An Unconventional
Gentleman
WILLENSHIRES #2
Henry's Story
Preview
Chapter One
“Nearly home, sir!” the coachman said, grinning and tipping his hat. As if it were good news.
Henry Willenshire forced a tight-lipped smile and climbed back into the carriage. They’d changed horses for the last time and would reach his family home all too soon.
If a wish could have carried him back to France, he would have done it in a heartbeat. As it was, his absence had earned him frowns and faintly veiled disapproving remarks from his family.
The four Willenshire siblings were in a rather… unique position. The eldest boy, William, had of course just inherited their father’s title of the Duke of Dunleigh, and they had all naturally assumed that, on their father’s death, they would inherit parts of the tremendous Willenshire fortune, too.
Not so. There were conditions to their inheritance.
Henry clenched his teeth. Every word of that will, his father’s will, was burned into his brain.
“In case my family should forget what is due of the Willenshires and the great Dunleigh Estate, I have chosen to remind them. While I cannot stop my eldest son inheriting his title and the small amount of money attached to the estate, the rest of the property and money is mine to dispose of as I wish. The inheritance due to my widow will remain unchanged and unencumbered. However, before my children may access their inheritance, they are required to marry in a court of law. On the date of their marriage, they may receive their full inheritance…”
It was unprecedented, as far as Henry knew, a man of the late Duke’s standing leaving a stipulation in his will to force all of his children to marry to receive their rightful inheritance. And there was a deadline, too. They had twelve months from the date of the will’s reading to marry or lose their money forever. Henry remembered vividly how he’d felt, how numb and surreal it had all seemed, like it was a bad dream that he would wake up from at any moment.
Of course, none of them were pleased about the will. A further stipulation had left Katherine, Henry’s only sister, obliged to marry first, or else none of the boys could receive their money. Another unfairness on the late duke’s part. One of many.
Henry let his head tilt back against the carriage seat. He’d considered taking up apartments in town, rather than facing his family, but really it cost too much. Still, he wasn’t ready to relinquish his freedom altogether, so perhaps he would have to find the money from somewhere. It wasn’t as if he could borrow it. William, the new duke, had not received his inheritance yet. With the exception of Katherine, none of them were married.
She’s lucky, Henry thought glumly, conjuring up images of his sister’s smiling face on her wedding day. Timothy Rutherford was an old family friend, and the two loved each other. Even Henry could see that.
With a lurch, the carriage came to a halt, some time after the last stop. Henry could not have said how long, only that he very much did not want to go home.
The place doesn’t even feel like home.
Rain was falling lightly, slowly soaking the gardens of Dunleigh House. It was an ugly place, in Henry’s opinion, especially when compared to the beautiful, sun-drenched stones of Spain, Italy, and France.
Don’t think about it, he told himself, grimly climbing out of the carriage and leaving the coachman to take down his bags and boxes. You’re not there. You’re here. For now, at least.
“Ah, the prodigal returns. I was sure you’d find more business to keep you abroad.”
Henry darted up the stone steps, ignoring his brother.
William Willenshire, the new Duke of Dunleigh, was leaning against the doorway, arms tightly folded and lips pressed into a thin and disapproving line. Henry shook off the lingering dampness from his hair, like a dog.
“Hello, Will. No, ‘welcome home, Henry’?”
William rolled his eyes. “Welcome home, Henry. But let’s not pretend that you want to be here.”
Henry said nothing. He had been pursuing something to do with wine, which could have kept him in France for months yet, but it had all fallen through, unfortunately. But all was not lost. There was a self-made gentleman, Mr. Charles Fairfax, who might make a decent business partner. Henry had made his acquaintance recently and they had promised to meet up again in England. Anything to distract him from the fact he had to marry or live destitute.
“Some messages arrived for you today,” William said abruptly. “Lord Percy Fletcher wants to see you, your old friend.”
“How nice. I haven’t seen Percy for a while. Is my old room ready?”
“I’d like a quick word with you, first,” William said shortly, turning on his heel and walking along the corridor. He didn’t wait to see if Henry followed him.
Henry bit his lip, considering how funny it would be to ignore Henry’s summons and just go on up to his room.
Sighing, he followed his brother.
They passed through a cavernous hallway, ceilings swooping high and forbidding above them. A vast family portrait glowered down at passersby underneath. The family resemblance was clear, glittering hazel green eyes staring blankly, chestnut locks gathered in neat, sedate arrangements around faces and necks. Henry saw himself there and tried not to look. He’d been younger then, already longing for the freedom of travel and escape. His dark hair was massed around his head, his eyes darkened by the painter. Beside the pale, oval faces of his older brother and Katherine, he looked plain and ill-tempered.
