Georgie Lee - Mr Fairclough's Inherited Bride

‘Not a difficult problem to rectify.’

‘She may not be amenable to the idea.’

‘Again, not an insurmountable obstacle.’ Richard leaned towards Silas, the firelight highlighted the growing gauntness in his face. Richard was very sick, there was no denying it or what it meant. Once again Silas would be left alone in the world to make his way through it. He might not be the fifteen-year-old boy who’d taken on the responsibilities of a man far too soon, but it was difficult to hold that old apprehension at bay. ‘This isn’t merely a matter of the heart, Silas, but a very practical union that could benefit you both. I know I haven’t told you a great deal about Lady Mary so I’ll tell you what I can. She’s the Earl of Ashford’s daughter.’

That was nothing to scoff at and plenty of reasons to wonder. ‘Then what’s she doing here? Why isn’t she in London where her mother can marry her off?’

Richard rolled his cigar between his fingers. ‘That’s something you’ll have to hear from the lady herself.’

Silas was certain he didn’t need to ask. There was only one reason a man as high up the social scale as an earl would cast out a daughter. Silas had never met any woman so high, but he’d met plenty of other young women from good families at the Foundation. The details were different, but the story was always the same—a man, a lapse of judgement and a very distinct alteration of their future, fortunes and standing. Silas had never held it against them. His parents hadn’t raised him with such prejudices. Besides, having made more than a few of his own mistakes, he could understand theirs and that the men were as much to blame as the women for what had happened. ‘But what’s the benefit of her over, say, Mr Penniman’s daughter?’

‘One—’ Richard held up a single finger ‘—never mix business with pleasure. Better to keep someone like Mr Penniman as an investor rather than a father-in-law. He’ll have less say in your affairs and it won’t be awkward if things turn sour. Two—’ he held up another finger ‘—her standing as a genuine lady. Americans already think any man who sounds like you is an aristocrat. If you have a wife on your arm and at the head of your table who actually is one, it’ll raise you even higher in their esteem. America is full of younger sons of the nobility trying to make a fortune, but an available young woman with Lady Mary’s lineage is a rare find. The two of you could really make something of yourselves.’

‘We’d make another commoner, like me, the son of an earl’s fourth son who preferred humanitarianism to hunting. I’ve never even met the Lord my grandfather, who probably doesn’t know I exist.’ A fact his father and mother’s passion for philanthropy had reminded him of daily while he was growing up. Silas took a sip of the fine brandy, savouring the sharp flavour. Bless his parents for their altruism. It wasn’t the way he wished to live.

‘But you know he exists. I’ve heard you drop his name during more than one conversation when it’s to your benefit to do so.’

Silas shrugged. ‘A man uses what slender means he has available and I assure you mine are very slender.’

‘With Lady Mary by your side your means will widen considerably. You could affix her family crest to your carriage or have a combination of hers and yours created. Imagine how that would look at the top of your letter head or on calling cards. You could even incorporate it into the Baltimore Southern’s insignia, give the railway a touch of English class to really impress merchants and passengers,’ Richard suggested, the way he did whenever he thought aloud about how to approach investors for a new venture. It was the idea one had to sell, not the business. Never that. It was too ordinary and boring for a man to really picture, but an idea, slightly exaggerated in its aspects but never lied about, something an investor could hold in his mind when he held the stock certificate, that was something else. It was Richard’s gift, one that Silas had worked hard to cultivate over the last five years. He never imagined it being used on him to propose a match as if Richard were some kind of hovering mother at a ball.

Silas took another drag off his cigar, turning the smoke into rings as he carefully exhaled. ‘Even if I was for it, what would the lord and lady think of this match?’

‘They gave up the right to approve or disapprove of her decisions some time ago,’ Richard spat, then took a calming puff off his cigar. ‘Besides, they aren’t here to look down their regal noses at you, now are they? Nor are they likely to leave their hallowed estate and venture across the Atlantic to make a stink about it.’

‘No, they aren’t.’ Silas inhaled the weedy smoke of his cigar while he thought over Richard’s proposal as he’d considered every other business decision Richard had ever placed in front of him. Silas wasn’t ready to invest in Lady Mary yet but the benefits of the match, like those of a foundry for the Baltimore Southern, were compelling enough to be considered.

An interesting idea , Mary mused silently while she stood in the shadows outside the study, listening to the men. This wasn’t the first time she’d hovered out of sight in the darkness while others discussed her future. It was becoming quite the regular habit where her life was concerned. At least this time the proposed plan was kindly meant and to her benefit because Richard genuinely cared about her. It was more than her parents could ever have said about their actions. Their love of reputation and standing had been more valuable to them than their daughter.

She touched the small watch hanging from a ribbon on her dress bodice, a gift from Ruth, Richard’s sister, during Mary’s first Christmas with her. She ran her fingers over the fine filigree, feeling the few strands of the fraying ribbon on which it hung. The watch was one of the many kindnesses Ruth had shown her during the years that Mary had spent with her. She missed Ruth, but she was ashamed to say she didn’t miss the isolation of the country.

Quiet spread over the room, broken by the pop and crackle of the fire and Richard’s occasional cough, one that cut through Mary as sharply as his sister’s final illness had. Richard knew Mary’s secret and, like his sister, he’d given her a chance to reclaim some of the life and future that Preston Graham had stolen from her. It was everything she’d sought when she’d staggered off the ship still green with seasickness and breathed in the salty Baltimore air tinged with smoke. All the training to be a lady and chatelaine of a large house that her mother had drilled into her as a child—how to host a table, draw up menus, guide conversation, the skills she should have used as the wife of a titled man—was finally being put to use in Richard’s house. She’d been awkward and reserved, hesitant and unsure when Richard had initially encouraged her to meet with the housekeeper about dinner or sit at the head of his table. Tonight, it’d all come back to her as the food had been well received and served, and the conversation had run smooth enough to ease Richard and Mr Fairclough’s negotiations. She’d left the dining room with a new confidence and for the first time in many years the belief that her future would finally shake free of her past.

Death was threatening to steal it away from her for the second time. What would she do without Richard to guide her through Baltimore society? She’d be left on her own once again to make her way in a world that was even more foreign to her than the wilds of Devon and an aged spinster’s humble but welcoming cottage.