Since learning to run the estate, deal with tenants, and manage accounts are all ‘duties’ you’ve not allowed me to carry out.
‘Marriage, of course,’ Comeryn returned with a frown. ‘Which I’m sure you understood. Disappointing you may be, but you’re not a complete dolt.’
Keeping a tight hold on his temper, Crispin said evenly, ‘Why is it suddenly imperative that I perform that duty now?’
‘If you spent as much time concerned about agricultural matters as you do about vulgar commercial enterprises, you’d know that the price of crops and the value of land have steadily eroded since the wars ended. Diligent as I’ve been to avoid it, the estate’s agricultural income has gone down every year. Sooner or later, the estate will need a large infusion of cash—the sort of cash that can only be provided by a dowry as handsome as the one your mother brought. Which brings me to the opportunity I mentioned.’
The Earl paused, but Crispin knew better than to interrupt with a comment or question. That would only be tolerated once the Earl finished his speech and invited a response—or dismissed him.
‘An acquaintance—Lord Arlsley—tipped me off that his wife would be sponsoring a female with the most spectacular dowry society has seen in years. She’s not the sort of female I would normally countenance—her antecedents are in trade—but the grandfather for whom she is sole heiress was ennobled, which makes her at least tolerable. Arlsley assured me the chit is attractive enough and has been schooled so she won’t be an embarrassment. Though, once you’ve married her and bred some heirs on her, if you find her intolerable, you can always ship her off to the country, go about your business and conduct your discreet liaisons elsewhere. The upshot is, you need to cease gambolling about England and remain in London for the Season. Attend society events, meet the heiress, charm her and marry her. For the good of the family and the estate.’
Bad enough to have to wed to secure the succession. The idea of marrying money and then shunting his wife aside to dally with other women was truly disgusting. Though Crispin wasn’t surprised at the suggestion. He’d suspected for years that his father had kept a string of mistresses.
Stifling the immediate refusal he wanted to return, he said, ‘So who is this female?’
‘I don’t recall the name, not that it matters. Despite your dealings with railway commerce, it’s unlikely you would have encountered the grandfather, who I’m told is known as the “Factory King”. Made his blunt in the mining and weaving trade, got himself knighted in the bargain. Be assured, I don’t expect you to have any social dealings with him. I trust you’ll know how to depress his pretensions, if he should try to hang on your sleeve.’
Ignoring that, Crispin felt emboldened to ask the only thing that really interested him. ‘Just how badly dipped is the estate?’
As expected, his father immediately recoiled in anger. But, somewhat to Crispin’s surprise, the Earl didn’t direct at him a barrage of abuse for having the temerity to ask. ‘I had to borrow the last three years to put the crops in, plus make essential repairs, and the returns haven’t been good enough to repay any of the loans. The banker’s been recommending that I sell off some unentailed land, the impudent upstart! Then, with her presentation next year, there’s Lady Margaret’s dowry to be considered.’
Things must be worse than that if his father had chosen to disclose that information—probably with the intention of putting further pressure on Crispin to make the marriage his father wanted.
Concerned despite himself, he said, ‘I thought part of Mother’s settlement provided for Maggie’s dowry.’
‘The funds have been utilised...elsewhere,’ his father said cryptically.
The estate forced to sell off land—undervalued land, with the depression in agricultural prices. His sister, her dowry funds compromised.
‘If the estate is short of cash, I’ve built up a reserve—’
‘I’ll not take any money earned in trade!’ his father bellowed. ‘Don’t insult me by suggesting it. I know my duty as a gentleman, even if you seemed to have forgotten it.’
‘But you’d have me marry a tradesman’s heiress?’
‘That’s different, and you know it. He’s a baronet now, and marrying to secure a handsome dowry is a time-honoured way for a gentleman to raise the ready.’
Having nearly to bite his tongue to forestall replying that the difference between the two was so slight, it would take a magnifying glass to see it, Crispin took a long, slow breath.
He wouldn’t allow his sister to suffer for his father’s delicate ‘gentlemanly’ sensibilities. He’d make sure there was money for a dowry, whatever happened. As for the estate, that would require more finesse, since legally he couldn’t intervene in its running until he actually owned it. But if it proved necessary, he would figure out how to provide an infusion of funds for that, too—later.
For now, he just needed to honour his promise to his mother. ‘So I’m to meet, charm and marry this girl?’
The Earl nodded. ‘That’s the short of it.’
‘If she’s that well dowered, there will certainly be competition.’
‘Not many young, attractive suitors will possess the pedigree or the title you do. If you make half an effort, I believe you have a good chance of success. You owe it to your name and your inheritance.’
Crispin burned to be able to tell his father what he could do with his sense of ‘duty’ to the name and title. But the image of his mother’s worried face stopped his tongue.
If he wanted to spare his mother and give her the pleasure of spending the Season in London, a reward she richly deserved for enduring her bitter sham of a marriage, he couldn’t defy his father outright. If he agreed to participate in society, she would have time to enjoy the city.
Otherwise, his refusal would likely set off a tirade that would unnerve his mother, sister, and everyone in the household, after which his father would pack them all up and drag them back to Montwell Glen.
