Harlequin Historical July 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Virginia Heath

  ‘I’ve seen prints of bridges like the Menai, but never a bridge like this up close,’ she said, awed. ‘Those arches are massive. How magnificent the viaduct is going to be!’

  ‘Have you never ridden on a railway?’

  ‘Yes, but just some of the smaller ones constructed for the collieries around Newcastle.’

  ‘You should travel on the Liverpool & Manchester. There aren’t as many bridges and viaducts, but the ones that were constructed are very fine. It’s thrilling, racing through the countryside faster than a horse can gallop.’

  ‘I’m sure it is. Papa has promised to take Mama and me for the whole journey from London to Bristol once the Great Western is complete.’

  ‘With the bridge crossing the River Avon and the Box Hill tunnel, that will be a fascinating ride. I can’t wait to travel the line either.’

  ‘And see your investment prosper?’

  ‘That, too.’

  She fell silent, studying the half-completed arches, estimating what the radius would be and mentally calculating the angles of stress.

  ‘Working out the geometry of the support system?’ Dellamont asked, bringing his mount closer until his booted leg nearly touched hers.

  Despite her unsettled emotions, she felt that familiar shiver of awareness as he drew near. Finally, she looked over at him. ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘Because you are an engineer through and through.’

  ‘Certainly not a proper ton maiden,’ she said ruefully. ‘And I should apologise. Your father’s reaction is only what I expected to receive from members of the gentry. It was silly of me to become angry, and I certainly shouldn’t have directed that anger at you.’

  ‘No apologies necessary. How could you not have felt insulted when the Earl has been pushing me to court you?’ Dellamont said quietly. ‘And then insinuating that you are somehow unworthy to associate with my sister? When in truth, you are a far superior companion for Maggie than that impulsive scapegrace is for you.’

  ‘I liked her, too,’ Marcella admitted. ‘But I should have known better than begin to imagine us friends. I won’t make that mistake again.’

  She should let go of her anger, but it would be wise to hold on to the hurt. Store it away so she could remember and relive it any time she indulged in the foolish daydream that somehow, somewhere, she and Viscount Dellamont, heir to the Earl of Comeryn, could meet as equals and friends.

  How wise she’d been to reject from the outset any temptation to marry into the ton. To imagine they might be more than friends.

  It would also be wise to let this experience begin to wean her from her unrealistic desire to remain in close contact with him once she returned to her proper place. Any attempt to meet him outside her own world would invite more condescending disapproval from any of his friends or family who chanced to learn of it.

  He’d fallen silent, but at length, he said, ‘Maggie considers you her friend, too. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she tried to see you, or at least write to you. Though you have every right to be, I hope you won’t be too...dismissive with her if she does contact you. None of this was her fault.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t. But I can hardly maintain a friendship with your sister, given your father’s serious objections.’ Recalling Lady Margaret’s frequently expressed dislike of her sire, Marcella laughed. ‘Even if Lady Margaret would probably relish doing something he’d forbidden.’

  Dellamont laughed, too. ‘She probably would. But...have you forgiven me? I value your friendship and esteem. I’d be loath to discover something my imperious father had done caused me to lose it.’

  She would be so much wiser to give him a polite reply and steel her heart and mind against him. And yet...this was the man who’d delighted in discussing mathematics with her. Who’d gone out of his way to protect her from bounders like Lord Hoddleston. And who, against his better judgement, had allowed her to experience the most stimulating afternoon of her life.

  How could she turn away from him?

  ‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ she said at last. Despite knowing she should armour herself against him, somehow, she couldn’t.

  He blew out a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you. I was beginning to fear not even the credit the Stephenson lecture had earned me was going to be enough to salvage my standing in your eyes.’

  ‘The Stephenson lecture will cover a great many faults,’ she admitted.

  ‘Good. So I may redeem myself further, will you let me buy you tea and ices at Gunter’s? We can take it out under the plane trees in the square, all perfectly respectable. After a long ride, you must be ready for refreshment.’

  She should refuse. She needed to begin preparing herself to see less of him, which would be easier if she curtailed rather than extended her time in his presence. But the voice of prudence was countered by an irresponsible longing to eke out as much as time with him as she could while she could.

  In the end, irresponsible won out.

  ‘I could do with a cup of tea,’ she admitted. ‘Then I must get back. Mama ordered me a new gown for the Thaxford ball that is to be delivered this morning. Mary wants me to model it so she has time to make corrections if she’s not satisfied with the fit, after which I shall have to attend Lady Arlsley. Thank goodness I am able to dine with Papa and Mama tonight!’

  ‘We’d better go quickly, then.’

  * * *

  Relief foremost among his tangle of emotions, Crispin escorted Marcella towards the refreshment establishment in Berkeley Square. He must have redeemed himself somewhat, since she allowed him to ride beside her, rather than ignoring him while he trailed behind her like a glorified groom as she had on the way to the Tower Bridge construction site.

  He was as angry as she was about his father’s illogical double standard. Guilty and appalled at the pain he’d seen in her eyes when he’d first revealed the reason his sister had not accompanied him, before anger overtook her hurt and surprise.

