by Wolf, Bree
Indeed, it was a barely concealed look of disdain that lingered in the older man’s eyes. He knew he needed Thorne’s fortune, yet he could not help but hold it against him. Lord Hartmore like so many others considered themselves superior, expecting the world to be laid at their feet, and were outraged when they discovered it not to be so.
“Shall I introduce you to my daughter?” Lord Hartmore asked, a polite smile upon his tense face. “She is most eager to make your acquaintance.”
Thorne inclined his head courteously. “I would like nothing more, my lord.”
Yes, finding a wife among English high society was part of Thorne’s plan. It was necessary in order to be accepted into their circle. Never would he be considered an equal; however, with a society wife at his side, his chances of finding favor would increase. Thorne knew that he needed society’s support in order to make a difference. He needed those who shaped the land with laws and regulations to listen to him, to hear his words and heed them.
Thorne knew that he and Lord Hartmore had much in common in this regard. They both had aspirations and needed the other in order to obtain them. Hartmore needed Thorne’s fortune, and Thorne needed Hartmore’s influence and standing. If only the man’s poor daughter, innocent in all of this, need not be involved.
In truth, Thorne did not cherish the thought of marrying a stranger. He knew how the ton conducted their marital affairs, and he could not say he approved of it.
He himself had grown up with nothing, with neither fortune nor family. His parents had died when he had still been young, but old enough to survive on the streets. He could not recall how many siblings he had lost. He could neither recall their names nor their faces. That life seemed so distant now as though it had not been his own past but someone else’s instead. Still, the emptiness of his childhood still lingered, and deep down, Thorne had always wanted what he had never had.
Not truly, at least.
A family.
Following Lord Hartmore’s gaze, Thorne paused when his eyes fell upon a golden-haired beauty. She stood with a friend, her sparkling blue eyes animated as they spoke and laughed. Her cheeks shone rosy, complementing the light blue of her gown. Although she looked like a dozen other debutantes around the room, there was something fierce in her gaze, something wild and untamed that spoke to Thorne.
Was she Lord Hartmore’s daughter? Would he find himself married to her in a matter of months? Weeks perhaps?
At the thought, Thorne’s apprehension turned to something else, something warm and delicious. Anticipation coursed through his veins, and he barely managed to still his feet before they could carry him across the room and to her side. Never before had he experienced such an overwhelming reaction to a woman. Perhaps not all hope was lost after all. Perhaps for once, the world would work in his favor.
His heart sank a moment later when it was not the golden-haired beauty who reluctantly moved toward them, but her friend instead.
Heeding her father’s beckoning gesture, Miss Mortensen whispered a few words to her friend and then hesitantly moved across the ballroom toward them. When her gaze fell upon him, she seemed to draw in a shuddering breath as though she had to force herself to continue onward. Soft blond curls danced upon her shoulders, her skin pale and growing paler in the warm glow of the chandeliers above. For all intents and purposes, the young woman looked frightened.
Thorne frowned. Of course, he had expected Miss Mortensen to be somewhat displeased with her father’s choice for a husband. However, he had not expected her to look at him like a frightened deer. What was it about him that inspired such fear?
“Mr. Sharpe,” Lord Hartmore addressed him when Miss Mortensen had reached their side, offering a polite, but somewhat strained smile in greeting, “may I present my daughter, Miss Sarah Mortensen? Sarah, my dear, this is Mr. Sharpe.”
Offering the frightened girl a formal bow, Thorne smiled at her. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sarah.”
The moment her name left his lips, Thorne realized his mistake. He saw her eyes widen before they fell from his as though his blunder, the intimate use of her name, had somehow proven to her that he was to be feared.
Miss Mortensen exhaled a shuddering breath, her eyes still glued to the floor as she clamped her hands together to keep them from trembling. “How…How do you find London, Mr. Sharpe?” Her voice was no more than a whisper, and she glanced up at her father in desperate need of reassurance.
