Authors: Samantha Holt
The crenellations were for
show, not defence and the windows were wide, unlike that of the old tower, but
from a distance it still reminded him of an old fortress. He wouldn’t be adding
anything to it in his time, sadly, not that he needed the space, but it had
become something of a tradition to add that little personal touch each
generation.
Unfortunately simply keeping
the place from crumbling was expensive enough. Perhaps his cousin would do
something to it. He was a staid, steady type, who would likely have better
control of finances than Lucian did—or at least had. He had learned quickly how
and where to make savings after the fire. His skin prickled at the remembrance
of heat.
A gloved hand rested briefly
on his wrist.
“I was sorry to hear of your
father. He was a good man. I should have liked to have been there for his
funeral.”
“Thank you,” he replied
solemnly.
His father, the late
viscount, had been dead for two years now and he was used to accepting peoples’
sympathies. Everyone had loved his father. He was one of the better ones,
Lucian had to admit. He suspected his rakish ways had always disappointed him
slightly. How would he feel about his son now? He couldn’t be further from a
rake nowadays.
He coughed to clear the
tightness from his throat. “You were in India at the time?”
“No, Egypt.”
“Egypt! Pray tell what the
earl found of interest in Egypt? It hardly seems the sort of place to drag a
well-bred lady and he was hardly young.”
“I was not dragged. I
enjoyed our travels very much and Edward had a lot of energy for an elderly
gentleman.”
Lucian scowled and tried not
think how he might have used his energies. He shuddered.
“We were there to look at a
scarab.”
“A bug? You travelled to
Egypt for a bug?”
“Well, and I longed to see
the pyramids. It’s a fascinating country, I can assure you. Sadly our trip was
cut short by Edward’s declining health and we came back to Europe.”
“Ah,
oui, Paris
. I
forgot my mother mentioned you had settled there. Why come back to drab old
England?”
“It is my home,” she said
with a barely suppressed sigh. “How is your mother?” she asked, her voice
becoming overly bright. “Is she well?”
“Well indeed. She is
married.”
“I had heard. Mama wrote to
me and told me all. I suppose it was quite quick but I don’t see the harm if
she is happy.”
“She is,” he confirmed.
He too had been surprised at
the engagement of his mother only three months after coming out of mourning but
he never doubted she loved his father. His mother was the sort of woman who
needed a man at all times, and he was grateful she had managed to find another
one for her to cling onto. As much as he loved her, he didn’t wish to be that
man.
“She still lives in
Yorkshire?”
Lucian tried not to roll his
eyes. He tried not to groan. He failed on both parts and she probably noticed
if the stiffening of her shoulders were anything to go by. From the corner of
his eye he saw her turn wooden. He found himself innately aware of each
movement of hers. But, damnation, did she not realise from his short answers he
hated small talk. He’d never enjoyed it during his years in London and he
certainly didn’t relish it now he was away from all that and out of practice.
The men at the inn had no
use for small talk and nor did his factory workers or those he paid to run it
so that was where he divided his time. If they found their owner’s interference
annoying, none had the gall to say as much. Most men preferred to leave it in
their foreman’s hands, but heck, he needed something to keep him occupied if he
was not lauding it up with high society in the dales.
“Yes, she still lives in
Yorkshire, though she spends much time in Lancashire on the coast these days.
She is in Blackpool at present.”
“Oh, I hear they are
building a promenade there now.”
He nodded. “It is quite the
up and coming place, I hear.”
“You have not been there
yourself?”
Lucian tried not to smirk.
As if he had the time or the inclination. Did she not see the scars on his
face? Who would want to promenade along the seaside and garner stares from
every direction? Not him, to be sure.
“No. I’ve been busy.”
He released a long breath as
he directed the horses up the long private road towards the house. There was no
gate marking the entrance to the front, only two tall brick pillars. His stable
hands must have seen him coming down the drive as they were ready to take the
horses and put the carriage away before he had even stepped from it.
Lucian held out a hand to
Ellie and kept his face expressionless when she slipped her fingers into his.
He released her hand as soon as humanly possible before striding up the steep
set of stairs into the entrance hall. Though the house was modelled on a
medieval abode on the outside, inside it was every inch a fine, modern home
with marvelled pillars, and black and white tiled floors.
He paused to signal to a
nearby maid to bring drinks. He didn’t need to say anything—his staff knew what
was expected of them. He had a strong routine though his early return and being
accompanied by a lady no doubt would give them all something to gossip about.
He even caught the maid’s quick glance at Ellie as his guest paused to view the
bust of his father set into a recess at the back of the room.
With the light streaming in
through the front door and highlighting the side of her face, he realised just
how much little Ellie Browning had grown. He’d been thrown off by those young
eyes and innocent features, but her posture and elegance told him much of the
change in her. Seven years ago she had been as awkward as a new-born lamb with
no posture to speak of.
The image was spoiled when
she turned and her hat spilled from her head. She snatched it up and shoved
some of those loose curls from her face. Perhaps not everything had changed,
though, if he thought about it, she was a darned sight more pleasing to look
at. Not a beauty however, he reminded himself sharply.
