A Hasty Betrothal

by Jessica Nelson

  She searched for Miles, locating him at the other end of the room. He stood with his back to her as he spoke with Sir Rigby and a small group of men from the society.

  If he shared her interest in scientific matters, surprising as it was that unbeknownst to each other, they’d read the same scientific papers, then perhaps he would not be completely closed off to the beauty of novels.

  If he could but understand the potential of a story to stretch the mind, to enlighten the darkened, then he might approve her plan. For the children’s sake.

  Just then, he turned and his gaze immediately alighted upon her. Pinning her in place with its intensity. Had he known where she stood this entire time? Had he been watching her? Surely less than a ballroom separated them? For it seemed as though they were the only two in the room. Every part of her felt alive as she answered his look with her own. Were his eyes green right now? Gray?

  Her feet itched to move forward and discover the answer. She remained in place, however, for until he changed his perception, she refused to give in to these delicious feelings melting through her, leaving her breathless.

  * * *

  More money owed.

  Sighing, Miles signed the invoice to install windows in the Littleshire Mill. He had spent two days at his brother’s mills, touring the grounds and sharing information. They both wished to carry on their father’s tradition of being fair employers. No mill worker would become affluent, but Miles hoped that what he paid was enough for his workers to put food on the table and to clothe their children.

  The Littleshire Mill was the only factory in the Hawthorne family to employ children under the age of twelve. Miles had gone to his brother for advice. He brought the information Bitt gave him, which proved immensely helpful.

  The honorable course involved taking her for a ride, offering his gratitude for her research, but after that night at the ball...a curious tug in the vicinity of his heart brought a frown to his face. He finished signing the invoice and set it in the stack for Powell to put in the post for Mr. Shapely.

  He did not dare remember the feel of Elizabeth in his arms as they waltzed, nor the scent of her hair, nor the lustrous shimmer of her eyes.

  There had been that second when their eyes met across the ballroom. When the temptation to cross the room and kiss her silly accosted him.

  Thankfully, he had not, for if she’d been on the brink of ruination before, a public kiss certainly would have pushed her reputation beyond repair.

  She had broken their visual connection. Had pivoted, severing the invisible thread that inevitably drew him to her. Shortly after the formal announcement of their betrothal, she left the ballroom, exiting the room with the grace of royalty.

  And he’d known that to follow her would be a mistake.

  The next day consisted of farewells, packing. He’d made his excuses early and left to visit his brother, Bitt’s papers safely stowed within his trunks.

  “My Lord?” Powell stood at the door. “Lady Elizabeth has arrived.”

  Of course. No request for an audience. She showed up uninvited. He nodded to his valet. “Show her in.”

  “There is no need.” Bitt appeared behind Powell, a mere slip of a woman with a giant-sized expression of stubbornness. “If you will just—” She nudged his valet, actually nudged him, and managed to slide into the room.

  Miles glowered at her, any vestige of good mood abandoning him. Powell, traitor, still stood in the doorway, his face a blank mask and his shoulders shaking with mirth. Miles flicked his hand and the servant disappeared. Ostensibly to procure a refreshment and show Bitt’s lady’s maid to the servant’s quarters.

  Elizabeth sailed across his office and paused at the family portrait hanging on the far wall. She held a massive book in her hands. Just looking at it made him feel queasy.

  All those words... He pressed his thumbs against his temples to ease the sudden ache.

  “You’re in an energetic state,” he remarked for lack of a better thing to say.

  She didn’t respond, only peered up at the painting. “Your brother is so much older than you.”

  He joined her, careful to maintain enough distance that he would not be forced to inhale any remnants of her perfume. The painting showcased his father, his brother and himself.

  “I did not know Peter well,” she continued. “Though I recall your father being a great laughing beast of a man.”

  Miles couldn’t help the tug that pinched the corner of his lips. “A beast, you say.”

  “Well, yes, he was so very large and hairy. He always brought me a sweet.” She said the last words in a wistful tone, as though she missed him.

  Swallowing the lump that had grown in his throat, Miles studied the painting. “I suppose he had a tender side. By the time I came along, he was already teaching Peter the run of the factories. With my mother lost in childbirth, he had to grow up quickly. I only knew my father as a businessman. A good and honorable man, but life for him was all business.”

  “Oh, Miles.” She turned and placed her hand on his arm. Warmth seeped through his sleeve. “You must never turn into your father.”

  He stepped away from her. His gut twisted at her words. “Why are you here, Elizabeth?”

  As though realizing her faux pas, she dropped her hand to the book she still pressed against one side. “I came to show you something.”

  He gestured to his desk, piled with papers. “I spend my days working. In the future, please send a note requesting my company so that I can adequately plan ahead.”

  Elizabeth flinched. Her eyes flickered up, then lowered in a subservient manner. One that he’d always tried to tease her out of. She held her head to the side, the cheek with the birthmark lowered so as to be hidden.

  Even to his own ears, his words sounded unkind. An urge to apologize trampled through him. He could not bring himself to do so, though. Better to set boundaries now. He waited for her to speak.