He could tolerate it, he decided. At least until his father called his bluff, demanding that he marry either the heiress chit, or if he failed to impress her, some other well-dowered female, at which time he’d be forced to refuse.
It was the only birthday present his mother wanted. How could he disappoint her?
‘If I agree, you’ll allow Mother and Lady Margaret to remain in London for the Season?’
His father shrugged. ‘I’d rather avoid the expense of maintaining them here. But you will have a better chance of success if the Countess is in London, able to access that circle of females who run society in order to secure introductions and invitations to parties at which the Heiress is going to be present.’
‘And if I don’t succeed in winning the chit’s “affections”?’ he asked, hardly able to keep the irony from his voice.
‘See that you do. Or failing that, win the hand of some other female with sufficient dowry.’ The Earl glanced down at his desk. ‘The Sutterlings’ ball is in three days. You’ll arrange to be present. You’ve disappointed me many times. Don’t fail me in this. That is all,’ the Earl concluded, waving towards the door to signal the interview was over.
‘Sir,’ Crispin said, bowing, happy to comply.
Nothing gave him more pleasure than to quit his father’s presence.
He’d stop briefly to reassure his mother, perhaps look in on his sister. Then he’d head to the Lattimar town house.
If Gregory didn’t have to return immediately to Northumberland, he’d see if he could coax his friend to linger a while in London. If he were going to have to put his own priorities on hold while he endured—as long as he could stand it—the social events of the Season, having his best friend along would make the experience less dismal.
Although the end was sure. A refusal to wed, a tantrum from the Earl, and his family’s immediate departure for Montwell Glen. The only way to avoid
that would be a wedding.
Not even his mother’s unhappiness would force him to that drastic a solution.
Chapter Five
Three nights later, after escorting his mother to the group of friends she’d promised to meet at the Sutterlings’ ball, Crispin scanned the room for Gregory Lattimar. When he’d called at his friend’s home after the interview with his father, though Lattimar was due to leave shortly for Northumberland, he’d managed to convince him to attend this one ball.
Spotting Lattimar at the far side of the room where refreshments were being dispersed, Crispin went over to meet him and snag a beverage of his own.
‘Good evening, Greg, and thanks for coming to help make the evening bearable. How goes it so far?’
‘The food is good, the wine is superior, and no hovering mamas have coerced me into dancing with their daughters, so it’s been fine. Have you met the Heiress yet?’
‘No. Have you?’
‘Lud, no,’ he said with a shudder. ‘Thankfully, I’m not in need of a fat dowry. When I finally marry, I’ll be looking for a female of impeccable breeding and character to help redeem the reputation of my rakish family.’
Crispin smiled. ‘I wouldn’t worry about that. Just because your younger brother married a former courtesan and one twin sister married an adventurer? After all, the other twin married an earl, and your family boasts a fine pedigree. No one as swimming in blunt as the heir to the Lattimar barony needs to worry about his standing in society.’
‘Maybe. But my formerly notorious mother is still not received by the highest sticklers, something I wish I could change. It makes me furious, since she’s done nothing scandalous for years and the gentlemen who earned her that reputation received hardly a murmur of reproof for their parts in it. But no matter. At least, unlike you,’ he added, tapping Crispin on the wrist, ‘I have no need to marry this Season.’
‘I’ve no intention of marrying either. As you well know,’ Crispin responded with some asperity. ‘So you may cease ragging me.’
‘I don’t know. Might not be a good idea to pass up the Heiress. Her sudden appearance in society has the clubs all abuzz. There are already bets being laid on how long it will take her to snag someone and just how high she might aspire to rise. Her fortune is supposed to surpass Golden Ball’s.’
Crispin was about to tell his friend—again—that despite his father’s insistence, he didn’t need money enough to resort to as drastic a solution as marriage when his mother came over. ‘Gregory, how nice to see you again. Your family is well?’
‘Very well, thank you, Lady Comeryn. You’re looking radiant tonight!’
‘You’re very kind. I am enjoying being back in London. It is such a delight to be in company again! I’m hoping to call on your mother soon.’
‘She will be happy to see you.’
‘And I, her. You will give her my best?’ As Gregory nodded, his mother put her hand on Crispin’s arm. ‘I’m afraid I must steal away my son. Unless you, too, would like an introduction to—’
‘Gracious of you, Lady Comeryn, but since I’m not in need of an heiress, I’m content to leave the field to those who are. Go on,’ Gregory said, grinning as he gave Crispin a little shove. ‘Be your most charming.’
‘Sorry,’ his mother murmured as she led him away. ‘But, as instructed by your father, I must present you to the Heiress. By the way, Lady Auberly assured me, with some surprise, that she is quite presentable. I think you should...give her a chance.’
‘Mother...’ he said in a warning tone.
‘Nothing more, I assure you! I can hardly ask more, since I’m already so indebted to you for agreeing to this.’
‘All for you, Mama,’ he said, steeling himself to be pleasant for the decent interval he must remain conversing with the girl before he could escape. Also wondering what on earth he would converse about with a young female of tender years with whom he could have almost nothing in common.
