‘Did you know that old Harper’s thinking of selling?’
‘Eh?’ Giles looked startled by the sudden change of subject. ‘You mean his shipyard?’
‘So I hear.’
‘Well, I never. I thought the old boy would go on for ever. Though you know what he’s like. He’ll never find a buyer he approves of. No one’s ever going to be good enough.’
‘Especially not me.’
‘He’s traditional. He definitely won’t sell to a bachelor, I’m afraid. Family values and all that.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
Robert rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He already owned the largest shipyard in Whitby. If he bought Harper’s, then he’d have one of the largest on the east coast, in the country even. It was doable, not to mention a way of proving his worth without society’s help. He smiled slowly. If Louisa and society didn’t think he was good enough to join them, then he’d demand their respect instead—show them all just what an illegitimate upstart son could achieve without their help. He’d be the perfect model of respectability, with more power and influence than his father had ever had.
And he’d start by marrying the most sensible, respectable-looking woman he could find, one that Harper would definitely approve of.
Miss Holt. He’d never seen a woman less likely to cause scandal. She was exactly the sort of wife he needed, a helpmeet, not an ornament, one who could fit unobtrusively into his busy life with the minimum of fuss or distraction, leaving him free to deal with his expanding business concerns. She wasn’t flirtatious or hysterical or highly strung, hadn’t burst into tears or tried to ingratiate herself with him when he’d accused her of being a schemer. On the contrary, she’d given as good as she’d got, had a mind of her own and no fear of speaking it. No, the more he thought of it, the more the strait-laced, straight-talking Miss Holt seemed to be just what he needed, a far more suitable bride than Louisa had ever been.
But she’d said no. As proposals went, it was hard to imagine one going much worse. He could hardly blame her for refusing him. No reasonable woman would accept such a proposal from a stranger who’d just insulted her to her face.
On the other hand, a desperate one might. Just how desperate to avoid marrying Lester was she? he wondered. He had a day to find out. Time enough to convince her to reconsider. And he knew exactly how to start.
‘I’ll see you tonight.’ He clapped a hand on Giles’s shoulder, already making for the exit. ‘Is Kitty at home?’
‘I think so, but what about the speech?’
‘We’ll discuss it at dinner. I have something important to do first.’
Giles looked taken aback. ‘With my wife?’
‘I need some information.’ Robert threw a grin over his shoulder. ‘Then I need to take her shopping.’
Chapter Three
‘Are you awake, dear?’
Ianthe opened her eyes, momentarily blinded by the expanse of colour that greeted her. Where was she? In a bedroom she didn’t recognise, daubed and draped in such an overwhelming shade of rose-petal pink that she could hardly distinguish one object from another. With the sun streaming in through open curtains, the whole room seemed to be blushing.
‘Ianthe?’
She rubbed her eyes, disoriented after such a deep sleep. She had the vague impression that the curtains had been closed only a moment before, but who had opened them? Who was that calling her name? The voice seemed to come from close by...
She yelped, catching sight of a small face, half-hidden beneath a huge frilly nightcap, peering down at her.
‘Aunt Sophoria!’
‘Oh, good, you’re awake.’ The face beamed. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you, but I was starting to worry.’
Ianthe put a hand to her chest, trying to calm her now frantically pounding heartbeat. ‘How long have I been asleep?’
‘Almost since you arrived.’
Her aunt bustled across the room and then back again, bearing a cup of tea in one hand and a plate of macaroons in the other, before perching precariously on the side of the bed.
‘Here we are. I bought these as a treat for us last night, but since you were indisposed, we’ll have them for breakfast instead.’
‘Thank you.’ Ianthe accepted the tea gratefully. ‘I’m sorry I ruined our arrival, Aunt, but Percy and I had the most dreadful quarrel.’
‘So I gathered. You were quite overwrought when you got here.’