Alexander, the youngest of them all, was the only one who was smiling.
“Where’s Alexander?” Henry asked impulsively, lifting his voice to carry over the clack-clack of their boots on the marble floor. “I thought he’d be here to welcome me.”
Was it his imagination or did William’s shoulders tense.
“I couldn’t say where Alexander is. He went out last night and hasn’t come home.”
Not the response Henry had hoped for. They were quiet for the last few minutes, taking a sharp turn into the study.
A tea tray was set out already, and the fire was lit.
“This is nice,” Henry commented.
William sat stiffly down on the chair behind his desk, gesturing for Henry to take the chair opposite.
“Two months is a long time,” he said bluntly. “You shouldn’t have left, Henry. Certainly not so quickly after Katherine’s wedding.”
Henry bit the inside of his cheek. “She’s happy enough, isn’t she? Why do I need to stay?”
“Why do you need to stay? Why do you think? We have ten months left on Father’s wretched deadline. Katherine has her inheritance, but I’d quite like mine, too.”
“And what, exactly, does this have to do with me?”
William pressed his lips tight together again, obviously controlling his temper. Henry lounged coolly in the chair, hooking one leg over the arm. He wasn’t going to help him out. None of his siblings knew what it felt like to live in a cage.
Well, perhaps that wasn’t fair. But William and Alexander had always planned to marry one day, and Katherine would have to marry, on account of being a woman and all. Unfair and annoying, but there it was.
However, Henry was the second son, with few prospects and few expectations placed on him, and he’d hoped for a life of freedom. Love and marriage might well come along, but if it didn’t, why would it matter? It wasn’t as if he was going to be the Duke or wanted to be.
“If I choose to renounce my inheritance,” Henry continued, once the silence had become uncomfortable, “whose fault is it of mine? I can make my own way in the world.”
“Really? Because none of your enterprises have flourished so far. I hear that your wine business was a disaster. I have no intention of bankrolling your lifestyle.”
Henry flushed. “I have another promising scheme coming up.”
“You always have another promising scheme. But, no, as you say, it is none of my business if you choose to renounce your inheritance. You and I have never been friends, Henry, but I thought you might have stayed for your siblings.”
“Katherine can take care of herself. Her letters seem very happy, and I think she’s pleased with the match she’s made.”
“She is, but I’m not talking about her,” William leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Alexander is not going well.”
Henry bit his lower lip hard, tasting copper.
The stipulations and deadlines of their father’s will clearly bothered Alexander. He was an anxious young man at the best of times and had recently taken to dealing with his stress by excessive drinking, occasional gambling, and keeping remarkably poor company. When Henry had left, Alexander had begun to look pale and ill.
A flash of guilt surged through him. Henry swallowed it down as best he could.
“Well, I’m home now,” he said, lightly. William did not smile.
“It remains to be seen whether you’ll be of any use.”
The remark stung, but Henry was careful not to let it show on his face. He grinned instead.
“Careful, Will. You’re starting to sound just like our dear Father.”
William went white and then red in quick succession. There was no telling where the conversation might have gone if the study door hadn’t flung open, admitting Lady Mary Willenshire, the Dowager Duchess of Dunleigh.
“Henry, my darling boy!” the Duchess exclaimed, arms held wide. “I had no idea you’d returned so early. Come kiss your mother.”
Henry got dutifully to his feet, embracing his mother and kissing her powdery cheek.
“You look very well, Henry, although you have caught the sun a little. How was France? Deadly dull, I imagine.”
“France is never dull, Mother,” Henry responded, smiling.
“Are you glad to be home?”
He only hesitated for a heartbeat.
“Of course I am, Mother.”
“Good, good. Ah, the tea tray is here. I’ll pour.”
While the Duchess busied herself pouring out three cups of tea, Henry and William tried to avoid staring each other down.
Henry was aware that his siblings were somewhat unforgiving towards the Duchess. She was a faded woman who had once been a great beauty and had long since had any spirit or character crushed out of her beneath the late Duke’s unforgiving heel. Their father had worked hard to mold his children into the shapes he wanted – forcibly, if necessary – and had already achieved his goal with his wife.
Naturally, then, he had no further interest in her. The Duchess, however, still wore mourning for him, and would likely stay a widow for the rest of her life, clinging to an idealized memory of a terrible man.
