Mr. Fairclough's Inherited Bride

by Georgie Lee

  ‘Yes, Mr Fairclough.’ The valet wove off into the crowd to attend to their luggage and the tickets for tomorrow’s train to London.

  Silas escorted Mary through the glass and iron train depot, almost ashamed at how much everything he saw excited him the way it had when he’d first arrived in Liverpool. ‘The Baltimore Southern must design stations like this, a testament to efficiency, and introduce the standardised ticketing we saw in Liverpool and I’m sure they have here. When we reach London, I’ll send a letter to Mr Hachman to set up meetings with our New England and Southern contacts about getting them on board with the idea. It would make travel for passengers a great deal easier than the mishmash of ticketing we have now.’

  * * *

  Mary listened to Silas’s rush of ideas as much here as she had on the train, enchanted by his energy. Even after two weeks at sea and the delay, he could still paint a picture of a future that she could believe in and wanted to see.

  He escorted her down the platform and out of the station to the adjacent Queen’s Hotel. She did her best to let his good nature infect her despite the weight sitting hard on her chest. It wasn’t simply the prospect of facing his family tomorrow that made her tense, but what would most likely happen tonight. Alone together, the natural progression of their marriage would finally take place. She should welcome this intimate exchange since it would cement the legitimacy of their union instead of leaving it in unconsummated limbo, but she was familiar with what happened between a man and a woman in the dark and the consequences that could arise because of it. Those consequences had forced her and Preston towards Gretna Green and when she’d lost the child, it had given him the excuse he’d needed to leave her. She had no idea how Silas would react if a child came of tonight or any night. She hoped he would welcome it as easily as he had her into his life.

  It didn’t take long for them to reach the Queen’s Hotel, a tall, square building in the Italianate style that towered over the lower station. While Silas secured rooms for the night, Mary waited on one of the comfortable sofas in the lobby, grateful to be seated on something that wasn’t moving.

  ‘Good news. Tibbs will have his own room. After being cooped up with me for the last two weeks, I’m sure he’d like a little breathing space and us a little privacy.’

  ‘That will be nice.’ Mary was somewhat disappointed that he was getting two rooms. If necessity had forced Tibbs into an adjoining room, then what was likely to happen tonight might be postponed until London. Of course, this alternate plan wasn’t ideal either. What was sure to pass between them was not something she wished to try for the first time under the listening ears of Silas’s mothers and sisters.

  Silas dangled the small key attached to a leather tag between them. ‘Shall we go up or would you prefer to eat something? There’s a small restaurant off the lobby.’

  ‘Let’s go to our room. We can always have something sent up later.’ She was too anxious about being alone with him to even think about forcing down food.

  Whatever Silas’s thoughts on the matter, he kept them to himself as he escorted her through the hotel and up to their room, his steady stream of ideas and thoughts fading into a quietness that was unlike him. She hoped it wasn’t regret making him a touch more morose. There was no reason to believe it was, but she couldn’t help herself. The past had taught her to doubt so many things.

  They entered the small room and he closed the door behind them. It was simple, with only a wash stand, a bed and a turned wood chair to take up the narrow space. Silas and Mary only had their valises. The rest of their things had been left behind at the station for tomorrow’s train. A small wrought-iron stove in the corner offered a welcome dose of heat. There was no getting away from one another in here just as there’d been no place to get away from Preston in that small inn on the way to Gretna Green, nowhere she could go to clean up the mess once everything had started. Instead, she’d lain there in pain with Preston standing at the foot of the bed scowling at her in disgust before he’d walked away.

  ‘Shall I help you undress?’ Silas asked. There was no lecherous look in his eyes, no sneering desire in his words the way there’d been in Preston’s in the stables, but there was no mistaking the invitation. Mary didn’t move, unsure what to do. She could simply turn around and ask him to unbutton her dress and allow things to continue as they would, aware that this time everything they did was allowed and sanctioned by society.

  ‘Mary?’ Silas pressed, sensing her hesitation as much as she did his eagerness to proceed.

  ‘I’m sorry, it’s been some time since I was last in a situation like this.’ She opened her hands to the room, feeling more as if she was flailing than anything else. How dirty that sentence made her sound, as if she was not good enough for a man like Silas. She twisted her hands in front of her, waiting for him to come to that realisation, too, to turn and leave her untouched, to send another letter to his man of affairs about getting him out of this mistake. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like a wanton woman.’

  She should keep her mouth shut and stop making it worse, but she couldn’t.

  ‘I’m not averse to a wanton wife.’ Silas set his hat on the chair and slipped out of his overcoat and jacket to reveal the waistcoat and white shirt underneath. He dressed well, but there was an ease to his attire, as if he simply purchased clothes, not fussed and fretted over them the way that Preston used to do. Still Mary could not turn around to reveal the buttons running down the length of her dress or allow him to undo them one by one and escort her to their wedding-night bed. He had to know the truth, to hear everything before it was too late. She never wanted him to feel trapped the way Preston had and have it eat at him until he wanted nothing more to do with her.

