The Earl's Countess Of Convenience

Chapter Two

As the ormolu clock on the mantel chimed the hour, a carriage could be heard coming to a halt on the gravel drive outside the drawing room. A cloud of butterflies fluttered to life in Eloise’s tummy, intensifying the faint feeling of nausea she’d woken up with. Today could prove to be life-changing.

A cold sweat prickled at the back of her neck. What if Lord Fearnoch really did turn out to be loathsome? What if he found her repugnant? Now that everyone in the household was reconciled to the idea of her marrying, now that they had all agreed that the benefits by far outweighed the fact that the groom would be a complete stranger, Eloise couldn’t bear the thought of the match falling through.

What would it be like to be married? How much time would they be required to spend together? Would they be expected to have breakfast and dinner at the same table? What would Lord Fearnoch tell his friends, his colleagues at the Admiralty? She had a hundred questions. And right now, bracing herself for the coming introduction and feeling quite sick with nerves, Eloise was discovering that there was a very big difference between the idea of a convenient and advantageous marriage and the reality, in the shape of the man who might become her husband, a man who was at this very moment descending from his carriage.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror set over the mantel. Her hair was still obediently pinned in the smooth chignon, which had taken her three times longer to do than her usual careless topknot. She looked pale, her eyes betraying her anxious state. Pinching her cheeks, forcing her mouth into a semblance of a welcoming smile, she tugged unnecessarily at her gown. It was the one which Phoebe had suggested she wear. Her own creation in ivory muslin, she was rather pleased with the result achieved by twisting emerald and ivory ribbons together to trim the neckline. Triangles of emerald silk fluttered like little pennants around the high waistline, and she had used larger triangles in the same colour to trim the hem. Green suited her colouring, she knew, but she worried that today of all days it would over-accentuate the red hue of her hair.

The doorbell clanged, making her jump. Her heart felt as if it was in her mouth. Upstairs, Phoebe and Estelle would no doubt be peering down from Kate’s bedroom window, which would give them the best, unobserved view of the new arrival.

Alert for the sound, she heard the familiar teeth-grinding grate as the huge front door scraped on the uneven flagstones of the hall. Eloise took several deep breaths in an effort to calm her nerves. Casting her eyes around the familiar room, she first opted to seat herself on one of the chairs at the fireplace, but that seemed inappropriately intimate. She hurried to her favourite window seat, picking up the book she had left there, but that seemed too studied a pose, so she jumped up to her feet again, and was casting about for some other innocuous task to go about when the door opened and Kate’s butler announced Lord Fearnoch. Voltaire’s Candide involuntarily dropped from her hands as a man who bore absolutely no resemblance whatsoever to the abacus-wielding Admiralty bureaucrat her sisters had had such fun imagining walked into the drawing room.

Alexander Sinclair, the Earl of Fearnoch, had cropped dark-brown hair, a high, intelligent brow, wide-spaced brown eyes framed by ridiculously long lashes, cheekbones which were razor sharp and a jaw that made strong seem like an understated description. His mouth, in contrast, could only be described as sultry. His navy-blue coat fitted tightly over a pair of shoulders which would be the envy of a blacksmith, fawn pantaloons encased muscular legs, a fact which she should not be noticing. He was a physical specimen to make any woman weak-kneed and he was in her drawing room, looking at her expectantly.

‘How do you do? I assume you are Miss Eloise Brannagh?’ He took her hand, kissing the air above her fingertips.

His teeth were pearly white and clearly his own. So much for the twins’ wild speculation. He smelled faintly of lemon soap. ‘Lord Fearnoch.’ Utterly confused, because Eloise wasn’t the type of woman to go weak-kneed, she blurted out the first thing that popped into her head. ‘I assume you are Lord Fearnoch? You don’t look at all like someone who works in some rather tedious capacity at the Admiralty.’

‘I am indeed Lord Fearnoch, and very pleased to meet you, Miss Brannagh. If I may respond in kind, you do not look at all like a dutiful mother hen to twin sisters.’

A startled laugh escaped her. ‘Good grief, is that how my uncle described me? Then I’m surprised you agreed to meet someone so tiresomely worthy.’

He raised a brow. ‘You imagine my predicament must be desperate indeed, to attempt to lure such a paragon from her life of self-sacrifice?’

‘I am wondering why a handsome man who is heir to a vast fortune would choose to marry a—a—how did you imagine I would look?’