  “I shall remember that in the future,” she said quietly. Her hands twisted the novel. “I was hoping I might take a bit of your time to proposition you about something.”

  “The last time you came here with a proposition, I ended up betrothed,” he said drily.

  “No one forced you to offer in the first place.” A hint of steel entered her voice.

  “True.” He cleared his throat. How he wished the scent of her perfume would not fill his office. “I do have much to accomplish. My father was a great businessman. He earned the title of gentleman, which he passed on to Peter and me. If that means I must work as hard as he did, or harder still, then I shall.”

  Finally she lifted her gaze to his. Concern shadowed her irises. “It worried me to see you so tired at the house party. Grandmother missed you, as well.”

  His jaw tightened. “You are not to worry for me. What is it you wish to speak to me about?”

  She held out the book. A navy blue monstrosity of a novel. “This. It is the collected plays of William Shakespeare. Not the tragedies, mind you, but the comedies, the romances. I wish to read it to you.”

  Because she was holding out the book as though she wanted him to take it, he did. The weight of it sank his heart to the floor. “I have no time, Elizabeth, for such a venture. And are not plays meant to be watched?”

  Her brows furrowed and her eyes clouded. “I considered the difficulty in that, yes, but it is my deepest desire to show you how much a story can mean. How beautiful and lovely a tale can be. I want you to understand why I love reading. If we are to be married—”

  “We will be married, and not long from now.” He handed the book back to her. “There is no need for me to understand why you love reading. I accept you as you are, but you must do the same for me.”

  “Sharing what I love with you in order to expose you to a new perspective does not mean I do
n’t accept you, Miles. I simply want you to understand the beautifully great scope of stories. Their extraordinary ability to draw out the imagination, to teach life lessons and to inspire one to greater heights of creativity.” She moved past him and set the book on his overcrowded desk. “Won’t you consider allowing me to read to you? Perhaps only a few minutes per day? I would greatly enjoy it.”

  Her eyes, so innocent and bright, fastened on him, pleading. He groaned. “Wrottesley will pay for this.”

  “Is that a yes?” Her rosy lips curved becomingly. “You shall not regret it.”

  “I already do.” He pulled out his pocket watch and tapped it sternly. “Thirty minutes a day, at the most. I haven’t time for more than that.”

  “You will see that reading is not frivolous. I can assure you that reading is like peering at the world through a telescope.”

  Paperwork awaited. He glanced at the mounds, then back to Elizabeth, who glowed as if she’d accomplished some miraculous feat. “Is that all?”

  She moved a bit closer to him. “I wonder how I could have known you for so long and yet never realized what a serious man you are. So serious. Working all the time. What do you do for fun, Miles?” A teasing lilt flavored her words.

  “Poking fun at me? For shame, Bitt.”

  “It’s not as though you don’t deserve it.” She turned and began touring his study. Touching the various objects he’d placed around the room. “After all those years you teased me.”

  Miles rapped his fingers against his thighs. “Are we finished here?”

  She cast him a disgruntled look. “Really, Mr. Hawthorne. That is not the way to speak to an old family friend. Shouldn’t we get to know each other more?”

  “No.”

  She pursed her lips. “I disagree. A marriage must needs some measure of knowing, don’t you think?”

  “What I think has no bearing, but since you showed up unannounced and you’re draining the time I have to work, let me remind you that the last time I saw you, you were miffed with me. There was no talk of getting to know each other nor special reading times.” As he spoke, his frustration mounted. He shoved one hand through his hair. Words pounded through him. “Our marriage is for convenience’s sake. Nothing else.”

  She stopped walking the room to face him, chin lifted. “You need not constantly remind me of your honorable choice. If I had known it would be such a heavy burden, I would have married Wrottesley instead.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he growled.

  “I could say the same for you.” She glared at him. “I am trying to make the best of a situation I would not wish on my mortal enemy. I have ideas and thoughts. Perhaps I prefer solitude and books to people and talking, but that does not mean I am without a brain. Is it so terrible to consider my opinions? They have merit.” She walked closer to him, invading his space, pressing the boundaries of propriety. “This delicate situation requires a bit of finesse and a changing of plans. Perhaps you should bear in mind the ways I have grown in order to meet your standards. And expectations.” She waved her free hand through the air. “Your horrific expectations. What have I asked of you? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

  “Beyond marriage?”

  “Only because the alternative was...” She expelled the last words on a soft breath, as though her speech had exhausted her.

  “Unacceptable.” Miles touched her shoulders. Her head jerked up, her eyes lifting to his, and he knew he would do almost anything to make her happy.

  Stunned at the realization, he released her and stepped back. Took an extra inch as a precaution. “Nevertheless, our marriage remains a business arrangement. There is no need to know each other beyond what is necessary.” He gave her a soft look, quelling the urge to reach for her. “Thank you for the information about the mills. I spoke with my brother and together we devised a plan for creating a more healthy work environment. I have decided that your ideas for the children are beneficial.”

  “Thank you.” Elizabeth clasped her hands in delight.

  “Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.” He looked past her to the door. “Remember that two nights hence is the theater with Langford and his wife.”