  ‘There were repercussions from my last...’ Mary stuttered, bracing herself for the glare her brother and father had fixed on her or for Silas to hang his head in disappointment the way her mother had when she’d realised that her daughter was not the Mary who’d left the house days before and that she would never be that woman again.

  ‘What happened to the child?’ There was no accusation in his voice as there had been with her father, simply a desire to know.

  ‘In the end there was no child. He walked away when it was clear there was nothing holding him to me any more.’ Mary twisted the wedding band on her finger, waiting for Silas to put his coat back on and tell her that this had all been a mistake. ‘I was young and stupid and I’ve paid the price many times over.’

  ‘As I told you in Baltimore, it’s the past and it doesn’t matter to me.’

  ‘But how can it not matter to you? The people who should have loved me the most willingly cast me aside because of what happened.’ The words slipped out before she could stop them, the way her pleas for Preston to stay beside her had followed him out of the room.

  Silas laid his hands on her upper arms, the weight of his touch soothing and warm and unnerving all at once. Despite what she’d revealed he was coming closer instead of running away and it frightened her. Their marriage was little more than a business transaction, yet she felt more intimate and vulnerable with him than she ever had with Preston. ‘This is your second chance, Mary. Don’t be afraid of it, but embrace it. Not everyone gets one of these.’

  The understanding in his words touched her, but she still couldn’t believe that somehow, especially while they were in England, her past wouldn’t reach out to strangle them both. Until that day, which she prayed would never come, she couldn’t let fear guide her. She had to join with him fully and believe that he would honour the promises that he’d made to her before the Justice of the Peace, to think as he did that this was her second chance and that she could make something of it and her time with him.

  Mary slowly turned around. ‘Please, help me off with my dress.’

  Without a word, Silas began to undo the buttons. Mary took a deep breath as he worked each ivory one
through the eyelets, the bodice along her shoulders and over her breasts loosening with each movement of his fingers. When at last she felt the fabric gape open, Silas took hold of the garment and slid it down her body to crumple on the floor at her feet. His warm breath caressed the back of the bare skin above her stocking as he held the dress for her to step out of it.

  She turned to face him and he laid the dress over the turned wood chair, never taking his eyes off her. She stood before him in her corset and chemise, facing him without shame. With deft fingers he unbuttoned his waistcoat and tossed it aside, then reached up to pull his shirt over his shoulders, revealing a wide expanse of chest tapering to a narrow waist covered by his trousers. His chest was solid and firm, the body of a man of action and energy and vision. Mary reached out to touch it, wanting this same spirit and possibility for herself.

  * * *

  The cool air of the room hit Silas’s bare skin as sharply as Mary’s gentle touch. It was cautious but admiring, giving her an innocence that life had stolen from her. He didn’t take her hand to stop her, but stood still while she traced the line of his shoulder and the bend of his arms. He watched her the entire time, the sight of her curving waist and hips hugged by the silk and cotton of her undergarments made her new dresses pale in comparison to her natural beauty.

  The heat of her touch began to singe and he wrapped his arms around her waist to lean forward and capture her lips, free to kiss her for as long as he wished tonight. With light hands she rested her fingers on his chest, moulding against him to accept his embrace and him. With his fingers, he began to undo her stays, pulling the long laces through the eyelets as his tongue caressed her lips. She opened her mouth to accept him, wrapping her arm around his neck while he continued to work the garment loose. Within moments, the whisper of the laces through the eyelets ended and the stays slipped away to join the dress on the chair beside them. He broke from their kiss to take hold of the chemise and draw it over her head. She didn’t resist, but raised her arms so that he could free the cotton from her body. He let out a long appreciative breath at the sight of her firm breasts above a flat stomach and rounded hips, the hint of blush colouring her creamy skin making him want to rush forward. Instead he held back, undoing his trousers and pushing them down over his hips to reveal his full desire for her. She didn’t shy away from the sight of him, nor did she apply any artful glances or come-hither looks the way the women he sometimes dallied with in Baltimore did. She wasn’t unfamiliar with a man’s attentions, but she wasn’t cunningly coy with them either, simply honest and open in her reactions.

  He picked her up, her body soft and supple against his as he carried her to the bed. He flung back the coverlet and laid her on the soft sheets before stretching out beside her to caress her full breasts before tracing a tender line across her stomach, over her hips and down her thighs. With his fingers he untied the garters holding up her stockings and pushed the silk netting over one curving calf and then the other, the thin material, still warm with her heat, caressing his palm before he dropped them to the floor.

  Stretched out beside him, she pressed herself against him, her breasts firm against his chest, her stomach warm against his member. She didn’t lie passively waiting for him to lead her, but drank in his caresses, delighting in his touch and his attention as much as he did her presence. When he’d seen her on the dock in Liverpool when she should have been thousands of miles away, he’d been as excited as he’d been startled. The long nights aboard the ship, especially when the storm had delayed them, had increased his anxiety over his family. There’d been no one to share his worries with except Tibbs, who’d listened with a servant’s deference, unable to truly understand Silas’s fears. Mary, despite the short time they’d known one another, understood him in a way that no one had before. That, more than the feel of her body beneath his as he slid on top of her and she welcomed him, increased the connection that had been growing steadily between them ever since the Christmastime Ball. Never had he felt so close to someone in so short an amount of time, and while this in many ways made him wish to hold back, he didn’t, deepening the bond between them more than the Justice of the Peace ever could have.

