‘You know, I think Lady Acomb’s daughter Honoria
wore a dress very like that last season. She wore the sleeves like this.’ Lady Whittonstall darted forward and pulled the puffed sleeves down so Eleanor’s shoulders were revealed. ‘Much better. There—you look...charming on your wedding day.’
The pause before charming was not precisely the reaction she’d been looking for. Particularly not from Lady...no, Mother Whittonstall. There was nothing wrong with her wedding dress. The modiste had assured her it was the height of fashion in London. Mother Whittonstall’s look implied that she was quaint and had completely misunderstood the current season’s requirements.
Eleanor counted to ten very slowly. She couldn’t change her dress now. She concentrated on Ben’s late-night reassurances. He thought her suitable. He was the one marrying her, not his mother.
‘Thank you. I tried,’ Eleanor said as graciously as she could.
Lady Whittonstall looked at her with pity in her eyes. ‘My dear, I fear we did not have a good start the other day. I do so want to have a good relationship with my son’s wife.’
‘Things were fraught.’ Eleanor waved her nosegay. A few more rose petals drifted down. ‘And things have been busy at the foundry. I regret I had to refuse your kind invitation to tea yesterday—and then there was the packing. I’m sure Ben explained.’
‘He did.’ Lady Whittonstall put her hand on Eleanor’s shoulder. ‘I do so want us to be friends. I know your mother is dead, and I want you to think of me as your new mother.’
‘That is very kind of you.’
‘I’m pleased you see it that way.’
Eleanor’s heart leapt. Had she misjudged Lady Whittonstall? She’d been so intent on seeing her as an obstacle that she hadn’t spied the deep love she had for her son. Wasn’t it natural for a mother to be concerned? Particularly when she hadn’t met the woman in question? Eleanor thought back to when she had met her stepfather. She’d been furious with her mother for marrying without consulting her. They hadn’t spoken for weeks afterwards.
Eleanor breathed easier. Concern for her son drove Lady Whittonstall. They had simply got off on the wrong footing. And she knew from her business that there was no point in bearing grudges. She had to build bridges instead. She could forgive the words and show that she was a person worthy of being a viscountess.
‘I look forward to receiving your advice,’ she said soothingly. ‘Ben informs me you know everything about society.’
A tiny smile crossed Lady Whittonstall’s features. ‘Yes, that is very true. I have made it my business to learn.’
‘Then there is no reason I can’t. Knowledge can be acquired.’
Lady Whittonstall’s gaze travelled down the length of Eleanor. ‘Some remain in ignorance all their lives.’
Eleanor tightened her grip on her nosegay. What Lady Whittonstall was saying was no worse than what her stepfather had said on numerous occasions. What she had to hang on to was the fact Ben wanted her to be his wife. ‘I don’t intend to be one of those people. I intend to make Ben proud. I have always given everything to tasks I want to accomplish. Why should I stop now?’
‘You sound very determined.’
‘I am. Ben knows this as well. We have no secrets.’
Lady Whittonstall bit her bottom lip. Eleanor experienced a moment of triumph.
‘I am so glad,’ Lady Whittonstall said slowly. ‘I was worried when I knew he hadn’t confided in you about losing his child. Alice was pregnant, you see, when she died. Benjamin hates speaking about it. At the bottom of my heart, I knew he would. It shows that he is ready to marry and has closed the book on his past.’
Eleanor’s throat closed tight and she wished Ben had confided in her about the child. After all their picnics and her confidences about Moles and her stepfather he hadn’t confided this one simple fact. She swallowed hard. He had never spoken much of Alice. Nothing real or substantial.
Her soap bubble dream about Ben falling in love with her dissolved with a disconcerting pop and the world suddenly seemed a greyer place. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Surely he told you?’ Lady Whittonstall’s eyes opened wide and the colour drained from her face. She started to say something, choked it back and then blurted out, ‘The other night I thought he must have done. I urged him to.’
‘He said nothing.’
