Passion Regency Style

by Wendy Vella

  “Not at all.” Eleanor smothered a yawn. While she might be tired, she welcomed the distraction of the talkative maid. It drew her from other thoughts, ones of say, oh, a certain arrogant Viscount. “I have travelled a lot but my staff always accompanied me.”

  “You are lucky. I have never been out of this town. My brother follows the railways but I have two younger sisters who need me.” Beth pulled out the last pin and placed it on the dressing table then began to braid her hair. “You have so much hair, my lady. It is really quite beautiful.”

  Beautiful? Eleanor failed to keep a laugh back. “It is cumbersome.”

  “I imagine it is hard to manage everyday but I see so many women with fine hair, so fine you can see their scalps and they insist on pulling it this way and that, and making their heads look as though they are almost bald. Yours is a lovely golden color and so very distinctive.”

  Allowing her lips to tilt in amusement, she let the maid finish the braid before standing to remove her gown. No one had called her hair beautiful before. Not Maggie, who no doubt dreaded the task of battling her hair every day and not even Mama. Distinctive though? Did she like that? In society, it never did one any good to stand out, as she well knew. She had spent most of her young life standing out be it by tripping over, or being ugly or by simply being too gregarious. When had it ever benefited her to be distinctive? Yet when Beth had said it, it had sounded much like a compliment.

  Beth helped her with her dress bodice, then she set to work unlacing her corset.

  “Tell me did you hear of the accident at Merleton Mill?” Eleanor asked over her shoulder.

  “Oh, yes, you can’t keep much quiet around here, but how do you know about it?”

  Lying did not come naturally to Eleanor but she feared Beth might lose her talkative manner if she knew she was part owner of the mill. “I overheard when I was penning my telegram. Was the accident fatal?”

  “No, though the man is likely to lose his arm I fear and that could well kill him.”

  “How awful.”

  “The viscount has had a run of bad luck. Some of the workers are saying they won’t keep working there if it continues. First the fire at his other mill and then this. I heard a lady was harmed there too when she visited.”

  Eleanor put a hand to her head and remembered the painful flick of the belt against her head. Beth tugged away the corset and she felt her ribs expand gratefully. Then she set to work on her skirts and petticoats.

  “There we go, my lady. Do you need me for anything else?”

  “No, thank you, Beth.” Now in her chemise, Eleanor reached for her purse on the dressing table and drew out a coin for the maid.

  “Thank you, my lady. I shall return in the morning to help you dress.”

  Eleanor waited until the girl left before washing and climbing into bed. Was it likely the mill would close? She did not quite understand Lucian’s obsession with it though the industry fascinated her and her hope to provide a risk free environment for the workers still burned bright. And now someone else had been harmed. What could she really do for these people? Her dreams of having some sort of impact for people like Jane seemed ridiculous now, particularly when Lucian clearly wanted her to have nothing to do with the mill.

  Still she would not fall foul of his terrible moods and shocking words. It took more than that to scare her away.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Not Hungry...For Dinner

  Lucian paused mid-stride when a figure in pale blue pressed through the gates and walked into the courtyard. Against the backdrop of black iron and cobbled stones, she appeared ridiculously exotic—like one of those blasted bugs her husband had liked so much. Even if Ellie was wearing the same dress as yesterday

  As she neared, he noted the furious expression peeking out at him from under her bonnet. He stiffened and braced himself for whatever tirade she had prepared for him.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, coming to a stop a pace from her. “Did you walk here alone?”

  “You left me at the hotel!”

  He cursed under his breath. “Forgive me. I had meant to send someone to fetch you but I...well, I forgot. It’s been a busy morning.”

  Ellie’s expression wavered a little, sadness haunting her eyes. “You forgot me.” It was not quiet, but a soft, sad statement. “Of course you did.”

  “I had no intention of leaving you there, Ellie. I was going to send one of my foremen at a more reasonable hour but we have had our hands full. Regardless, you should not have walked here. It isn’t safe.”

