A Bachelor Establishment

by Isabella Barclay

  I shall send copies of this letter to every embassy throughout Europe in the hope, the desperate hope, that one day it will find you, wherever you happen to be.

  Come home soon, Johnnie, I miss you.

  Your loving father.

  Very, very carefully, Elinor laid the letter down on the desk. Without withdrawing his gaze from the fire, Lord Ryde placed his hand protectively over it. The silence in the room grew very loud.

  She had found herself almost unbearably moved by this simple, heartfelt plea from the father and could only guess at the effect it must have had on his son.

  Rising to her feet, she crossed to Lord Ryde’s chair to stand next to him. He neither moved nor spoke. Elinor could guess at the thoughts running through his head. The wasted years. The missed opportunities. The series of mistakes, bad luck, and unfortunate coincidences that had brought him now, to this time, this place, and the sudden dreadful revelation that a large part of his life could have been very different.

  Different, yes, but not necessarily better.

  How would they have fared together, these two obstinate, stiff-necked men? For how long would they have been able to endure each other’s company before the proud, controlling parent clashed with the wilful, independent son? Now, of course, they would never know.

  She surfaced to find Lord Ryde watching her.

  ‘What is it, Elinor?’

  ‘I was just thinking,’ she said softly, ‘that the missed opportunities, for which you are blaming yourself, might not be too great a cause for regret.’

  ‘You could be right,’ he said. ‘A year – perhaps two, before we started to rub against each other again. Or even worse, I might have married some local girl and be the besieged parent of any number of ghastly offspring.’

  ‘A fate worse than death indeed,’ she agreed quietly.

  He leaned against her and she gently touched his hair. He remembered the warmth and softness of her, but even though he was sure they would not be disturbed, he could not reach for her as he once done in this very room.

  ‘So, my lord …’

  ‘John.’

  ‘John. What now?’

  ‘What do you mean – what now?’

  ‘Well, what are your plans? Will you take your wealth and proceed to America as planned, to embark upon your new life?’

  ‘I don’t have to go as far as America for a new life.’

  ‘True,’ she agreed. ‘London has many attractions, to many of which you will be able to succumb with all speed.’

  He barked a short laugh. ‘And find myself prey to every matchmaking mama in town? I can tell you now, Mrs Bascombe – ’

  ‘Elinor.’

  ‘Elinor – once word of my wealth gets out, I won’t be able to move for the vast hordes of people who always thought my father to have been harsh and over-hasty, or who knew all along there must have been some terrible mistake. George Bascombe will find exactly the same thing. If only the world possessed as much compassion as it does hindsight …’

  He trailed away, lost in thought, and Elinor watched him anxiously.

  ‘And what of you, Elinor? Today has been a day of revelation for you, too.’

  ‘It has indeed. I think, when the shock has subsided a little, today will have been a happy day.’

  ‘For you, perhaps. You will return to Westfield with Mr Bascombe, not to pick up the reins of your old, restricted life, but suddenly to enjoy luxury and much deserved extravagance. You will have that visit to Bath, Elinor. You will travel, see new sights, meet new people. Your life will change beyond all recognition.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Elinor, dismally.

  His lordship did not appear to notice.

  ‘You will have fine clothes, more servants, and best of all, financial security at last.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Elinor, drearily.

  ‘All the unremitting toil of these last years when you worked so hard to pull the estate back together, all your careful schemes for the future, all that is done with. You can hand the management of Westfield to Mr Bascombe and be free at last.’

  ‘Well, you needn’t sound so cheerful about it,’ said Mrs Bascombe with some asperity. ‘Long days of pointless embroidery and trying new ways of wearing my hair are not my idea of happiness.’

  ‘I am very pleased to hear you say that, because I have a proposition to put to you, Mrs Bascombe.’

  ‘Elinor.’

  ‘Elinor. It seems to me that you are an excellent estate manager without an estate to manage and I have an estate crying out for an excellent estate manager. What do you say, Mrs Bascombe? Can I make you an offer of –?’

  Elinor groped for words. ‘Are you – I cannot believe – how could you – are you offering me employment?’

  ‘What? No, of course not. What on earth made you think that? How could I, with any propriety, offer a female the job of my estate manager? Where on earth did you get that idea from?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, possibly from your less-than-romantic speech about estate management, perhaps.’

  ‘Elinor, you have been itching to get your hands on my neglected acres from the moment we first met. You’ve already made a start on my dilapidated house. To say nothing of my deplorable self.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘And now I offer it all to you.’

  ‘I can’t work for you, my lord. George would never allow such a thing. Obviously I would be happy to give you my advice should you care to consult me, but …’

  ‘Elinor, will you please rid yourself of this ridiculous idea you have of working for me. I’m asking you to marry me.’

  ‘So I am to marry you in order to dust your furniture, repair your land, and protect you from matchmaking mothers?’

  He took her hands and held them to his chest.

  ‘No, Elinor, you are to marry me because I adore you and am now utterly convinced I cannot live without you. You have galloped into my life, opening up my heart and my house, and bringing light and life into both. I find the thought of going even one day without hearing your voice or seeing your face quite unbelievably painful. You must marry me, Elinor, because I love you to distraction and beyond.’

  Mrs Bascombe retreated around the desk on legs that suddenly felt unable to support her.

  To gain time, she said slowly, ‘You are asking me to marry you?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Bascombe.’

