Mr. Fairclough's Inherited Bride (Secrets 0f A Victorian Household Book 3)

by Georgie Lee

  He drew her towards the fabric and the small fitting stool in the centre of the room, making it abundantly clear that they were putting on a show for the dressmaker and her assistants who would be certain to spread tales throughout Baltimore society about this fitting and how much was being spent on her trousseau. Mary wondered if Silas had paid them a little extra to make sure that they did tell everyone. It wouldn’t surprise her, nor would it upset her. It’d be marvellous to be stared at and whispered about because she was going to be a wife instead of for uglier reasons.

  Silas helped Mary up on the stool. Mrs Lindsey snatched up her measuring tape and, with her assistants trailing behind her, set to work, rattling off the many items Mary would need. Mrs Parker sat on the sofa, watching with glee and suggesting more than a few pieces to add to the list.

  ‘In the meantime, while we’re putting the finishing touches on your new wardrobe, I have a number of dresses from unfinished orders that can be altered to suit you,’ Mrs Lindsey offered and two more assistants approached Mary carrying a small selection of new gowns including a carriage dress, a tea dress and a ball gown in pale pink. Mary wanted to hop off the stool and rush to try them on, but she remained where she was. She wasn’t about to fall on the clothes like a hungry dog did a piece of bread thrown in the street. She had some dignity.

  ‘Normally, I would not suggest pre-sewn gowns for the daughter of the Earl of Ashford,’ Silas drawled from where he leaned against the fireplace mantel, watching her the way the vicar used to do when Mary would help Ruth distribute gifts at Christmas to the village children. ‘But I think this time we can make an exception.’

  It wasn’t his demeanour as the benevolent fiancé that rankled Mary, but his casually dropping her father’s title. She could practically hear the assistants taking her measurements titter at the words. All they did was make her blood boil.

  Mary stepped off the stool and marched up to Silas. ‘Might I have a word with my dear fiancé in private for a moment?’

  She walked out of the room, wondering if Silas would follow. She hadn’t meant to be cross, but there was something she must make clear to him before this engagement continued.

  ‘You aren’t happy with the dresses?’ Silas asked when they stepped into Richard’s empty study and Silas slid the doors closed behind him. ‘You can have something else if Mrs Lindsey’s creations don’t suit you.’

  ‘It isn’t the dresses, it’s your mentioning my father in front of people who are guaranteed to gossip.’

  ‘That was my entire reason for allowing the connection to drop. If you hadn’t interrupted me, I would have eventually mentioned my illustrious heritage as well.’

  ‘My father has done nothing for me in the past four years. I doubt he’d even look up from cleaning his hunting guns long enough to care if he heard I was in America or had died during the crossing. He’d probably breathe a sigh of relief at my demise.’ Mary’s hands shook as she spoke. ‘At a time when I’m enjoying myself, I don’t want to hear about him and be reminded of everything he refused to do for me and won’t ever do for me while everyone else is doing so much.’

  ‘I see.’

  Mary unclenched her hands as Silas nodded thoughtfully and a new fear crept over her. She’d lashed out at him when she shouldn’t have. They weren’t married, he could still change his mind and then all the pretty dresses, the bolts of fabrics and the dressmaker would leave. Yes, she had pin money to spend on such things, but that he’d cared enough to spend his own money on her had given the experience more meaning than if she’d hired a dressmaker. He wanted her to shine and to take pride in herself. His encouragement would end after this outburst. He’d back away and tell her that this had all been a mistake the same way Preston had done at the inn. He’d take with him the possibility and liveliness that had marked the last three weeks and leave her in the grey nothingness that she’d existed in for far too long.

