The Railway Countess

by Julia Justiss

  ‘You would not need or want me to help outside the home?’ she asked, wanting to make his position perfectly clear.

  ‘You could make a significant contribution as hostess, as I’ve seen you do for your father when he entertains business associates. I’m not sure yet, I’ve only had a few discussions with friends, but if my career goes well enough, I might one day be interested in standing for Parliament. Clever and charming as you are, you’d make an excellent political hostess. So you see, you’ll have much to keep you occupied and support me in your sphere, while I carry on in mine.’

  He took her limp hand in his. ‘Our marriage would be a good bargain. I’ve been fond of you since you were an engaging child. But I was struck to the core when I finally realised you are now a beautiful young woman. I know you’ve always been fond of me as well. We can take that bedrock of affection and build on it to create a truly deep and satisfying marriage. I’ll deem it a privilege to take care of you and would cherish you and our children for the rest of our days. I know your parents would approve of our union, which I know is important to you.’

  ‘What of my working with Father?’

  Gilling smiled. ‘Despite knowing you were making your debut, in many ways I believe your father still thinks of you as the little girl he welcomed into his office to console him after the death of his son. Once you are actually married, I’m sure he will realise it’s no longer appropriate for you to work with him. Besides, some fine day, he’ll be ready to retire. He will want grandchildren to play with in his declining years.’

  She’d wondered what Gilling saw as the proper place for his wife, and now she knew. He wanted a conventional woman who occupied herself with conventional duties. If she accepted him, he would probably speak with her father and try to persuade him to no longer allow her to consult with him in the office.

  Her one escape from exile to domestic life would be playing hostess to engineers over dinners, where she might encourage them to talk about their projects.

  Would that be enough?

  She was surprised to find her doubts about the answer to that question even stronger than they had been before her aborted Season.

  But with her entire life and future suspended in the balance, she shouldn’t give him a hasty reply. This matter of marriage deserved long, careful thought.

  She squeezed the hand she held and looked up, seeing hope and eagerness in his eyes. ‘You have long been dear to me as well, and I am honoured and flattered by your proposal. But if you will permit, I’d like some time to think it over. As a child, I dreamed for years that you would ask for my hand when I grew up. But now that you’ve made that childhood fantasy a reality, I want to respond for the right reasons.’

  ‘Of course. Take all time you need. I’m already delighted you have given me hope, rather than just refused me outright for my presumption.’

  ‘I would never consider you presumptuous! Who has better right to ask for my hand than the man who has helped and supported my whole family for years? I won’t keep you waiting long, I promise.’

  Just then, she heard voices in the hallway. ‘That must be Mama and Papa returning. Shall we...say nothing of this just yet?’

  ‘Of course not. I won’t speak of it until you give me permission.’

  ‘They will be delighted to see you.’

  Those were the last private words they had time to exchange before the parlour door opened and her parents walked in, her mother coming over to give Gilling a hug, her father shaking his hand. ‘I’ll turn the tea tray over to you, Mama, and go let Grandda know Austin has arrived.’

  ‘Yes, see if you can persuade him to join us—and on your way out, find Nancy and have her tell Cook we’ll need another pot of tea. You’ll be staying with us, won’t you, Austin?’

  ‘I’ve already told Nancy to make sure his room is ready,’ Marcella assured her.

  ‘Excellent. Do sit, Austin,’ her mother said, indicating a spot on the sofa beside her. ‘Tell us what was going on in London when you left.’

  After curtsying to the group, Marcella made her escape.

  She didn’t really need to consult Grandfather, who though he liked Gilling, wasn’t much interested in callers, especially one whom he’d see at dinner tonight anyway. But she didn’t think she could sit in the parlour and make polite conversation when the imperative to make a decision pressed like a leaden weight against her chest.

  She didn’t intend to dawdle and debate it for weeks. For Gilling’s sake and her own, she wanted to review what she knew and what she felt and make her decision quickly.

  A decision on which her whole future hinged.

  She found the maid, ordered more tea, and popped in to inform her grandfather of the new arrival. He replied, as she’d expected, that he would let her parents have tea with him and then meet the young man at dinner later.

  After giving him a kiss, she left her grandfather’s study...but couldn’t bring herself to rejoin the group in the parlour.

  Instead, she grabbed a wrap and walked out the back door into the extensive gardens.

  * * *

  Usually walking the pathways bordered with exuberant blooms—nodding daffodils in shades of white, gold and yellow, vivid purple crocuses, and the pale stripes of early tulips—lifted her spirits and eased whatever anxiety troubled her. Today, the garden was not working its usual magic.

  Perhaps because the decision she had to make was so crucial.

  Perhaps because she was so uncertain what the right decision should be.

  It was clear now that Austin wanted a strictly conventional wife, and would work to persuade Father to relegate her to the household as soon as they married. Could she find a man more amenable than Austin to her carrying on her work?

