His Unsuitable Viscountess

‘That would be the side of me the public sees. My father died before I was born and my pregnant wife in a tragic accident. My fortune was squandered by rapacious financiers that my mother mistakenly trusted. I worked hard to rescue it.’

Viv dropped his gaze. ‘My debts will be paid some time. I have never not paid a debt of honour. Temporary cash problem.’

‘Is it that bad, Viv?’

‘My luck has changed, Ben.’ Viv poured two glasses of port and held one out to him.

Ben shook his head. Viv downed both of them in quick succession.

‘Mrs Blackwell came here for another purpose,’ Ben said, tapping his fingers together. ‘Her pretty speech about you being a rival to the great Beau was concocted on the spot. Nobody could take that assertion seriously. Before she knew I was there I overheard her practising a speech to be directed at you. And when I tried to send her on her way she insisted it was imperative she see you today. She thought that wearing a coal scuttle bonnet was appropriate for her task.’

‘The sword was obviously for me.’ Viv held it out. ‘See—on the blade she has had my name engraved. You must have misheard her.’

Ben turned the blade over and saw the engraved name. He had dismissed it earlier as fancy scrollwork. Eleanor Blackwell had planned to give this sword to Viv, but it didn’t make him believe the explanation she’d given—her colour had been too high and her manner too abrupt. Everything about her had been too much at odds with her desperation before they’d fought. Was she in some sort of trouble? Why did she need Viv’s help in particular? And, more importantly, what had changed her mind?

He handed the sword back to Viv.

‘Mrs Blackwell did intend to give it to you. But your birthday is not for another few months. She could have come back any day. But it had to be today that she saw you. Why?’

‘You have far too cautious a mind, cousin. I’m London-bound at Mrs Blackwell’s specific request. Going to meet my destiny.’ Viv rubbed a hand along his stubble and belched. ‘And while we are there you can introduce me to all the heiresses that your dear mama has lined up for you. She possesses a certain flair for discovering heiresses. Don’t deny it! My mother constantly writes of the despair you cause your mother.’

Ben knew precisely what Viv meant. Every season since Alice’s death his mother had made it her mission to sniff out a possible replacement. She liked to pretend that the way Alice had died had no bearing. A tragic accident, best forgotten.

No matter where he went in London she arranged for accidental meetings with women she deemed suitable. While all the while remaining deaf to his arguments that he wanted to choose his own bride in his own time, or indeed that he had a good enough heir in Viv. Every time he rejected one of her protégées she’d sigh and remind him how his father would want him to do his duty if he were alive, and how as his mother all she wanted was the best for him.

The truth was, none of the debutantes excited him. And what was the point in indulging in a meaningless affair with some piece of Haymarket ware? He knew what he’d shared with Alice. He also knew that it was in spite of his mother rather than because of his mother that he’d fallen for Alice. And he’d vowed that any bride of his would not have to suffer what he’d inadvertently caused Alice to suffer. Never again. He could not make it up to Alice, but he could prevent it from reoccurring.

There had been a spark, a flash of chemistry between him and Mrs Blackwell. And he could have murdered Viv for interrupting him. He’d wanted to see if it was real. If her lips did taste as sweet as he’d imagined.

‘Is there a Mr Blackwell?’

‘I’m speaking of the bright lights of London and pretty heiresses and you want to discuss Mrs Blackwell?’ Viv gave him a quick indulgent smile. ‘Well, I believe she is an ape-leading spinster. Her father’s name was Blackwell. He was alive when Papa bought me my first sword. Now, enough of the woman. I’m much more interested in strategy. Do I wear my plum waistcoat or my emerald-green with the sword?’

‘Strategy?’

‘When Mrs Blackwell placed this sword in my hands I knew I was accepting her trust and admiration. I plan to fulfil her request. This sword needs to be seen and it will be—with all the bravado I can muster.’

Ben tapped his finger against his lips. His sense of unease increased.

Why the pretence? What had been Mrs Blackwell’s true intention in coming here today?

He forced his mind away from the duel they had shared. If Viv had not interrupted she would have been in his arms, looking up at him with her marvellous eyes. That jolt of energy coursed through him again at the mere memory. He’d thought that part of him dead, but it was there and alive. And she was the cause.