  ‘Elinor.’

  Slowly, he rose to his feet and walked around the desk.

  ‘Elinor, I hope very much that you will do me the honour –’

  ‘Why would you want to marry me?’

  ‘Well, as previously mentioned – run-down house, neglected estate, oh and there are the Munches to manage, of course …’

  ‘How is that any sort of incentive?’ said Mrs Bascombe, drawing herself up and doing her best to ignore both his lordship’s proximity and her own wildly beating heart.

  ‘Well, how about the Ryde diamonds?’ suggested his lordship, pulling over a number of jewel boxes.

  ‘They’re hideous.’

  ‘I really think you should consider their value before you reject them out of hand.’

  ‘Nothing in the world could compel me to wear the Ryde diamonds –’ began Elinor.

  His lordship’s shoulders slumped dramatically.

  ‘– in their present setting. I’m afraid, my lord,’ said Elinor, virtuously, ‘that nothing you can say would enable me to look more favourably on your suit.’

  ‘Well, there’s the title, of course.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Elinor, apparently much struck by this. ‘I had forgotten the title.’

  ‘You would be Lady Ryde.’

  ‘I might be, yes.’

  He moved quickly, pulled her to him, and held her close.

  ‘You would be my lady,’ he said thickly into her hair. ‘And I could shower you with reset diamonds in the moonlight.’

  His lady caught her breath and decided it was her duty to take every advantage of this pro
bably very fleeting moment of generosity.

  Stroking his cheek, she whispered, ‘I would so much rather have a herd of shorthorns, my lord.’

  ‘If that is what it takes,’ said Lord Ryde, adjusting his ideas somewhat, ‘then I shall shower you with shorthorns instead. Although God knows how. I expect Charles will think of a way. He’s very ingenious.’

  ‘In that case, my lord, I do not hesitate to accept your flattering and hopefully shorthorn-filled proposal of marriage.’

  ‘I thought you might,’ he whispered, his breath warm in her ear.

  Mrs Bascombe, skilled negotiator, was not so easily won over.

  ‘I shall want to see the herd first before finally committing myself, you understand.’

  ‘You shall inspect each one personally,’ promised his lordship, running his fingers down her slim neck and being rewarded with a sharp intake of breath. She melted against him and for some time, all thoughts of livestock and anything else were driven from both their minds.

  ‘So,’ said Mrs Bascombe, some minutes later, attempting unsuccessfully to straighten his lordship’s disordered cravat, ‘really, there is no need for me to return to Westfield, is there?’

  His lordship put her from him.

  ‘Indeed there is, Mrs Bascombe and I declare I am shocked at this lapse of propriety in the future Lady Ryde. You will return to Westfield with Mr Bascombe, whither I will visit in seven days’ time, formally to request your hand in marriage. It is to be hoped he gives his consent because, although I’ve never tried it, I have heard that elopements can be dashed tricky affairs Especially if one’s bride insists on encumbering herself with an entourage of butlers, maids, shorthorns, over-spirited chestnuts, and Lord knows what. Why, at that rate it would take me a month to get you all to Gretna.’

  Mrs Bascombe snuggled against his chest. ‘I have no doubt you would manage it splendidly.’

  ‘Well, yes, I would,’ said his lordship modestly, ‘but that would be because I would be concentrating on you in the moonlight and leave everything else to Charles.’

  ‘Hm,’ said Mrs Bascombe, thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps I should marry Mr Martin instead.’

  ‘You could certainly try,’ said his lordship unflatteringly, ‘but I doubt he even sees you if Miss Fairburn is in the vicinity. Which reminds me …’ he released Mrs Bascombe as he spoke and began to rummage around the documents on his desk.

  Beyond remarking how quickly the romance had faded, Mrs Bascombe made no complaint, merely waiting quietly until a small packet of documents headed Fernleigh Manor in the parish of Whittington was presented for her inspection.

  ‘For Charles,’ announced his lordship. ‘On the occasion of his marriage. I myself expect to spend what little remains of my life as a victim of oppression and abuse, but there’s no reason why Charles and Miss Fairburn shouldn’t live happily ever after.’

  Mrs Bascombe could not have said why she chose that moment to burst into tears.

  His lordship regarded her in some dismay.

  ‘Tears? So soon? Should I buy you one of the new seed drills? Would that help?’

  She dried her tears and nodded vigorously. ‘Oh yes, that would be delightful. And if we set some men to clearing your three fields bordering mine, we could have them manured and sown for a winter crop in no time.’

  ‘I am a lost man,’ he sighed. ‘I have fallen into the hands of a harpy who will stop at nothing to ensure my future happiness and prosperity. How shall I bear it?’

  ‘Courage, my lord. Given your self-admitted advanced age and decrepitude, the chances are that you will not live long enough to suffer greatly.’

  ‘True.’ He brightened. ‘Shall we rejoin the others, Elinor and offer them the opportunity to rejoice in my abbreviated life expectancy?’

  ‘In a minute,’ she whispered, and reached for him again …

  Jodi Taylor

  For more information about Jodi Taylor

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  Published by Accent Press Ltd 2015

  ISBN 9781783759705

  Copyright © Isabella Barclay 2015

  The right of Isabella Barclay to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, Ty Cynon House, Navigation Park, Abercynon, CF45 4SN