His Unsuitable Viscountess

by Michelle Styles

  ‘You were kissing your fiancée in the open after an accident? Imagine!’ Viv said in an overly pleased tone.

  His mother once again put her glass down with a bang. The three dogs cowered. ‘In full view, Benjamin. I gave you time to let her depart, but the brazen hussy stood there. She has no shame.’

  ‘My fault, Mother, not Eleanor’s. I refused to allow Eleanor the chance to retreat. If you wish to blame someone, blame me.’

  The room fell silent as his mother digested this news with a face like a sour plum. Silently Ben kicked himself. He should have known better. And his mother was right—but not for the reason she thought. The last thing he wanted to do was undermine Eleanor’s position with her men.

  ‘Do you love her?’ his mother asked in a low tone. ‘You loved Alice once I’d made her into the perfect wife.’

  ‘Is that any of your business?’ Ben countered. ‘And I married Alice in spite of your tutelage, not because of it. Alice knew that. I wonder that you’ve forgotten.’

  He might have seen Alice in a new light when she’d made her debut, but it had been when he’d discovered her sobbing in the morning room, afraid to go to a musicale and play the complicated piece his mother had requested, that their real courtship had started.

  His mother blinked rapidly. ‘I want you to be happy. How can you be happy if your wife makes mistakes? If your friends gossip about her? I want to help, Benjamin. Allow me to help. You will let me help her, guide her. I know I can make her into so much more than she is. Please give me some time.’

  Ben regarded his mother. He’d known her long enough to understand that when she attempted to manipulate people most of the time she did it out of love rather than malice, but she could be overbearing. He’d seen her do it to Alice many times, and had finally stepped in over the weeks before Alice’s death. And then there were all her protégées, who seemed interchangeable. It wasn’t going to happen to Eleanor. Eleanor made him forget that life. Eleanor was far from afraid to win.

  ‘To turn Eleanor into another Alice? You think that is what I want? My wife died, Mother.’

  She had the grace to flush. ‘Until I altered Alice you thought of her only as a little girl. All puppy fat and pigtails.’

  He shook his head. His mother’s outrageous remark was not worth replying to. ‘I like Eleanor as she is.’

  His mother gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Have you told her about Alice? About the baby? Does she truly understand what you lost? Why it is so important for you to produce an heir? Does she understand what will be required of her?’

  Ben drew in his breath. His mother hadn’t mentioned Alice’s advanced state of pregnancy for years. He’d begun to hope that maybe she never would and somehow the guilt would begin to fade. ‘They are in my past, Mama. Eleanor knows I was married before. It is enough.’

  ‘A husband and wife should not have secrets from each other. Miss Blackwell should know before you are married. Indeed, any woman you marry should know. Secrets are very dangerous things.’

  He banged his fists together, willing the guilt to be gone. Alice had gone into premature labour because of his driving. A thousand times in his memory he’d driven around that pothole that had jolted the carriage and sent Alice flying against the side. Everyone said that it wasn’t his fault, but it didn’t stop the guilt. He hadn’t taken care of Alice properly.

  He deserved a new life. Eleanor did not need to know every facet of his existence and shame.

  ‘Aunt Violet, is it any of your business?’ Viv asked. ‘We do not need to quarrel. It won’t bring Alice back.’

  ‘I will stop when I have said my piece. You are obviously not ready to get married again, Benjamin, if you can’t speak to your intended about your past. And neither is Miss Blackwell.’ His mother tapped her shoe on the ground. ‘All I am asking is for a slight delay. Surely Miss Blackwell will agree to that? I simply cannot understand the reason why you want to marry in such haste!’

  The walls of the drawing room pressed down on Ben and he knew he had to leave. Or explode with rage. And it wasn’t his mother he was angry with but his past. He could not undo his mistakes, but he could stop them from happening again. ‘Enjoy your meal, Mother, Viv.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Out.’

  ‘Benjamin, I want to help.’ His mother’s voice floated after him.

