How was he to fill the gap in his life that would be left by her loss?
He had no answer to that question.
You could have married her, a little voice whispered. If you’d been more persuasive, added kisses to your plea, she might have given in and accepted. You could have had the stimulation of her friendship every day, the privilege of making love to her every night.
That possibility sent a bolt of excitement through him before the old familiar doubts recurred. He knew he had more in common with her than his parents did with each other, but he was still uneasy about committing to something as long-term as marriage. He hadn’t been successful as a son to either his mother or his father—how could he be sure of being successful as a husband? The thought of dragging down that sunny personality, making her unhappy, was intolerable.
There was also the matter of her not wanting to become a viscount’s wife. The slights and condescension she’d endured were real. How could he ask her to subject herself to that for a lifetime?
He had no answer to those questions either.
Exasperated, he reminded himself that he’d been fine on his own before he met her. After a period of time adjusting to not having her engaging companionship, he’d be fine again.
But all this contemplation was not easing the leaden ache in his gut.
He stopped short, realising in his abstraction he’d covered the distance from Lady Arlsley’s town house to Portman Square in record time. Taking a deep breath, he told himself he’d cease agonising about the end of their adventure and concentrate instead, once he’d seen his mother and sister, on packing up and getting ready to escort them out of London.
* * *
Ten days later, Crispin sat in his bedchamber at Montwell Glen, preparing to embark on his next exploratory investment journey. He’d brought with him from London copies of several bills that had been submitted to Parliament for pending railway ventures. Most interesting to him was the London & Southampton, a prospectus for which had been submitted as early as 1831, then several times revised before being submitted as the bill now expected to pass in the current Parliamentary session. Following its most recent survey, he would ride south from London through Wimbledon, Weybridge, Woking Common, Farnborough, Basingstoke, and Winchester to the terminus at Southampton. The addition of docking facilities at the port city and the need to arrange transport from the London terminus at Nine Oaks Station gave an additional element of novelty to the venture.
He was talking with Haines about what needed to be packed in his travelling kit when a footman brought up a letter. Recognising with delight his friend Alex Cheverton’s sloping script—grinning at the ducal seal that closed the missive—he broke it and read through the short letter before laying it back on the desk in astonishment.
He’d been shocked to discover his old friend was now heir to a duke. He was even more shocked that Alex had written to invite him to Edge Hall, the property he’d long managed for the Duke of Farisdeen, to attend his wedding in a week’s time.
He shook his head in disbelief. Granted, he hadn’t seen his friend since late February, but how in that time had Alex managed to fall in love and decide to marry?
Then, if one met an extraordinary person, forming an attachment didn’t require years.
Pushing the image of Marcella Cranmore out of mind, Crispin pulled stationary out of his desk and began writing his acceptance.
He couldn’t wait to meet his old friend and harass him about his great destiny.
He was even more curious to meet the woman who had tempted this self-proclaimed confirmed bachelor to marry.
His investment trip could wait. First, he needed to get himself to Sussex and bear witness as Alex, one of his closest friends, got himself married.
* * *
A week later, Crispin joined Gregory Lattimar, who’d arrived the previous evening after the long journey from Northumberland, in the parlour at Edge Hall, awaiting the arrival of the bridegroom who had gone to the kitchens to check on preparations for the wedding feast to be offered on the estate grounds after the ceremony to his friends, neighbours and tenants.
Crispin went over to clap Lattimar on the back. ‘Recovered from your journey? That was one long ride.’
‘It was,’ Lattimar acknowledged. ‘But I had to do whatever was necessary to arrive on time. I wouldn’t miss witnessing Alex get leg-shackled for the world.’
‘Do you know anything about the bride? Or their courtship? When we last met in February, unless I was too dense or drunk to remember, I don’t recall Alex saying anything about his partiality for any lady.’
‘He didn’t mention a thing,’ Lattimar confirmed. ‘When I first received the invitation, if I hadn’t recognised Alex’s handwriting on the note, I would have thought you sent it as a joke.’
‘Is she a bride recommended by the Duke?’ Crispin asked.
‘I don’t know much about her, except my mother told me she’s the daughter of the Duke’s librarian. Which means she couldn’t have been recommended by him, since Farisdeen would have wanted a much richer and higher-born bride for his heir. Also, if she’s the daughter of the Duke’s librarian, Alex must have known her for a long time. I understand the librarian, an antiquities scholar, has been in residence at Edge Hall since well before Alex started here as estate manager.’
‘Friends to lovers?’ Crispin suggested.
‘Maybe. When next we are all together in London, we must pry the story out of him. With all the family milling around last night, there was no opportunity to draw him aside for private discussion, and he’ll certainly be too busy during the wedding and reception today.’
And afterwards, he won’t linger, too impatient to take his bride away and begin the honeymoon, Crispin thought. As he would be, if he were leaving his wedding reception to claim Marcella Cranmore as his bride.
