, rather than highlight her shortcomings.

  Would he kiss her again, as he’d kissed her yesterday? Her body tingled in anticipation at the mere thought.

  ‘Another slice of poppyseed cake for your thoughts?’ Ben asked, holding out a tempting piece of cake.

  Eleanor shook her head and pulled her lace shawl tighter about her shoulders. The brilliant blue sky of earlier had grown dark with clouds. ‘The first was enough—more than enough. I’m fine. Truly a wonderful meal.’

  ‘Shame to let the last piece go to waste.’ Ben waved the piece of cake before leaning back in his chair and stretching out his legs so that they brushed her skirt.

  Eleanor stilled, uncertain what she should do next. Flirtatious games happened to other women. She knew how to be charming, and how not to take various gentlemen’s remarks seriously. But that was part of doing business and had to do with Moles swords rather than with her. What Ben was doing was about her, not her swords.

  ‘I’m completely full.’ He had to know that her skirts were there. The pressure of his leg against hers was exciting, daring. What was the proper way to respond? She didn’t want to seem forward, or for him to laugh at her. They were marrying for duty rather than because of a mutual attraction. ‘I’ve eaten far too much as it is. I can’t remember when I last had such a delicious meal.’

  ‘Viv will have to allow us to keep his cook.’ He paused and looked directly at her. The piece of cake still rested in the palm of his hand, tempting her. ‘Unless you’d prefer to bring your own?’

  ‘Mrs Nevin serves both as my housekeeper and cook,’ Eleanor said, trying to rein in her wayward thoughts. Keep the topic on everyday things and not ask him to feed her. ‘I normally eat simple meals and she is looking to retire. You must have that last piece.’

  ‘If you insist, it will be my pleasure.’ He devoured the piece, licking his fingers to get the last crumbs.

  Eleanor’s stomach tightened. There was something sinful in the way he seemed to take so much enjoyment from it.

  ‘I have an idea.’ Eleanor pleated her napkin and ran it through her fingers, trying not to think about how he had sucked the final crumb from the tip of his finger.

  Ben rested his chin on his hand. Something fluttered inside her at the look. He made her feel as if she was the only person in the world. She ruthlessly quashed the feeling. Theirs was to be a marriage of convenience. He had no need to flirt with her. She was misinterpreting things. And if she started to think otherwise she’d be disappointed.

  ‘Do tell. Does it have to do with cake?’

  ‘It has to do with introducing you to the area. Making sure that everyone meets you. You are certain to be the talk of the region. It is not often a viscount removes himself here.’

  A mutual helping out. Nothing more. She refused to become one of those love-starved females that various men made jokes about. Moving in a man’s world had taught her a few lessons about the necessity of guarding her heart. She didn’t want the disappointment or the inevitable failure.

  ‘I suspect they will want to meet you more than me. It will happen in time. Don’t be over concerned with it.’

  ‘We’ll be spending the better part of the year up here rather than in London. Society can’t be neglected.’ She attempted to get her thoughts in a coherent order and not suddenly blurt out something about the length of his lashes or how his fi
ngers tapered. ‘Once the mourning for my stepfather is over I think we ought to have a ball here, to introduce you to our neighbours.’

  She knew her voice was far too breathless and reedy.

  ‘That is a splendid idea, Eleanor. Truly splendid.’ His face broke into a wide smile which warmed her all the way down to her toes. ‘And it solves a few other problems. Mama and her schemes will have to give way. We shall not go to London this season. Bravo, you! I knew marrying you was a good idea.’

  He raised her hand to his lips. The soft touch made her knees go weak and she was glad that she was sitting.

  Was it so wrong of her to want to be a success and see his eyes light up because of something she had done? If she made it exciting enough they might be able to forgo the season altogether.

  She withdrew her hand and picked up another linen napkin, dabbing her mouth to hide the heightened

  colour on her cheeks. ‘It is decided. Once I can go out in society again properly, without causing comment, we will have a ball up here. It shouldn’t take long to organise.’