  “I was perfectly fine. No one approached me and a few kindly people pointed me in the right direction.”

  Lucian scraped a hand through his hair at the mental image she created. The sweet young thing pausing to ask a street thief or some other morally bankrupt creature that haunted the streets for directions. How Ellie had survived this long on her own was beyond him.

  “Come then, though I don’t know what you expect to do.”

  “Is everything running again?” she asked as he led her into his office and she drew off her bonnet to lay it on top of a stack of papers.

  He found himself staring at the bonnet with its blue ribbons and ruffles, and puzzling over the effect it had on the dark office. Like a splash of sunbeams or something. Then he glanced at the owner of the bonnet and thought the same thing. In spite of not being able to change and being attended by someone at the hotel, he assumed, she brought such a splash of radiance to the office that his heart skipped like a silly little schoolgirl.

  “Well?”

  He jerked his gaze to hers. “Yes, with the exception of the damaged loom. We lost a day’s work and not having the loom running will put us behind.”

  “And we have orders to fulfil?”

  Scowling at the use of ‘we’ from her mouth, he nodded. “One of them we were already behind on.”

  “Can you ask the workers to put in extra hours?”

  Hand to his jaw, he rubbed the bristle he allowed to grow there. Heck, he barely had time to dress this morning, let alone shave. He pictured Ellie sweeping in and asking sweetly that they all stay longer, and shook his head. “No. They won’t have it. Besides which we are limited to set hours.”

  Both of her brows rose. “I had heard some mills did not enforce that.”

  “It’s the law and tired children make accidents far more likely.”

  “I’m glad to hear you enforce it.”

  “I am not a tyrant, whatever you may believe, Ellie. Though the workers may not agree with me enforcing it. Some complained that they needed their children working twelve hours or else they could not earn enough. Anyway, what do you know of mill law?”

  “I like to do my research,” she responded with a smile. “What of the other loom? It is fixable?”

  “I have men working on it now.”

  “So you have it all in hand.”

  “Yes, and you can see why you were not needed. The mill is no place for you, Ellie.”

  Another smile. Considering she had looked as though she wanted to kill him the previous night, these smiles were coming very easily.

  Before she could respond, a knock on the door sounded and Lucian bit back a groan. Was the entire world intending to visit him today?

  “Enter,” he barked.

  Instead of it being his foreman or one of the accountants, in stepped a well-dressed man, with a carefully trimmed moustache and a twinkle in his gaze. He paused to eye Ellie before facing him.

  “Rushbourne, forgive me, I didn’t know you had company.”

  Lucian stood and took Abberley’s hand. “Abberley, how are you? Forgive me, this is Lady Hawthorne.”

  Abberley dipped his head in acknowledgement. “My lady, so you are Rusbourne’s investor? I am Mr. Abberley. I run a mill not far from here, for my sins.

  “That is me. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Abberley.” Ellie offered him a sweet smile, those berry red lips spreading far too wide for Lucian’s likin
g. Did she have to look so charming?

  “So you have come to learn about cotton?”

  “Something like that, Mr. Abberley. I am certainly interested in the industry.”

  “Well, I just came to remind Rushbourne of the dinner at my house tonight. Those involved in the cotton industry like to get together once a month and complain about our workers and the price of cotton,” he confided to Ellie.

  Lucian put a hand to his head. “Abberley, I forgot.”

  Abberley offered up a grin. “I had heard you rather had your hands full.” The way his eyes creased told Lucian he was not referring to the accidents. Lucian clenched his jaw.

  “I’ll be there, not to worry.”

  Abberley turned a charming smile on Ellie. “And Lady Hawthorne, will you join us? We may not be the most interesting of fellows, but if you should like to learn more of the industry it’s certainly the perfect opportunity to do so.”

