Authors: Samantha Holt
“Ellie—”
“I do appreciate you asking,
Lucian.” She stood and he saw the way her hands shook. “I certainly never
expected as much from you, but I...I must think this over.”
“If you wanted to say yes,
you would have said it.” Lucian winced at his bitter tone and grew aware he was
lashing out in defence. How could he stand to wait for an answer? Better she
just tell him no and let him get over it.
“I...maybe you’re right.”
No. No he was not right. He
was a fool. The urge to grab her and shake her and tell her not to listen to
him or even to kiss her into submission until she had no choice but to say yes,
burned like hot coals in his chest, but instead he sat and waited.
“I thought as much. Forgive
me for asking. The ramblings of a fool.”
Any remaining light in her
eyes dimmed and her shoulders drooped. “I am going to return to the hotel,” she
said softly. “If you could have the books sent to my room, I shall look over
them as promised.”
Before he could utter
anything else, she turned and fled. The slamming of the door reverberated
through him, working into the cracks of his heart and making him feel as though
it had shattered to a thousand—or even a million—pieces. He eyed the picnic she
had left behind and dropped his forehead to the table. What a heel he was. He
had ruined everything and lost the woman he...
Did he really? He nodded to
himself with grim realisation. He loved little Ellie Browning. He worshipped
Countess Eleanor. He could not live without his sweet Ellie and he had ruined
everything. As usual.
The Problem with Politeness
Eleanor clutched her grumbling stomach and silently told
it to shush while she weaved through the busy street. Goodness, she had been in
such a hurry to leave, she had not even finished her meal. But the grumbling
was more likely from the empty ache inside that Lucian’s words had left.
The ramblings of a fool...
It was market day in
Bellmont Street and the stalls were set all along the road with baskets of
their wares spilling out further onto the cobbles so that only a thin strip of
pedestrians could slip past. Stall holders shouted out the prices of their
wares and how good a deal they were, but none would grab her attention today.
If Lucian knew she was
walking back to the hotel, he would threaten to put her over his knee. Or
perhaps he would not. He did not seem to care what she did now. How had things
gone from a marriage proposal to her leaving so quickly? Dampness trickled down
her cheeks and she swiped a tear away. She was crying? She never did that in
public. Never.
Whatever did he mean by the
ramblings of a fool? Were all his words to be considered that and therefore she
should forget everything he had said to her? Including words of her beauty or
of how he regretted hurting her seven years ago?
Eleanor drew in a heavy
breath and clutched her shawl around her shoulders as she dodged an errant
apple that seemed to be making a leisurely journey down the uneven cobbles.
Through blurred vision, she
eyed the stalls with their faded canopies of various colours—yellows, reds and
greys. She passed a man selling chickens tucked away in big baskets and they
all seemed to take a disliking to her, squawking as she strode past. Perhaps
they too were admonishing her for being asinine.
Yes
,
she had wanted to scream.
Yes, I’ll marry you
. If she had spilled out
those words quickly enough would he not have changed his mind? Would they now
be celebrating their engagement? But that was little Ellie Browning speaking.
This was the fairy tale ending she wanted, but what of the countess? She had
left impulsive behaviour behind long ago. Every movement should be carefully
considered—certainly one as big as marriage.
Though Eleanor admitted
little of what she had done with Lucian had been carefully considered. Emotion
and passion had driven her there. However, a few nights of shared passion were
hardly likely to impact the rest of her life. Marriage to a rake would though.
A drop splashed her cheek.
“Stop crying, Eleanor,” she muttered to herself.
Except she was not crying,
though tears still welled in her eyes. Several more drops informed her it had
started to rain and soon the cobbles were wet and shiny and her thin shawl
soaked through. She hurried her pace and fought a shiver.
“I say,” someone declared as
she came free of the bustle of the market and stepped onto the pavement.
“Forgive me.” She lifted her
gaze only briefly to see Mr Newcombe smiling down at her.
“Lady Hawthorne. How do you
do?”
“Oh, Mr Newcombe. I am
well.” She forced a smile.
“A little wet though.”
“Yes, yes, I suppose I am.”
“Are you here alone?”
Eleanor peered up at the
gentleman. In a thick coat and with his tall hat on, he had a much better
chance of staying dry. She did not wish to be rude and tell him she really must
hurry before she became ill, however, so she tolerated his conversation. She
had not had much occasion to speak with him at the dinner party though he had
seemed courteous and harmless enough. He was pleasant looking with carefully
styled fair hair and a thick moustache that moved when he spoke. Had she been
in a better mood, she might have found it amusing.
“Yes, I’m just walking to my
hotel.”
“Are you staying at The
Grange?”
