Harlequin Historical July 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Virginia Heath

  ‘I’d have a word with ye, missy.’

  ‘Of course, Grandda. What did you want to say?’ she asked, seating herself beside her mother on the sofa by his chair.

  ‘Ye know I’m not like to drag my weary bones to London for no good purpose.’

  ‘No. But if you’d make the journey on one of Papa’s railways, your old bones would be much more comfortable.’

  ‘Cheeky lass,’ he reproved with a smile, chucking her under the chin. ‘I prefer a strong horse under me, and well ye know it. And there’s no’ of yer father’s railroads from Newcastle to London anyway.’

  ‘Maybe not yet. But there will be.’

  ‘That’s as may be. What I really want to see before I die is my only grandchild safe and settled.’

  A frisson of alarm trickled through her. Hoping he wasn’t going to press her about what she feared he was, she said, ‘I am safe and settled, Grandda. You don’t need to worry about me.’

  ‘Nay, lass, ye know what I mean. I want to see ye married to a good man, established in yer own house, and bringing up babes of yer own.’

  ‘There’s still plenty of time for that,’ she replied. ‘I’m not past my last prayers yet.’

  ‘Ye’re a beauty still, and well I know it. But that’s no reason to dally. Ye’re one and twenty now, lass! When yer ma was that age, yer brother Dickie, God rest his soul, was five years old, and ye a feisty three-year-old. I want to dandle my great-grandbabes on my knee afore I turn up me toes.’

  ‘Don’t even talk about that!’ Marcella cried, squeezing her grandfather’s hand. ‘We want you with us for years yet.’

  ‘Aye, and so I will be, God willing. Still, I’d like to know a fine man had taken over caring for ye well before that. It’s yer ma’s fondest wish as well, something she’s been hoping for these last five years and more,’ he added, nodding at her mother.

  ‘I never wanted to press you, darling. But I do think it’s time,’ her mother said.

  ‘I... I know you’ve been urging me. So...what do you both want me to do? Start attending the assembly in Newcastle?’ She hated the idea of leaving London, but there were a number of engineering firms in the northern cities. Attending cotillions in Newcastle might introduce her to other candidates, if she failed to secure Austin Gilling’s regard.

  After a glance at her mother, her grandfather said, ‘I’d have better than that for my darling girl. Yer pa’s done well by my one chick; she lacks for nothing. It’s ye that will inherit all that’s mine, child. Newcastle isn’t a grand enough stage for the granddaughter of the “Factory King”. Ye’ll be a prize worth winning, even in London.’

  Marcella knew her grandfather was wealthy—one of the leading developers of the factory system, as a boy he’d turned his mechanical aptitude into designing machines to streamline first the mining, then the weaving industries. But she’d had no idea he intended to make her his sole heiress.

  So shocked was she by the news, it took a moment for the significance of the rest of his words to penetrate. ‘A prize worth winning in London?’ she repeated. ‘Are you saying you want me to enter society here? You’re joking, surely!’

  ‘And why not? I hadn’t yet the wealth to make yer ma’s dream of wedding a lord come true, but I have it now, and plenty besides. Why else do ye think I accepted the baronetcy? Not that I care two flicks of my finger for being called Sir Thomas, but the nobs value it. Ye’re every bit the equal of any lady born. And all those fine gentlemen will fight to win the hand of Sir Thomas Webbingdon’s heiress!’

  ‘You needn’t worry that you won’t fit in,’ her mother inserted earnestly. ‘That’s why I insisted you attend Miss Axminster’s School for Young Ladies! There’s not a trace of North Country left in your speech, your manners are as fine as any lady’s, and you’re more beautiful than all those gentlemen’s daughters put together.’

  The memories of her miserable sojourn at boarding school returned in a rush. Yes, she’d managed to shed her regional accent, but that had hardly made her accepted. She recalled the slights, the snide remarks, the condescension. The loneliness.

  The very idea of trying to force her way into association with the girls who had snubbed and ridiculed her filled her with revulsion.