Lady Whittonstall grew more agitated, pleating her handkerchief between her fingers. ‘You must forget that I said anything. Me and my big mouth. I am worse than a debutante. After all these years you’d think I’d learn. I most humbly beg your pardon. I had no intention for you to find out like this. I simply surmised the other night...that he...he had done the correct thing.’
Eleanor knew the words Lady Whittonstall uttered were the truth. Lady Whittonstall had thought Ben had told her, and that was why she was willing to accept this marriage. Worst of all, Lady Whittonstall was correct. It was the sort of thing a wife should know.
‘He did come to see me the night before last.’ Eleanor looked up at the roof of the church. All the excitement went out of her, leaving her flat. Ben had not confided in her. Such a simple thing. Such an important thing. What other secrets from the past had he kept? ‘We spoke of other things.’
‘I adored Alice. Everyone did. She was that sort of person. Her death was a terrible blow.’ Lady Whittonstall raised her handkerchief to her eyes. ‘They had wanted children for ages. Alice’s dearest wish was to provide an heir for Benjamin. Such a tragedy. But it was an important part of my son’s life.’
‘How did she die?’ Eleanor asked, unable to stop her curiosity. Immediately she wished she hadn’t asked. It should be Ben telling her this and not his mother.
‘Benjamin must tell you. I have said far too much.’ Lady Whittonstall shook her head and seemed to recall her manners. ‘He still needs an heir, Miss Blackwell. I hope you can provide it. It is your duty. He longs for one, but you are well past the first flush of youth.’
‘He has an heir in Viv,’ Eleanor said carefully. Ben had never said he hoped for a child of his own but it made sense that he’d want an heir. It was what marriage was for. ‘Ben told me that when we agreed to marry.’
‘It is not the same thing.’ Lady Whittonstall laid her hand on Eleanor’s arm. Her eyes became like Ben’s and two bright spots appeared on her cheeks. ‘I hope you will forgive me for unintentionally betraying my son. It was a mistake. We are all allowed mistakes, I hope?’
‘I do understand.’ Eleanor could see from the woman’s agitation that she was unused to making faux pas.
‘And I hope some day to hold my grandson in my arms. You will ensure that...’
Eleanor forced her shoulders back. She refused to allow this woman to intimidate her. She was sure she could get pregnant. Women did it all the time. And she did want a child. ‘I shall do my best, but it is something God decides.’
‘Benjamin has changed,’ Lady Whittonstall continued. ‘He used to take such joy from balls and other entertainments. Hopefully you and he will once again take part. You must. All of London will want to meet you as soon as possible. Benjamin appears to think you will be staying up here.’
‘I have responsibilities towards my employees,’ Eleanor said around the ash in her mouth. ‘And I am in mourning.’
‘You have a position to uphold, my dear. I want to assist you. I know it will mean a great deal to Benjamin.’
Eleanor kept her shoulders down and her head up. This conversation was the last thing she needed at the moment. To think that before Lady Whittonstall appeared she’d been worrying about her wedding night. She knew now that she was second best. ‘I will remember that...should I ever need advice.’
‘I am so pleased that we had this little conversation. May it be the first of many.’ Lady Whittonstall patted Eleanor’s arm. ‘I’m sure Viv
was right the other evening. Everything will be fine. You are an intelligent woman, Eleanor Blackwell. I can see that now. All it will take is a little effort on your part to follow my lead.’
Viv had defended her, not Ben. The knowledge hurt. Her stomach reeled from the blow and she concentrated on keeping her smile in place. ‘Thank you for the compliment.’
‘You are welcome, my dear.’
Before Eleanor could utter another word Lady Whittonstall left the vestibule, walking down the aisle as if she were the bride.
Eleanor stared after her, her mind whirling. Why hadn’t Ben told her that Alice had been pregnant when she died? Why had he shunned society afterwards? And why had he come to see her the other night? To tell her that? She pressed her hand against her forehead, remembering how he’d smiled when she’d said that the past didn’t matter. But this news mattered a great deal. There was no way she could tell him that she knew. He had to confide in her.
She wiped her eyes. There was no going back. She had to marry, but she knew she wanted their marriage to be more than a convenience.