He touched her elbow
lightly to move her out of the path of more people hurrying by and they stood
under the awning out of the rain. Puddles were growing steadily on the cobbles
and Eleanor bit back a sigh of impatience. Any longer delay and she would be
wading to the hotel.
“Yes, how did you know?”
“It’s not often we have a
lady of your importance in town. You have drawn some attention, I am afraid to say.”
He glanced out from under the canopy. “I fear this rain shall not let up, can I
escort you to the hotel? I have my trusty umbrella as you can see.” He motioned
with his folded umbrella.
All she longed to do was
return to the room, have a cup of tea and curl up and cry. The sooner she could
do that the better. She nodded wearily. “Yes, thank you.”
Mr Newcombe offered her his
arm and she took it, wary of appearing impolite. Being tucked into the side of
a man she barely knew did not appeal but if he was friends with Lucian, she
knew he could be trusted. He flicked up his umbrella and offered her a smile.
“Have you come from the
mill?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“You have taken a great
interest in the world of cotton, my lady. I don’t know many ladies who would
find it so fascinating.”
“Well, I am sure many ladies
do not own part of a cotton mill.” She hoped she did not sound as snippy as she
felt.
He chuckled and led her down
the narrow alleyway that led out onto the main street on which the hotel stood.
Thank goodness. She could not wait to be in her own company and think through
the day’s occurrences so far.
“You are very right, though
I am sure not many mill owners would let you have such a hand. I have heard
Rushbourne has you doing his accounts or some such.”
“You have heard much about
me it seems?”
“As I said, the town is
awash with the news of your presence here, Lady Hawthorne. I suspect they have
hopes of an impending marriage.”
“They do?”
“Forgive me, but
Rushbourne’s interest in you has not gone unnoticed, even to myself and you
know men are terrible at understanding the complexities of courtship. Of course
with the mill’s financial troubles, I believe Rushbourne has been considering
the benefits of having a wife more and more now. Not, of course, that he is
interested in you for financial reasons...of course not, you are a fine lady,
and I am sure he would not care if you did not have a penny.”
Coldness washed over her and
it had nothing to do with her wet garments, but she kept her gaze ahead. She
began to move more quickly as the front of the hotel came into view. Mr
Newcombe was forced to move with her and as they crossed the busy road and
watched for carriages, so too was the conversation forced to an end. Eleanor
could only be grateful. Did Lucian see her as a way to put an end to the mill’s
troubles?
He stopped outside the
hotel. “Well, here we are. Safe but not quite dry I fear.”
Eleanor disengaged her arm
from him. “No, but I shall get dry soon enough. Thank you for your assistance,
Mr Newcombe.”
“Not at all. Always happy to
be of service.” He touched the brim of his hat. “I hope we shall see you at
another dinner soon. It was a mighty relief to have the company of a fine lady
the other night. We are not usually given to barbaric behaviour, let me assure
you.”
“There was only one
gentleman behaving poorly I am afraid, but I shall be returning to the country
soon enough. I have been away too long as it is.”
“Yes, well, Rushbourne has
much on his mind I am sure. Such is the state of cotton right now.”
She gave him a tight smile.
“I am sure you are right. Good day, Mr Newcombe.”
“Good day, Lady Hawthorne.”
With another touch to his hat, he strode off at a leisurely pace.
Eleanor eyed his back for a
while. For a gentleman she barely knew, he had been quite talkative and his
implications... Did people know of her affair with Lucian? And the mention of
money. It really was a vulgar topic and she did not think Mr Newcombe was of
ill breeding. Why suggest Lucian was interested in her for money?
She strode up to her room
and rang for Maggie who helped her strip out of her clothes. The maid tutted
and chatted away about her morning but Eleanor couldn’t bring herself to
respond. She sat like a rag doll as Mary rubbed her down with a towel and tried
not to remember when Lucian had done the same. When she was finally in a new
gown and her hair was fixed and mostly dry, she dismissed the maid. Maggie gave
her a look of concern but clearly knew her mistress better than to question her
mood.
Eleanor slumped onto her bed
and fingered the dark fabric of the gown. She had been wearing this one when
she had first met Lucian again. How long ago that seemed, yet it was only
months. Was it possible he could have fallen for her in that time? He had not
spoken of love. Was his offer some misguided notion of right? He had called
what they had sordid. Not to mention, people thought he was interested in her
for her money.
But, no, that could not be
right. He had spent half his time trying to force her away. If he had planned on
seducing her, he had done a terrible job of it and he would not have thrown
away the idea of marriage so easily.
Fresh tears singed her eyes.
She had ruined everything by being reluctant and now he did not want her.