  She deserved to be angry. Once again, he found himself much more in sympathy with her than with the views held by most of his own class. As he’d told her, after several years of exploring plans for building the new railway technology, he’d developed a high regard for the industry and expertise of the ‘lower class’ men who made it possible.

  How could he not consider them at least equal, if not superior, to so many of his peers? Some, like his friend Gregory Lattimar, worked hard at managing and improving their estates, but many he knew from Oxford or in London felt their privileged status belonged to them by right. As Marcella asserted, they never spared a thought to the needs of their servants or the burdens their demands placed upon the people who worked for them, taking service as their due.

  Privileges, for most part, won in antiquity by ancestors who’d served as soldiers in battles supporting the throne. Privileges the current holders had done nothing to earn.

  He’d have to summon every bit of charm he possessed while he beguiled her with tea and ices. He hadn’t realised until she’d suddenly withdrawn from him just how much he’d come to count on her sunny companionship, her straightforward friendship untainted by the usual feminine wiles. Her approval of the man he really was.

  It was more important than he could have imagined that he win back that approval and make sure he never placed it in jeopardy again.

  With the streets busy, they didn’t attempt any further conversation until they arrived at their destination. Not wanting to press his luck, Crispin allowed her groom to assist her to dismount.

  ‘Thompson, isn’t it?’ he asked as the man guided her to her feet. After the groom nodded, Crispin continued, ‘Can we impose on you to walk the horses one more time? I realise this additional delay must be keeping you from completing your other duties. For which you deserve additional thanks.’ He pressed a coin into the groom’s hand as he passed over his reins.

  A
fter the groom left to walk their mounts, Marcella turned to him. ‘I’m quite capable of compensating my staff for extra services performed,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘Are we going to brangle over payment again?’ he asked, hoping to disarm her by teasing, and relieved when her frown lifted.

  ‘No. Because I will take care of my servant.’

  ‘Very well. I will take care of tea. Have you tried Gunter’s ices before?’ he asked, waving her to a table under one of the trees.

  ‘The ices have been featured at several ton entertainments.’

  ‘Pineapple is the most exotic. I prefer strawberry myself.’

  ‘I enjoy all the fruit ices. Their turtle soup is quite good, too.’

  After he gave their order to the waiter who trotted over, Crispin turned back to her.

  Recalling her plans for the evening, he said, ‘What sort of suppers does your family prefer when you dine together? Truly, I’d like to know,’ he asserted when she gave him a suspicious look. ‘Our family dinners were always stiff, uncomfortable affairs. You describe yours as being so different. Knowing so little about what a happy family life is like, I hoped you might describe them further.’

  And he did. He longed to discover more about the environment that had moulded her, not just into an accomplished mathematician, but also into the compassionate person who was concerned about a servant’s aching arms, the kind person careful to spare the feelings of an earnest but unintelligent suitor. A woman who increasingly intrigued and excited him.

  At the mention of his own experience, her wariness dissipated. She even gave him a sympathetic look he found vastly encouraging. It appeared this topic would not only satisfy his curiosity, but would further reconcile her to him.

  ‘Papa doesn’t like a fuss. No enormous dinners with five courses and ten removes for us, even if Mama would love to try some from time to time. We have simple hearty fare. Papa enjoys fine ale and a brandy after dinner, but he takes it in the parlour with us. After dinner, I often read aloud to them, or play the pianoforte, especially if we are with Grandfather at Faircastle House. Or we’ll sometimes play a few hands of cards, if Papa is not too tired.’

  ‘Do you play cards or music when friends come to dine?’

  ‘Yes. Though we more often host Papa’s business associates or staff, like Mr Gilling, than friends.’

  ‘Mr Gilling dines with you often?’

  ‘Quite frequently. He did so much for all of us during the awful time after my brother died, Papa often treats him as the second son he never had.’

  ‘Does that...pain you?’

  ‘No. Well, a little. It’s hard, sometimes, to see an outsider receive his full confidence and encouragement, but I’m so fond of Gilling myself, I can’t really resent Papa’s partiality for him.’

  ‘If he’s already virtually part of the family, your current circumstances will only be formalised if you wed him.’

  ‘Yes. In a way, it will just be an extension of how we have gone on these past ten years.’

  Conversation halted for a moment as the waiter brought over their tea and ices. As they sipped their tea and sampled the ice, Crispin reflected that wedding her engineer had been Marcella’s sole aim since the Season began, prompting Gilling to declare himself the reason she’d agreed to their bargain. But he found he no longer viewed her marriage to the man with quite the disinterested equanimity he had at first.

  ‘You truly think Gilling is worthy of you?’ he asked a moment later, his tone sharper than he’d intended.

  ‘He’s certainly proved himself worthy over the years.’

  ‘But?’ he prompted, hearing an uncertain note in her voice.

  ‘But...nothing. It will be best for me to proceed with my original plan, and see if he can envision me as his wife. Especially if I can persuade him to let me continue my work in the office.’

  ‘Will he?’

  She shook her head. ‘As I told you before, I really don’t know.’

  ‘If he doesn’t? Would you look for someone else? Though I can’t imagine he wouldn’t want to wed you if you gave him the slightest encouragement.’