‘We are ready to begin, Miss Blackwell,’ Mr Percy the curate said, giving a loud cough as he came into the vestibule. ‘Everyone is waiting. The organist has played the opening chords three times.’
‘Yes, I am coming now.’ Eleanor pasted a smile on her face.
She stopped at the end of the aisle, looking down towards where Ben stood with Sir Vivian at his side. Resplendent. Self-confident. No different than he’d ever been. Except now she knew about his tragedy. What had she been hoping for? That he hadn’t really loved his wife? That somehow he’d develop feelings for her? She knew what she was—an unattractive beanpole whose only assets were her brain and her business sense.
There was no one to give her away. Mrs Nevin had offered to act as her attendant and that was enough. Or should have been.
Eleanor took one look around the church as all heads turned towards her.
It gave her comfort that Mr Swaddle, with his arm in a sling, and his wife had made the trek over. Her mouth went dry and she wished that she hadn’t been so quick to refuse Mr Swaddle’s offer of escorting her down the aisle.
Her jaw began to ache from the smile.
Even Algernon would have been preferable to this lonely walk. Algernon was there, of course. With a face like thunder. He’d made the grudging offer this morning. She had refused.
She had to wonder if Miss Varney had reconsidered her acceptance of his suit.
Eleanor nodded to him as she progressed down the aisle. He glowered back.
A strange lightness settled on her shoulders. He couldn’t do anything to her now. Today was her day. She should feel triumphant. So why did it seem so hard to manage those last few steps?
Her entire life was about to change. Her conversation with Lady Whittonstall had underlined that. She didn’t really know Ben. She only thought she did. He hadn’t bothered to confide in her about the way his wife had died or the fact that she’d been pregnant. What else had he kept from her?
She forced her foot forward and put it down too heavily. The sound ricocheted all around the nearly empty church.
Soon she would no longer be Eleanor Blackwell but instead Eleanor Grayson, Viscountess Whittonstall, with all that it entailed. What sort of wife did Ben want? Lady Whittonstall seemed to think he wanted someone like his late wife, and she knew she couldn’t be. But she could try. She’d managed the foundry and she could manage society. She could do everything. She had defeated her stepfather after all.
Despite her legs trembling like jelly with every step she took, she made it to where Ben stood.
‘Second thoughts?’ he asked. His long fingers guided her to her place in front of the vicar.
‘None at all,’ she said brightly. ‘I know why I am doing this.’
Except it had become about more than saving Moles. She wanted the marriage to be something more. She could not compete with Alice, and she couldn’t give Ben what he’d lost, but she could try to give him his heart’s desire—a son to inherit his title.
Eleanor very deliberately turned towards the vicar. ‘Shall we begin?’
* * *
‘I now pronounce you man and wife,’ the vicar said.
The words sent a chill through Ben. This was the moment he’d dreaded. He’d spent the entire ceremony trying not to think about his wedding to Alice and compare it to this one. Today was the start of the rest of his life, a day when he no longer had to think about the past. Thus far he’d carefully kept his gaze on the vicar rather than looking down at Eleanor. Now he had to.
Ben glanced down at Eleanor’s upturned face. Her grey eyes were luminous but there was a faint hint of defiance to her chin. He knew in that instant he’d been wrong not to look at her. There was no need for comparisons. He was here and he was marrying Eleanor. He wanted to see if the passion she brought to her work and to the way she seemed to do everything would be brought to his bed. He wanted to taste her lips again and see if they were as sweet as his memory of them. His inclination was to draw her to him and drink, but he resisted the temptation. He remembered how Alice had protested at any displays of affection. And Eleanor appeared ill at ease enough.
His lips glanced over hers before he lifted his head.
‘Moles is saved,’ he said, trying to coax a smile from her. Later, he would discuss with her ways to decrease her involvement. He wanted to spend more time
with her. To his immense surprise, he missed her when she wasn’t there.
Her lips turned up briefly. ‘I am grateful. It puts my mind at rest. Moles being safe is my sole concern.’