‘You are sure you know of no other reason why Miss Blackwell would seek you out?’ he asked.

‘Relax, cousin, and accept good fortune when it comes your way.’ Viv made another flourish with his new sword. ‘It might seem a large thing, even insurmountable, to Mrs Blackwell, but it is something I am delighted to do.’

‘You’re mistaken. She needed your help with something else, but after she spoke with you she changed her mind.’

Viv rolled his eyes. ‘You can believe what you want. It is my sword now, and I shall enjoy it. You’re bad-tempered because she chose me over you. Because someone proved you were merely human at fencing. You had to lose some time. Be grateful it was in private. Face it. Mrs Blackwell did us both a favour.’

He stalked off with the sword tucked under his arm, leaving Ben standing there.

‘We are far from finished, Eleanor Blackwell,’ Ben muttered, reaching for his walking stick. ‘Whatever trouble you are in, giving Viv that sword has only increased it tenfold. You must trust me on this.’

‘I failed, Grandfather.’

Eleanor regarded her grandfather’s portrait, which hung next to her great-great-grandfather’s sword in the office at the foundry. Always when she re-entered the office she spoke to the painting. It made her feel as if she wasn’t the only one left who cared about the company.

Ever since she’d returned from Sir Vivian’s she’d been trying to work up the courage to come into this room. In many ways the office still felt as if it belonged to her grandfather and she was only borrowing it, even twenty years after his death. Her father had lacked the courage to change it, and Eleanor had never wanted to. She always found inspiration and peace in the old leather chair, the walnut desk and the various swords hanging on the walls. But today everything stood in mute rebuke. Even the Villumiay clock her grandfather had won just before he died seemed to pause and frown, as if it knew how far her failure extended. She’d lacked the courage even to ask.

Eleanor had always considered herself the saviour of the firm, the protector of its heritage. She was the one who had rescued it when it had been on the brink of collapse after her father died. She was the one who had made the business what it was today—thriving, and one of the biggest employers in Shotley Bridge. She had kept her stepfather out of the day-to-day running of the company and ensured it flourished. But today she’d learnt it was all an illusion. When it really counted she’d put her personal aversion to Sir Vivian before the needs of the company.

She hadn’t even asked the question! Hadn’t given him a chance to refuse!

‘I failed today, Grandfather, but tomorrow I will find another way.’ She blinked rapidly, keeping back the tears. Whatever happened, she refused to give in. She wouldn’t feel sorry for herself. She enjoyed challenges. She thrived on them. ‘I will succeed. This company is my heritage, not anyone else’s.’

‘Ah, there you are, Eleanor. I have been searching everywhere for you. It was most remiss of you to go off without informing me.’

Eleanor dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. Just what she needed—the Reverend Algernon Forecastle, her stepfather’s nephew, making an appearance. He slithered into the room and deposited himself at her grandfather’s desk.

‘When I am in charge of this benighted company one of the first things I’m doing is sacking that man in the patched waistcoat and frayed trousers. He is not the sort of person we want representing Moles. He told me to mind my business and go and practise my sermons on the cows, sheep and other animals in the field, rather than bothering honest folk who were going about their daily business. The cheek of the man! I only preach on Sundays.’

Eleanor breathed deeply and reminded herself that getting angry with Algernon wouldn’t help anyone. He wasn’t responsible for her failure. She was. But he made it sound as if running a business was easy, when she had dedicated her life to making sure that it didn’t fail. Even now, despite all her success, she woke up in a sweat, having dreamt that somehow her actions had destroyed the company.

‘That man is Mr Swaddle, who is in charge of steel production,’ she said steadily. ‘He always wears his lucky clothes when he is trying out a new method of tempering steel. Something that requires immense concentration and is of untold value to the company. We are very close to discovering the lost formula that my great-grandfather used.’

‘That doesn’t matter. He is making the entire place look untidy.’ Algernon put his boots on top of the walnut desk. ‘You should get rid of him immediately. You make it sound as if running a company is difficult. It’s not. You don’t have to do much—just issue orders. Uncle was far too soft.’

‘Your uncle was quite happy for me to run the company as I saw fit.’