‘Oh...’ Her cheeks flushed as memories of the day before came flooding back. She’d collapsed into her aunt’s arms on the doorstep, still reeling from the shock of Percy’s deception and Mr Felstone’s so-called proposal. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Nonsense! You’ve given the neighbours something to talk about. They’ll be thrilled.’ Hazel eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘So I sent you off to bed and Percy to stay at the Swan. I had intended for him to use this room while you shared with me, but it seemed like you needed some peace. Besides, I didn’t like the way he was talking to you. Takes after your father’s side of the family, that one.’
Ianthe smiled, trying to imagine her brother in such a vibrantly pink bedroom. Now that she was getting used to the colour, she was starting to like it, as if she were a little girl back in the nursery. It felt like a safe haven, a space of her own again—a home. That was all she wanted in life now, a place to hide from the world. But she still owed her aunt an explanation for her behaviour. If only she knew where to begin...
‘It wasn’t entirely Percy’s fault, Aunt. I behaved very badly.’
‘Oh, I doubt that. Have a macaroon.’
‘You don’t understand.’ She took a deep, faltering breath. ‘He wants me to marry Charles Lester.’
‘Lester?’ Aunt Sophoria paused with a biscuit halfway to her lips. ‘That vain old buffoon? Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘You don’t like him?’
‘Never have, never could. He used to hang around your mother when she was a girl, too. I used to chase him away then. What on earth is Percy thinking?’
‘They’ve become close this past year. That’s why Percy brought me here. They arranged it together.’
‘Ah. I did wonder about your brother’s sudden enthusiasm for visiting me after ten years. So Lester’s in on it, then?’
Ianthe lifted her shoulders and then dropped them again despairingly. ‘Percy says he’s going to propose, but I don’t understand it. I’ve done nothing to encourage him and it’s not as if I have money or connections. It can’t be love, I’m sure of it.’
‘Love?’ Her aunt chewed on a macaroon thoughtfully. ‘No, love isn’t a sentiment I’d associate with Charles Lester.’
‘He scares me, Aunt.’ She gave an involuntary shudder, trying to put all the things she’d scarcely dared think about into words. ‘He watches me so intently all the time, like he’s hungry, but as if it’s not really me he’s looking at either. It’s like it’s me, but not me that he wants. I don’t know how else to explain it.’
Aunt Sophoria screwed up her mouth for a moment before patting her hand reassuringly. ‘Well, if you don’t like him then that’s an end to it and we’ll tell your brother so together. As for Lester, don’t worry, I know how to handle him.’
Ianthe put down her tea, flinging her arms around her aunt’s neck with a sob of relief. ‘Oh, thank you, Aunt. I was so afraid you’d agree with Percy.’
‘As if I ever could!’ Aunt Sophoria gave her a tight squeeze. ‘Honestly, men! I ought to box both their ears.’
Ianthe laughed before sitting back again with a guilty expression. ‘That wasn’t all I was upset about, I’m afraid. You see, there was another man on the train.’
An image of Mr Felstone’s sternly handsome features flashed before her eyes, making her hesitate. Perhaps it was better not to tell her aunt
about him. In the cold light of day the whole thing sounded ridiculous, as if she’d simply imagined it. Was it possible that she’d somehow misunderstood his proposal? That she’d been so angry that she’d somehow...misheard?
She frowned, thinking over their argument. No, he’d definitely called her a schemer before he’d asked her to marry him. A business proposal, he’d called it, though surely he couldn’t have been serious. No sane man would suggest such a thing to a woman he’d only just met, no gentleman certainly. And yet...he’d seemed sane. He’d even seemed like a gentleman. So why had he said it? At the time she’d assumed that he’d been mocking her, taking advantage of their isolated situation to make fun of her dowdy appearance. Now, after a solid night’s sleep, she felt more confused than ever.
‘You mean Mr Felstone?’ Aunt Sophoria picked up the last macaroon and popped it between her lips.
Ianthe’s mouth dropped open. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Percy told me that part.’
‘So you know I quarrelled with him, too?’
