by Wendy Vella
The image was spoiled when she turned and her hat spilled from her head. She snatched it up and shoved some of those loose curls from her face. Perhaps not everything had changed, though, if he thought about it, she was a darned sight more pleasing to look at. Not a beauty however, he reminded himself sharply.
“Will you come into the drawing room?”
“Certainly.”
She followed him in a regal manner but he saw the dark spots staining her cheeks and knew the hat incident had cost her. She eyed him as if waiting for him to comment on the faux pas. Perhaps her stuffy old husband had scolded her for any clumsiness. Poor girl. She hadn’t even been eighteen when she had married the old codger.
But what did he care?
Oh, yes, he didn’t, remember?
He indicated to a seat and went to stand by the window. He waited until she had sat before turning to face her. “Now, Ellie, what is it you want and why have you been so eager to see me that you would risk being robbed and Lord knows what else? I hope it is a good reason indeed.”
Chapter Three
Tea for Two
Eleanor peered up at him, noting the dip between his brows as if he was indeed very angry with her. Perhaps he was, though why he should care what happened to her person, she did not know. Likely it was her intrusion on his time that annoyed him most. Mama had said that Lord Rushbourne was rarely seen outside of his mills in the next county and his home.
Why the sudden dislike of society though? The Lucian she had known relished spending time at parties and balls. She had realized rather too late that it was so he could get foxed and find some enjoyable company. She, in her foolishness, had thought him a great deal of fun and had even harbored hopes he came to see her. After all, their families had known one another for years. The match had been in her mind long before she had even thought of Lucian as anything other than a friend.
“If you had read my letters, you would know why I wished to speak with you,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady.
It was hard in the presence of such a man. He had a way of looking at her that made her feel small and silly. It didn’t help that she had fallen into his arms twice now and had embarrassed herself with her ridiculous hat and hair.
It had been seven years since she had seen Lucian and he was still as handsome as ever. Not even the raised, red scar on the side of his face detracted from that. Time had done him many favors. The tiny lines knitting his brow removed any suggestion of the boyish demeanor he’d once had and she spotted a few silver threads in the dark brown hair at his temples. With his dark brows, long lashes and glinting green eyes, there was no mistaking Lucian for anything other than a thoroughly handsome man.
One way above her reach. She laughed inwardly. That scar likely worked in his favor, garnering many a sympathetic touch from ladies. She wished her mama had told her the accident had scarred him though. It had taken her by surprise.
“Well, I did not read your letters so you shall have to tell me yourself.”
Eleanor smiled her thanks to the maid who poured the tea in front of her and desperately hoped Lucian would sit on one of the pale blue chairs in the center of the room. He was some distance from her, with his hands clasped behind his back, yet having him standing made her stomach churn with apprehension. She would feel much more confident if he would but sit.
Maybe he found her repellent. He had made that clear once before. She tried her hardest to be beautiful. Copious amounts of sunshine and lemon juice had improved her hair and complexion, but what was a woman to do about one’s features? That might explain his eagerness to keep his distance.
Filling her lungs, she ignored the tea on the gilded table and secured her gaze on the portrait of the late viscount. She had visited Balmead Manor many times during her childhood and nothing had changed. Strange, for she had always expected Lucian to modernize the old house almost as soon as he’d inherited the title, but it seemed he had done nothing to it yet.
“I wish to speak of my shares in your mill in Lancashire. As you may have heard, my late husband signed over his un-entailed estates and fortune to me. That included any business arrangements and stocks.” Eleanor clenched her hands together, aware of the slight tremble in them. “Lord Rushbourne, I wish to have a hand in the mill.”
He stared at her for several long moments, his lashes lowering and lifting quickly in surprise. A short burst of laughter came from him and she felt heat surge into her cheeks.
“Forgive me. You wish to come and work for me? Operate the machinery perhaps?”
“No! In the running of it, I mean.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
The words were sharp and quick, like a gunshot. Suddenly, she was seventeen again and being told her girlish dreams were ludicrous and no man like Lucian could ever want her. Or she was nine and her governess, Miss Pettigrew, was scolding her for staring out the window and dreaming of great adventures. The tired voice of her governess ran through her head. Well-bred girls did not run off on adventures and why could she not be more refined? Why did she have to be so awkward? Miss Pettigrew was sure she would never marry well, she had warned Eleanor’s mother, for who would want to marry such an uncouth girl?
“I have no intention of interfering as such but my lawyers tell me the mill’s profits are dropping and I should like to come and see it for myself.”
He strode over and paused by the chair opposite. Eleanor had to lift her chin to view him. His lips had twisted and his handsome features grew bitter. “You have come to laud it over me, I suppose. Here you are, a wealthy, beautiful countess, and here I am, a mere viscount with a failing business. You have seen exotic creatures and far off lands, while I have been fighting to save what’s left of my father’s legacy. I breathe in the thick smoke of Caldton, while you enjoy the fresh air of Paris or some other far flung place that no one in their right mind would want to visit.”
