* * *
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.
This summons to the family’s London residence must mean that the Earl had made one of his infrequent visits to the city, which he occasionally did to attend the Lords. Crispin had had no idea his father planned to come, but since avoiding his father was something of a mission with him, he wouldn’t have expected to.
What would the ever-disapproving Earl complain about this time?
A quick check of the mantel clock indicated it wasn’t yet late enough that he could u
se that excuse to put off the interview. Might as well go straight away, get the unpleasantness over with and hopefully find enough congenial company at his club afterwards to dissipate the bad feelings an interview with his sire always aroused.
Or perhaps he could call on Gregory afterwards, see if his friend would be able to spend the rest of the evening with him once his family dinner concluded.
His spirits rising at that prospect, Crispin paused long enough to have his valet brush his coat and give him a general inspection to ensure his attire was in perfect form—staving off having the interview begin with one of his father’s favourite sermons about his son not appearing in a style befitting his rank and breeding. Girding himself for the interview to come, he had Haines summon him a hackney.
* * *
His first surprise upon arriving at Portman Square was finding the knocker back on the door. Since Comeryn’s visits were usually short, he didn’t normally have the skeleton staff that manned the town house do more to accommodate his presence than remove the holland covers from his bedchamber, study and the small family dining room. His next surprise was having the door answered by Viscering, their butler, whom he would have expected to remain at Montwell Glen.
‘Good evening, my lord,’ the butler said, bowing him in. ‘You’ve been keeping well, I trust? Finding some exciting new ventures, I hope?’
‘I’m very well, thank you, Viscering,’ he replied, warmed by affection for the man who’d been a stalwart part of his life since he was a boy. ‘Always on the lookout for a new project. How are you?’
‘Tolerable, my lord. Lady Comeryn would like a word before you go in to see the Earl, who is in his study.’
‘Mother is here?’ Crispin said, shocked.
‘Yes, and your sister Lady Margaret as well.’
‘A shopping trip?’ Crispin guessed. Though his mother must have been unusually persuasive—or more likely, tearfully persistent—to induce his normally tight-fisted father to allow such a trip. Maybe he’d relented for her birthday—as well he ought, Crispin thought, the familiar feelings of resentment and simmering anger rising towards his imperious father and the autocratic, unbending rule he exercised over his wife and children.
After a slight pause, as if debating whether or not to say anything, Viscering said, ‘I believe the Earl intends to remain for the Season.’
That was so astounding, Crispin froze in the act of handing the butler his coat, hat and cane. ‘The Season? Are you sure?’
‘Most of the staff accompanied us, with those remaining ordered to close up the Glen, so I believe so. I thought you...might like to know.’
‘Thanks for the warning,’ Crispin said. ‘You’d better take me up to see Mama.’
Whatever was going on? he wondered as he followed the butler up to the small back sitting room that was his mother’s private retreat. He couldn’t think of a single reason why his father would ignore his oft-stated distaste for the city and gift the family with a trip to London for the whole Season, much as he knew his mother would be thrilled at the opportunity.
As he walked in, the Countess rose, her lovely face lighting with delight. ‘Crispin, my dearest!’ she exclaimed, rising to hug him tightly.
He hugged her back, both revelling in her affection and feeling guilty. The impossible position he occupied, acting since boyhood as sort of buffer between his father’s iron will and her gentleness, had never improved his mother’s circumstances more than temporarily. But though his mother had encouraged and supported his drive for independence, leaving Montwell Glen had left her without a protector.
Even if whatever protection he offered was always short-lived.
His long-smouldering anger redoubled at his father, who had married this beautiful, shy, soft-spoken lady for her substantial dowry and never appreciated her. Cowed and belittled by her husband, she had endured by showering her children with the affection her disdainful spouse spurned.
Would her life have been better if she’d stood up to him? Crispin wondered again. Or would that have only created more of the turmoil and distress that had driven him to flee the family home after university and return as seldom as possible? A pointless conjecture—his gentle mother didn’t have it in her to confront anyone.
‘How have you been keeping? Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve been home.’
She patted his hand. ‘Never mind about that. Knowing you are pursuing your own life without...interference, and happy doing so, is enough for me. Did your exploration trip go well?’
‘It did. Fine weather, enjoyable rides, and excellent hostelries along the way.’ He paused, tempted for a moment to tell her about meeting Miss Cranmore. But though he thought his mother would find his account of such an unusual girl amusing, mentioning the name of any single female might invite a discussion of marriage—something he knew his mother wanted for him—that he’d rather avoid.