‘Can’t blame him for being impatient,’ Lattimar was saying. ‘Lovely, isn’t she, his Miss Sudderfeld? I understand she’s a scholar, too, like her father. I would never have expected Alex to fall for a bluestocking.’
‘One can never predict who will engage one’s mind and touch one’s heart.’ How could he have predicted he would become so attached to a railway engineer’s daughter that he still felt like a gaping hole had been ripped in his life since he left her?
Then Alex walked in to join them, such a smile of joy on his face, Crispin could have no doubt that the choice of bride had been his alone. After quizzing him for a few minutes on the outrage of having taken this momentous step without a single consultation with his oldest friends—who could hardly be of much help in making the decision, Alex protested, as both were unmarried and determined to remain that way—it was time to escort the bridegroom to church to meet his bride.
Crispin had been sceptical of Alex’s sudden desire to marry. At first he’d attributed it to the Duke’s desire, after losing his own unmarried and childless son, to see his new heir wedding and begetting without delay. But the glow of happiness in Alex’s eyes had convinced him this wedding was entirely his friend’s idea. That he was wholeheartedly, completely committed to his lady.
It was, in fact, the reason he’d decided to marry at once, Alex confided to them on the way to the church. With the Duke pressing more ‘suitable’ candidates on him, he wanted to convince his lady, who had no desire to become a duchess, to wed him before the Duke entangled him with someone else and the lady he treasured could find more excuses to refuse him.
No desire to be a duchess. Alex’s Jocelyn sounded even more like Marcella, Crispin thought, suppressing a smile.
‘Was Farisdeen finally reconciled to your choice?’ Lattimar asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Alex admitted. ‘We haven’t spoken since I announced my intention to marry Jocelyn. She’s not the bride he would have chosen for me, of course. But I’ll have no other. He may not support us, but eventually
I persuaded him not to oppose me.’
Crispin and Lattimar exchanged glances. There had to be an interesting story behind that bland statement. But since they were arriving at the church, the telling of it would have to wait for another day.
‘Aren’t you nervous? Marriage is so...permanent,’ Crispin couldn’t keep from asking as they descended from the carriage and approached the church.
‘Nervous? No, impatient!’ Alex said with grin.
* * *
Crispin noted the evidence of his impatience on his friend’s face as they walked into the church, Alex’s body tensing in anticipation. He heard the bridegroom’s long, slow intake of breath as they waited by altar and saw the bride enter the church on her father’s arm.
She was lovely, but it was his friend’s face that Crispin watched. Alex, the solid, hard-working, serious man. His small family estate provided only a modest income, but when at Oxford, he’d never shown any inclination to go on drunken sprees or dally with the ladies, as so many undergraduates did. Level-headed, down to earth—Crispin would have said Alex didn’t have a romantic bone in his body.
But the rapture on his face as his bride came down the aisle, the answering delight on the face of his bride, who never took her gaze from him as she walked over to take his hand at the altar, was the expression of a man completely and totally in love.
Of course, Alex had not suffered through the childhood Crispin had. Still, he seemed to believe marital happiness was possible. Marcella certainly did. Was he wrong to let her go so easily?
He felt a niggle of envy. If he could bring himself to wrestle past the demons of his childhood, would he open himself to such rapture by claiming Marcella?
A deep longing tightened his chest, sending an aching sadness through his body. Suddenly he wanted more than anything to see Marcella, talk with her. Perhaps, despite her reservations about marrying an aristocrat and his deep-seated worry that marriage would be the death of serenity and his fears about his ability to make happiness last, maybe he should explore the possibility of being more than just friends with her.
He already knew her bright spirit and lively mind would keep him entertained and engaged. Her beauty struck a deep chord of response in him, so that he couldn’t imagine ever tiring of making love to her.
Why shy away from trying to claim what Alex had found?
Then and there, he decided before he went on his exploratory journey to Southampton, he would return to London and seek out Marcella Cranmore.
Chapter Eighteen
Meanwhile, in her grandfather’s handsome manor house outside Tynemouth, Marcella and her mother were receiving her father, who had just returned from London. After hugs and greetings all around, they settled in the bright afternoon sunlight of the family parlour for a convivial tea to catch up on the news.
Marcella felt her dull spirits brighten just seeing her father, which would allow her to once again talk with him about the work she loved. Along with asking about the progress of the surveys filed to move forward towards construction of the Great Western and the projects her father was considering taking on next, she asked him, ‘Did Lord Dellamont happen to call at the office?’
She thought she’d kept her tone casual, but her father gave her a penetrating glance before replying, ‘No, I haven’t seen the Viscount since our solicitor told me he’d come to invest. Were you expecting him to drop by?’
‘When I saw him last before leaving London, he said he might,’ she replied, hoping she’d managed to keep the disappointment from her voice.
She couldn’t have expected him to have called yet, she tried to rally herself. It had been hardly more than a fortnight since their final meeting in Lady Arlsley’s garden. Probably he had only just finished settling his mother and sister back in the country. With his father remaining in London to attend Parliament, he wouldn’t have wanted to come by the city before heading out on his exploring venture.