  Silas didn’t dismiss her or demand she return the ring. Instead, he tucked his hands into his trouser pockets and nodded sagely, choosing his words carefully when he spoke. ‘Don’t view the mention of your father as a reminder of his callousness, but as a chance for your father, unbeknownst to him and against his will, to finally do something for you. He is lending you the cachet of his name, whether he likes it or not. No matter what happened, the fact is you are still the daughter of an earl. It’s to your benefit to claim that status.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of it that way.’ All she could imagine was her father hearing of it and sending her a chastising letter demanding that she cease announcing her connection to him. More than likely the letter would be from his man of affairs. He couldn’t soil his fingers by writing to the daughter he no longer loved and wanted. ‘And if he objects?’

  ‘Do it anyway to irritate him. He lost his right to object when he turned his back on you.’

  A smile slowly spread across Mary’s lips at the suggestion. Silas was right. Despite everything that had happened, she was the daughter of an earl and she’d been raised to take her place beside a respectable man, to run his home and enjoy the comforts of his name and station. It was a destiny she would finally achieve.

  ‘Are you ready to return to your fitting, Lady Mary?’ He held out his hand to her, inviting her to join him in this the way he’d drawn the businessmen into joining his railroad venture.

  ‘I am.’ She placed her hand in his, surprised by the spark that jumped between them as if she’d touched wool on a hot and dry day. For a moment, his gaze held hers and she swallowed hard. It was nothing, only the thrill of a conspiracy, the secret they shared about themselves and the future they would create. A future. It’d been so long since she’d been able to imagine one and it made her practically float back to the sitting room as he tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and escorted her there.

  ‘What kind of wedding would the daughter of an earl like?’ Silas asked as they crossed the entrance hall. ‘Something simple in a judge’s office or an elaborate church wedding with too many flowers and guests?’

  The Mary who’d spent the last four years in the solitude of the country, forced to forget everything she’d been raised to do, almost said the simple affair. However, the woman who’d glowed on Silas’s arm at the ball, who felt alive and excited for the first time in years, the one who’d cried over the news of her sister’s wedding because it had reminded her of everything she’d lost with her stupid mistake, wanted the church, dress, flowers and guests. She wanted to be that hopeful, excited Mary again. ‘The church wedding.’

  ‘Good, because that’s what I want, too. What better way to launch our union than with a grand affair?’ He escorted her into the sitting room and helped her up on to the stool. ‘Then I’ll leave it to you and Mrs Parker to arrange the details.’

  He bowed, a smile of conspiracy dancing on his lips before he took his leave, sliding the doors closed behind him.

  ‘The first thing we need is a wedding dress,’ Mrs Parker announced, ‘and then, of course, some things for the wedding night.’

  Mary shifted on the stool, the assistant’s giggles making her stomach flutter as much as the idea of her wedding night with Silas. After Silas’s proposal, she’d spent far too much time imagining what he might look like without his waistcoat than was proper or prudent, and it scared her as much as it made her toes curl. She’d been intimate with a man before and it had cost her everything. Silas hadn’t wanted to hear the details, but he must have guessed the gist of it. She doubted he’d hold her lack of innocence against her, but she’d failed to carry Preston’s child. What if she couldn’t carry Silas’s? He might forgive her past, but if her future was one of barrenness, then the patience and understanding he’d shown might wear as thin as those of her father’s friends who’d waited in vain for a son. They’d eventually turned from their wives to mistresses and if this happened to her she would have to bear it with fortitude like they did,
watching as the care and concern that Silas had promised her, that she craved when she was in his presence, was given to another. There was no way to know how it would be until they were married and after that there would be no going back. She wasn’t about to cry off and have all the excitement and possibility encircling her vanish to a cold, dull nothingness she refused to endure ever again. She must cast her lot and, like Silas, hope for the best. With her past still hovering over her, it wasn’t an easy thing to do.

  * * *

  ‘Have any letters from my family or word from England about the bank drafts arrived?’ Silas asked when Mr Hachman entered his office with the morning correspondence. Since leaving Lady Mary to the modiste yesterday, Silas had been engulfed in a flurry of work that had left him no time to enjoy a leisurely evening with his soon-to-be wife.

