by Ashe Barker
“There now. I’ll just go and ask in the kitchen if there’s anything you could eat as you dress. Not porridge, then.”
Victoria watched her retreating back. “Daisy,” she called as the maid reached the door.
“Miss?” The young woman’s smile seemed warm and genuine, despite Victoria’s earlier snappiness.
“I’m sorry. For being so bad-tempered just now. I just… I never oversleep, that’s all.”
“That’s all right, miss. I’m glad you’re feeling quite well after all.” She bobbed a suggestion of a curtsy and hurried off in search of sustenance for her grumpy employer.
Victoria knew a pang of guilt. She despised those who ill-treated their staff or workers and would never normally have taken out her ill humour on a servant. Luckily Daisy had more sense than to take it to heart, but she knew she had to make it up to her. Daisy’s mother was confined with her seventh child just now; maybe the girl would like a couple of days off to go help out at home. She would see to it. First though, she had more urgent matters to take care of. She would use the opportunity afforded by the maid’s absence to get some underclothes on. At least then the girl would not be asking awkward questions about the marks on her posterior.
* * *
Thirty minutes later Victoria left the house to make the short walk along the lane and across the cobbled mill yard. By her reckoning Adam Luke had been loose in her mill for as much as four hours. Goodness only knew what meddling he might have been up to. She chose not to dwell on the inconvenient fact that it was actually his mill and he had a perfect right to be there, and to meddle to his heart’s content.
“He’d better not have upset Mr. Timmins…” she muttered to herself as she rounded the corner to the rear of the mill, making for her private entrance.
The sounds that greeted her as she made her way up the steps did not suggest that Mr. Timmins was in any way distressed. Strong male laughter reverberated from her office, several men by the sound of it. She reached the doorway and froze.
Adam Luke was in her seat, his feet propped on her desk. Mr. Timmins occupied his usual chair opposite. Also present were Seth Ackroyd, her senior engineer, whose role was to ensure her machinery was kept in good order, and her chief over-looker, Archie Bell. The four men had a large sheet of paper spread out on the desk and were apparently finding much merriment in it.
Adam was the first to notice her presence. He smiled at her and placed his feet on the floor. “Miss Wynne, how nice to see you. I trust you feel better now.”
Victoria might have snapped at him as she had her maid, but she realised in time that her absence until this disgraceful hour would have been noted and remarked upon so she accepted the cover he offered. “I am fine, thank you. Quite recovered.”
Adam smiled at her, his expression nothing short of dazzling were she in a mood to enjoy it. He got to his feet and gestured her to her chair. She wriggled past the others crowding her office to take her accustomed place. When Mr. Timmins would have risen to offer his chair to Adam, her new partner waved the clerk back and instead perched on the edge of her desk.
Adam favoured her with his dazzling smile. “Miss Wynne, Archie here has a suggestion for how we might improve efficiency in our finishing shed. It is the finishing part of the process you meant, is it not?”
“Aye, sir, sort of.” He turned to Victoria. “I came up here lookin’ fer you, miss, but Mr. Timmins said you was poorly. So I was jest tellin’ Mr. Luke ‘ere what I been thinkin’ of.”
She nodded at him politely. Archie was usually worth listening to. “I see. And that is…?”
“Well, miss, I know we make it a point to always meet our orders on time, before time if we can…” The man paused and Victoria nodded her encouragement that he should continue. He did so. “It seems to me we shouldn’t. There’s no point sendin’ cloth out to stand in other folks warehouses earlier than they need it. If we do that, we ‘ave to buy in wool from our suppliers sooner than we should, an’ store it at our expense. If we don’t start an order until the last minute, an’ get if finished jest in time, we’d save on our own storage costs, and our customers’. We know exactly how long the process takes, so I reckon we could time it jest right. We’d all be better off, an’ other manufacturing sheds would want to buy from us. We’re reliable, they’d know their stuff’d be there when they needed it.”
“I see. What about unforeseen delays though? Bad weather can prevent us transporting our completed cloth, or a supplier might let us down. Or we might have some sort of mechanical failure. We’d have to pay penalties if we deliver late.”
“Aye, true enough. Mr. Luke said as much too. But we can work out the exact margin to allow.”
Seth Ackroyd lounged against her door post, his hands in his pockets. Victoria wondered if she should be more insistent on her workforce displaying a proper respectful attitude in her presence, but was too keen to hear what they all had to say to be unduly concerned with protocol. Seth cleared his throat. “My machines don’t fail, lass. Can you recall a time they ever have?”
Victoria shook her head. Seth was one of the first products of her father’s educational experiment, a well-trained, skilled engineer with a secondary school education who had been in charge of her shed for the last twelve years. His machines ran like clockwork.
Mr. Timmins leaned forward to offer his contribution. “We could do this. And if you prefer we could take out insurance too, and cover any penalty costs we might incur that way. I’ve been doing some calculations and I do believe Archie is right. Just by getting the timing exactly right we could cut our costs without sacrificing quality, and if we pass those savings on to our customers, we will get more trade out of it.”