‘But you are my concern now.’ Ben gave Eleanor’s hand a squeeze. Alice had always left all the important decisions to him.
‘You needn’t worry about me. I will be fine. I am used to looking after myself.’
‘It will be my pleasure.’ Ben smiled down at her. It had happened. He was free from his past. He never had to go there again. It was all behind him. All he needed to think about was his future with Eleanor.
Chapter Nine
‘Where are you going on your wedding trip?’ Mrs Swaddle asked Eleanor as the wedding breakfast progressed.
Eleanor froze. Thus far she had avoided thinking about the wedding trip. She hadn’t even allowed herself to think about the wedding night, or the revelation that Ben hadn’t even shared the smallest portion of knowledge about himself with her. Instead she’d concentrated on being gracious at the breakfast, demonstrating to Lady Whittonstall that she could easily take part in social events. The breakfast was far larger than she thought it would be, but Ben had explained his mother’s determination.
‘I suspect it will be somewhere fabulous.’ Mrs Swaddle gave a long drawn-out sigh. ‘I said to Mr Swaddle: Mark my words, Lord Whittonstall will have a lovely spot all picked out for our Mrs Blackwell.’
Ever since Ben had saved Mr Swaddle both he and Mrs Swaddle had been singing Ben’s praises at every opportunity. He’d gone from being a pretty-boy aristocrat to the saviour of the foundry. At first Eleanor had found it amusing, but now she worried. What did Ben want from her? She knew very little about him and his life—a life she’d be expected to share. He hadn’t even confided that there was to be this extensive wedding breakfast. And now she had to worry that he’d expect her to be his hostess at other glittering occasions when she must concentrate on running Moles.
‘We haven’t really discussed it,’ Eleanor began. How could she explain that now, with Mr Swaddle injured, was not the time for her to depart anywhere without seeming ungrateful? Or implying that she wanted Mr Swaddle to return before he was fully fit?
‘A few nights away will be just the tonic for you, Mrs...I mean Lady Whittonstall.’ Mrs Swaddle flushed scarlet. ‘Our Mrs Blackwell is now a lady. Imagine. It is terribly exciting.’
Lady Whittonstall stopped her progress to give one of her social smiles. ‘Benjamin will make sure it is somewhere wonderful. He knows the importance of a wedding trip.’
‘Did you go somewhere pleasant, Mother Whittonstall?’ Eleanor asked, seeking to move the conversation away from the trip that was not going to happen.
Lady Whittonstall’s eyes turned dreamy. ‘My late husband took me to Naples. That was where Benjamin was conceived. We were away for six months. My mother worried the entire time but I adored it. Of course Benjamin took Alice away for longer, but I think six months is the minimum one should spend on the trip of one’s lifetime.’
Six months. Eleanor’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t imagine being away from her work for that long. Ben obviously moved in a different world from her, but in this he would have to give way. Her responsibilities came first. And she hated the little voice whispering that spending six months with just Ben would be wonderful.
‘We are not going anywhere,’ Eleanor said decisively. ‘I don’t have the time.’
‘Not going anywhere?’ Lady Whittonstall blinked rapidly. ‘But you must. Sometimes I think if I didn’t have those memories of Charles, I would go mad. Wedding trips are important. I insisted when Benjamin married—’
‘My new wife is a busy lady, Mama. Remember that.’ Ben placed his hand on Eleanor’s shoulder. ‘Now, if you will excuse us, my wife is required elsewhere.’
Without giving her a chance to ask him why, or question him about the wedding trip, he led her firmly away from his mother and Mrs Swaddle and out on to the terrace.
‘That’s better,’ he said with a smile. ‘Less crowded. Fewer questions. Fewer prying eyes.’
‘Prying eyes?’
‘This wedding breakfast is completely out of hand.’ Ben gestured towards where a throng of people still huddled around the displays of food. ‘Mama, with Viv’s help, appears to have invited the entire region.’
‘We had to meet them some time. It seems strange suddenly to be Lady Whittonstall.’
His Unsuitable Viscountess Page 13