Instead, he continued, ‘The Great Western venture poses greater risks than the previous schemes I’ve backed, but the concept is intriguing and the possibility for return could be enormous.’
‘So you’ve decided to invest.’
‘Yes. I spoke with the firm’s solicitor when I returned to London two weeks ago and arranged to purchase shares.’
He’d been excited to drop by Richard Cranmore’s office. But though he’d been impressed by its tasteful opulence and treated with dignified deference by the solicitor, the owner, Mr Cranmore, had been nowhere in evidence.
Nor, alas, had his daughter.
‘How are you getting on—and how is it that you look lovelier every time I see you?’ For truly, his mother did look more than usually radiant.
‘Thank you, kind sir!’ she said, her eyes taking on a sparkle. ‘It must be the excitement of being in London again. You know how much I love the city.’
‘Father should bring you more often,’ he said with some heat. ‘Are you really going to spend the whole Season?’
To his concern, the light in her eyes dimmed. Looking troubled, she said, ‘I’m afraid that depends...mostly on you.’
The feeling of trepidation that settled in his gut whenever he had to deal with his father intensified. ‘How could it depend on me?’
His mother sighed. ‘I’m only guessing, since as you know the Earl never informs me of anything and I might be quite wrong. You’ll be talking with him shortly anyway. I... I just ask that you not immediately refuse whatever it is he means to demand of you. For my sake? You know how...unpleasant he can be when he doesn’t get his way. He could well ship us back to Montwell Glen as unexpectedly as he packed us to come, and Maggie is so excited to be able to spend some time here! Even though she’s not old enough yet to attend society events, I can take her to meet the ladies whose approval she must have when she’s presented next year, we can visit the shops and the theatre and attend a few evening events. She’s been over the moon at the prospect! I’d like to keep your father in good humour long enough for her to sample at least some of that.’
‘And let you sample it, too. It’s been three years since you’ve been in London long enough to attend social events and catch up with all your friends.’
She smiled. ‘I’m not denying I’ll enjoy it as much as Maggie!’
The mantel clock bonged and her smile faded, a nervous look replacing it. ‘You’d better go see your father now. He’ll have been informed you’ve arrived, and you know he can’t tolerate being kept waiting.’
‘Yes, far be it for me to dally for a pleasant half-hour with my mother,’ he said acerbically.
‘You will be...patient?’
Reining in both his anger and rising sense of dread, he kissed her hand.
‘I’ll be...reasonable. If at all possible, I’ll do what he wants, if it means you and Maggie can enjoy the delights of London for an entire Season.’
‘You won’t let him set you off?’
The tears he so dreaded formed in the corners of her eyes. ‘You know how much it upsets me when he does,’ she ended on a whisper.
As much as his mother’s distress upset and angered him, he thought grimly, setting his jaw. Summoning up a smile, he said, ‘I shall display the patience of Job. But you’re right, I’d better go in before he can decide I’m tardy. No sense giving him a whip to whack me with before we even get started.’
‘Thank you, my darling,’ she said, rising to give him one last hug. ‘Having time here in London, seeing you, would be the best birthday gift I could receive.’
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, releasing her. ‘I’ll pacify the beast—for you.’
An uneasy mix of anger, resentment and apprehension roiling in his gut, Crispin paced out and headed for his father’s study.
After a knock at the door, his father’s voice bade him enter. Taking a deep breath, he walked in and made his father a bow. ‘You wished to see me, sir?’
The Earl gave him a silent, head-to-toe inspection, making him grateful for Haines’s diligence, before responding, ‘A more dutiful son might have added What do you wish me to do?’
Gritting his teeth, Crispin resisted responding that by now the Earl should know better than to expect him to live up to his father’s concept of ‘dutiful’. Mindful of his promise to his mother, he said nothing—which was a provocation in itself, but he couldn’t bring himself to utter something placating.
After a few minutes of silence, the Earl continued, ‘I imagine you didn’t expect to see me in London. I certainly wasn’t happy about having to come. Disappointing as your conduct often is, I’m certain that you understand you must eventually do your duty. Since I understand better than anyone how disagreeable that generally is, I’ve been indulgent enough to allow you to postpone it. But a situation, and an opportunity, has arisen that makes that indulgence no longer possible.’
‘My duty?’ Though, with a rising sense of distaste, he was pretty sure he knew what his father meant, he would have him spell it out. ‘Which duty would that be, sir?’
The Railway Countess Page 4