Lord Hartmore’s jaw seemed tense, but he nodded to his daughter. His shoulders straightened as he regarded Thorne in a way that made Thorne think that he held no more importance in their world than a tool that refused to function. It was in its essence what was wrong with the world…at least in Thorne’s opinion.
“It is most diverting,” Thorne replied to her question, trying his best to put her at ease. Perhaps somewhere beneath this shaking exterior existed a kind and warmhearted, young woman. “A beautiful and important city to be sure, historically as well as economically.”
At his reference to his trade, Miss Mortensen tensed, casting another pleading look at her father.
Lord Hartmore nodded to her, urging her to continue the conversation.
“Where do you hail from, Mr. Sharpe?” Miss Mortensen inquired, forcing another strained smile onto her face.
“Manchester,” Thorne replied, pride ringing in his voice. He knew that the ton despised him for his origin and upbringing; yet he himself felt nothing but pride for all he had accomplished. It only fueled his desire to continue on and change the world not only for himself but also for others. People Lord Hartmore and his peers would barely even glance at if they were to cross paths. “It is a most inspiring city, changing rapidly, new businesses stamped out of the ground every day. It holds the promise of the future, lives changed and living conditions improved by machines to aid us in our daily struggles.” Thorne inhaled a deep breath, urging himself to slow down. Always when he spoke of his plans, of his vision for the future, did he find himself carried away as though he was not the one holding the reins.
Again, Miss Mortensen smiled at him, and again, it looked strained. “Do you plan to…to return to Manchester?”
“Of course,” Thorne replied without a thought. “Most of my business is there. I’ve already opened one cotton mill, and I plan to open another sometime in the next year.”
Another shuddering breath left Miss Mortensen’s lips, and her cheeks seemed to pale even more.
Thorne frowned as Lord Hartmore stepped forward, that indulgent smile back on the man’s face. “Let’s leave the details to be sorted out later,” he said with a marked look at his daughter. “This evening is to be entertaining. Business has no place at a societal ball.” Lord Hartmore spoke the word as though it was something dark, disgusting and repugnant.
Thorne wanted to strangle the man more than anything, but he held himself in check. He was not one to be led astray by his emotions. He knew what needed to be done, and he would see it through. “Of course.” He offered Miss Mortensen his most charming smile; unfortunately, the young lady seemed utterly immune. “May I ask you for the next dance?”
For a moment, Thorne feared Miss Mortensen might faint on the spot. Then, however, she straightened her shoulders and met his gaze. “Certainly.” Although she held herself rigid, Thorne could feel her muscles trembling as she accepted his arm. He led her onto the dance floor, asking simple questions, trying his best to set her at ease. Unfortunately, Miss Mortensen’s mind seemed made up. She replied politely, but more often than not, offered him only monosyllabic answers.
Before long, Thorne’s attention shifted from the woman sharing this dance with him to those standing on the fringes, watching them, their faces contorted in disapproval and distaste. Anger stirred within Thorne until his gaze fell upon the golden-haired beauty he had seen earlier.
Indeed, her face, too, was scrunched up in a way that clearly signaled disapproval. Yet her blue eyes shone with a fierceness that
spoke of anger. Something protective rested in her gaze, and Thorne realized that she was upset with him for dancing with her friend. Did she know that Lord Hartmore intended to marry his daughter to him? Was that why she was glaring at him, her eyes all but shooting daggers in his direction?
Thorne could not deny that he enjoyed looking at her. She was indeed beautiful, but it was the wild look in her gaze, that unimpressed way she regarded him, that made him want to know her, know who she was. Yes, she was a woman worth knowing. Thorne was certain of it for she would not cower or drop her gaze. No, she faced him with open eyes and a lifted chin. Thorne realized he would have liked such a wife. Indeed, if he had the choice, if there was any chance of her accepting him, he would have proposed to her, his golden-haired fury, this very moment.