  ‘Not if I can prevent it,’ he muttered under his breath.

  Chapter Eight

  Eleanor stretched slightly as she placed the last of her stepfather’s horse brasses in a box for Algernon.

  Sleep was an expensive luxury and one Eleanor knew she couldn’t afford. Not if she wanted to get everything done before the wedding. Being organised and keeping to the task at hand was her key to not thinking about what had happened this afternoon.

  Most of the house was now packed up. She wouldn’t have anything that belonged to her stepfather when she moved to Broomhaugh. Goodbye to the misfit beanpole. Hello to the virtuous viscountess.

  Packing made her heart easier. This marriage would happen, despite the humiliation of earlier. Everyone in the yard must have heard the remarks and then witnessed Ben and Lady Whittonstall’s abrupt departure. It had only been by concentrating on replacing that grindstone and arranging for all the crucibles to be tested that she’d kept from sinking down into a heap. Before she’d even started to appear in society as Ben’s wife she’d been deemed a failure by the one woman she’d hoped to impress.

  She knew why she was doing this—for Moles. It should be enough that Ben was willing to marry and keep Moles from Algernon’s greedy fingers. But somehow she’d secretly hoped that Ben’s mother would take one look at her and see that she was not the misfit her stepfather and Algernon had proclaimed her to be but someone worthy, who would be an asset to the family rather than a hindrance.

  A brief sigh escaped her lips as she put the lid on the crate. Was it too much to ask for Ben’s mother to respect her and the work she did? To see her for who she truly was?

  Eleanor rocked back on her heels, searching for another reason why she should stay up. To go to bed meant sleep and dreaming. The last thing she wanted to dream about was Ben kissing her. Passionately.

  Her hand fingered her lips. Even hours later she could still remember the taste of him. Then everything had seemed wonderful, but now she didn’t know.

  She began to wrap the shepherdess figurines that her mother had collected. One more job to cross off the list.

  The steady crunch of gravel outside the window made her reach for a sword. Not an animal, but a human. No one visited at this hour. Mrs Nevin was as deaf as a post and had retired to bed, with a loud sniff about folks staying up too late and the necessity of beauty sleep for brides. Eleanor had told her to look after her own rest as she had things to attend to.

  No one should be there. But it came again—the distinct sound of footsteps against the gravel path. Eleanor gripped the sword tighter, threw open the door and peered out into the not-quite-dark of a June night in Durham.

  ‘Who’s there?’ she called out.

  ‘I saw a light. Don’t you ever sleep?’ Ben’s voice rolled over her.

  Relief consumed her and she lowered the sword. Ben was here. Late at night. Her mouth went dry. Ben stood, resplendent in evening dress, partway down the path, as if he’d walked to the door and then turned around again. His stock was slightly askew and he didn’t wear a top hat. Her hands itched to sink themselves into his mass of dark curly hair. Never before had she seen him anything less than immaculate.

  ‘Ben?’ she said, putting a hand on the doorframe. Her voice sound high-pitched and unnatural. She swallowed hard and tried again. ‘What are you doing here? At this hour? Is something wrong?’

  ‘May I come in?’

  Eleanor’s insides twisted. After the scen
e this afternoon at Moles he’d yielded to his mother’s wishes and now wanted to delay the marriage. That was the only thing which could have brought him out this late. Otherwise why not wait until the morning? Everything had been going far too well. It had been far too easy. Oh, how her stepfather must be laughing.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She retreated a few steps, hurriedly putting down the sword before retreating a few steps more. ‘I’m in the drawing room packing. Mrs Nevin has retired for the night, but if you want refreshment I’m sure there is something in the kitchen.’

  Eleanor clamped her mouth shut, aware that she was babbling.

  He shook his head. ‘I came to see you. If I wanted to eat and drink I could have stayed at Broomhaugh.’