  Where would she find such a man? Don her forbidden men’s clothing again, slip into a meeting of the Institution of Civil Engineers, and conduct a survey of the members?

  Despite the wry smile envisioning that tactic engendered—and the pang of sorrow as she remembered her splendid adventure, making her miss even more the exceptional man who’d made it possible—pursuing that option was impossible.

  She supposed she could reject Austin, continue working with her father, and encourage Papa to bring home other single engineers. Over wine and dinner, try to eke out their opinions on the matter of educated women and their roles. If she received encouraging answers from any of them, try to attract their amorous interest.

  But that course of action was unlikely to produce many suitable prospects, the process would be time-consuming, and most men would hold the same views Austin did. Along the way, if she rejected Austin, her concerned parents would be pressing ever harder for her to choose someone else to love and protect their dear daughter.

  Which brought her back to the central question. She’d long cared for Austin. She was pretty sure they could turn their decade-long affection into a warm and congenial bond to last through the years.

  A bond that would be warm, safe...and unexciting. A relationship that offered her the prospect of becoming a wife and mother, and she’d long wanted more than those.

  After doubt and instability were thrown into her life by her father’s deep grief over her brother’s death, Austin had been the one person who made her feel safe, wanted, enough, when she hadn’t been enough to ease her father’s sadness. But her desires now went beyond the yearnings of a ten-year-old.

  What she’d always felt for her father’s assistant, she now realised, was the hero worship of a child for the attractive older man who’d indulged and comforted her in a time of great loss, and been a steady help to her family through the years.

  But compared to what she now felt for Dellamont—well, there was no comparison.

  The idea of spending time with Austin didn’t fill her with the thrill of anticipation she’d felt when she’d known she would be seeing Crispin. She’d
never experienced with her father’s assistant the simmering awareness of him as a man, of herself as a woman, that she felt with Dellamont. She didn’t lie awake at night dreaming of kissing Gilling or feeling his hands caressing her body, as she so often had and still did with Crispin.

  With the Viscount, she hadn’t had to hide her love for and expertise in mathematics or her desire to work in the engineering world. He’d admired, even seemed proud of her for it. Though admittedly she’d manoeuvred him into doing it, he’d even gone out of his way to allow her, for one afternoon, to become an active part of that world.

  Don’t live without passion, the Viscount had advised. Not that she found Austin in any way repellent, but the idea of kissing him didn’t send fingers of fire licking along her veins as it did when she remembered kissing Crispin. She could imagine giving herself to the Viscount with enthusiasm, a melting heat spiralling from her very centre as she recalled the caress of his tongue on hers.

  If she were truly honest, when she envisioned the man she wished she could invite to share her life and her bed, the face that appeared was... Crispin’s.

  Which meant that as she’d feared and secretly long suspected, she truly had fallen in love with Crispin d’Aubignon.

  How could she have committed such a colossal blunder?

  Should she have refused him that day in Lady Arlsley’s garden?

  But marrying him was impossible. As appealing as the man was, he was the wrong man from the wrong world. Her travesty of a Season had demonstrated that she would never be accepted as a part of his. And if she entered it anyway, ostracised and alone, she would lose all of hers.

  There’d be no more working at the engineering office. She would probably have to limit her visits with her parents and grandparents, if she were permitted to visit them at all. She’d certainly not be able to entertain them at the Earl’s house.

  More important than any other consideration, though, was that having witnessed all her life the tender love her parents shared, she knew she could not marry anyone who offered her less than the all-consuming love she now realised she felt for Crispin.

  Crispin, who had a deep aversion to marriage and would enter wedlock most unwillingly.

  Even if the shock of emptiness after their abrupt parting made him, too, realise what they felt for each other was love, would he be able to overcome his instinctive resistance to marriage and offer his whole heart? She didn’t believe he saw her only as a novelty to toy with, as Lord Hoddleston had always claimed, but could she hold his affection over the long term? Or with his bitter experience of domestic life, was he doomed to feel constrained by marital bonds, to eventually lose interest in the strange, unconventional woman he’d wed, and go on to pursue other ladies?

  Fidelity in marriage was not a virtue valued in his world. It was absolutely required by her.

  So...she couldn’t marry Dellamont, who had made an offer only because his honour required it. Though she was sure he liked her and he’d admitted outright that she attracted him, he hadn’t added to his proposal, as Austin had, even a modest claim of deep fondness.

  Knowing now how she truly felt about him, she wasn’t sure she could meet him again as a friend, if he should show up again at her father’s office.

  But one thing she did know for sure. She couldn’t marry Austin Gilling.

  Some time tonight or tomorrow, she would have to tell him so.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The day after celebrating Alex and Jocelyn’s nuptials, Crispin had set off from Edge Hall to return to London. Tempted as he was to ride straight through, in addition to arriving mud-spattered and weary, it would be far too late to call at Cranmore’s office. Better to break the journey—and mull over strategy on the way.