But it was not to be. He needed to remember why he was here. He needed to do what was right. He needed to protect his people, all those who had no one who spoke for them.
No one but him.
And he would not fail.
Chapter Two
Strong Objections
“What happened?” Christina asked as she thrust Sarah’s hat and gloves into a footman’s face. “You look pale. Is something wrong?” Her hands reached for Sarah’s, her heart beating faster as she took note of the strain lingering upon her friend’s face.
Sarah heaved a deep sigh, and her eyes closed briefly as though she needed a moment to comport herself. “I don’t even know where to begin.” The words tumbled from her lips on a rushed breath, and for a moment, Christina worried that her friend might collapse in her arms.
Sarah had never been bold and daring, every step she took measured by her parents’ demands and expectations. Yet Christina had never seen her so…frail and resigned as she had seemed lately. Something was most definitely wrong.
Grasping Sarah’s hands, Christina pulled her friend into the drawing room and closed the door. Her eyes darted to her grandmother, seated in a cushioned armchair near the fireplace. Her eyes were closed in slumber, and her chin rested upon her chest, a mild snore filling the room.
“Tell me what happened,” Christina urged her friend, pushing her down onto the settee and then sitting down next to her, their hands still entwined.
Sarah heaved another deep sigh. “It seems I am to be married,” she told Christina with an almost anguished look in her eyes before her gaze fell and she bowed her head in defeat.
Christina felt anger bubbling up in her veins. “Who? Who did your mother choose this time?”
Not long ago, Sarah and her family had lived in the townhouse next door. For many years, the families had been close, Sarah coming and going as one of them, through a gap in the hedge between the two properties, an easy gateway. Blissful years had been spent like that, but had come to an end when Sarah’s father, Lord Hartmore, had been forced to reveal his severe gambling debts. The family had had no choice but to sell their townhouse and move to a more affordable neighborhood.
Ever since, Sarah’s mother had been most devoted to finding her daughter a wealthy husband in order to pay back her husband’s debts. Even Sarah’s dowry had been used for this purpose, leaving her with nothing, no prospects on the marriage mart. All she now had to recommend her were her father’s position as well as her beautiful face and kind character. Unfortunately, it seemed those were not enough to tempt an honorable gentleman.
As far as Christina knew, Sarah had not yet received any offers of marriage. In turn, it had made her mother desperate, going to great and somewhat questionable lengths in order to see her daughter married.
Earlier this year, Lady Hartmore had arranged for her daughter to be compromised by Lord Barrington in order to force them into marriage. However, by that time, Lord Barrington had already been in love with Christina’s elder sister Louisa, a fact which had rendered Lady Hartmore’s attempt unsuccessful.
Sarah’s hands tightened upon Christina’s. “His name is Mr. Thorne Sharpe,” her friend replied on a trembling breath. “He is from the North. As far as I know, he owns a cotton mill in Manchester and intends to open more. He says, it is a thriving town that—”
Christina stared at her friend. “A cotton mill? He is in trade?” It was unthinkable! “Was he the man your father introduced you to the other night?” Christina remembered him well. He had struck her as…misplaced, for lack of a better word. With one glance, she had seen that he did not belong, that he was not one of them.
Not a gentleman.
Sarah nodded, tears glistening in her eyes. “He intends to return to Manchester.”
Her friend’s words cut deep. “Manchester?” In Christina’s mind, it was a place of factories, smoke-filled skies and dirt roads. “But he cannot!” The thought of losing Sarah was unbearable. They had known each other since before she could remember. Always had Sarah been there.
Always.
Straightening her shoulders, Sarah lifted her chin. “I admit he seemed fairly…decent and—”
“It does not matter!” Christina exclaimed, feeling her heart beat painfully in her chest. “You cannot leave. Your parents cannot make you marry him. Who knows what kind of man he is! He could be—” Words failed her, and for the first time in a long time, Christina realized that her knowledge of the world was severely limited. It had never bothered her before, but it did now.