  ‘Is it something serious? The hour is awfully late.’ Eleanor kept her back rigid. Whatever happened, she refused to make a scene. She’d absorb the blow and then go on. There would be a way out of this coil if she kept her head. She had to let him speak and not jump to conclusions. But with each passing heartbeat she knew that it was harder and harder not to consider the worst.

  She struggled to breathe and wished she was wearing something more becoming. Not that it would make much difference. She couldn’t change the way she looked, and Lady Whittonstall had made it very clear what a disappointment she was. But Ben was a man of his word, and he’d given her his word. It wasn’t much, but it was something to hang on to.

  He ran his hand through his hair. ‘This afternoon’s fiasco... My mother was insupportable. I fear you might have taken her ire the wrong way. It’s been nagging and pulling at my conscience. It was the first time you had encountered my mother and her ways. She has certain views.’

  ‘Your mother fears I will not make a good Viscountess Whittonstall.’ Eleanor wrapped her arms about her waist. Even acknowledging his mother’s concerns made her stomach ache. Though it was no more than she’d already worried about. ‘There is no other way to take it. She stated her opinion quite boldly. I might disagree, but there you have it.’

  ‘I wanted to assure you that her opinion matters not a jot. She was wrong to criticise you.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Very wrong.’

  Eleanor’s heart leapt. He considered his mother to be in the wrong? A faint glimmer of hope shot through her. Was he going to give her a chance to prove Lady Whittonstall a false prophet?

  Eleanor decided to be generous. ‘She is entitled to her opinion...I suppose. Everything was in a mess. It was not the sort of meeting I would have desired. I was less than gracious. I stomped away.’

  He caught her hand and raised it to his lips. The brief touch sent a distinct pulse throughout her body. A wild flare of hope arched within her. Maybe he felt this desire as well. She quashed it, not willing to believe in it yet. He was here because of his mother’s behaviour, not because he desired her touch.

  ‘As long as you realise that her view doesn’t reflect mine. I intend to marry you and I consider you eminently suitable,’ he said in a determined voice.

  Eleanor withdrew her hand and tried to think sensibly rather than stare into his intense expression. What had his mother been saying? Had he been tempted to postpone? She noted he hadn’t said a suitable viscountess, just that she was suitable.

  ‘And you came over here to tell me this? At this time of night? Most people are in bed. It is hardly news.’ Eleanor pressed her hands to her temples. There had to be more—something he wasn’t telling her, something that had caused him to ride all the way from Broomhaugh.

  The intensity of his black gaze faded. ‘It seemed important. I wanted to let you know in case you were worried. I didn’t want you to worry.’

  ‘That is kind of you. More than kind. But my stepfather often said worse things.’ Eleanor gave a light laugh, to protect herself against the hurt and to show clearly that the cruel words had not affected her—not in the least. ‘I learnt not to pay attention.’

  ‘Is your stepfather the reason why you carry swords with you?’

  She tilted her head. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You always seem to have one within reach when you are at home. I can understand at the foundry, but this puzzled me for a long time. But now I see it was the threat of your stepfather.’

  Eleanor kept her back rigid. Silently she cursed that she was that transparent.

  ‘A precaution only.’ She gave a careful shrug. ‘He never tried anything. I suspect that he was a physical coward. But we had an uneasy truce and he had an uncertain temper.’

  ‘I’m pleased not to have met him, then.’

  ‘The swords served a useful purpose around Algernon. He had a fondness for chasing maids when he stayed with us one summer.’

  Somewhere behind her Eleanor heard the clock strike the hour while around her the silence grew. Had she said too much about her stepfather?

  ‘I wanted you to know that it is the future that is important and not the past. You don’t have to prove yourself to me.’ He inclined his head. ‘You’ll not need to carry a sword in my house. Leave them with your work at Moles.’

  ‘I agree.’ The tension rushed out of her. ‘I promise not to carry a sword except if we are fencing. Past experience is best forgotten.’

  His smile could have lit a thousand lanterns. A warm glow filled her. He understood what she was saying.