Henry thought that his siblings – William, in particular – should be a little more considerate.
“Two months is entirely too long,” the Duchess was saying out, handing a cup of tea to William. “You should have been here to support Katherine through those tricky early months of marriage. She is extremely stubborn, and would never listen to any of my advice.”
“I think Katherine’s marriage is doing very well, Mother,” William said tightly.
The Duchess cast Henry a look. “Well, Timothy is a nice enough man, but you know that he only writes… writes novels.”
She whispered the word, as if saying it loudly might summon a wicked heroine right there in their home.
Henry hid a smile. Timothy Rutherford, like him, was a second son, one whose father made no secret of how strongly he disapproved. Spurning his father’s money and influence, Timothy had moved into his own apartments and made a living writing novels under a pseudonym. They were good novels, too. Better than good. They’d rocked polite Society, and everybody had read at least one of Timothy’s works, even if they didn’t know that Timothy was the author.
The man was quiet and placid, had great integrity and a bottomless imagination. He had loved Katherine for some time, if Henry was not mistaken, and he privately thought that his sister could not have chosen a better man.
And, of course, her marriage had opened up the way for her brothers to receive their inheritance.
“Any further engagement on the horizon?” Henry enquired and earned himself a glower from William.
“No,” William said shortly.
His eyes flickered to the side, and Henry followed his gaze. A silver locket lay on the desk. It looked like a woman’s necklace, and Henry dredged up a memory of William finding it at a ball, belonging to some mystery woman whom nobody knew. No point in keeping it, in Henry’s opinion.
Which, of course, William would never ask for.
“How long are you staying, Henry, dear?” the Duchess asked, handing a steaming cup of tea to her second son.
“Indefinitely, if you’ll have me,” Henry said, deliberately meeting William’s eye. “Unless it’s inconvenient, of course.”
William sighed. “It’s never inconvenient having you here, Henry. This is your home, too.”
A knot loosed in Henry’s chest, one he hadn’t even known was there.
“I’m glad,” he murmured. “I’m not… not displeased to be home.”
William arched an eyebrow. “High praise, indeed.”
The Duchess glanced from face to face, oblivious to any undercurrent of tension between her sons.
Story of our life, Henry thought grimly. The Duchess had never seemed to notice her husband torturing their children. If she had noticed, she had done nothing about it, so it was more palatable to believe that she hadn’t noticed.
It was what Henry preferred to believe, at least.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Henry said politely, putting down his teacup, “I’ll retire to my room. I have a great deal to get done.”
“I’m sure,” William muttered. Henry considered demanding to know what that was meant to mean but decided against it.
Chapter Two
Eleanor leaned back in her seat, inspecting her work. Something was missing, and she couldn’t quite say what it was. Her desk was littered with rejected sketches, even a few that looked perfect, but weren’t right, somehow.
The design was a teacup and saucer set, but it had to stand out among the countless other tea sets. It had to be different, something to make buyers look again, something modern but not irrelevant, something that was more than a teacup and saucer. Something to make people look a little closer at Fairfax Porcelain Manufacturing.
Her father insisted that they needed a cash infusion, and that was probably right, but if Eleanor could create some truly unique designs, they might not need another partner so badly. It might buy them time, at the very least.
Ink smudged her fingers and palms, and when Eleanor brushed a twisted lock of auburn hair back from her forehead, she was obliged to use her wrist rather than her hand or risk a smear of black on her face. She’d learned that the hard way.
The teacup’s design was too plain. The twisted handle and dipped rim were an interesting shape, but it needed something more. A pattern, then.
She tapped her fingers on the desk, pursing her lips. Something floral would be the obvious choice. Nothing too adventurous, or her father wouldn’t let her design go further than her sketchbook, so she’d better walk the line carefully.
Flowers. Roses, then. Yellow roses.
Unbidden, her gaze lifted to the huge portrait dominating one side of the room. The brass plaque on the bottom of the portrait read: Mrs. Anne Fairfax, loving Wife and Mother.
The ache in Eleanor’s chest was something she was well used to. It had been six years since the death of her mother, and sixteen was entirely too young to lose one’s mother.
In the portrait, a round-faced, pretty woman smiled down at the occupants of the room, with auburn hair and green eyes to match Eleanor’s. In one white hand she held a bunch of yellow roses, their green leaves and stems standing out brightly.
They were her favorite flowers.
Eleanor worked quickly, sketching out half-blown roses, using blotches of color to indicate yellow, furling petals and vibrant green leaves.