  No. Say no, he willed her. Something about the way Abberley looked at her made the hairs on the back of his neck tingle. He did not need Ellie intruding on one of the few social events he took part in. And he certainly did not need Abberley looking at her like that—as though he too had noticed how damned red those lips were.

  “I would be delighted to, thank you.”

  Lucian fought the need to drop to his chair and slam his head to his desk repeatedly. Things were steadily going from bad to worse.

  Chapter Fifteen

  No Heroes Here

  Lucian scowled at Ellie across the table. Then he directed that scowl at Abberley who was leaning in and saying something in her ear. She smiled what Lucian deemed a secretive smile, and he curled a hand around his glass.

  “A toast,” Abberley declared suddenly, turning his attention back to his guests. “To cotton and to fine company.

  All six of them lifted their glasses and concurred. Normally, Lucian did not mind these dinners. To spend time with men who understood the industry—two who supplied the cotton and three who owned mills locally—gave him some...not enjoyment as such...but a respite from his daily life. With little other social life, he’d come to anticipate these dinners. If anyone understood the pressures he faced, it was these men. His fellow peers had little understanding of the problems he faced and cared even less.

  Not that he had bothered to broach such subjects with them. He hardly wanted to suffer the curious stares and looks of horror when he entered any social setting. These men, however, who were rich enough but self-made men, cared little for his appearance. Money and cotton drove them, little more.

  But tonight, he was not taking even the smallest pleasure in dinner. It did not help that Ellie looked almost radiant. The dark red evening gown she wore plunged far too low and every time she leaned over, Abberley fixed his gaze upon her breasts. It matched the rosy hue of her lips and cheeks, and under the glow of lamps, her hair was golden and her skin glowing.

  She did it deliberately, he decided. Just to torment him. To distract him and ensure she made even more of an annoyance of herself. The sooner she gave up this notion of having some role in the mill, the better. Yet every time he tried to send her on her way, he only ended up feeling drawn closer to her.

  “So, I hear you are Rushbourne’s patroness?” Abberley said to Ellie, flicking his gaze briefly to Lucian. If he didn’t know better, the mill owner was trying to rile him.

  “Hardly. My late husband invested heavily in many places and Merleton Mill was one of them. I am particularly interested in how it runs and Lord Rushbourne has been kind enough to indulge me.”

  Indulge her? Oh, he would indulge her. In a lesson in the hardships of mill life, in how a well-bred woman had no place in such a setting. He’d have her running to the hills before long.

  “It is rare for a lady to be interested in such matters. Why the interest, Lady Hawthorne?” Newcombe, one of his own cotton suppliers asked. “Do you wish to make sure Rushbourne is doing his job properly?” The fair-haired gentleman’s eyes twinkled and Ellie returned his smile.

  Was she taken with him? Was she taken with any of them? It seemed to Lucian she had directed beaming smiles to every man at the table with the exception of him. He used his fork to push aside a chunk of pheasant and forced his expression to remain placid while Newcombe leaned forwards in anticipation of the answer.

  Color deepened on her cheeks and Lucian frowned to himself. He had to admit he had not quizzed her on her interest. Perhaps if he knew her reasoning, he might have a better chance of sending her on her way. Blast, he really was a fool when it came to Ellie. All rational thinking seemed to desert him with her around.

  “I shall admit I have some...personal reasons for my interest. It is my ambition to study the mill and work on making it safer.”

  He stiffened at this. “My mill is perfectly safe.”

  “Except a man was hurt only a few days ago,” she pointed out softly.

  “That is an exception. Merleton Mill has an excellent safety record.”

  James Denwood, the oldest and most experienced mill owner in their crowd, nodded and spoke with his usual booming manner, his thick northern accent preventing anyone from talking over him. “It’s true. I have trouble keeping my workers from defecting to Rushbourne’s.” He grinned and lifted his glass in silent salute to him.

  “No mill owner wants accidents to happen,” Lucian said to Ellie. “They slow down production and scare away workers. But the machines are dangerous and if they do not pay attention, what are we to do?”