‘Oh, yes, but I wouldn’t worry about it. Mr Felstone’s very civil, nothing if not a gentleman. I’m sure he won’t hold it against you.’
‘Civil?’
‘A bit stern, perhaps, but charming when he wants to be. The older I get, the more invisible I seem to become, especially to men, but Mr Felstone’s always very attentive. He’s considered quite the catch around here despite his background, not that anyone’s managed to land him just yet.’
Ianthe gaped at her aunt, slack-jawed in disbelief. Civil and charming were the last words she would have used to describe him. Did the man have an evil twin, perhaps? If he were even half the gentleman her aunt seemed to think, then surely he wouldn’t have made fun of her so callously, not unless...
She shook her head, resisting the idea. It was impossible. His proposal couldn’t have been genuine...could it?
She racked her brains, searching for another alternative. ‘But is he quite sane, do you think?’
‘Sane? I should think so. He’s a self-made man, owns the biggest shipyard in Whitby, not to mention a whole fleet of merchant vessels. I think he might have something to do with the new ironworks, too, not to mention the railway. I don’t suppose one can be mad and achieve all that.’
‘Oh.’ She didn’t know what else to say, relieved that she hadn’t mentioned his proposal after all. She had the distinct impression that her aunt wouldn’t be quite so sympathetic if she denounced him, too. Though if all of that were true, why on earth had he proposed to her? Surely such an eligible bachelor could have his pick of available women. She felt a stab of resentment. He must have been mocking her after all. As if insulting her weren’t bad enough...
‘You know, his birth caused quite the scandal,’ Aunt Sophoria continued blithely. ‘His father was Lord Theakston.’
‘What’s so scandalous about that?’
‘Nothing at all,’ her aunt chuckled, ‘except that his mother wasn’t Lady Theakston. She never had any children, poor woman. They might have made up for being married to him, the old rogue.’
Ianthe leaned forward, intrigued despite herself. ‘So who was his mother?’
‘One of the housemaids. Not the first he dallied with either, nor the last, but once Lady Theakston found out she was having a baby, she turned her out on to the street.’
‘But that’s awful!’
‘It was, not that Theakston himself did anything to stop it. No one knew where she went after that. Then twelve years later, she and the boy popped up out of the blue in Whitby, he gets himself a job at old Masham’s shipyard, the old man takes a shine to him and before anyone knows it, he owns the whole place. The mother died soon afterward, and there was some kind of reconciliation with his father, but something must have gone wrong. I know they quarrelled before the old man died anyway.’
‘Oh.’ She still didn’t know what to say.
‘Do you know...?’ Aunt Sophoria tilted her head to one side suddenly. ‘You look so much like your mother this morning. I couldn’t see the resemblance last night, but now it’s quite uncanny. I could almost believe you were her again.’
Ianthe smiled, relieved at the change in subject. ‘My father always said we were doubles.’
‘So you are. My poor girl, this past year must have been very hard for you, losing your parents so close together.’
She bit her lip, trying to stop it from trembling. ‘He just seemed to give up without her.’
‘They always had too much romantic sensibility, the pair of them.’
‘Aunt!’
‘They did. He ought to have pulled himself together.’
‘Surely you don’t blame him for dying?’
Aunt Sophoria screwed up her mouth as if torn between two conflicting opinions. ‘No. I suppose not.’
Ianthe stared at her in shocked silence for a moment before bursting into peals of laughter. ‘Father always said you were wicked.’
‘Did he? How wonderful. I’m the black sheep of the family, you know.’ Her aunt smiled mischievously before heaving herself back to her feet. ‘But now I think it’s time to get up. I unpacked your bag, I hope you don’t mind, though there wasn’t much there. It’s all very respectable, but...’ Her face fell and then lit up again suddenly. ‘Would you like to borrow something of mine? I have a pink taffeta that would suit you perfectly. I could do your hair, too, if you like. I do so hate these new flat styles.’