‘Uncle never properly applied his mind to the problem. If a woman can make this company prosper, just think of what a man could do on a few hours a week. It is not you, Eleanor, that made this company. You simply take the credit unnecessarily. You have ridden your luck. That’s all.’

‘Thankfully, for the future of Moles, I remain in charge.’ Eleanor crossed her arms. If she needed any further proof that Algernon was completely and utterly unsuitable for running the company, this was it. Who cared about a few patches on his clothes when Mr Swaddle was a genius with steel? At least her stepfather had understood why Moles made money and who made it happen. ‘And, given Mr Swaddle’s expertise, he can wear whatever he likes. Moles is the better for having him as a foreman.’

Algernon blew on his nails. ‘So you say.’

Eleanor rested her chin on her hand. There was something more than pleased about Algernon Forecastle today. He couldn’t know about her failure with Sir Vivian, so what was it? ‘What are you doing here, Algernon?’

‘I demand to see the latest ledgers. It is my right.’

‘Your right?’ Eleanor stared at him in astonishment. ‘You have no rights here. This company does not belong to you. You ought to go and compose a sermon. Won’t your parishioners want to hear one this Sunday?’

He gave her a pitying glance. ‘I bought a complete book of sermons, and I am only halfway through the third reading.’

‘How resourceful.’

‘Yes, it was.’ Algernon began to preen like the prematurely balding otter that he was. ‘I learnt about the book from a classmate at Oxford. It means I can spend my time doing other more important things.’

‘Visiting the poor and the sick?’

‘You must be joking, Eleanor.’ Algernon paled. ‘The great and the good. The poor can fend for themselves. And I’ve no wish to come down with some horrible disease.’

Eleanor forced a smile. She should have remembered that Algernon had a hide tougher than most forms of steel and seemed impervious to sarcasm. ‘That may be so, but you still don’t possess the right to bother my employees, to demand the ledgers or to put your muddy boots on my great-grandfather’s desk. Remove your boots from there immediately.’

He made a show of wiping the dirt off with his linen handkerchief. ‘Satisfied? I plan to replace this with something more modern when I take over.’

‘I doubt that will ever happen.’

‘Miss Varney says it is about time I stood up for myself and became actively involved.’

‘And who, pray tell, is Miss Varney?’ Eleanor asked.

‘Miss Lucinda Varney is my intended.’ His sneering gaze travelled up and down her. ‘You didn’t think I would marry you? Despite what my uncle counselled.’

‘I take it that my stepfather remained in blissful ignorance about your matrimonial plans?’

‘Uncle would not have understood. I need a truly refined wife—one who will be in keeping with my new station in life.’

His words about refinement stung far more than they should. Eleanor gritted her teeth. She knew why she’d turned her back on parties and balls. The reasons were all around her and in the very air she breathed. She was proud of her accomplishment, even if it was far from what was expected of a lady. And even if the company was not the bustling family that she’d dreamt of when she was a young girl.

‘I hope you and Miss Varney are very happy,’ Eleanor said when she trusted her voice. ‘But you must relinquish all notions of inheriting the business or any of its investments.’

‘My uncle put that codicil in to tease you. What sort of man would marry you?’ Algernon’s smile grew oilier. ‘My uncle even left me instructions on how to challenge your marriage if necessary. He did specify banns, Eleanor. Do you have the time?’

‘I never doubted that for an instant.’ Eleanor kept her back ramrod-straight. ‘But the fact remains that until you do inherit, the company belongs to me and I shall run it as I see fit.’

‘You have twenty-six days left. Banns take at least twenty-one days. Ordinary licences take the same.’

‘There are always special licences.’

‘Do you know how difficult it is to get a special licence? They are called special because you must give an excellent reason.’ Algernon stuck his thumbs in his waistcoat. ‘I wonder what reason you will give, Eleanor? To the Archbishop of Canterbury, no less. Did you know that I know his son? What connections do you have? Or indeed do you have a man who would wish to marry you?’

Eleanor fought against the rising tide of panic. She refused to give in. ‘I have twenty-six days, Algernon. At the end of that time, if you inherit, you may do what you like with the ledgers and my grandfather’s desk. You may even sack valuable members of staff and cut this company’s throat. But until that time keep your boots off the desk and your fingers off the ledgers. And your opinions of my employees to yourself!’

‘You will regret this.’

‘I think not.’