  ‘A flattering assessment I hope will prove correct. Since he has observed how Papa and I work together, there’s a better chance of him allowing our continued association than there would be with someone unfamiliar with our arrangement. And I know Austin so well. We’re comfortable with each other. The transition from friends to partners could happen with minimal...awkwardness.’

  Crispin found he didn’t really want to further discuss or envision her wedding Gilling—or anyone else. ‘But you did say you prefer to delay marriage as long as possible.’

  ‘Yes, I still hope to do that. Even if Mr Gilling will allow me to work in the office, in the natural way of things, there will eventually be children to supervise and the house to run. My time will no longer be entirely my own.’

  Crispin found he liked envisioning what would be necessary to create those children even less. In fact, his whole being revolted at the idea of some other man kissing those lips, holding that body close, caressing the slender legs he’d so admired when she’d worn her trousers.

  Which was ridiculous, when he had no claim on her, nor any intention of making one beyond friendship—a bond that would not extend to the privilege of making love to her.

  Despite logic, his instinctive revulsion at the idea of someone else touching her didn’t dissipate.

  ‘The pineapple was delicious,’ she said, finishing the ice in her bowl as he struggled to order his reaction. ‘Thank you for that, and for tea. But I really must be getting home. I’ll see you at the ball tomorrow night?’

  ‘Definitely. I shall claim all your waltzes.’

  Though he would be seeing her again the next evening, Crispin found himself reluctant to let her go. Perhaps because he was beginning to realise how very few additional occasions he would have to dance with her, squire her for ices or escort her to view railway viaduct construction sites.

  Something deep within protested at that conclusion.

  He recalled again the warmth and tenderness that had swelled his chest when she’d looked in awe at the railway viaduct construction at London Bridge and called it ‘magnificent’.

  While, watching her, he was thinking the most magnificent thing within view—was her.

  His shock at her withdrawal today made him realise he didn’t want their close association to grow more distant. How could he prevent that when their interactions became limited to only occasional visits to her father’s office and rides in park?

  There had to be something else, something more, he could do, he thought as he signalled her groom to bring over their mounts. This time, he dared to give her a hand up into saddle, resisting the urge to stroke that booted ankle.

  Somehow, he was going to figure out a better way forward.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Setting aside for the moment his need to figure out what to do about Marcella, the following afternoon, Crispin rode to the family town house on Portman Square. He’d been concerned about whether his tender-hearted mother had yet recovered from her husband’s blistering reproof, and was relieved to find her out of her chamber, working on some needlework before the hearth in her sitting room.

  ‘Crispin, what a delightful surprise!’ she said as he walked in.

  ‘No, don’t get up and disturb your work,’ he said as he came over to give her a kiss. ‘I’m pleased to see you up and about.’

  Sighing, she patted his hand. ‘After all these years, one would think I would have developed a tougher skin. But the Earl still seems to so easily overcome me. What a poor honey I am! But I had a comfortable coze this morning with Lady Richardson, getting all the latest gossip, so I’m feeling better now.’

  ‘You are a darling, and don’t let anyone ever convince you otherwise.’

  �
�And you are a darling to say so,’ she said warmly. ‘Can you stay for tea?’

  ‘I’d be happy to. So what is new? Any juicy titbits for me?’

  She hesitated, a troubled look passing over her face before her expression cleared and she smiled again. ‘One thing you will truly find amazing, if you don’t know about it yet.’

  ‘And what would that be?’ he asked, taking a seat on the sofa beside her after she rang for tea.

  ‘You may have heard that the Duke of Farisdeen’s heir, Lord Penlowe, passed away unexpectedly a month or so ago.’

  ‘Yes. Considering he was often the bane of Alex Cheverton’s existence, I didn’t feel much regret, although it is always sad for anyone to die so young. Is the gossip about the new heir? Some distant cousin, I would expect.’

  ‘A very distant cousin. Also someone you know quite well.’ As he raised his eyebrows in enquiry, she continued, ‘The new heir is... Alex Cheverton.’

  ‘Alex?’ he exclaimed. ‘How is that possible?’

  For a moment, his mother traced the vagaries of a family tree that had seen his friend become the Duke’s nearest male descendant. ‘So you hadn’t heard?’

  ‘No! Nor have I heard a word from that rascal. Lattimar’s back in Northumberland, but I would have thought Alex would have written us both.’

  ‘It was all very sudden. Alex is actually in London now, and has been for several weeks. The Duke is running him to a frazzle, trying to educate him about assuming a title he wasn’t bred to inherit, Lady Richardson said, so I expect that’s why you’ve not heard from him.’

  ‘He probably doesn’t know I’m in London either,’ Crispin said. ‘When we all met last February, I was setting off on my exploratory trip for the Great Western, with no clear idea of when I might be back in the city.’

  ‘He has been out in society a bit,’ his mother said. ‘But with the family in mourning, they’ve attended only a few select events. And since Farisdeen and your father loathe one another, it would be highly unlikely for anyone in our family to be bid to an entertainment at which the Duke or his new heir were to appear.’