  * * *

  Mary clung to Silas as the two of them became one, his caresses slow and leading, not demanding and hurried. This was a true joining of their bodies and their lives, not the slackening of lust or the thrill of something forbidden. Shame played no part in her eagerness to surrender to him. What they were doing wasn’t wrong and she followed his gentle movements, giving herself to him completely. The small fear of what might come of this lovemaking played in the back of her mind, but the slow and easy way he drove them both towards their pleasure pushed it away. Whatever came was a concern for another day, she was with Silas here in the present and as they cried out together she clung to him, not wanting to be anywhere else.

  * * *

  Silas lay with Mary in the crook of his arm. The coals in the stove burned orange from behind the wrought-iron grate, the hustling sounds of the hotel outside their door having settled into the quiet of night. They would have to make an early start of it and still Silas couldn’t close his eyes and give in to the exhaustion making his muscles ache. There was too much on his mind, there had been since he’d boarded the ship in Baltimore. He shouldn’t trouble Mary with it, but as he stared up at the small cracks in the plaster ceiling that seemed to deepen with the increasing shadows he couldn’t keep silent.

  ‘I never should’ve allowed it to get to this point. I was so busy with the foundry, I left it to others to manage the accounts and they failed. I failed my family.’ Again. His father would be disappointed at Silas coming home only when there was a problem instead of having been there all along.

  ‘You didn’t fail. It simply happened and you’re here to fix it.’ Mary turned over on her stomach and rested her hands on his chest. The pins from her hair had come loose and her curls draped over her bare shoulders. ‘The distance can be a comfort sometimes, but it can also create problems by delaying letters from loved ones and such.’

  Distance. He’d placed a great deal of it between himself and the Foundation years ago and he’d struggled to close it over the last two weeks. Tonight, it felt even wider than before. ‘Sometimes I regret going to America, of leaving them behind instead of taking over the way my father hoped I would.’

  ‘But what would you have gained if you’d stayed here? You’d have made others happy while you were miserable. You would have been struggling instead of earning a living and having money to send to your sisters. They’re able to do the work they do because of your work in America. That never would have happened if you hadn’t left.’

  ‘Writing a cheque isn’t enough, I’ve seen the great men and their wives do that for the Foundation, handing money out because that’s the easiest way to clear your conscience, but it doesn’t clear your conscience. My father died believing that I’d be there to take his place, to carry on his work, but I couldn’t do it. It wasn’t the life I wanted, struggling to pay bills, relying on others to survive, never sure if there would be enough money for clothes and food, much less the women in need. During the few Christmases we spent at Lady Alexandra’s country house, I used to pretend that all her fine things and the servants and the grand rooms were mine. I wanted them more than my stark bedroom and the darkness, troubles and cruelty of London. My father tried to shame that desire out of me, but he couldn’t. He was afraid my need for success would corrupt me the way it had my grandfather. He couldn’t see past his fears to realise that I was nothing like the earl.’ Silas’s grandfather had built his wealth off the slave trade and his father had spent his life trying to atone for sins he hadn’t committed. What was Silas trying to atone for?

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with wanting nice things, especially when you’ve gained them through your own hard work.’

  ‘My father used to say it was off the sweat of other’s labours.’


  ‘Labourers who wouldn’t have work if it wasn’t for you, who wouldn’t be able to feed their families or provide for those they love. You share your prosperity instead of clinging to it like some miser the way my father used to do. He had the grand house and the income, but he never gave a servant more wages than he had to or took care of the sick and elderly ones without grumbling or finding some way to foist them on to the parish poor relief. It takes men of vision who are willing to risk everything they have and their futures to create work for others. There’s great value in that.’

  In America, in his machine shop surrounded by workers and possibilities, it was easy to see that she was right. In the darkness of an English night it was much more difficult. He hugged Mary tighter and pressed a tender kiss to her temple, thankful for her presence and her reassurances. In all the years of his life, there’d been few people who’d ever really believed in the value of his dreams. It wasn’t until he’d met Richard and saw his plans for the railroad, the innovations and schematics, that something more than dreams had truly resonated with Silas. Everything he’d done with Richard had been exciting and for the first time he’d made plans instead of blindly following the plans of others. That life was thousands of miles away. Now he’d have to face up to it and the mistakes he’d left behind. ‘It’s time to sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.’

  Mary didn’t argue, but snuggled down beside him, her breathing becoming slow and steady as she drifted off to sleep. Silas continued to stare at the ceiling and the deepening shadows in the cracks. He was a liar. He’d told Mary their pasts didn’t matter and couldn’t bother them, and hers didn’t, not to him, but his did. He hadn’t shared with Mary how he’d left for America without telling his mother, sending her a letter with his poor explanations for why he’d left. He’d apologised in that letter and many others to his mother for his decisions. He had yet to discover if he had ever been forgiven.