‘Mrs Blackwell.’ One of the junior clerks rushed in with a panicked expression on his face. ‘There is a gentleman here to see you. He wants to see you now.’

‘I don’t have any appointments—’ Eleanor began.

‘We have unfinished business, Mrs Blackwell,’ Lord Whittonstall said, coming to stand beside the clerk. ‘And it will be completed today.’

Chapter Three

Eleanor pressed her hands to her eyes and counted to ten, hoping that Lord Whittonstall was some apparition or fevered fantasy.

When she opened her eyes he remained standing in the doorway to the office. He looked positively immaculate in a frock coat and sand-coloured breeches, with a top hat perched on his head. Every inch the London gentleman.

Eleanor was very aware that she hadn’t taken any time to change and remained in the same hideous black gown that she’d worn earlier. Worse, her hair, instead of staying firmly in its bun, had come loose and several tendrils now fell about her shoulders. She must look like some demented creature rather than a respectable businesswoman.

Of the bad outcomes that could possibly happen, this beat everything hands-down. Lord Whittonstall stood before her, glowering. He obviously hadn’t accepted her garbled explanation to Sir Vivian, and Algernon was right behind her, listening to every word.

‘And you are …?’ Algernon asked rudely.

‘Benjamin Grayson, third Viscount Whittonstall.’ Lord Whittonstall’s gaze pierced Algernon’s. ‘I take it from your attire you are a vicar?’

‘Of this parish.’ Algernon’s smile became oily and ingratiating as Lord Whittonstall’s identity slowly penetrated his brain. ‘I do hope we will have cause to see each other on Sunday.’

‘Your flock undoubtedly requires your attention. I wish to speak with Mrs Blackwell alone on a matter of urgent business.’

‘This entire company will belong to me within the month. My uncle ensured it with his will.’ Algernon narrowed his eyes and puffed out his chest. ‘You may wish to deal with me instead of Miss Blackwell. I am sure all you require can be provided for. Moles does enjoy an excellent reputation for its business dealings. How can I assist you?’

‘What are you doing, Algernon?’ Eleanor cried.

Algernon flushed. ‘I was merely trying to apprise Lord Whittonstall of the true situation. So he isn’t inadvertently misled into thinking you have something to do with Moles’ future.’

‘My business is with Mrs Blackwell,’ Lord Whittonstall said evenly. ‘I don’t believe a third party is necessary.’

‘Our business is concluded, Reverend Forecastle,’ Eleanor said pointedly. ‘Should the need arise, I will inform you of the outcome of my discussion with Lord Whittonstall. But until this company actually belongs to you, pray remember I am in charge.’

‘Very well. I’m going.’ Algernon jammed his hat on his head. ‘Eleanor, remember I am wise to your tricks. I, too, have friends in high places.’

Eleanor’s insides seethed. As if she’d stoop to game-playing!

‘ Does Mrs Blackwell play tricks?’ Lord Whittonstall asked, in a quiet but deadly voice.

‘Normally I despise game-playing. The truth always comes out. One way or another,’ Eleanor replied steadily. ‘You may leave us, Reverend Forecastle. I am safe, I assure you. Lord Whittonstall is a gentleman who is held in the highest regard by all who know him.’

Algernon shook his head. ‘And you wonder why any decent, respectable man would refuse to marry you, Eleanor. You wilfully engage in intimate conversation with strangers. Alone. I fear for you.’

Eleanor waited until she heard the outer door slam. Every particle of her was aware of Lord Whittonstall. How much had he heard? And guessed? She wasn’t attempting to play some game with him. It was simply that he did not necessarily need to know the whole truth.

‘I suppose I should thank you for getting rid of the Reverend Forecastle in such short order.’ Eleanor smoothed the pleats in her black silk gown. ‘I had feared that he intended to spend the afternoon here, going over the ledgers and generally disturbing the staff.’

‘He believes he is the new owner of Moles?’

‘He isn’t. The Reverend Algernon Forecastle has no connection with Moles and he never will,’ Eleanor said pointedly, hoping to end the discussion. ‘You must trust me on this. He would ruin it in six months—nine at the outside. I refuse to allow it. I will fight with everything I can to avoid that situation. The employees of Moles look to me to save them.’

