Mary Nichols - Working Man, Society Bride

‘Good evening, ladies,’ he said, maintaining his navvy persona. ‘Fine evening, don’t you think?’

‘You may think so,’ Lucy said. She was unaccountably angry with him, as if he had somehow affronted her. That Mr Gorridge was drunk was clear and it was his fault. She had never seen Mr Gorridge even slightly inebriated the whole time they were in London and attending balls and parties, so he must have been plied with drink by the navvy. Everyone knew they were hardened drinkers and hardly ever sober. She ignored the fact that the man had been perfectly sober and polite when she had met him before and did not appear to be more than a little tipsy even now. And how had the two men met? She wished they had not, though she could not have said why she wished it, unless it was her own strange, mixed-up emotions that wanted them kept apart. She did not want to find herself comparing them, mentally listing the faults of each against their virtues. It was a futile exercise, anyway.

Myles compounded his unpopularity by smiling broadly. ‘It is indeed a fine evening when a man is privileged to meet two such charming young ladies.’

Rosemary giggled and Lucy pushed her into her room, hoping he had not noticed, but she knew he had. ‘Goodnight, sir,’ she said and turned on her heel to leave him.

He reached out and caught her arm, making her turn back to him. ‘I am sorry,’ he said contritely. ‘I had no idea you were here and I would not have subjected you or any of the other ladies to the spectacle we must have presented when we came in.’

She looked down at his hand on her arm. It was a large hand, brown and tough from the work he did, but surprisingly neatly manicured. It was not gripping her tightly; in fact, there was a gentleness about him that decried his size. She knew she should stand on her dignity, and demand to be unhanded, but found herself tongue-tied. He was so close to her, close enough for his legs to be brushing against her skirt. And for a second, discomforting time, she found herself wondering what it would be like to be held in his arms. Unable to look at him, she turned away and he released her.

‘Goodnight, sir,’ she said and disappeared into her room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

He went downstairs and met Viscount Gorridge and the Earl of Luffenham in the hall, apparently on their way to find out what was happening. ‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ he said cheerfully, as the footman opened the front door for him.

‘Who are you?’ Lord Gorridge demanded.

‘Myles Moorcroft, my lord. Your wife will explain my business here. You will find her with your son.’ And before he could be detained further, he hurried from the house.

He wished he had never become involved with Gorridge. He certainly would not have done so if he had known the Earl of Luffenham’s daughter was staying at Linwood Park…. She had been disgusted with him and who could blame her? Carefully nurtured, she could know nothing of drunkenness and the japes working men got up to to amuse themselves. And he had made matters worse by maintaining his pretence of being a navvy and teasing her. His apology had been too little and too late. And how to redeem himself he did not know.

But, oh, the pleasure of besting that young pup was not to be denied. The villagers would have sore heads in the morning, but he did not doubt they had enjoyed their evening and, when the navvies came to work in the vicinity, they would remember it with pleasure and there would be no trouble between the two communities, as there so often was when the railway builders arrived in a district. That would not be for some time because the survey had yet to be completed and approved, the legal side to be concluded with any landowners along the way, sub-contractors employed to do the work and a labour force assembled. When all that was done, he would make a point of inspecting the work at regular intervals and then he might meet the young lady again.

Seeing her tonight, he realised she was even more beautiful than he remembered. Her hair was as lustrous, her eyes as lively, her figure as perfect and that green dress, simple as it was, had been just right, setting off creamy shoulders and a long neck. She had been angry, though. He smiled as he let himself in through the back door of the Golden Lion; he would meet her again, he was convinced of it, and perhaps in more favourable circumstances. And he would do his best to win her round. It was a question of pride, though. If anyone had suggested he was falling in love, he would have hotly denied it.

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