Any Excuse
The records arrived at the hotel two days later, just
after lunchtime. Eleanor had not even eaten yet and her stomach grumbled as the
carriage driver and footman brought in the books with quiet efficiency, but she
struggled to make herself eat. Two days hidden away in her room, replaying
every moment with Lucian in her mind and questioning why she had not said yes
and been done with it had sapped any appetite. Maggie clasped her hands and
eyed Eleanor while she directed Lucian’s men to stack the books by the desk
near the window.
They had been
instructed to bring them here by Lucian, apparently, and when she was done, she
was to send a message to the mill. He would send men to collect them.
Thus ensuring she did not
see him again. Did he not want to see her? The unresolved ache burning in her
chest begged her to go to him and say all the things she had left unsaid.
Like...like what? Like why suggest marriage only to snatch the chance away from
her? And why did he listen to a fool like her and not try to persuade her
otherwise? Or at least give her the time to think on the matter and come up
with only one conclusion. She wanted Lucian, flaws and all.
Oh, so much was uncertain,
that was for sure. Lucian could be a frustrating and ill-tempered man, but he was
also affectionate and humorous. How many times had they climbed into bed
together and ended up laughing? And he made her think she might possibly be
beautiful. No one else had managed that. Now when she peered into the mirror,
she saw only grim lines of tension and her too straight eyebrows surrounding
dull eyes. If she did have beauty, it was only when Lucian was around.
She pressed coins into the
men’s hands and sent them on their way when they were done. Hands on her hips,
she eyed the spines of the books and selected several for comparison, then
pulled out her notes on the recent records. She knew what she was looking for
but finding it might not prove easy.
“Can I help, my lady?”
Maggie asked.
Thankful for her maid’s
excellent reading skills, Eleanor nodded. “If you will.” She picked up three
books and handed them over. “I am looking for any invoices from Fairport
Shipping Ltd. Once you see an invoice number and a date, note them down. Why do
you not work from the dressing table and I shall work here?”
Maggie nodded and settled
herself with the three books. They spent the next several hours poring over the
books, only breaking for tea and a few sandwiches— though Eleanor left most of
hers. She was close, so close to the answers. If she could do nothing for
Lucian, if he really wanted nothing from her, she could at least help him save
the mill. He deserved that much.
A hand to the back of her
neck, she rolled her aching muscles and stopped to eye her notes. Her fingers
were covered in ink blotches and even her gown had suffered, but then she had
never been the neatest writer, much to her governesses’ chagrin.
Eleanor stood and stretched
her arms before coming to Maggie’s side and peering over her shoulder. “How are
you doing?”
“I think my eyes are crossed,
my lady.”
Eleanor laughed. “As are
mine. May I have a look?”
“Of course.” The maid handed
over the paper.
Casting her gaze over them,
Eleanor nodded to herself. It was coming together. She snatched up her own
notes from her time at the mill. Her heart skipped a little and she could not
help but grin. She felt like a great detective who had unravelled a mystery.
Would Lucian be proud? Grateful? Grateful enough to take her back into his bed
and then...maybe offer for her hand again? Perhaps not, but honestly she would
take just being his lover if that was all he could give.
“What is it, my lady?”
“I need to check with Lord
Rushbourne, but there are differences in these amounts and yet they are the
same order. I think the mill is being invoiced more than the original quotes
and the amounts appear to be increasing. So the projected costings are wrong.
They’re working off the wrong numbers.” She pressed two fingers to her
forehead. “At least I believe so.”
“You’ve lost me there, I’m
afraid, my lady.”
“I am a little lost myself.
I am not sure the effect this has on the mill, but I would guess if their
estimates are off and the running costs are up, it cannot be a good one.” She
glanced around for her bonnet and snatched it from the hat stand. “I must go to
him.”
“Give me a moment, I shall
accompany you.” Maggie stood and glanced out of the window. “It is growing
dark.”
“No, you stay here,” Eleanor
said hastily. “It is growing cold and...and I need you to have my evening gown
pressed.”
It was a terrible excuse and
Maggie raised one eyebrow, likely able to see right through her. But she wanted
to be alone with Lucian. Likely nothing would come of it, but Lord, she would
seduce him if she had to. She needed him that badly. The mere thought of seeing
him again, of running her gaze over his trim waist and studying those broad
shoulders while he peered at her from under the brim of his hat made her heart
do a small dance of excitement.
“I shall take a carriage.
I’m not sure where he will be at this time of day anyway.” She swung a glance
at the clock and saw it was past finishing time for the mill, but knowing
Lucian, he might still be there.
“I don’t like the thought of
you out there alone, my lady.”
“I have walked these streets
several times alone now, Maggie, and as I said, I shall take a carriage, so I
shall not be alone.”
“Well, I know it is useless
arguing with you, but please be careful.”