“Will you come into the
drawing room?”
“Certainly.”
She followed him in a regal
manner but he saw the dark spots staining her cheeks and knew the hat incident
had cost her. She eyed him as if waiting for him to comment on the faux pas.
Perhaps her stuffy old husband had scolded her for any clumsiness. Poor girl.
She hadn’t even been eighteen when she had married the old codger.
But what did he care?
Oh, yes, he didn’t,
remember?
He indicated to a seat and
went to stand by the window. He waited until she had sat before turning to face
her. “Now, Ellie, what is it you want and why have you been so eager to see me
that you would risk being robbed and Lord knows what else? I hope it is a good
reason indeed.”
Tea for Two
Eleanor peered up at him, noting the dip between his
brows as if he was indeed very angry with her. Perhaps he was, though why he
should care what happened to her person, she did not know. Likely it was her
intrusion on his time that annoyed him most. Mama had said that Lord Rushbourne
was rarely seen outside of his mills in the next county and his home.
Why the sudden dislike of
society though? The Lucian she had known relished spending time at parties and
balls. She had realised rather too late that it was so he could get foxed and
find some enjoyable company. She, in her foolishness, had thought him a great
deal of fun and had even harboured hopes he came to see her. After all, their
families had known one another for years. The match had been in her mind long
before she had even thought of Lucian as anything other than a friend.
“If you had read my letters,
you would know why I wished to speak with you,” she replied, trying to keep her
voice steady.
It was hard in the presence
of such a man. He had a way of looking at her that made her feel small and
silly. It didn’t help that she had fallen into his arms twice now and had
embarrassed herself with her ridiculous hat and hair.
It had been seven years
since she had seen Lucian and he was still as handsome as ever. Not even the
raised, red scar on the side of his face detracted from that. Time had done him
many favours. The tiny lines knitting his brow removed any suggestion of the
boyish demeanour he’d once had and she spotted a few silver threads in the dark
brown hair at his temples. With his dark brows, long lashes and glinting green
eyes, there was no mistaking Lucian for anything other than a thoroughly
handsome man.
One way above her reach. She
laughed inwardly. That scar likely worked in his favour, garnering many a
sympathetic touch from ladies. She wished her mama had told her the accident
had scarred him though. It had taken her by surprise.
“Well, I did not read your
letters so you shall have to tell me yourself.”
Eleanor smiled her thanks to
the maid who poured the tea in front of her and desperately hoped Lucian would
sit on one of the pale blue chairs in the centre of the room. He was some
distance from her, with his hands clasped behind his back, yet having him
standing made her stomach churn with apprehension. She would feel much more
confident if he would but sit.
Maybe he found her
repellent. He had made that clear once before. She tried her hardest to be
beautiful. Copious amounts of sunshine and lemon juice had improved her hair
and complexion, but what was a woman to do about one’s features? That might
explain his eagerness to keep his distance.
Filling her lungs, she
ignored the tea on the gilded table and secured her gaze on the portrait of the
late viscount. She had visited Balmead Manor many times during her childhood
and nothing had changed. Strange, for she had always expected Lucian to
modernise the old house almost as soon as he’d inherited the title, but it
seemed he had done nothing to it yet.
“I wish to speak of my
shares in your mill in Lancashire. As you may have heard, my late husband
signed over his un-entailed estates and fortune to me. That included any
business arrangements and stocks.” Eleanor clenched her hands together, aware
of the slight tremble in them. “Lord Rushbourne, I wish to have a hand in the
mill.”
He stared at her for several
long moments, his lashes lowering and lifting quickly in surprise. A short
burst of laughter came from him and she felt heat surge into her cheeks.
“Forgive me. You wish to
come and work for me? Operate the machinery perhaps?”
“No! In the running of it, I
mean.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
The words were sharp and
quick, like a gunshot. Suddenly, she was seventeen again and being told her girlish
dreams were ludicrous and no man like Lucian could ever want her. Or she was
nine and her governess, Miss Pettigrew, was scolding her for staring out the
window and dreaming of great adventures. The tired voice of her governess ran
through her head. Well-bred girls did not run off on adventures and why could
she not be more refined? Why did she have to be so awkward? Miss Pettigrew was
sure she would never marry well, she had warned Eleanor’s mother, for who would
want to marry such an uncouth girl?
“I have no intention of
interfering as such but my lawyers tell me the mill’s profits are dropping and
I should like to come and see it for myself.”
He strode over and paused by
the chair opposite. Eleanor had to lift her chin to view him. His lips had twisted
and his handsome features grew bitter. “You have come to laud it over me, I
suppose. Here you are, a wealthy, beautiful countess, and here I am, a mere
viscount with a failing business. You have seen exotic creatures and far off
lands, while I have been fighting to save what’s left of my father’s legacy. I
breathe in the thick smoke of Caldton, while you enjoy the fresh air of
Paris
or some other far flung place that no one in their right mind would want to
visit.”
The verbal attack might have
sent her reeling had it not been for the plush cushions supporting her back.