  ‘Mama, just because I can speak and act like one of them, I assure you, I will never be accepted by society. Even if I wanted to be, which I certainly do not! How can you believe I’d even be invited to any ton parties? Only those born into that class are admitted to Almack’s and society balls!’

  Her grandfather shook his head. ‘Money still talks. And ye’d be admitted sure enough, as long as ye have the right sponsor. And ye will.’

  ‘A sponsor?’ she echoed. ‘What society lady would sponsor me?’

  ‘A baron’s wife,’ her mother broke in excitedly. ‘Da told me before dinner this evening that Lady Arlsley agreed to sponsor you for this Season!’

  A rapid search of her memory produced no recognition of that name associated with her society classmates—not that she would have expected someone related to any of them to take on such a role. ‘Who is Lady Arlsley, and why would she agree to sponsor me?’

  Her grandfather chuckled. ‘Lord Arlsley rowed himself rather far up the River Tick a few years ago. Came cap in hand to my bank, wanting a loan on the quiet to pay back the moneylenders that were threatening him. I told him I’d lend him the money, nothing said to no one, and for simple return of principal with no interest, if he’d agree one day to do me a favour. He couldn’t wait to snap up the bargain. And now his lady wife will honour it.’

  A cold shudder went through Marcella. She could well believe Arlsley had consented on such favourable terms—and was now relieved to pass the burden of fulfilling the deal on to his wife. His wife, who had almost certainly been coerced into agreeing, and would bitterly resent the embarrassing burden she’d been shackled with.

  It would be Miss Axminster’s all over again, only worse.

  While she sat speechless, horror-struck, her grandfather reached down to pat her knee. ‘It will be just fine, chick, ye’ll see. Now, we know not to aim for a duke or an earl or a viscount, someone that high in the instep. But a baron or baronet—that’d be enough to win ye the title of Lady and make all yer ma’s dreams come true. And win ye a well-placed husband in the bargain.’

  ‘Oh, Marcella, can’t you just see it?’ her mother exclaimed. ‘When I read in the newspapers about all the glittering balls and dinners and routs, I’ll be able to picture you there, beautifully gowned, with handsome and elegant young men vying for your attention!’

  Her mother might believe in that fantasy, but Marcella knew better. ‘It sounds lovely, Mama, but I truly think I would have a better chance of finding a responsible, caring husband from among our own class. Surely you wouldn’t want me to wed someone who courts me merely for my dowry?’

  Which, she was pretty sure, would be the only kind of aristocratic gentlemen interested in wedding the daughter of an engineer and the granddaughter of a man who’d begun his life working in a coal mine.

  ‘Don’t sell yerself short, lass,’ her grandfather said. ‘I’m not saying ye have to wed some nob just for the sake of it, but there’s no harm in looking about. Not when doing it will delight yer ma. And give Lord Arlsley the chance to redeem his promise. If there’s no one to yer liking, ye can be finished with it, and no harm done.’

  The fact that she wouldn’t be pressured into marriage made her feel a bit better. But she still couldn’t view the prospect of a Season with less than revulsion.

  She had no doubt whatsoever that she would end the Season unwed. And by wasting several months attending society events, she’d lose not just time working with her father, but also the opportunities coming into Papa’s office would offer her to entice Austin Gilling into seeing her as the eligible young woman she now was.

  ‘Now, lass, ye’re n
ot going to kick over the traces and disappoint yer ma, are ye? Not when it would be such a simple thing to make her and yer old grandda happy. All ye’d have to do would be buy lots of pretty gowns and go to parties. How hard would that be?’

  Marcella looked from her grandfather’s entreating expression to her mother’s exuberant, excited face. Both of them had done nothing their whole lives but protect and indulge her. Knowing she had the final choice, could she be selfish enough to deny them what would obviously delight them both?

  Pushing the memories of Miss Axminster’s out of her mind, she said, ‘Would it really make the two of you that happy?’

  Her mother reached over to hug her. ‘It would be a dream come true, my darling!’