The verbal attack might have sent her reeling had it not been for the plush cushions supporting her back. Such anger. Where did it come from? She didn’t think she had said or done anything offensive. Was it so far-fetched that someone whose money was tied up in a business should want to see that it was being invested well? Would he even be questioning such a demand if she were a man?
And he had called her beautiful.
Eleanor quickly shoved that aside. She was not beautiful. All the make-up and fine clothing in the world could not change that. Acceptable, yes, maybe even interesting to look at in certain lights and outfits, but beautiful? No.
“I certainly have no intention of lauding it over you, Lucian.” She tried his name on her tongue and found it soft and pleasing. Ever since that night she had forced herself to think of him as a stranger and no longer a friend, but saying his name did not pain her as much as she thought it might. “I am aware that not many women are as lucky as I am to have had a generous husband and that you might believe me to be interfering in your affairs, but, nevertheless, a great deal of my money is now invested in your mill and I should like to see it do well.”
Lucian shoved a hand through his hair, making it mussed, and gripped the back of the chair. The dark brown locks had a slight curl to them and she considered that this might have been what the gossips referred to when they spoke of looking like one had just climbed out of bed after a tupping. It was a dangerous and all too appealing look.
“Forgive me, Ellie, I did not mean to insult. Please let me assure you that your money is in good hands. It is in all of our interests for the mill to do well and I have little intention of letting it close.”
His apology felt empty, as if he were speaking to appease her. Perhaps he was used to using such words to appease creditors. From what little she had found out of the cotton industry, it had been a rough year.
“The price of cotton continues to drop, does it not?”
His brows lifted and he nodded. He sat in one swift movement, like a lithe cat, and Eleanor envied his elegance and ease. She found he
rself trying to press back against the padding of the chair to create more distance between them, even though there were several paces and a table between them.
“The Americans are selling it far cheaper than we ever can and though we have upgraded to new machinery, the upsurge in production all across the country has dropped prices far quicker than we imagined.” He leaned forwards, his elbows on his knees and eyed her closely. “I shall prevail.”
“I do not doubt it.” Her voice came out thin. Not that she did doubt him, but the way he locked that green gaze on her sucked the air from her lungs.
Lucian eyed her for a few breaths before leaning back against the chair, the epitome of a rake once more. The intensity was gone, replaced with a lazy look to his expression. His hooded eyes and sprawled arms spoke of a man with no worries—the man she had once known—yet only moments ago she’d seen the concern and the determination in his expression. Seven years, it seemed, had wrought many changes in Lord Rushbourne.
“Then you do not need to fear, my lady. I shall continue to turn a profit and fill your coffers. We must simply suffer this lean year and we shall come out stronger than ever at the end.”
His indolent smile did not fool her. She had spent years watching from afar as a girl. She knew every expression of his, apart from, perhaps, the grave worried one he had worn only moments before. So when worry haunted his eyes, she saw it.
“I should still like to visit the mill and see your ledgers.”
“And what shall you do with these ledgers? Do you believe me guilty of pocketing the profits, perhaps?”
“Of course not! Believe it or not, my lord, I have quite a head for figures. Edward allowed me to have quite a hand in his financial dealings and I have learned much since I inherited.”
“Little Ellie Browning pouring over ledgers,” he mused and his lips lifted at both corners.
“I am not Ellie Browning,” she snapped. “I am Lady Eleanor Sedgewick, Countess of Hawthorne, and I have no wish to be referred to as anything else.”
“Very well, Lady Eleanor Sedgewick, Countess of Hawthorne,” he said with a sardonic grin. “I shall have my advisor send some of this year’s ledgers. How about that?”
Eleanor narrowed her gaze at him. Somehow she suspected the ledgers would never arrive or they would be incomplete, or perhaps they would be lost on their journey to Broadstone Hall. “I still wish to come to Lancashire and visit the mill.”
“Have you ever been to a cotton mill?”
“N-no.”
“They are dusty, noisy places. Smoke fills the air in Caldton and people live in close quarters. Neither the mill nor the town are suited to a lady such as yourself. Why do you not stay out here in the country where you would be more comfortable?”
“Lord Rushbourne, I have travelled far and wide. I have slept on floors and shared transportation with the poorest people. I have camped in the dessert and survived the worst weather. A little smoke and dust cannot scare me.”
Eleanor fought to keep a smug smile from her face. There, let him tell her what a delicate thing she was and how she should stay secluded away, whiling away her days with nothing but embroidery and womanly pursuits.
“Ellie...” He sighed. “What will it take to appease you?”
“A visit to the mill, that is all I ask.”
“Why do I suspect that will not be where it ends?”
“Because you have fine instincts, my lord. You always did have.”
Lucian gave her a rueful smile. “I once had. I’m not sure I can claim the same anymore.” He rose before she could question the statement, forcing her to follow suit. “I shall make arrangements and be in touch.”
“You will not forget?”
He skimmed his gaze over her, making her body feel warm and prickly. “Ellie, how could I ever forget you?”