Sarah’s eyes hardened. “I do not have much of a choice,” she told Christina gently as though her friend were the one in need of comfort. “Debtors keep knocking on our door, and—”
“That is not your fault! Your father should—”
Sarah’s hands tightened upon Christina’s, cutting off her words. “My family needs this. I need this.” Her chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “You know that I have no other choice. No gentleman wants to marry me, considering our reduced circumstances. It is the way of the world, is it not? Perhaps I ought to consider myself fortunate that Mr. Sharpe has come to town and is willing to marry me despite my father’s debts, despite the fact that he cannot give me a dowry.”
“Do not think like that, Sarah. You have so much to offer. You’re kind and devoted. You’re beautiful. You are—”
Sarah smiled at her sweetly. “You know as well as I do that that does not matter. Marriages are arranged for mutual benefit. It has always been thus.” Her smile deepened and took on a wistful note. “Not everyone can be as your parents are. Not everyone can marry for love.” Again, her shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. “I shall be fine. Mr. Sharpe appears to be a kind man, no matter his birth or standing. There is no reason why I should not be happy with him.” Still, Sarah’s voice faltered on the last words, and Christina knew that her friend harbored doubts she was not willing to admit to.
“You cannot know that,” Christina replied, torn between cautioning her friend with regard to preventing such a marriage and giving her comfort and strength in order to see it through. Yes, Christina knew that not everyone was like her parents. Indeed, she and her sisters were fortunate that their parents insisted they marry for love. It was a Whickerton tradition despite the fact that they were only the second generation to uphold it.
“You’re right,” Sarah admitted. “But what I do know is that my family needs this. We shall be ruined if I don’t make an advantageous match, and whatever Mr. Sharpe may be, his fortunes will save us. It is as simple as that.” Tears burned in her eyes, and Christina could see that Sarah was holding on by a thread. Before Christina could say another word, Sarah pushed to her feet, dabbing a handkerchief to her eyes. “I better leave. My mother is expecting me home. She says there is much to be done before…” A tight smile came to her face as she stepped toward the door. “Thank you for listening. You are the dearest friend I’ve ever had.” And with that, Sarah turned on her heel and left.
“What will you do?” came Grandma Edie’s voice from behind her.
Christina sighed, turning to look upon her grandmother. “I knew you weren’t sleeping. Why did you pretend to?”
&nb
sp; Grinning in that mischievous way of hers, completely unbefitting her age, Grandma Edie said, “Would you not say it proved to be a good idea? Would you and Sarah have spoken as freely as you did had you known I was listening?”
Christina chuckled, then sat down in the armchair opposite her grandmother. “Any pearls of wisdom?”
Grandma Edie leaned forward and gently patted Christina’s hand. “I cannot tell you what to do or what not to do, my dear. However, generally I find that listening to one’s instincts is never wrong.”
Looking at her grandmother, Christina nodded. “I feel I should stop this from happening.” She held her grandmother’s gaze, waiting for her to say something. When she did not, Christina continued, “As angry as I am with Sarah’s mother, I understand why Lady Hartmore is pushing for this marriage. Yes, they are in debt, severely, and without this marriage…” She shook her head. “Still, there must be some other way. She cannot marry this man.”
Grandma Edie’s brows drew down into a frown as she regarded Christina carefully. “Why do you object to the man? Judging from the way you speak, I suppose you have other reasons aside from his upbringing in the far north as well as his occupation?”
Christina nodded, remembering the evening a few days ago. “I’ve seen him here and there at a ball,” she replied, drawing upon her memories, trying to see his face the way he had looked across the ballroom at her and Sarah. “I’ve never taken much notice of him as I’ve merely seen him pass by. However, a few days ago, I was there when Lord Hartmore introduced Sarah to him. I watched and I…” Somehow, Christina knew that Sarah ought not marry Mr. Sharpe; however, it seemed she did not possess the words to explain why exactly she felt so strongly about it.