Yes, yes. That’s right. That’s what it needs to look like.
She leaned back again, allowing herself one quick smile of satisfaction.
On cue, the door to her office rattled, and Mr. Fairfax himself stepped in.
Charles Fairfax had worked hard to become accepted in Society, despite his unfortunate attraction to trade and business. They would never move in the highest circles in the land, but Eleanor was more than content with the level they had reached.
Charles was a man of middling height, growing thinner in his old age. Not that he was old, unless fifty was considered ancient, and he had had gray hair and matching gray eyebrows for as long as Eleanor could remember, along with tiny pince-nez glasses perching on the edge of his hooked nose. He smiled fondly at his daughter when he entered.
“Still working, my dear? It’s half past five! We’re to be at Louisa’s home at seven, you know. She likes punctuality around mealtimes.”
“Yes, I recall,” Eleanor said, chuckling. “I’ve been working on this, Papa. What do you think?”
She handed over the sketch, and Charles eyed it for a long moment. She could imagine him creating the final product in his mind, imagining what sheen they would give it, what finish, how the matching milk-jugs and teapots would look, what kind of sugar bowl would match it…
“Very good,” he said at last, and Eleanor breathed out a breath she hadn’t quite realized she was holding.
“You like it?”
“It’s very pretty, my dear.”
“Pretty?” Eleanor faltered. “I… I thought we might make it. The design, I mean. For our new tea-sets.”
“We may well do that, my dear, we may well do it. Your mother would be proud of how artistic you are. You inherit all your creativity from her, you know. Now, we must be going. Get your things, and we’ll change quickly before we go to your sister’s.”
Eleanor bit her lip. She thought briefly about arguing her corner but decided against it. Her father’s mind was already in the warm, comfortable drawing room of Louisa’s pretty home, smelling of good food and sweet flowers, with his grandchildren sitting at his feet. The office and Eleanor were already forgotten.
Smothering a sigh, Eleanor swept her shawl around her shoulders.
“Of course, Papa.”
***
“Eleanor, you have ink stains on your fingers,” Louisa said brusquely. “Do not touch my new linen napkins with your inky fingers.”
Eleanor flushed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I did wash my hands, but…”
“Leave your sister alone,” Jonathan intervened, and Eleanor shot her brother-in-law a quick, grateful smile. “She is a hard worker, and the ink stains are just a sign of that. Take no notice, Eleanor. Help yourself to a napkin.”
Doctor Jonathan Ashby was not the baron or lord that Charles Fairfax had hoped for his oldest and prettiest daughter to marry, but he was certainly respectable, certainly wealthy, and certainly loved Louisa with all his heart. He was thirty, and Louisa was twenty-eight, and their two children – Daniel and Emma – were aged seven and five respectively.
The children had, of course, been put to bed, allowing the adults to sit down to supper.
“It is a pity the children can’t join us,” Charles said suddenly. “I’m sure Eleanor could manage them while we eat. She is so good with children, is she not?”
That was such an odd thing to say that Eleanor couldn’t think of any reply right away.
“Oh, very good,” Louisa said instantly, almost like it was rehearsed. “You’ll make a wonderful mother one day, Eleanor.”
Eleanor blinked. “I suppose I would. Most people make good parents, when it comes down to it. But not for a long while, perhaps not ever. Not with my work.”
“Well, one can’t think too soon about these things. You are twenty-two, my dear. You haven’t any beaus, do you?”
“You know that I don’t, Louisa.”
Louisa pursed her lips, helping herself to a few more potatoes. She glanced across the table, meeting Charles’ eye. A look passed between them which Eleanor could not interpret and didn’t entirely like. She glanced from face to face, waiting for somebody to explain.
The explanation never came, and the conversation moved on. The evening progressed, with course after course of delicious food being served, and it didn’t take Eleanor long to forget the queer moment.
At least, she managed to forget it for a few blissful hours.
“Do you think Papa is quite well?” Eleanor whispered to her sister, when there was a space in the conversation to speak. “He looks tired. I’m sure he’s not paying attention to anything we say.”
Louisa avoided her gaze. “I’m sure he’s just busy. He works so hard, you know, and things aren’t going well at the business.”
“Well, if some of my designs take off…”
“You can’t save our family business with a few scribbles, Eleanor,” Louisa said, so sharply that Eleanor jumped. There was a taut moment, then Louisa sighed. “I’m sorry, that was unkind. But really, you must know that a few new designs aren’t going to turn the tide of our fortunes. We need money, and we need it now.”