  ‘Aye, a dream come true for yer grandda, too, to see his only chick so thrilled. Only wish my dear Nan would be able to see it, too.’

  ‘She will, Da—from Heaven,’ her mother said.

  Dismay welled up in her. She couldn’t quite force herself to agree—but neither could she find it within her to disappoint them. ‘I... I’ll consider it,’ she said at last.

  ‘Wonderful!’ her mother said, leaning over again to hug her fiercely. ‘Oh, my sweet, you will be a triumph!’

  A disaster, more like, Marcella thought glumly. If she agreed to do this. Although she’d only said she’d ‘consider’ the possibility, Mama was already acting as if she’d given her wholehearted consent.

  Just then, the sound of the front door closing and booted feet on the stairs caught her ear. Eager for an excuse that would send her away from any further entreaties, she jumped up.

  ‘That must be Papa arriving! Mama, why don’t you get Grandda his pipe? I’ll meet Papa and arrange for his dinner.’

  Nodding, that beaming smile still on her face, her mother went over to fetch her grandfather’s pipe and tobacco. ‘Oh, Da, thank you!’ she heard her mother exclaim as she walked out of the room. ‘I’ll see my little girl elevated where she belongs at last!’

  Trying to still the trepidation that made her heart race and her palms sweat, Marcella met her father halfway up the stairs. ‘Welcome home,’ she said, leaning up on tiptoe to give him a kiss. ‘Grandda’s here. Shall I have Cook bring you some dinner in your office before you go in to see him and Mama?’

  After getting home late, her father normally preferred taking a tray in his office rather than inconveniencing the staff by eating at the dining room table that had already been cleared and reset. ‘Yes, dear, that would be fine.’

  ‘Go wash up, and I’ll bring dinner in to your office in a trice.’ Giving her father a hug, Marcella headed down the stairs.

  * * *

  A half-hour later, Marcella sat at the chair in front of her father’s desk, sipping tea while he ate his cold meat and cheese. After he’d wolfed down some sustenance, she said, ‘Do you know why Grandda came to London?’

  Pausing, her father set down his fork. ‘Yes. Your mother long ago confided her hopes to me, you know.’

  ‘Oh, Papa, I really don’t want to do it!’ she burst out. ‘You know how I was treated at school! Belittled, slighted. I hate the idea of going through that again—and you know that’s what would happen.’

  Her father nodded. ‘True, it might happen again. It’s also possible that, with the support of an aristocratic sponsor who, one assumes, would not introduce you to anyone she thought would treat you disrespectfully, your time in society would be much more pleasant. Balls and dancing and dinners! You’ll never know unless you try. And it will make your mother and grandfather so happy if you do.’

  If even her father sided with them—how was she to resist?

  ‘What if it is awful?’

  ‘Would you let a pack of arrogant, self-important gentry scare you away? Or goad you into acting less than the true lady you are?’

  Smiling as she recalled the investors she’d humoured, she said, ‘I’ve never yet worried about aristocratic opinions.’

  ‘There you have it. If you truly find it unbearable, you can give it up. I’ll intervene to placate your mother. I promise you will not be pushed into wedding some gentleman just because he owns a title. But there’s always the chance you might meet one who values you for who you are, whom you find appealing, too.’

  The image of Lord Dellamont’s face flashed briefly before her eyes. If she did go into society, might she meet him again? That possibility was almost enough to make her agree on the spot.

  She still didn’t know quite what to make of him. He’d been neither high in the instep nor condescending. He hadn’t seemed to expect to be catered to and flattered—indeed, he’d seemed offended when she’d done that. Most surprising, he’d been shockingly knowledgeable about the technical business of building a railway and appreciative of the skill and expertise necessary.

  Though a beneficiary of the old system of landed wealth, he pronounced himself looking forward to a future based on wealth earned in a very different way.

  Was he a visionary? An opportunist?

  It seemed they just might share the same outlook about the future.