As they approached the opposite side of the ballroom where a bevy of young females and their chaperons awaited the next dance, he caught a glimpse in profile of a tall, slender lady with a crown of dark curls that shimmered with auburn highlights in the candlelight. A little jolt of shock and delight went through him.
Could it really be... Miss Cranmore? What in the world would she be doing here?
Smiling, he picked up his pace. If it truly was her, maybe he could speak with her after he’d done his duty by the Heiress.
Just then, the lady turned in his direction, and he caught his breath.
It was indeed Miss Cranmore, and she looked...dazzling! The evening gown with its wide sleeves, low décolletage and narrow waist above a wide bell of skirts seemed expressly designed to display her lovely curves, while her dark eyes were as sparkling as the jewels at her neck and ears.
As if pulled by some invisible cord, he found himself walking towards her. He was about to speak to her when he suddenly realised that his mother had halted next to him. The matron beside Miss Cranmore curtsied to him, as did the young lady, her polite smile turning radiant as she recognised him.
‘Lady Arlsley, Miss Cranmore,’ his mother was saying, ‘allow me to present my son, Viscount Dellamont.’
Confused, he frowned. Arlsley...was the name of the Baron whose wife was sponsoring the Heiress. His mother had fetched him a moment ago expressly so she might to introduce him to the Heiress.
Which meant... Miss Cranmore was the Factory Heiress?
He was dimly aware of bowing, his tongue automatically producing the required politeness, while shock was succeeded by disbelief, then by a dawning sense of anger...and outrage.
He’d thought her so unusual, so uninterested in the normal female activities and pretences. She’d professed a desire to stave off marriage as long as possible and a total uninterest in marrying to improve her station.
Yet bets were being placed at this very moment in all the London clubs, wagering on how soon she’d marry and how highly born a husband she’d trap.
Had she been playing him for a fool back in Bristol?
* * *
The polite society smile frozen on her face, Marcella turned to glimpse the clock on the faraway mantel and figure out just how much longer she had to remain at this accursed ball before she could insist that Lady Arlsley let her go home.
This second evening of her society debut was proceeding much like first. While it had not been quite as dreadful as she’d feared, it was unpleasant enough an echo of her time at Miss Axminster’s that she wasn’t sure how long going she’d be able to stand it before she held Papa to his word and insisted on being allowed to abandon the Season she’d never wanted.
The morning after her dinner with Grandda, a glacially polite Lady Arlsley had received her. The following two afternoons, she’d taken Marcella calling on aristocratic ladies who woodenly acknowledged her chaperon’s thanks for inviting her to their entertainments, those ladies looking no more enthused about the prospect than her sponsor. While so far no one had openly cut her at the two events she’d attended, few beyond the immediate circle of Lady Arlsley’s acquaintances had deigned speak with her and the other young ladies making their debuts had pointedly ignored her. Mercifully, she hadn’t yet encountered any of her tormentors from her time at Miss Axminster’s.
The coolness of her reception by the feminine contingent was in sharp contrast to the abject flattery she’d received from the smattering of gentlemen who had asked to be presented. All of them, she was certain, must in such urgent need of her dowry that they were prepared to overlook her lack of family and breeding. Not one of those desperate gentlemen interested her in slightest—and one she already held in aversion.
Lord Hoddleston had seemed to sense the dislike beneath her politeness. For some reason she couldn’t fathom, her inadequately concealed distaste seemed to amuse and pique his interest rather than disc
ourage him. She’d actually had to resort to visiting the ladies’ retiring room to escape his persistent attentions at last night’s rout.
Fortunately, she hadn’t encountered him yet this evening and could only hope that good luck would hold. Since he was a baron of ancient lineage, the fact that she found him distasteful was unlikely to persuade Lady Arlsley to allow her to avoid him. Her sponsor would probably jump at the chance to marry her off to the first available candidate and be rid of a charge she’d been no more eager to take on than Marcella had been to agree to this worthless endeavour.
Her fixed gaze not prompting the hands of that mantel clock to circle any faster, she turned back towards the ballroom...and saw him approaching. Shock, delight and nervousness rushed through her in rapid succession.
Though she’d known there was a chance she might encounter Viscount Dellamont at some society event, she hadn’t really believed it would happen. But as he continued to walk right towards her, it became apparent that she was indeed going to meet him again.
He’d been arrestingly handsome that day in his well-tailored jacket, breeches and dusty riding boots. He looked even taller and more commanding in formal black evening wear. A riot of dark curls shadowing his forehead, his square-jawed face with its intense, intelligent eyes compelling above an intricate white neckcloth, he all but took her breath away.
How would he react to her being here, invading his realm? Would she sense between them the same heady spark of attraction she’d felt in Bristol?
Nearly dizzy with anticipation, her spirits soared at the possibility of speaking with, perhaps even dancing with, someone who knew the real person behind the ‘Factory Heiress’, the hated moniker with which society had saddled her.
Then he was at her side, the lady who must be his mother presenting him. She tried to order her scrambled wits to respond with the appropriate phrases while her pulse pounded in her ears and a nervous eagerness made swallows swoop and dive in her stomach.
The Railway Countess Page 5