Ianthe bit her tongue. The idea of wearing something belonging to her aunt was more than a little alarming. On the other hand, Percy would doubtless waste no time in bringing Sir Charles to call and, if her drab, old-fashioned attire didn’t deter him, Aunt Sophoria’s wardrobe just might...
‘That sounds like a wonderful idea.’ She wrenched the bedcovers back with a smile. ‘Perhaps I could do with some colour.’
* * *
It didn’t take long for Ianthe to regret her decision. Descending the stairs in her aunt’s idea of a day gown was far more problematic that she’d imagined. There were so many layers and decorative flounces she had to keep a tight hold on the banister to stop herself from falling and breaking her neck.
She stopped on the landing halfway, studying her reflection in a heavy gilt-framed mirror, wondering whether to burst into laughter or tears. Her aunt’s old, steel-rimmed crinoline made her look as if she were wearing several dresses at once, while her puffed sleeves were embellished with enough lace to make a whole other skirt. Her hair, meanwhile, was piled so high on her head that she looked as if she had a bird’s nest sitting on top—the whole frizzy arrangement held in place with an oversized day-cap, fastened beneath her chin with an elaborate bow. She looked like some kind of confection, a pink cake topped with white frothy icing.
For a meeting with Sir Charles, she looked perfect.
‘Ah, there you are!’ Aunt Sophoria met her in the hallway as she finally reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘You have a visitor.’
‘Already?’ Ianthe’s heart sank. Apparently Sir Charles wasn’t wasting any time.
‘He’s been waiting ten minutes. And of course Betsy isn’t here this morning. I’ll have to make the tea myself. Will he want cake, do you think?’
‘No! I mean, I’m sure he won’t be staying long.’
‘We still have to be courteous, dear.’ Her aunt squeezed her hand reassuringly. ‘Didn’t I tell you it would be all right? Now, run along in. You can’t keep a man like that waiting.’
‘But you said...’
Ianthe felt a twinge of resentment as her aunt vanished through a side door. So much for promising to help her—she’d left her to face Sir Charles alone! On the other hand, at least this would get the interview over with. The events of the day before, upsetting though they’d been, had at least clarified her feelings. She wouldn’t marr
y him, not for money, not for protection, not even for Percy. She had to make that clear once and for all.
She gave the door a firm push, sweeping into the parlour with a determined flourish.
‘Good morning, S—’
She stopped short as she caught sight of the man standing with his back towards her. He was taller and more imposing than Sir Charles, his broad shoulders encased in a smart, three-quarter-length navy coat trimmed with royal-blue velvet, the crisp white collar of his shirt contrasting vividly with his thick, black hair.
‘Mr Felstone?’ she gasped, annoyed by the catch in her own voice.
‘I’m afraid so.’ He turned around, his expression flitting between surprise and amusement before he seemed to master himself. ‘Thank you for seeing me, Miss Holt. Under the circumstances, I would have understood if you’d refused.’
Ianthe stiffened, fighting the urge to turn tail and run. As if everything that had happened yesterday wasn’t bad enough, now he had to see her like this? In her aunt’s cluttered parlour he looked even more handsome than she remembered, while she looked like some kind of doily! Well, there was no point in trying to hide her outlandish appearance now. He’d already seen the worst. She had to brazen it out, no matter how embarrassing.
‘I didn’t expect to see you here, Mr Felstone.’
‘Ah.’ He seemed to guess the truth. ‘You were expecting Sir Charles perhaps?’
‘Yes.’ She regarded him warily. ‘How did you find me? I don’t think I told you where I was staying.’
‘You didn’t, but I have a friend whose wife is fortunate enough to know everything that happens in Pickering.’ He raised an eyebrow inquiringly. ‘But I can leave if you prefer?’
For a moment, she was tempted to agree. After yesterday, he was the last man—almost the last man, she corrected herself—that she wanted to see. On the other hand, her aunt clearly held a very different opinion. She wouldn’t appreciate her throwing him out, no matter how much she wanted to.
The Convenient Felstone Marriage Page 4