  Plus, he was handsome and appealing enough to make her heart flutter. Which was ridiculous, when he was so far out of her sphere, he might as well inhabit the moon.

  Lady Arlsley might have enough influence to force Marcella’s way into society. But she was unlikely to have enough clout to foist her charge high enough to encounter socially the son of an earl.

  And what if she did?

  A viscount might have found it amusing to chat with Miss Marcella Cranmore, engineer’s daughter, while discussing the railroad investment he was considering. But that didn’t guarantee he’d not give her the cut direct if she were to intrude herself into the select society to which he belonged by birth.

  Would he snub her there—or not?

  It might be worth going, just to find out.

  But society was composed of many large gatherings. And if Dellamont spent much of his time outside the city, investigating potential investments, she could commit herself to this enterprise and not encounter him at all.

  Her father patted her hand, recalling her. ‘So, what do you think? Can you tolerate giving it a go? For your grandda and mama’s sake?’

  ‘I can leave if it becomes unbearable?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘And you’ll let me come back and work with you in the office once it’s over?’

  Her father sighed. ‘Honestly, my dear, I’d really prefer to have you find a fine man and marry him. I’m not getting any younger, and I’ll not be around to watch out for you for ever. Much as I love having you there, I don’t want you to waste your youth and beauty hanging about my office. There’s so much more a husband can offer that a father can’t—if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Papa!’ she said, blushing. A blush that deepened when she recalled the rush of attraction she’d felt when Lord Dellamont gazed at her.

  What would it be like to have a husband who could appreciate her mind—and her body?

  If she were to discover such a combination it would certainly not be found in Lord Dellamont, she told herself stoutly.

  Still...

  ‘Very well, Papa, I’ll agree. But I shall hold you to your promise of letting me return to your office when all of this is over!’

  Chuckling, her father patted her hand. ‘It’s a bargain. But I shall be very surprised if some wise young gentleman doesn’t lure you away from me first.’

  Marcella was rather convinced of the opposite. But she might be able to salvage something positive from this unappealing course of action.

  Being introduced into society might prompt Austin Gilling into finally realising that she was now a desirable woman. Knowing other men were courting her might just shock him into deciding to try to claim her for himself.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A week later, on
the other side of town, Crispin took a hackney back to his modest rooms on Jasmin Street after an evening spent following the debate in Parliament on another proposed rail venture. After paying off the jarvey, he walked up the front steps, intending to change and head to his club for dinner.

  He smiled, recalling the convivial evening he’d spent with his two good friends a week ago. Not much had changed in their worlds—Gregory Lattimar still bemoaned his father’s lack of involvement in the family estate that left him responsible for running it without having the full legal authority to do so, while Alex Cheverton had provided an amusing account of the meeting with his distant cousin and employer, the Duke of Farisdeen. Between his description of the austere, monosyllabic Duke and his mimicking of the Duke’s son, who never lost a chance to treat him like the employee he was, Alex had kept them both laughing over dinner.

  Unfortunately, Alex had returned to Sussex and Gregory was dining with family tonight. He’d have to trade their superior company for the excellent meal provided by his club and a few hands of cards afterwards. He’d been having a string of good luck lately, which provided some always welcome additions to the cash reserve he used for new investments.

  But as he walked through the front door, his valet and general manservant greeted him with a letter. ‘This came for you this afternoon, my lord. The messenger had been instructed to wait for an answer, but I told him you were in consultations at the House and probably wouldn’t return until mid-evening.’

  ‘Thank you, Haines,’ Crispin said, taking the note. A sense of dread filled him as he recognised his name scrawled on the outside in his father’s distinctive script.

  He’d hoped to avoid the Earl for at least another month. What did his father want with him now?

  A quick scan of the short note left him in equal parts surprised, irritated and apprehensive. Comeryn disliked London and seldom brought his family to the capital for the Season. He often complained he’d had enough of frivolous society and his wife’s extravagant spending when Crispin’s oldest sister had been presented three years ago and didn’t intend to have them waste another penny there until required to present Crispin’s younger sister next year.