  His eyes turned sober. ‘If that is what you want. Balls are a huge undertaking. My mother always complains that I fail to appreciate the enormity of the task. Will you have time?’

  ‘I will make time. I am more than capable of organising it as well as looking after Moles.’ Eleanor crossed her fingers. She ran a company. How hard could organising a ball be?

  ‘You have experience with such things?’

  ‘Did Sir Vivian agree to you acquiring the house?’ she asked, changing the subject. ‘Otherwise we shall have to be sure to acquire a house with a ballroom. The house I shared with my stepfather only has a good-sized parlour.’

  His eyes danced, as if he knew exactly why she was changing the subject. ‘Viv isn’t sure if it is entailed or not. But he is quite willing for me to lease it and refurbish as I see fit. There is no hurry, and the lawyers can sort it out in due course. I trust it meets with your approval as Broomhaugh does have a large ballroom?’

  ‘The interior is...’ Eleanor searched for the right words.

  ‘Not in keeping for a married couple?’

  ‘Precisely.’ She smiled back, pleased he’d understood what she had been trying to say. ‘I’m not criticising his taste.’

  ‘Perish the thought.’

  ‘It is just that something with perhaps more dignity would suit the married condition better.’

  He burst out laughing. ‘What bothered you so much?’

  ‘The picture with the swords,’ Eleanor blurted out, before she thought. She wanted the ground to open up and swallow her.

  ‘I suspect Viv is fond of that picture and will be taking it with him.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘It is interesting that an unmarried lady should take note of it. Let alone mention it.’

  ‘I’m not just any unmarried lady. I noticed the swords in the picture first of all. They were holding them all wrong. No sense of balance.’

  He let out an infectious roar of laughter. ‘Only you, Eleanor, would notice the swords first!’

  ‘What is wrong with that?’

  ‘Nothing at all. It is refreshing. Very refreshing.’ He leant forward and touched her cheek. His breath lightly tickled her skin. ‘You missed a crumb. Just there.’

  ‘Did I?’ she whispered. Her entire body seemed infused with fizzy bubbles and everything was concentrated on him. He was going to kiss her again and she wanted him to. She wet her lips in anticipation.

  ‘It’s gone now.’ His voice sounded deep, but he didn’t move towards her.

  ‘I should be getting back.’ Eleanor stood up and managed to knock her bonnet askew in the process. She rapidly undid the ribbons and tried to straighten it. Only making matters worse. All the while he watched her with a dark gaze. She hated how much she wanted him to kiss her. How the only thing she could think of was how she’d wanted to turn her face towards the palm of his hand. It was probably something that most women did naturally, but she knew that if he rejected her gesture she’d curl up with shame. It was better not to try.

  She took two steps backwards—and stumbled over a tree root.

  ‘I’ve kept you from your work for long enough,’ he said, putting out a hand to steady her.

  Eleanor picked at the seam of her glove rather than looking him in the eye. She didn’t even want to think about the possibility of being kissed. ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘Your hard work has made Moles into what it is today.’ He straightened her bonnet. She stood completely still, hardly daring to breathe. ‘And I had best take you back there.’

  ‘Yes, you must. We shall have to do this again some time.’ Eleanor’s voice faltered at his look. Once back on familiar ground she would be fine, but right now she wanted to sink down to the ground and die of embarrassment. She’d asked for too much.

  ‘I look forward to it,’ he said with extreme politeness.

  ‘As do I.’

  Eleanor’s heart thudded in her ears. The first drops of rain hit her bonnet. Everything would work out well. She could cope and she wouldn’t borrow trouble. But she wasn’t going to go on another picnic tomorrow. The weather would be in her favour.

  * * *

  ‘The picnic was very pleasant,’ Eleanor said as she stood beside the carriage, carefully keeping her skirt out of the mud. The sharp shower had stopped and various puddles dotted the yard.