‘Older. Fiercer. With spectacles.’

‘Spectacles!’

‘Daniel—that is, your uncle—told me that you were the clever one of his nieces. So I imagined eyes weakened by long hours of study. Hence the spectacles.’

Though his tone was cool, there was, she was almost certain, a hint of laughter in his eyes. A sense of humour was another thing that Eloise had not expected. ‘I hope you are not now imagining me ill-tempered. I should tell you that I consider myself extremely even-tempered, and if you think that the colour of my hair tells a different story, then you are making a common, very facile assumption. Red hair does not denote a fiery temper any more than the looks of a—a Greek god denote a—a romantic poet.’

‘Rhyming cat with mat exhausts my poetic abilities. Shall we sit, or would you prefer to continue trading misconceptions standing up?’

‘I do beg your pardon.’ Her face flaming, Eloise finally remembered her manners. ‘How was your journey, Lord Fearnoch?’

‘Painless.’ He sat down, seemingly at ease, and studied her overtly. ‘It is clear, Miss Brannagh, that your imagination had conjured as inaccurate a picture of me as I did of you.’

If only he knew! Her colour heightened. ‘I did not—I tried not to anticipate—after all, it is not as if we are required to find each other—I mean—I mean you did say in your letter that it would be a marriage in name only,’ she finished lamely.

This time she was certain she caught a glimmer of a smile. ‘Indulge me,’ he said. ‘How would you imagine an Admiralty clerk, I wonder? Dandruff, or a squint? Ink-stained cuffs? A man with a stoop, perhaps, from spending his life poring over dusty ledgers?’

Eloise laughed. Lord Fearnoch steepled his hands, waiting. She could not possibly tell him. The silence stretched. She wasn’t used to silence. ‘My sisters, they cannot understand why an earl with a fortune should wish to marry me.’

‘How very unkind of your sisters to say so.’

‘No, I mean—not me, but anyone. A complete stranger. They think that you must be—’ Mortified now, she broke off, shaking her head, but he simply raised an enquiring brow, and waited. Eloise counted out forty-five seconds before she threw up her hands in surrender. ‘If you must know, they thought you must at least be averse to bathing, or toothless perhaps. We knew that Uncle Daniel would have said in his letter if there had been some—some physical—defect—so it had to be the sort of drawback that men don’t really notice.’ She grimaced. ‘Sorry. You did ask.’

‘I did.’

That silence again. ‘You obviously do bathe regularly,’ Eloise said, trying for a smile.

He nodded.

‘And your teeth are—well, what I can see of them, they are...’

He burst out laughing. ‘All there, and in good condition. You sound as if you are inspecting a horse with a view to buying it.’

He had a very attractive laugh. Relieved beyond measure, Eloise relaxed a little. ‘But that is precisely what we are doing, in a manner of speaking, aren’t we? I hadn’t thought—I mean, I was looking forward—but then this morning it occurred to me that it would be—well, it’s very awkward. You’re looking me over and I’m looking you over, and for the life of me, I can’t understand, now you are here—I beg your pardon, but I think the twins—my sisters—have a point. A man like you, surely there must be women queuing up to be your wife?’ She stopped abruptly. ‘Sorry. You must think I am an idiot, but you are so silent I feel compelled to fill the gaps.’

‘I tend to say something when I have something to say.’

‘Does that mean you think I’m a wittering fool or don’t you have an answer to my question? Or perhaps you think I oughtn’t to have asked it, though I must say, I do think it a pertinent question, my lord.’

She would not speak. She would sit here without uttering another word until he answered. Eloise bit her lip. She would not count the seconds. She folded her arms. She unfolded them. ‘I don’t mean literally queuing, my lord, I meant...’

‘I understood you perfectly, Miss Brannagh. Would you mind calling me Alexander? When you “my lord” me, it makes me want to look over my shoulder for my brother, Walter.’

‘You would not be here, if your brother were still alive.’

‘I wish to heaven that he was.’ He coloured. ‘Forgive me, I meant no offence, but I think it is best that we are candid with each other from the outset. I had no ambition to be either an earl or a husband. The truth is, I am obliged to be both.’

‘Well! The truth is, I would rather not be married either. At least—I would rather not be married,’ Eloise added hurriedly. Lord Fearnoch—Alexander—smiled. His smile lit up his eyes, and it acted on Eloise like a punch in the stomach. Their eyes met, and something very odd seemed to pass between them that made her cheeks heat in a way that had nothing to do with embarrassment. ‘If you understand my meaning,’ she added.