She realised she’d lost the thread of the conversation and looked up to see her father’s gaze on her, his expression concerned. He angled his head in unspoken question; she gave hers a little shake in response to tell him she was fine.
After her mother finished relating the tale of her expedition to Newcastle to order new hangings and furniture for the guest bedrooms, which she felt had grown rather shabby, her father said, ‘Austin is finishing up details at the office, but will journey down to join us tomorrow.’ Turning to Marcella, he added, ‘I hoped you would be glad to see him.’
Austin, here tomorrow. A small spark of warmth penetrated her chilled dullness. ‘Of course. I’m always glad to see him.’
‘Good.’ He opened his lips as if to say more, then closed them, leaving it at that.
Did Papa know more than he was revealing about her old friend’s intentions?
* * *
The following afternoon, Marcella was once again in the sunny back parlour, trying to keep her wandering attention on her book. Her parents had driven over to take tea with neighbours they’d not seen for several months, but she was not in the mood to be cheery for company—or to be asked how she’d enjoyed her latest stay in London.
She looked up to find the maid at the door. ‘Mr Gilling has arrived, miss. I told him Mr and Mrs Cranmore was out but you was at home. Do you want to receive him?’
Talking with Austin was sure to relieve her dreariness. In any event, it was time to discover whether her debut had in fact prompted him to see her in a new light. Determine whether taking their long friendship to a different level was even possible.
‘Of course. Please show him in, see that his usual room is prepared, and bring us some tea.’
After curtsying, the maid went back out. Marcella put down her book, trying to recapture some enthusiasm. Today she might uncover the key to her future.
‘Marcella!’ Gilling said, walking in a moment later to return the hug she gave him. ‘You are looking lovely! Sunny as this room in that charming yellow gown.’
She must have made some progress in getting him to see her as a woman. She couldn’t recall Austin ever commenting on her wardrobe before. ‘You are looking fine as well. How did you leave things in London?’
‘Work is going forward on the specifications for the Great Western. Already we’ve had enquiries at the office for the firm to potentially survey, and even contract to construct, several other pending projects. With the boom in railway construction just beginning, I don’t think we will be lacking for business any time soon.’
‘Father will be delighted. He prefers to remain busy.’
‘How are you doing? Did you enjoy your time in London? I... I was surprised that you left so soon. I’ve heard the London Season lasts until summer.’
‘It does, but I’d had enough. They...weren’t very nice to me,’ she admitted, trying to put the best face on it.
Austin frowned. ‘I was afraid that might be the case, based on the way some of the aristocratic investors treat us when they come to the office. As if we were lackeys, rather than trained professionals, and should be thrilled they condescend to have us make money for them. I’m so glad the prospect of being styled “my lady” didn’t turn your head. That is, you’re not still intent on marrying a gentleman?’
‘I was never intent on it. I only went into society to please Mama.’
‘I guess you really have grown up, if you’ll no longer let your mother make your choices for you. I didn’t want to stand in your way if marrying into the gentry was what you truly wanted, but...well, it was a shock to know you were entertaining suitors and contemplating marriage.’
They paused for a moment as the maid brought in the tea service, Marcella waiting to reply until after she’d fixed them each a cup.
‘I’m not the little girl you teased and comforted any more,’ she said, picking back up the threads of the conversation.
‘You are no less dea
r to me. Even more precious, actually. I... I know you could look much higher for a husband than a chief engineering assistant, but if you could consider it, I’d be humbled and grateful for ever if you would consent to be my wife.’
There it was...the declaration she’d hoped for, dreamed about since she’d turned sixteen, put up her hair and let down her skirts.
So why didn’t she feel more excited?
There was the important matter of her place in the office, she told herself. ‘It would be good to go on as we have before—with a few changes, of course,’ she added, blushing when she thought of the intimacies she would have to allow him as her husband. ‘I could help you in the office, just as I’ve helped Father.’
Frowning, Gilling gave a negative shake of his head. ‘Don’t misunderstand; I admire and respect your father. But I’ve always felt he...took advantage of you a bit. I could understand, right after he lost your brother, that it was comforting to keep you close. But he should long ago have sent you out of that masculine sphere in which you do not belong. What would happen if any investors thought you took any actual part in the business? I know you are clever, but the bald truth is that our work would be devalued and we’d soon lose customers. Aside from the potential to discourage clients, even with you there just to pour tea, I always worried one of those arrogant aristocrats would not treat you with the respect they should. Nor is there any reason for you to trouble your pretty head calculating figures.’
Her hopes, which had risen slightly at his initial proposal, slumped again. ‘I enjoy calculating figures.’
‘To be sure, your work at the office occupied time. Time you were never one to fritter away shopping or gossiping with. For which I admire you! But once we married, with a household of your own to run, you’d be fully occupied. And after a time, I hope you would be as thrilled as I would be to welcome children of our own into it. They would certainly keep you even busier.’
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