  Ben leant forward. His lips brushed her forehead. A chaste kiss, but one which sent warmth pulsing throughout her body. ‘More than pleasant.’

  ‘It is good the wedding is settled,’ she said, concentrating on a particularly large puddle.

  ‘Shall I pick you up here or at the house tomorrow?’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ she squeaked. ‘The rain...’

  ‘Having discovered such a charming luncheon companion, I am determined to repeat the performance. I dare say I can find a summer house or somewhere to shelter. After all, we are allies in the fight against Algernon Forecastle.’

  Eleanor bent her head and pretended to fiddle with the beads of her reticule. She had an ally. She wasn’t alone in the fight. She’d been alone for such a long time that it felt strange. ‘I would enjoy that...very much.’

  He brushed her cheek. ‘Until tomorrow.’

  Eleanor watched as the carriage rumbled away. Was it wrong of her to want to be more than a friend? Even the dream of such a thing seemed impossible. She concentrated on the sign above the office door. She was marrying to save her business, not marrying because he was attracted to her. To lose sight of that simple fact was the road to heartache.

  * * *

  Hours later, long after Ben had returned Eleanor to Moles, he sat in his dressing room at Broomhaugh, holding a miniature of Alice.

  The most amazing thing about today was that he’d been able to speak about Alice without a sharp pain running through him, without that awful sense of guilt washing over him.

  Alice’s pale features with their rosebud mouth peered up at him. The miniature of Alice had been done for her first season, and she hadn’t wanted it done at first, preferring to be his valiant follower, a girl he tolerated. His mother had taken her under her wing and produced a lovely, gracious woman—someone who had totally bowled him over as she’d walked down the stairs and graciously extended her hand. From then on he’d worshipped the ground she trod on. But until he’d read her journal after her death he hadn’t understood the pressure she’d felt from his mother. In her way Alice had coped, but Ben wished he’d known.

  Even as he looked at the miniature Ben found his thoughts returning to Eleanor and her mobile mouth. He loved watching the way her face reflected her moods and how passionate she was about the making of swords. When she forgot herself she became positively radiant, glowing with vitality.

  Did he really want his mother changing
that? Did he want another Alice when he had loved the first one so much? Eleanor had a stronger backbone, more determination. His mother might be able to help her, but she wouldn’t be able to change her.

  He put his fist to his forehead. He hadn’t expected the pull he felt for Eleanor. How much he’d wanted to kiss her again. The passion bubbling up inside unnerved him. He’d thought he’d never feel like this about another woman. Alice wouldn’t have wanted it.

  Looking at Alice’s picture, he knew he was wrong. She would have wanted him to go on and choose another bride. Just as he would have wanted her to choose another husband. He’d seen his mother’s loneliness. His mother had spoken of it so many times that he’d become tired of hearing it. But, unlike his mother, Alice would have wanted his bride to be one he chose.

  ‘She’s nothing like you, Alice, but I think we could become friends and allies.’

  A friend and an ally. It wasn’t the same as what he’d had with Alice but it could work. He wanted it to work. All he knew was that he liked Eleanor’s spirit and the way she kept fighting for her cause. His feelings for Eleanor were different from his ones for Alice.

  He carefully put Alice’s miniature in the mahogany box he used for handkerchiefs. He didn’t need it to remind him of his loss. He carried that in his heart.

  Eleanor would have all the advantages of being his wife except the romance. He would be her friend and give her the life she’d missed.

  Chapter Six

  The blistering heat from the foundry’s furnace beat against Eleanor’s face. It felt good to be doing something practical, rather than sitting in her office waiting for the sound of Ben’s carriage.

  If Mr Swaddle could produce the sort of steel she hoped for she looked forward to presenting Ben with a new sword as her wedding gift—a sword curled inside a hat, sharp enough to be used, just like the one family legend proclaimed her great-great-grandfather had made.