The maid passed over her
shawl but Eleanor waved it away. Her purple jacket was warm enough and she
wanted nothing hindering her in her haste to see Lucian. Knowing her luck, it
would catch in the carriage door or some such other ridiculous scenario and she
would have nothing coming between her and Lucian.
A tiny smile thread across
her lips and she pressed two fingers to her mouth. Was she foolish to imagine
he might want her back? Probably, but she had to hold onto hope. Little Ellie
Browning had once hoped when all seemed bleak. Little Ellie had been quite the
happy person, in spite of everything, until duty and reality had struck. It
would be nice to enjoy the luxury of indulging in dreams for a change.
The hotel arranged a
carriage with haste for her and she opted to travel to the mill first. In all
likelihood, that was where Lucian was. Nervous tension threaded through her
making her limbs feel soft and useless. Chances were, when she got out of the
carriage, her feet would give way and she would tumble onto the damp cobbles in
the most unladylike manner, but if she had to crawl on her hands and knees to
Lucian, she would.
Each rattle and clank of the
carriage across the cobbles increased her apprehension until the paper
documenting her discoveries was crumpled into a tight ball.
“Dash it all.” She unscrewed
it and spread it out over her lap.
The supplier was Mr
Newcombe’s company. Was it a deliberate act on his behalf? She scowled. Surely
not? How would he benefit from the mill closing? He would lose a valuable
customer. It had to be someone in Lucian’s office. Embezzlement perhaps? She
shrugged to herself. As much as she might have a head for numbers, she had
little idea how business worked. Her own business dealings were heavily managed
by her lawyers.
They made good time and the roads
were clear given the time of day. The street lamps were being lit and a cold
sheen from the night sky reflected off the damp cobbles. Windows glowed and
smoke scented the air. She climbed out of the carriage with the aid of one of
the footman and instructed them to wait outside the gates for her.
The mill gate was unlocked,
but she saw no glow of oil lamps from the office. There was however, a faint
glow in the mill itself. He had to be in there.
Breath held, she made her
way across the courtyard and pressed open the door. The silence deafened and
sent a shiver up her spine. To see the machinery so still and with no cotton
filling the air like little puffs of cloud made her skin prick. She sniffed,
becoming aware of an odour.
Smoke. And it was strong,
not like that of the smoke from the chimneys. With no lamps lit, she could not
see where it was coming from or even if it was visible in the air, but she
headed towards the glow at the rear of the room, her stomach weighted down like
lead.
Eleanor inched forwards and
heard a pop. When she turned the corner, heat touched her skin and she jumped
back. Eyes wide, she pressed a hand to her mouth.
“Good God.”
The cotton bales were
alight, and the fire had already licked up the wooden steps to the gallery that
spanned the tall room. Her eyes watered as smoke clouded her vision and the
orange glow increased.
She glanced around for a
sand bucket or some water or something, but the rest of the room remained dark
and now she had been staring at the flames she could not penetrate it. She tore
at the buttons of her jacket and flung it over the nearest flames but the brief
moment of victory was fleeting as the flames did not snuff out and merely set
alight to her jacket too.
She could not let the mill
burn. Lucian would be devastated. She must do something.
Fumbling around the machines
in the dark, she searched for something to douse the fire. When she snuck a
glance over her shoulder, she saw the flames had swallowed the steps and were
licking along the gallery. Lord, the flames were consuming the place. What
could she do? The driver would surely see them and call the fire brigade but
who knew how long they would take to get here?
Eleanor coughed and clapped
a hand over her mouth as smoke scorched her lungs. Using her hands to guide
her, she followed the edge of the room until her shin connected with something.
She dropped a hand down and it came up wet.
“Oh, thank the Lord.”
Finding the handle, she
lifted the heavy bucket and moved as swiftly as possible to the bales that were
all but gone under the flames. With one mighty throw, she flung the contents of
the bucket over the flames. They spluttered and hissed and went out. But as she
dropped the bucket and it clattered to the floor, she realised how futile her act
was. There was no way of fighting the flames that had spread across much of the
building like a wild, spitting orange monster. The heat made her skin damp and
the smoke in her chest became unbearable. She bent double to cough and it
seemed she might cough forever. It was no good. She could not save Lucian’s
mill. She would have to get out—and fast.
A crack sounded and she
squeaked as what used to be the stairs crumbled. Wood splintered and half the
gallery gave way. A beam tumbled down. She watched in horror as a support hung
suspended at an odd angle for a moment before the flames ate through it. The
crash was deafening and sent her tumbling back so as to dodge the burning wood.
Eleanor’s foot caught on her
skirt as she went. Pain burst through her skull. She had the briefest moment to
realise she had struck her head on one of the looms before collapsing.