‘And who will save you?’ Lord Whittonstall asked softly.

Eleanor’s heart thudded in her ears. She must have misheard the words. She shook her head, attempting to clear it.

‘I don’t follow.’

‘You are prepared to fight to your last gasp of breath. I suspect if your employees feel the same way about you as you do about them they wouldn’t want you to suffer that fate.’

‘You are talking fustian nonsense.’ Eleanor gave a quick smile. But his words filled her with a warm glow. She hated to think how long it had been since anyone other than her employees had asked about her welfare. ‘I know what I have to do. And I intend to do it. The Reverend Forecastle will be disappointed, but life is full of disappointments.’

‘That is good to know.’

She gestured to a chair and he sat down, crossed one leg over the other, displaying immaculate black riding boots that barely contained his muscular calves. Here was a man who didn’t spend his time lifting cards and drinking port to excess, but instead rode and fenced. Why did he have to look like that? And make her pulse leap?

‘About this business you claim is unfinished …’ Eleanor shifted uneasily on her chair. What did he think unfinished? Their fencing? Or the kiss they had nearly shared? She firmly dragged her mind away from the tingle of awareness. That had only ever been in her imagination. ‘I must disabuse you of any notion you have. Everything has been concluded between us. Your cousin has his sword and that is the end of the matter.’

‘If your stepfather has left the Reverend Forecastle the workings in his will there is little you can do,’ he said, watching her through narrowed eyes. ‘Particularly if he is your stepfather’s next of kin. Even if you succeed in challenging the will it must still go to him. I take it that Moles did belong to him?’

‘You give legal advice?’

‘It is best to know how the law works. False hope leads to bitterness.’

Eleanor put her hand on her stomach. Somehow it made things harder, having Lord Whittonstall being concerned. Right now all she wanted to do was to crawl home, go to bed and pull the covers over her head. Tomorrow she’d begin her fight back with a new and better plan.

‘Yes, if you are interested. Moles did belong to my stepfather. My mother neglected to make a proper settlement when she married. Everything became his when they married. Still, we had an arrangement.’

‘An arrangement?’

‘My stepfather enjoyed spending money rather than making it. He permitted me to run Moles as I saw fit and to invest the profits. I did so on the understanding …’ Eleanor held up her hand as she struggled to keep her voice calm. ‘No, on the expressed promise at my mother’s deathbed that he’d leave me the company when he died.’

His eyes widened with astonishment. ‘Your stepfather broke his promise? Wasn’t he an honourable man?’

Eleanor clasped her hands together. The last thing she wanted was to break down in front of Lord Whittonstall. ‘My stepfather has left me Moles and all its investments provided certain conditions are met.’

‘And they are …?’ He waved a hand, inviting her confidence.

Eleanor bit her lip. Did she dare confess? With his warm eyes regarding her, the temptation grew. She glanced up to where her grandfather frowned down. One didn’t air one’s troubles to strangers. One kept them in the family. She drew a deep breath and wrapped her pride about her.

‘Of no concern to you. But they will be met.’

‘The Reverend Forecastle seems to believe otherwise.’

‘Algernon is an ass. Always has been. Always will be. Hopefully his new wife will make something of him.’

‘He is getting married? Was that something your stepfather envisaged?’

‘I am sure you came here for reasons other than to discuss the terms of my late stepfather’s will or his nephew’s matrimonial status, Lord Whittonstall.’ Eleanor picked up her fountain pen and pretended to make a notation. She’d regained control of the situation now. She’d moved the conversation away from the dangerous shoals of the will and back to the less dangerous one of why he was there and what he wanted. ‘Shall we discuss your business? I am sure it is far more interesting.’

He leant forward. His eyes sparkled with hidden fire. ‘Why did you give my cousin that sword? What was so desperate that you had to see him today? What sort of trouble are you in, Mrs Blackwell?’

‘I explained that at the house.’ Eleanor set down the pen with a shaking hand. It was as if they were fencing again, but this time she was the one with a poor grasp of the rules. She’d given her excuse. He should have accepted it rather than coming here and asking questions. ‘For his birthday. Sir Vivian understood.’

‘His birthday is not for another two months. It is unusual to give such a gift early.’ Lord Whittonstall lifted a solitary eyebrow.