He nodded, breaking eye contact, smoothing the palms of his hands over his pantaloons. Was he nervous? Already regretting his decision to come here? Fortunately, before she could voice this fear, Alexander cleared his throat. ‘I think it would be a good idea for us to learn a little about one another before we launch into the business which brought me here. As you will know from my letter to Lady Elmswood, time is of the essence.’

‘I understand that you must marry before your thirtieth birthday or forfeit your inheritance.’

‘And it is a very large inheritance, though I’m not particularly interested in it for my own sake. I am aware that sounds disingenuous, but it happens to be the truth.’

She couldn’t say what it was that made her believe him, but she did. ‘Why, then, are you interested—no, that cannot be the right word, for you are sacrificing your bachelorhood to inherit, so you must have more at stake than an interest in inheriting?’

He smiled faintly. ‘Very well, let us say that I think it is my duty to marry. No, since you insist on being precise, let me rephrase that. My conscience tells me that I must marry.’

‘Why?’

Alexander did not answer her directly. ‘I had no expectations of inheriting. My brother’s untimely death, and his lack of foresight in providing an heir, have come as a most unwelcome surprise.’

He spoke lightly, but his eyes spoke of a different, more brittle emotion. ‘Your brother had no children, then? But he must have been married to have inherited, since the entail—I’m sorry if this is a painful subject to you, your brother has not even been dead a year, but...’

‘My brother and I were not close.’ Alexander’s mouth thinned in the brief silence which followed this interjection. ‘There are—were—eight years between us. We were raised very differently. Walter, as the heir in waiting, was fully aware of the terms of the entail, and married shortly after he came of age. His wife died in childbirth along with their son about five years later. The entail did not require Walter to remarry, but I never doubted he would. As a quintessential Fearnoch male, he would have been keen to maintain the proud patriarchal tradition of passing the title directly from father to son—a tradition which his sudden death has put an end to. Unfortunately, the conditions of the entail remain in force, which means I must now marry if I am to become the Eighth Earl.’

‘What happens if you choose not to?’

‘My cousin Raymond Sinclair will inherit. Unlike me, he has always had an avaricious eye on the title, and duly took the precaution of arming himself with a bride prior to his own thirtieth birthday. Raymond is an inveterate gambler. It would only be a matter of time before he brought the Fearnoch lands and the people who make their living from them to rack and ruin. Most of the Fearnoch estates are in Lancashire. Aside from the many tenanted farms, I understand that substantial seams of coal have recently been discovered. Mining coal is extremely lucrative, but can also be extremely dangerous. I fear my cousin would have far more regard for profit than safety.’

‘Good grief, yes. I have read some truly dreadful stories about men being trapped—and not only men, but young boys. And they use children too, to sort the coal. It is an outrage.’

‘Precisely my own views.’ Alexander smiled thinly. ‘I wish to ensure that any mining is done responsibly. I wish to ensure that the profit from the estates continues to be ploughed back—you’ll forgive the pun—into the land. My father and late brother cared little for running the estates. Simply put, both were ardent libertines. It is a trait which all Sinclair men have embraced and propagated over the years, and of which they have all been inordinately proud. Needless to say, it is a proclivity that I do not share. However, the estate manager is, I gather, an excellent man, whose family have run the Fearnoch lands for generations.’

‘Like Kate,’ Eloise exclaimed. ‘That is exactly why she married my uncle—because her father was the estate manager here, and Daniel was never interested, and Kate loves Elmswood Manor and—and so you see, I do understand why it is important to you to do what is right.’

‘Thank you. There is one other factor which is pertinent to my decision.’ Alexander shifted in his chair, frowning. ‘If you will bear with me. It is not my habit to discuss such personal matters. It does not come easy to me, but under the circumstances, I think it vital that you fully understand my motives for wishing to make this unconventional match.’

Her instinct was to reach over, to touch him reassuringly, but she caught herself just in time. ‘It can’t be easy, to be so painfully honest to a complete stranger. Please, take your time.’

‘The matter concerns my mother’s settlement which I discovered to be woefully inadequate.’

‘Your mother! But she is a dowager countess. Your father was a very rich man. Surely when she married him, your mother’s parents would have ensured her jointure reflected her circumstances.’

‘I have no idea what the original arrangements were. The were amended in the Sixth Earl’s will.’