  ‘No, sir, nothing.’

  Silas sat at his desk, ignoring the business letters Mr Hachman laid out in neat rows in front of him. Silas had been anxiously awaiting news from his family, a little word to set his mind at ease. His being no closer to learning about what had happened to them or the bank drafts increased the guilt that had been eating at him for some time. Once again, he’d been too involved with his own life and business, both professional and personal, to see to his other duties. It was his responsibility to send money and make sure it was received. He’d failed to do so and none of the people he’d hired to do the job had managed it properly either. If he were in England he could get to the bottom of how dire the financial situation at home was, but he wasn’t there, he was thousands of miles away, a choice he’d made. ‘I trust the letter to Lady Alexandra with the bank note was sent?’

  ‘They were dispatched by a special courier on the next steam ship out. If your family is dealing with some financial difficulty, the delivery should ease their situation. We’ll hear something as soon as possible.’

  Silas tapped the blotter. Even by steamship it would take two weeks for a letter to reach his mother, assuming the weather didn’t delay it. The gulf between him and his family that he’d created when he’d left for America five years ago was widening again.

  ‘Unfortunately, sir, there is other bad news from England. Mr Williams has grave reservations about extending the Baltimore Southern an American patent for his steam engine.’ Mr Hachman laid the letter from the engine designer on top of the other correspondence. ‘He’s nervous about the lack of control he will have over production from so great a distance and that his designs might be stolen.’

  Silas read the missive which amounted to little more than a litany of Mr Williams’s concerns about stolen ideas and a lack of oversight.

  ‘Our man in England assures me he’s doing all he can to assuage Mr Williams’s fears and convince him to grant the patent,’ Mr Hachman explained.

  ‘If he’s anything like our solicitor, then that isn’t a comfort.’ Silas stood at the window overlooking the rail yard and the large glass and steel building. The glass panes glistened in the sun, graceful and beautiful in their curving design, but the building was empty. The longer that building sat idle, the more money it cost the railway. New tracks were no good if there weren’t trains to run on them.

  The door to the office swung open and Richard strolled in, his cheerful smile dropping at the sight of the glum faces that greeted him. ‘All not well?’

  ‘There’s some trouble in England.’ Silas explained about his family and Mr Williams’s reservations about the steam-engine patent. ‘If Mr Williams was in America, I could wine and dine him enough to convince him to give us the exclusive patent on the engine, ease his fears and help him see the benefit in trusting us.’

  ‘Then go to England and woo him as you would any other investor.’ Richard rested his hand on the silver head of the walking stick between his legs where he sat in the chair before Silas’s desk.

  He should be jumping at Richard’s suggestion, but something inside him recoiled at the idea of returning to England. ‘I can’t. There’s too much to do here.’

  ‘I can oversee things until you return. As you’ve said before, the Baltimore Southern is practically running itself.’

  ‘I can’t do that to you.’ The responsibilities that Silas had taken over in the last few months had eased the burden on Richard and his health. He didn’t wish to force him into an even earlier grave by overworking him.

  ‘I was running businesses long before you were born.’ Richard laughed before coughing into his handkerchief. ‘In all seriousness, if there’s a good time for you to be away, it’s now. Another opportunity may not present itself for a long while. You can pursue the new engine and make sure your family is all right.’

  Silas drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. Richard was right. With the foundry contract concluded and the new engine in limbo, this was the best time to visit England. It was what he would encounter at home that made him hesitate. After all these years he’d have to finally face his mother and the cowardly way that he’d left her. As much as he was loath to endure her disapproval and criticism, this was a chance to prove to her that he wasn’t shirking his responsibilities and that he wasn’t a disappointment. He refused to allow his fear about what he might encounter in England, especially with his mother, deter him from doing what was best for her or the railroad. He’d never flinched from a challenge or a difficult decision before, he couldn’t do so today. ‘Mr Hachman, I need the fastest passage available. I don’t have six weeks to waste at sea.’