All four men regarded her with varying degrees of expectancy and enthusiasm. Victoria surveyed all their features, then gave a curt nod. “Archie, you can do the detailed calculations, with Mr. Timmins. Show me what you come up with, but if the margins can be pared back without causing problems, we’ll try it.”
The two factory managers muttered their approval and set off back to their respective posts to start planning the revised scheduling. Mr. Timmins gathered up his notes and stood. “I’ll be outside if you need me, Miss Wynne. Mr. Luke.” He left, closing the door behind him.
Alone with Adam Luke, Victoria occupied herself in rearranging paper clips for several minutes. He didn’t shift from the edge of her desk, even though there was now a spare seat in the room. Eventually he reached down and laid his hand over hers, stopping any further fidgeting.
“Victoria, we need to talk.”
She looked up at him. “Yes, I know that. But not here. Not now.”
“I intend to be on the train leaving Hebden Bridge at three o’clock. I will require an answer from you before I leave. Failure to provide me with one will result in my assuming your response to be no. I will not repeat my offer to you. So, we discuss it here, now, or you risk running out of time.”
She met his gaze, her expression calm, she hoped. She slid her hand from under his and folded it with the other in her lap. She saw no merit in procrastination. “My answer is yes. But I wish to suggest a slight variation to your terms.”
He frowned, but tilted his head at her. “Please go on, Victoria.”
“Yesterday, when you were describing the, er, the precise nature of our arrangement, you promised to take all possible precautions to avoid impregnating me.”
“I did, and will do so. But as I also made clear, should there be a baby as a result, I will acknowledge the child and provide for him or her. You too if need be.”
“And I believe I made my position on that clear also. I will require no such provision, nor will my child.”
He lifted an eyebrow, but remained silent. Victoria took that as her opportunity to set out her own terms.
“I will comply with your wishes. You may do what you like, and I will submit to it without complaint. But there will be no precautions taken reg
arding pregnancy. Quite the reverse, in fact. I wish to bear a child and I believe you would make a most acceptable sire. Those are my terms.”
His somewhat startled expression afforded Victoria a degree of satisfaction. “You want a baby?”
“I do, Mr. Luke. And I am of the opinion you could provide me with one.”
“I see.”
“I am not entirely convinced that you do. I am a businesswoman, my time is fully occupied running my mill, and for the foreseeable future I anticipate your additional requirements will eradicate any remaining free time I might have had. I am not a woman given to frivolity, nor do I care for social gatherings particularly. In short, I am resigned to the fact that I am unlikely to marry. However, that does not mean I have no desire to have children. I do, in fact. Very much so. But I am already twenty-seven years old and if I am to take steps to pursue that objective, it has to be soon.”
“I appreciate your sense of urgency, but this plan of yours is not without its complications. Am I to understand you intend to bring up your child alone then? Would the God-fearing wool barons of Yorkshire not find something to say on the matter?”
“I do not believe they would, or at least not on any sustained basis. As long as I offer high-quality cloth at a decent price, they will trade with me and be right glad of the opportunity. We Yorkshire folk are not a sentimental bunch, not when it comes to business. My mother will help me, and eventually, when I choose to relinquish my mill, I will have an heir.”
“As would I, if this plan of yours comes to fruition.”
Victoria levelled a gaze on him. “I appreciate that, and I assure you I have no intention at all of intruding on your future with this. I am prepared to enter into a legal agreement with you absolving you of all and any responsibility…”
“Victoria, no. That would not do at all.”
“It is what I want. I insist, in fact. It will be no hardship for you and means a lot to me.” She hoped he could not detect the wavering in her voice. He had to agree, he just had to. “Sir, I do not even know if I am fertile, but I see no reason to suspect otherwise. However that will not last forever; biology is a cruel mistress, I fear. If I am to engage in this, this… arrangement with you, it will impede any alternative efforts I might choose to make in this regard for the next several years. So you see, it is imperative that you accommodate me in the matter.”
Adam chuckled, a rich, soft sound that caused something to twist and clench somewhere deep within her. He leaned forward and reached for her hand across the desk.
“Victoria, I am not refusing you. But a child, an heir, especially outside of marriage, is a considerable undertaking. Unheard of in my experience. I simply wish to be sure that you have considered this with all the care it requires. Your business associates might eventually find it possible to pretend you are not a fallen woman, or at least not speak of it in your presence. There would be a great deal of talk though, certainly at first. Are you ready for that? Is your family ready?”
“I am, and my family will support me. You are a man of property, you must have some inkling of why this is so important to me.”
“I do, but I need you to understand that I did mean what I said, when first we discussed such an eventuality. I will acknowledge any offspring we may create together. There will be no legal agreement saying otherwise, although I have no intention of offering you marriage. If you are quite convinced that you would welcome a child and wish to raise your heir alone, then I see no reason to thwart your ambitions. I will do nothing to impede your hopes. If it should happen, I will be the first to offer my congratulations.”
“I do not wish to marry you either, Mr. Luke. I believe I made that perfectly clear.”
“You did, and I am relieved.”
“So, you agree to my terms then?”
He met her eyes, and held her gaze as though searching for some inner truth. Perhaps he found it, because at last he inclined his head in a slow nod. “I do, if this is what you truly want.”