‘The Sixth Earl being your father?’

‘Her husband. The amended settlement which my mother was granted on his death would be insulting if it were not frankly punitive.’

‘Punitive! What on earth can she possibly have done to deserve such shabby treatment?’

Alexander’s fingers dug into the arms of the chair. ‘The reasons are less pertinent than the net effect, which is that the terms would force my mother to rely upon the goodwill and generosity of others in order to survive. I will not have her reduced to such penury.’

‘But your father died almost three years ago. Surely your brother...’

‘My brother provided for her, while he was alive, by installing her in the Dower House on the Lancashire estates. Whether he intended to amend the provision made for her at some point is another question that must remain unanswered for ever. The fact is that he did not, and my personal circumstances do not allow me to supplement the paltry allowance to what I consider an appropriate level.’

‘And if your cousin, Raymond Sinclair, inherited? No, I suppose from what you’ve said that you could not trust him to do right by her.’

‘Precisely. You understand now, Miss Brannagh, why I believe it is my duty to marry?’

‘I do and I think your reasons are extremely laudable.’ Though he had not explained why he was so averse to marriage in the first place. Perhaps his Admiralty career rewarded him insufficiently to maintain a household—but he didn’t dress like a man on the breadline. He was the son of an earl, albeit the second son, surely his father would have given him an allowance? Though the same father had made a pauper of his wife. And Alexander had been, in his own words, brought up very differently from his brother, the heir. Eloise knew from her own experience that this could only mean that he was treated very much as second best.

Aware that her thoughts had run away from her, she looked up, discovering to her consternation Alexander watching her carefully. ‘I was just wondering why you are considering me as a wife, when...’

‘There are women queueing up for the privilege?’ He smiled faintly. ‘Perhaps because there are not. What I’m wondering is why you are considering my proposal. To put it bluntly, Miss Brannagh, though we will live separate lives once we have established the marriage in the eyes of the world, we will remain legally married. For the sake of appearances, Fearnoch House in London must be your main residence—and I hope you will treat it as your home. For form’s sake it must be my home too, during the time when my work does not detain me abroad. So our paths will cross, albeit infrequently, though Fearnoch House is, I gather, large enough to permit us to live under its roof without encountering each other unless we wish to.’

‘You gather? I thought you said it was the family home?’

‘And has been for generations, but it has never been my home.’

For reasons he did not wish to discuss, judging by his tone. ‘But—forgive me, your brother died almost a year ago, and though you were abroad at the time, you’ve been back in England...’

‘Until I marry, Miss Brannagh, I have no rights to anything but the title. Fearnoch House has been closed up since Walter died. The family lawyer has been administering the estate. My mother continues in the Dower House in the country, and I have continued in my own lodgings.’

‘I had no idea.’

‘Why should you?’

Since Eloise could think of nothing to say to this, she decided, wisely, for once to say nothing.

‘I can assure you that once we are married—if we marry,’ Alexander continued, ‘you will be free to live your life as you choose, but—forgive me, but I think it imperative that we are clear on one delicate matter. Since there can be no question of a divorce or even an annulment, you understand that there can be no prospect of your having children?’

Once again, her cheeks flamed. She had not anticipated their discussions becoming so personal. ‘I do understand that, and I assure you it’s not an issue,’ Eloise said hurriedly. ‘I am not—I’m not—that more intimate aspect of marriage does not appeal to me. Furthermore, I have never wanted children.’

‘May I know why?’

She didn’t want to explain herself, reluctant to recall those miserable years in Ireland. Already, she had the impression that Alexander Sinclair was the type of man who saw a great deal more than he let on, and she didn’t want him peering into the dark nooks and crannies of her past. ‘If we do not have children—I mean, if you and your wife don’t have offspring, then the Fearnoch estates will pass to your cousin, I presume?’

‘Yes, though I don’t see why...’

‘My point is, that’s what you’re trying to avoid, isn’t it—his bringing the estates to rack and ruin. I am not suggesting that you will die prematurely...’ As his brother did! ‘What I mean is, that there’s a chance, at some point, that what you’re trying to prevent might come to pass if you don’t have children of your own.’

‘No, there’s no chance of that.’ Alexander said grimly. ‘I haven’t made myself clear. As far as the estates are concerned, my intentions are first to protect them by preventing my cousin from inheriting, and then to secure them for the future by ridding myself of them.’