  “They do not pay attention because they are tired and hungry.”

  Abberley guffawed. “What are we to do then, my lady? Send them off for a nap and a five course meal.”

  “Of course not, but I believe shorter working hours should be enforced, particularly for the children. The law has already changed in that regard but many do not follow the laws. And providing hot food would help them concentrate and be more efficient. It would benefit both the owners and the workers.”

  “I suppose you believe all men are born equal,” Lucian drawled, “and we masters are just greedy.”

  “I believe in equality,” she replied steadily.

  He locked gazes with her. “If you believe in it so heartily, perhaps you should share your wealth and make the world a fairer place that way.”

  “I believe in such things, but I am not fool enough to believe I can change the world by throwing money wherever I fancy. However, I do believe that small changes to people’s lives can make big differences.”

  Lucian snorted. How like her to have some airy fairy notions of doing good deeds. As though she were some modern-day Robin Hood. Take from his very empty pocket, to give to the poor. Did she not realize that without the mill, these people would have no income at all?

  “I see your point, Lady Hawthorne,” Newcombe put in diplomatically, “but workers are resistant to change as it is, and this is the way things have been done for decades.”

  “Just because one is scared of change, does not mean one should not pursue it. If we spent our entire lives being dictated to by fear, nothing would happen. Man would not have crossed oceans and found new lands.”

  Lucian let his scowl deepen. Fear? Did it hold him back? And what of her? He forever sensed something in her holding her back. She was a bloody hypocrite, though he would not embarrass her by saying as much.

  “You speak with great passion and I think we can all admire that,” Abberley said, again leaning in far too close for Lucian’s liking.

  “Thank you, Mr. Abberley.”

  “And pray tell, where does this passion come from?”

  The way Abberley said it, Lucian knew full well he was thinking of other types of passion. Lucian bit back a snarl.

  “I have seen the effects of such matters on people. When I was a young girl, a maid in my parent’s household, Jane, had a daughter who worked in a mill. The daughter was close to my age and she lived with her grandparents while her mother worked at our house, so Jane saw me muc
h like a daughter, I believe. But the girl was injured severely—her fingers were severed—and could no longer work to support the family. Starvation and illness killed two of her younger siblings and Jane was never quite the same.”

  “I suppose you think witnessing such things makes you an exception.” Lucian leaned back in his chair and peered at her down his nose. “But this is the town, my lady, and we witness deprivation on a daily basis.”

  She narrowed her gaze at him. “And yet you do nothing?”

  He was tempted to defend himself, to dispute the fact he was heartless, yet perhaps it was better she still thought him cold and uncouth. He had done a terrible job at convincing her he was as much with his fumbled apologies and shared moments. Ellie did seem to tangle his mind so.

  Instead of rising to the challenge, he sipped his wine nonchalantly and gazed at the cut of the crystal.

  However, before he could summon a response suitable of a rake of the worst kind, Newcombe spoke up, “Lord Rushbourne would have you believe no master cared for his worker and while you might be right about many, Rushbourne is not one of them, Lady Hawthorne.”

  Abberley snorted. “Rushbourne is too soft on his workers if you ask me. I mean he nearly lost his life saving one, for goodness sakes.”

  Lucian watched her gaze swing between all three of them, a crease between her brows. “How so?”

  Inwardly, he groaned. He would never have her believing he was cold-hearted if this tale was told. “It is hardly an exciting tale. And it left me looking like an ogre. Not exactly a fairy tale, Ellie.”

  She ignored him and turned her gaze to Abberley. “What happened?”

  “This man nearly got himself killed rescuing a foolish child.”

  Her mouth formed an ‘o’ shape. “You rescued a child?”

  Lucian waved a dismissive hand. “Let me assure you, it is not something from which legends are made. The child got herself trapped and I helped her. Do not go picturing me as some hero, for I certainly am not. I merely did not wish to have her death on my conscience.”