  She blinked, her features tightening. “I do not know them.”

  “He is a business associate. As my future wife, you will often meet people you do not know,” he said sternly.

  Blanching, she became completely and utterly still. Giving him a slow, appraising look, she nodded once, curtsied and left.

  Groaning, he returned to his desk. This hasty betrothal was doomed to failure, and it was all his fault.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Littleshire Mill sounded just as dreadful as Elizabeth remembered. Clutching her books to her bosom, she marched up the front steps to the entrance. Behind her, Miss Townsley struggled to keep up. The young governess had answered Elizabeth’s ad for employment. Her serious air convinced Elizabeth that she was the best candidate for the job.

  She wet her lips and waited for Jenna to open the door for them. The mill manager met them, a supercilious expression upon his weaselly features. How she’d hoped he’d be dismissed. Sucking back her disappointment, she squared her shoulders.

  “Good day,” Elizabeth said in her most brisk tone. “We’ve come to teach the children.”

  He made a little bow, probably to hide his displeasure. “I’ve assembled them in the lunch room.”

  They followed him to the room. Children crowded within, standing against the walls, the tallest in the back and the smallest up front. Becky wiggled, her cleft lip hardly noticeable she was so covered in grime. Beside her, Katie giggled.

  Elizabeth looked for Louise but did not see her. “Miss Townsley, please stay in here with the boys. Jenna, will you take the girls outside for fresh air and sunshine? Mr. Grealey, a word if you will.”

  Without waiting for his answer, she pivoted and went into the hall. She walked toward the doors that led to the other rooms and then stopped to wait. Jenna led the girls outside. The sounds of snickers and shoes scraping the floor echoed in the long hall, though somewhat muted by the other sounds of the mill.

  Little boy laughs filtered out, as well. Elizabeth was not concerned. Miss Townsley came with the highest references and much teaching experience. No doubt she would soon have those boys in hand.

  Mr. Grealey came skulking out of the room. Unfortunately, he stood a head taller than her. She would prefer to loom over him but the Lord had made her Lilliputian.

  That would be a most excellent novel to read to Miles. What man would not enjoy Gulliver’s Travels?

  Thinking about reading softened her ire as Mr. Grealey neared.

  “My lady,” he said, the sound of his voice causing her teeth to grate.

  “Children are missing. Bring them up, please.” She used her most haughty tone.

  Grealey squinted at her, and inevitably, his attention moved to her cheek. Something near to a smirk twisted his lips. “I’ve brought all under the age of twelve.”

  “But the ones who need to learn the most are the older children.”

  “You are welcome to read my letter from Mr. Hawthorne, in which he instructed those beneath the age of twelve to be given precisely an hour of study.”

  How utterly frustrating! She peered closely at him, but his eyes did not so much as flicker from her birthmark. In the past, she might have dropped her gaze and hidden from him. Perhaps scuttled off as some demeaned victim.

  But the remembrance of Miles and his words regarding Becky filled her with strength. God made all things beautiful. Besides, Grealey’s vile nature did not deserve one second of her thoughts. She ducked down, moving so that his gaze must meet her eyes.

  “I realize that my birthmark is distracting, but do try to look me in the eyes when I speak to you. I shall conta
ct Mr. Hawthorne as I’m sure his stipulation of age is a mere oversight. Be prepared in the coming weeks to have all the children assembled to learn.”

  Mr. Grealey’s mouth dropped open, rather like a stunned toad. Or what she imagined one might look like. Slimy man. Barely repressing a shudder, she brushed past him.

  Within the room, Miss Townsley had captivated the children. They each bent over a slate as she instructed them in a quietly modulated voice on how to form the letter A. Flashing her a gratified smile, Elizabeth went outside in search of the girls.

  She found them on a sunny square of grass, picking flowers. The mill sounded more soothing out here, the water wheel constantly gushing as it powered the machines within. Hundreds of yards away, the River Irwell glistened. There were places where the smell of pollution overwhelmed the senses, she’d been told, but her lady’s maid had chosen to take the girls to a high part of the land, away from the stifling odor of the river.

  “Ladies, I have a story for you.” Beckoning the girls, she settled down onto the grass. They followed her example. Jenna sat and two little ones climbed onto her lap. “After I read to you, I shall take you back to the room so that you may learn your letters. Listen closely.”

  “I want to play,” piped up Becky.

  “As you shall, when it is time. But every week or so I shall be visiting and we will read this magnificent adventure so that all of you may understand that life is not merely about the job you go to, but about the life you live.”

  “Stories are boring.”

  “You may go in and work if you do not wish to listen.” Elizabeth gave Becky what she hoped was a scolding look, though her heart pinched at the thought of the little girl leaving them to go into that odiferous factory.

  Scrunching her face, Becky shook her head and settled onto the grass.

  What transpired in that hour was more than Elizabeth could have ever hoped for. Halfway through the time, the girls and boys switched so that the boys could have a turn listening to a story. First they ran circles in the grass, somersaulting and whooping. Bittersweet, as they all knew the joy would be short-lived.