  But perhaps that hadn’t been the best approach, since after two days of hard riding, Crispin arrived back at his rooms in Jasmin Street not just weary, but conflicted.

  While watching joy on the face of his friend as he took the hand of the lady he made his wife, he’d been inspired with the courage to reach for the same happiness himself. And though by now he was certain the emotion he felt for Marcella was fully deserving of the description ‘love’, he was not truly certain whether he dared repeat his proposal.

  He had no illusions that asking her to wed him wouldn’t mean asking her to leave her world for one that had already demonstrated it could treat her with indifference at best, cruelty and condescension at worst. Was it really fair to ask her to take that risk—for him?

  More fundamentally, she had grown up in a happy home and expected the eventual marriage she made to provide the same tranquillity and delight. A tranquil home filled with congenial spouses and children was something he knew nothing about. Could they weather the inevitable disagreements caused by the difference in their backgrounds, upbringings and expectations of life? Hang on to the excitement and joy that made their association thus far so wondrous?

  But when he thought of being with her, he saw not the dissimilar background, but all the similarities in interests, outlook and goals. Besides, though society at large might never fully accept her, he didn’t intend to spend much time among the ton. He had no doubt that his closest friends would embrace her, and she would enjoy participating in the activities and interests of their unconventional wives and families.

  Though he wasn’t sure he could make her happy, when he thought again of his initial goal of wedding a conventional ton maiden who would ask nothing more from him than eventually becoming a countess, with the right to rule over his establishment and raise his children, it suddenly occurred to him that by doing that, he might well fall into his father’s destructive pattern.

  Not that he would ever treat a lady with the disdain and lack of respect his mother endured from his father. But he though he wasn’t sure he could guarantee Marcella happiness for a lifetime, he realised that he would be in great danger of guaranteeing he made a conventional, submissive wife unhappy. Because sooner or later, he would begin resenting her...because she wasn’t Marcella.

  The unique, unusual, talented woman he really wanted.

  There was nothing for it, then. He would have to risk his whole heart, despite the devastation that could occur if it all ended badly. Offer his heart, and hope that independent, unconventional Marcella Cranmore would accept the challenge of wedding him.

  * * *

  Two mornings later, fired with an enthusiasm underpinned by terror, Crispin woke before dawn. After dressing with care, he presented himself at Richard Cranmore’s office at the earliest hour he could expect anyone to be manning a desk.

  To his frustration and disappointment, he found attached to the door a note indicating the office was closed for two weeks and requesting anyone interested in contacting the firm to post a letter, or pay a return call when the engineer returned from Newcastle.

  Stumped, Crispin retrieved his horse and went to ride in the park while he decided what to do next. Waiting another two weeks was unacceptable.

  Had the whole family returned to Newcastle—where he recalled Marcella saying her father had another office and her grandfather a country estate?

  Turning his horse back towards the gate before he’d completed one circuit, Crispin headed for his club where he could find a good breakfast and a copy of Debrett’s.

  He needed to discover the location of the country estate of Sir Thomas Webbingdon and hope the whole family had indeed gone there.

  * * *

  Several days later, Crispin rode into the pleasant coastal town of Tynemouth. He’d stopped first at Cranmore’s office in Newcastle, exerting some charm and using his standing as an investor to induce the clerk to reveal that although his employer was not in the office, he could be found at the home of his father-in-law, Faircastle House, which was located near the coast just north of Tynemouth.

  Crispin covered the ten miles in good time, found the posting inn a
t Tynemouth the helpful employee had recommended, and enjoyed a fine dinner in the taproom. Despite the impatience that made him fume at yet another day’s delay, there was no point presenting himself at Sir Thomas’s house after dark and uninvited.

  He would bathe, dress in clean garments, and ride out from Tynemouth tomorrow.

  Would he find Marcella there? It seemed now like an eternity since he’d last seen her. A long, lonely, unfulfilling void he never wished to be stranded in again. Whatever it took, he must convince Marcella to marry him.

  * * *

  The next day, after waking again before dawn, Crispin waited as long as he could stand it before riding out to Faircastle House. After handing over his horse to the servant who saw him approach, he walked up to rap on the front door.

  The maid who conveyed him to a pleasant reception room said she would inform Miss Marcella that he had asked to see her.

  He wished somehow he could have come upon her unannounced. He worried that, forewarned of his presence, she might try to have him sent away. He didn’t intend to leave until he had asked her face to face how she felt about him and whether or not she thought they might have a future.

  * * *

  After pacing back and forth for several minutes, the sound of the opening door had him looking up, his pulse stampeding and a shock going through him as he saw her dearly missed face. He found himself in front of her, bowing, without having any conscious memory of crossing the room.

  For a moment, they simply stared at each other, Crispin drinking in every detail of her lovely form, supremely conscious of that familiar surge of desire at her nearness. With difficulty, he restrained himself from seizing her and pulling her into his arms.