“Thank you. Oh, thank you.” She knew she was beaming, a silly joyous grin plastered across her face, but she could not help it. Her dream was coming true. It really, really was. She stood, and on impulse threw her arms around his neck.
He closed his arms around her, his hands on her bottom. He squeezed, reminding her of last night’s events in her library. Victoria winced.
“Still sore?” He nuzzled her neck, murmuring the words into her ear.
“Yes, but it’s fine.”
“Is it? I know I hurt you, shocked you a little.”
“More than a little, but I am quite recovered now. Apart from the bruises, of course.”
“Of course. And after your spanking, how do you feel this morning about what happened next?”
Victoria stepped away to look up at him. She did not feign any confusion as to his meaning. “I feel perfectly wonderful, Mr. Luke. Adam.”
He smiled. “Then I believe we have a deal, Miss Wynne. Victoria.”
He held out his hand, and Victoria took it. “We do.”
* * *
“You intend to return to London today then?”
“Yes. In fact, I must leave for the station within the next few minutes.” Adam consulted his pocket watch then helped himself to a third salmon sandwich from the delicate arrangement supplied by Mrs. Bridger. Victoria had insisted he return to Wynne House with her to take a light lunch before his journey. Since he had agreed to her somewhat unorthodox arrangement, she felt more pleasantly disposed to him. With each hour she spent in his company she found her new business partner more attractive, more charismatic. Indeed, she could not recall having ever liked a gentleman so much as she did Mr. Adam Luke, despite the circumstances.
She should loathe and resent him for having acquired her mill from under her, then proposing a personal arrangement that might ruin her. Instead, she realised she had no desire to see him leave, and more than a passing wish to be ruined without further delay.
“You are welcome to remain with us another day or so.” She swallowed, then continued her campaign. “Now that we have the nature of our relationship clarified, there is merit, surely, in wasting no time. We could… we could…”
“You are inviting me to sleep with you, Miss Wynne?” He took a sip of his tea as he fixed his amused emerald gaze on her.
Victoria felt her face reddening, but could not fault his deduction. Well, not entirely.
“I do not believe you were considering sleep exactly. Did you not make that most clear?”
“Ah, yes. You are correct. Are you inviting me to fuck you, Victoria? Here, in your mother’s parlour perhaps?”
“No, of course not. Somewhere more—suitable could be found, I am convinced of it. Somewhere discreet and private.”
“Your bedroom then? Mine?”
Victoria could only nod, her present supply of boldness quite exhausted.
Adam smiled at her. “How hospitable of you, Miss Wynne. And I might be tempted too, but I am afraid I have pressing affairs to attend to back in the city. I really must take my leave of you. Until the weekend.”
“I… see.” She did not know whether to be relieved or insulted. She hovered between the two for a few moments, then settled on disappointed.
Adam leaned forward to cup her chin in his hand. He lifted her face to his so she had no choice but to meet his eyes.
“This is your reflection period, Victoria. You may yet change your mind. I do most sincerely hope that you will not, and that in just three days you will board a train to London ready to spend a most interesting weekend with me. But I am no sexual predator, Victoria. This is your choice and I want to be sure you have had an opportunity to properly consider your options.”
“I have decided. I will not change my mind now.”
“Excellent. Than you may spend the time between now and Saturday in eager anticipation of your deflowering. I assume you are a virgin, unmarried lady of good upbringing and all
that.”
“Of course, sir. But—”
“The wait will do you good, Victoria.” He leaned in and brushed her lips with his. “Now, I really must be leaving. I have a train to catch.”
Chapter Seven
“I am expecting a companion to join me. Please direct the lady to my private lounge when she arrives.” Adam issued his instructions to the middle-aged doorman, slipping a folded one-pound note into the breast pocket of the butler’s jacket. The man tipped his hat in polite agreement. Adam reflected that the haughty major-domo might disapprove of ‘companions’ who met gentlemen in hotels, Adam had no doubt he did, but a generous tip would invariably assuage such sensibilities. He thanked the man and strolled across the foyer of The Ritz hotel in the direction of the corridor leading to the more secluded waiting areas where he intended to await the arrival of the truly delightful Victoria Wynne.
He had reserved a private lounge for their immediate use, and a rather splendid suite on the second floor for later. He settled himself in a comfortable winged chair and contemplated the events of the last few days. When he made the journey to Hebden Bridge to present his terms personally, he had believed the odds to be about even that Victoria would agree to his outrageous suggestion, but she had truly astonished him with her even more scandalous counterproposal. He had agreed to what she wanted but felt a degree of discomfort with it. There was no certainty of a baby resulting from their union, but he felt the prospect to be a likely one if he took no steps to minimise that risk. He was not a man to shirk his responsibilities, so the notion of leaving a woman pregnant and alone when their relationship came to an end did not sit well with him, even though he found he understood Victoria’s dilemma and sympathised with her cause. And she would not be alone exactly. He would ensure her wellbeing and that of any child, and he would insist that the infant’s paternity be recorded. He did not intend to intrude, nor would he interfere, but he would be there in the background. Somewhere.