Chapter Four
His Favorite Color
Steam swirled around his legs as Lucian pulled out his pocket watch, eyed it with a grunt and snapped it shut before stuffing it back into his waistcoat pocket. Trust Ellie to keep him waiting. He let his gaze linger on the train and watched the splatters of water and steam drip and hiss down the tender. It reminded him rather of Ellie, hissing and spitting at him with declarations of how bold and brave she was. Perhaps hissing and spitting was an exaggeration, but the way she had drawn herself up and flung the words at him had certainly been quite the display.
His lips quirked as he recalled the sight. Little Ellie was not so little anymore, he had to admit. Her travels and marriage had made a woman out of her, and a bold one at that. Though, no matter how hard she tried, he still saw moments where her facade slipped and the scarecrow revealed herself.
Strangely, the scarecrow didn’t aggravate him anymore. That was likely because the scarecrow would be easier to handle. This Countess of Hawthorne was much harder to manage. He couldn’t even be sure why he had agreed to take her to the factory. Hopefully she would hate the noise and the thick fluffy air, and demand to leave immediately. Whatever she said about her travels, even when she had been plain Miss Browning she had been privileged, and now her rank and fortune brought her more privilege than even he could imagine.
A light tap on his arm forced him to turn from the magnificent sight of the tender and drew him out of his thoughts. Ellie offered him a steady smile and a raised brow, as if she knew he had been thinking of her. But how could she possibly?
“Good morning, my lord.”
He resisted rolling his eyes at her formality. If she thought her use of his title would stop him from using her given name, she was sorely mistaken. After all, they had known each other since infancy. What need was there for formalities? Not to mention, he saw how her expression hardened with annoyance every time he called her Ellie. He was hardly going to deny himself some amusement, was he?
“Good morning, Ellie. You look very well.” He skimmed his gaze leisurely down her. It was a deliberate action, one intended to rile her further but it only seemed to rile him. For some reason, his skin grew a little hot and he fought the desire to tug at his necktie.
The dark blue gown cinched in her waist and the small buttons running down between the curves of her breasts had him imagining running other things down the center of them. Namely his tongue.
The thought jolted him and he snapped his gaze up to hers. Her simple features peeked out from a bonnet that many ladies would no doubt think was a darling bonnet. Her face was made all the more appealing by the blue silk ribbon tied around her chin, and the pale blue ruffles around the inside of it. Inevitably, he found himself staring at those berry red lips.
The lips moved. He frowned.
“My lord?” she prompted.
“Pardon?” He dragged his gaze away from those tempting morsels that passed for lips.
“Are we to go?”
“Yes, of course. I have our tickets.” He waved them in her direction and offered her his arm.
She ignored him and strode in the direction of the carriages. Lucian hastened to catch up and open the door for her. When he offered her a hand to help her in, she did at least press her gloved fingers into his and allow him to help her. Once inside, he pulled the door shut and seated himself opposite her. Her skirts were so voluminous that they brushed his legs and from her narrowed gaze, he suspected she wanted him to sit further away. Their compartment was entirely empty and with only around ten minutes before they departed, he didn’t expect them to be joined by anyone else, but he was loath to move.
And not because he wanted to study those lips some more and wonder why they interested him so. No, not at all. It was merely because it annoyed her. If he wanted her to keep her nose out of his business, he had to be as uncivil as possible.
The ticket inspector thrust his head through the open window and Lucian brandished the tickets at him. The fellow tipped his hat and only moments later a shrill whistle broke the silence and the train squeaked into action. It was not until they were quite a distance out of the stati
on and thundering along, a light breeze blowing through the partially open window, did she speak up.
“I’m glad the weather is fine today.”
“Why? The carriage is covered.” He thrust a finger up at the wooden roof. Only when he saw the redness in her cheeks increase did he realize how coarsely and foolishly he had spoken.
Damnation, he had little patience for civilities these days. His time was spent with workers and foremen, few of whom cared about the blasted weather. Not long ago he had been adept at talking to the ladies, charming them even. He smirked inwardly. How things had changed.
“I am aware of that,” she said softly, “but I have not travelled through this part of the country for a long time and I look forward to seeing the scenery. I’m glad there is no drizzle or mist to spoil it.”
“Surely the English countryside cannot compare to the pyramids or the deserts or whatever?”
“It cannot. It is entirely better. I missed the green. There is no shade of green quite like that of the English countryside.”
Lucian turned his gaze to the window and watched the hills pass by for some time. He made this journey frequently and had never taken the time to look at the scenery. On his trips, he had been more preoccupied with the dramatic loss in profits and how they would pay the creditors without dispensing with something of value. When he peered at Ellie again, he was surprised that she hadn’t pressed her nose against the glass like a child outside a toy shop, for the expression on her face was one of utter delight. The breeze ruffled her curls, which were tightly confined under her bonnet today and she looked younger than ever.
Good. The younger she looked, the less likely he was to think about lips and whether they might taste like berries too.
If he thought hard enough would he recall the taste of her lips all those years ago? He had tried hard to squash any memories of the night when he had behaved so much like a cad that she had been forced into marriage to an old codger. Heaven forbid the girl get tangled with a rake like him.