  ‘You are very perceptive, Eleanor. A new start is precisely what I want.’ He reached out and his cool hand touched her cheek. ‘Don’t allow anyone to tell you differently. Don’t let anyone change you.’

  ‘I won’t.’ Eleanor resisted the temptation to turn her face to his palm. She forced herself to step away from him. ‘The hour is late.’

  ‘Until the wedding, then.’

  He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. A distinct tingle went through her.

  ‘Go to sleep, Eleanor. I want my bride to be wide awake on our wedding night.’

  Eleanor drew in her breath sharply as the heat on her cheeks flamed. She ducked her head and concentrated on the carpet’s pattern rather than looking into his smouldering eyes. He was talking about them being together! The image of tangled limbs seemed to be seared on her brain.

  ‘You do know what passes between a man and a woman?’ he asked in a quiet voice.

  ‘I grew up in the country,’ Eleanor said, as evenly as she dared. ‘You would have to be blind and deaf not to know.’

  He gave a laugh. His face suddenly seemed far younger and more carefree. ‘I should have guessed that you’d have an answer.’

  With those words, he departed. Eleanor stared after him for a long time. He had never said precisely why he’d come over. Had he been worried about her? Was she reading too much into it?

  The strange flatness she’d experienced ever since their fight vanished. Once again the world seemed full of possibilities.

  Resolutely she packed the swords. The only place for them was at Moles, as display items. She’d given Ben her word. She would keep her work and her home life separate.

  She hugged her arms about her waist. He wanted her wide awake on her wedding night! She did know what passed between a man and a woman. She’d heard the men talking when they considered her safely out of earshot. She knew the fundamentals, but had never had the opportunity to put it into practice. It should be enough. It had to be enough. He wanted them to spend their wedding night together.

  A heady feeling swept through her, and she knew she was in serious danger of falling headlong in love with him. She caught her breath. Somewhere there had to be a flaw. But right now all she could think about was her future with Ben.

  * * *

  Eleanor paced the little vestibule of St Cuthbert’s. In a few moments the organist would play the march and she’d begin to walk down the aisle. All the guests had arrived. More than she had considered would be there. But she hadn’t seen Ben.

 
Since their late-night conversation he’d sent three notes about mundane subjects and she’d declined his invitation to tea. The installation of a new grindstone and the absence of Mr Swaddle at Moles meant she’d had more work than ever to be done.

  Her nights had been plagued by dreams about the way Ben had kissed her. She’d woken filled with nameless longings, her body thrumming like a top. She knew she wanted more. She wanted to taste his mouth again. She wanted to feel his hands on her skin. And she wanted him to desire her. She wanted to be the sort of wife he could be proud of.

  Eleanor straightened the lace on her gown before lifting her nosegay. She inhaled the rich scent of roses.

  ‘Miss Blackwell.’

  Eleanor turned and flushed before making a quick curtsey. It was enough to knock the nosegay she intended on carrying down the aisle to the ground. Eleanor rapidly picked it up. She pushed a few errant rose petals to one side and hoped.

  ‘Lady Whittonstall,’ she said, feeling distinctly clumsy and tall beside the woman in a dark green dress. It had been hard enough when Eleanor was young, trying to look less than beanpole-like beside her mother. Lady Whittonstall’s petite form vibrated fashionability. Eleanor had no doubt that in a few months various magazines would declare that dark emerald-green turbans like the one Lady Whittonstall wore were de rigueur—even if Eleanor had never seen anyone wearing one before.

  ‘Oh, how sweet. You are going to carry flowers. How lovely. If you will allow me, a few little touches will complete the picture. And you must call me Mother Whittonstall. It is fitting that my only child’s wife should call me that.’

  Before Eleanor could protest Lady Whittonstall had scooped up the nosegay and rearranged the flowers. Eleanor had to admit they did look far less bedraggled.

  ‘That is very kind of you.’