Such anger. Where did it come from? She didn’t think she had said or done
anything offensive. Was it so far-fetched that someone whose money was tied up
in a business should want to see that it was being invested well? Would he even
be questioning such a demand if she were a man?
And he had called her
beautiful.
Eleanor quickly shoved that
aside. She was not beautiful. All the make-up and fine clothing in the world
could not change that. Acceptable, yes, maybe even interesting to look at in
certain lights and outfits, but beautiful? No.
“I certainly have no
intention of lauding it over you, Lucian.” She tried his name on her tongue and
found it soft and pleasing. Ever since that night she had forced herself to
think of him as a stranger and no longer a friend, but saying his name did not
pain her as much as she thought it might. “I am aware that not many women are
as lucky as I am to have had a generous husband and that you might believe me
to be interfering in your affairs, but, nevertheless, a great deal of my money
is now invested in your mill and I should like to see it do well.”
Lucian shoved a hand through
his hair, making it mussed, and gripped the back of the chair. The dark brown
locks had a slight curl to them and she considered that this might have been
what the gossips referred to when they spoke of looking like one had just
climbed out of bed after a tupping. It was a dangerous and all too appealing
look.
“Forgive me, Ellie, I did
not mean to insult. Please let me assure you that your money is in good hands.
It is in all of our interests for the mill to do well and I have little
intention of letting it close.”
His apology felt empty, as
if he were speaking to appease her. Perhaps he was used to using such words to
appease creditors. From what little she had found out of the cotton industry,
it had been a rough year.
“The price of cotton
continues to drop, does it not?”
His brows lifted and he
nodded. He sat in one swift movement, like a lithe cat, and Eleanor envied his
elegance and ease. She found herself trying to press back against the padding
of the chair to create more distance between them, even though there were
several paces and a table between them.
“The Americans are selling
it far cheaper than we ever can and though we have upgraded to new machinery,
the upsurge in production all across the country has dropped prices far quicker
than we imagined.” He leaned forwards, his elbows on his knees and eyed her
closely. “I shall prevail.”
“I do not doubt it.” Her
voice came out thin. Not that she did doubt him, but the way he locked that
green gaze on her sucked the air from her lungs.
Lucian eyed her for a few breaths
before leaning back against the chair, the epitome of a rake once more. The
intensity was gone, replaced with a lazy look to his expression. His hooded
eyes and sprawled arms spoke of a man with no worries—the man she had once
known—yet only moments ago she’d seen the concern and the determination in his
expression. Seven years, it seemed, had wrought many changes in Lord
Rushbourne.
“Then you do not need to
fear, my lady. I shall continue to turn a profit and fill your coffers. We must
simply suffer this lean year and we shall come out stronger than ever at the
end.”
His indolent smile did not
fool her. She had spent years watching from afar as a girl. She knew every
expression of his, apart from, perhaps, the grave worried one he had worn only
moments before. So when worry haunted his eyes, she saw it.
“I should still like to
visit the mill and see your ledgers.”
“And what shall you do with
these ledgers? Do you believe me guilty of pocketing the profits, perhaps?”
“Of course not! Believe it
or not, my lord, I have quite a head for figures. Edward allowed me to have
quite a hand in his financial dealings and I have learned much since I
inherited.”
“Little Ellie Browning
pouring over ledgers,” he mused and his lips lifted at both corners.
“I am not Ellie Browning,”
she snapped. “I am Lady Eleanor Sedgewick, Countess of Hawthorne, and I have no
wish to be referred to as anything else.”
“Very well, Lady Eleanor
Sedgewick, Countess of Hawthorne,” he said with a sardonic grin. “I shall have
my advisor send some of this year’s ledgers. How about that?”
Eleanor narrowed her gaze at
him. Somehow she suspected the ledgers would never arrive or they would be
incomplete, or perhaps they would be lost on their journey to Broadstone Hall.
“I still wish to come to Lancashire and visit the mill.”
“Have you ever been to a
cotton mill?”
“N-no.”
“They are dusty, noisy
places. Smoke fills the air in Caldton and people live in close quarters.
Neither the mill nor the town are suited to a lady such as yourself. Why do you
not stay out here in the country where you would be more comfortable?”
“Lord Rushbourne, I have
travelled far and wide. I have slept on floors and shared transportation with
the poorest people. I have camped in the dessert and survived the worst
weather. A little smoke and dust cannot scare me.”
Eleanor fought to keep a
smug smile from her face. There, let him tell her what a delicate thing she was
and how she should stay secluded away, wiling away her days with nothing but
embroidery and womanly pursuits.
“Ellie...” He sighed. “What
will it take to appease you?”
“A visit to the mill, that
is all I ask.”
“Why do I suspect that will
not be where it ends?”
“Because you have fine
instincts, my lord. You always did have.”
Lucian gave her a rueful
smile. “I once had. I’m not sure I can claim the same anymore.” He rose before
she could question the statement, forcing her to follow suit. “I shall make
arrangements and be in touch.”
“You will not forget?”
He skimmed his gaze over
her, making her body feel warm and prickly. “Ellie, how could I ever forget
you?”