  ‘The Royal Mail Steam-Packet Company is your best choice.’ What Silas hoped to do for the Baltimore Southern’s passenger services in the coming years, Samuel Cunard had done with steam ships crossing the Atlantic with regular schedules and at a speed that put the old cutters plying the sea to shame. ‘Their ships can make the passage in fourteen days and they run a regular schedule.’

  ‘Then book me a cabin at once.’ Silas could be in England well before the month was out and have the patent and this mess of the missing funds sorted out. While he was home, he’d also do all he could to ensure that the Foundation and his mother and sister’s livelihood sat on rock solid footing. He didn’t wish to worry about them like this ever again.

  ‘Will Lady Mary be travelling with you or are you going alone?’ Mr Hachman asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Silas rose and stood behind his chair, trilling his fingers on the polished walnut back of it. If Mary came with him, they would have to alter their wedding plans. There were few women who’d welcome that but, if she did, then he’d have her to himself for two weeks. Every illicit thought that he had forced from his mind this morning rushed back to him as he imagined the two of them alone in a steamer cabin with a multitude of night and days to enjoy one another without distraction. It almost made him order Mr Hachman to purchase two passages, but he didn’t. Mary knew him as a success. He didn’t want her beside him when his mother slammed the door in his face or berated him for having abandoned her, destroying in seconds the carefully crafted image that he’d spent years creating. He couldn’t stand to have Mary see how he’d failed in his duty to protect his family, that he’d been a weak coward who’d run away instead of telling his mother the truth, that when people needed him, he hadn’t always been there.

  ‘Sir?’ Mr Hachman pressed, snapping Silas out of his thoughts. He caught Richard and Mr Hachman’s questioning expressions.

  ‘I have to speak to Lady Mary.’ It would give him time to consider the issue further. She might be as loath to return to England as him and then none of this debate would matter. ‘For the moment, book my passage and gather all the information you have on Mr Williams. Also, arrange for more money so I can open a trust in their name so funds are never delayed again. Is Lady Mary at home, Richard?’

  ‘She is. Pay a call on her while Mr Hachman catches me up on company business.’

  ‘I will.’

  * * *

  ‘Silas, I hadn’t expected to s
ee you today.’ Mary was glad he was here. Whenever he was near, the darkness that had dominated so much of her life over the last few years dissipated. It scared her that in so short an amount of time she was already relying on him for something as illogical as emotions, especially those that wandered too close to affection. She’d wanted to be around Preston for the same reasons, too, and that hadn’t ended so well. No, this was different and she needed to stop comparing the two men and situations. It was a good sign that she and Silas enjoyed one another’s company and were companionable. It would make their marriage a real partnership.

  Silas stepped into the sitting room where Mary and Mrs Parker sat perusing the latest fashions in Godey’s Lady’s Book while discussing plans for the wedding. Mary and Mrs Parker had spoken with Reverend Dr Bend at St Paul’s Church yesterday afternoon and he’d given them a number of dates to choose from for the ceremony. With Silas here she could ask him which dates he preferred and once that was settled then everything else from the florist to the invitations could be arranged.

  ‘Mary, may I speak to you alone?’ Silas asked with a seriousness that had been lacking in any of their previous encounters.

  He’s going to cry off.

  She slowly laid down her magazine, unable to control the slight tremor in her hands. Her life would not change and she would never be more than a disgraced woman. ‘Of course. Mrs Parker, do you mind?’

  Mrs Parker exchanged a concerned glance with Mary, making it clear she harboured the same fear about Silas. Slowly, Mrs Parker took her magazine and left.

  ‘I’m afraid we have to make some changes to the wedding,’ Silas announced the moment they were alone.

  ‘What kind of changes?’ Mary sat on the edge of the sofa cushion, doing all she could to not jump up and run off to cry. He must have finally realised that he shouldn’t align himself with damaged goods. Once again a life she’d imagined was being snatched away.