“Papa’s meeting with a prospective partner in a few days,” Eleanor said, trying to swallow down her hurt. “Perhaps that will help.”
Louisa still wasn’t meeting her eye. “Perhaps,” she said, but it didn’t sound as if she believed it.
***
It was late in the evening by the time Charles and Eleanor climbed back into their carriage and set off for home, with Louisa and Jonathan waving goodbye from the drawing room window, a square of light and warmth in the night. Already, Eleanor was missing the warm, cheerful house.
“What do you say,” Charles said slowly and heavily, “to joining the Season this year?”
Eleanor flinched. “What?”
“The Season began a few months ago, of course, but it’s only just reaching its height now. It would be a good time to join, don’t you think?”
Eleanor shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not fond of Society, Papa.”
“That’s hardly the point of the Season.”
“No, the point of the Season is to marry.”
Charles picked at his cuffs. “Well, I’m sure you’ve considered marriage. You are twenty-two, my dear, and time is not kind to ladies. You should start looking for matches now.”
“Oh, I… I don’t think so, Papa. Besides, I’m far too busy with the business. This is such a tricky time, and I…”
“I can manage without you.”
Just like that, with five words, Eleanor’s little world shattered. He could manage without her. Her office, her office, was just a little room for her to pass the time in. A hobby.
Eleanor bit her lip. “Well, I do a great deal of work, Papa. Perhaps you don’t see all of it. Not just my designs, but the accounts, the business meetings, dealing with the wages, and…”
“Yes, yes,” Charles waved his hand dismissively. “You are very helpful, my dear, but you can’t expect to work at the business forever, surely? Ladies want establishments, don’t they? Husbands, families, that sort of thing. I hate to imagine you missing out, my dear.”
Eleanor felt a wave of affection for her father. She reached forward, taking his cold, dry-skinned hand in hers.
“Oh, Papa, I am not missing out, truly I’m not. I’m quite happy staying with you, running our business. I am very busy, and I am quite happy.”
Charles met her gaze for a long moment, then gave a huff of irritation, pulling his hand away.
“Eleanor, let’s not have any of this nonsense. I’m too tired.”
She flinched. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ve never been an overbearing father, have I? I allowed Louisa to marry the man of her choice, and Jonathan is indeed a very pleasant man. I’ve allowed you to work in the business, when many men would not. I even let you have your own office, didn’t I? I have been fair and kind, have I not?”
Eleanor swallowed hard. She had an idea of where this conversation was going now, but she did not want to believe it. Not yet.
“I still don’t understand what you mean.”
“I mean that you must marry, Eleanor. Do you want to be a ridiculous old spinster? The business will be left to Daniel, when he is old enough, and then what will he do? Gentlemen entertain your ideas and chatter now, because you are young and pretty and interesting, but they won’t care to listen to a strange, middle-aged woman.”
“Then I shall make them listen,” Eleanor said sharply. “Middle-aged women have ideas, too.”
Charles harrumphed, as if he wasn’t quite sure of that, but wasn’t about to argue the point just yet.
“I had thought that you would naturally find someone to settle down with. I thought a suitable man would present himself, and the problem would take care of itself.”
She flinched again. “A problem? Is that how you think of me, Papa?”
“Don’t be so prickly, my dear Eleanor. I am only telling you the truth, as is my right as a father. You must marry. Surely you can see that.”
“I see nothing of the sort. I am happy as I am, Papa. This life suits me.”
“Only because you don’t know any better. I daresay a domestic life, with a husband and children to care for, would suit you down to the ground.”
“And what if it doesn’t?” Eleanor shot back. “What if I find myself married, removed from the work I love, saddled with children and a man I don’t love, left to wait out the rest of my life? What then? What do I do then, if I find myself so very unhappy and with no way out?”
Charles’ expression darkened. He was clearly not pleased to have his vision of domestic bliss shattered in this way.
“Of course you’ll be happy, what nonsense. Now, I cannot drag you through the Season kicking and screaming. You’re of age, so you can do as you wish, within reason. I cannot force you to accept any proposals. I didn’t insist upon you accepting Mr. Thompson’s son, although that would have been a fine enough match, did I?”
“Ought I to thank you?”
“You ought to consider it,” Charles replied sharply. “I have thought this way for quite some time, and your sister agrees with me.”
“Have you been talking about me behind my back?”
“Oh, don’t oppose so, Eleanor. Now, listen to me. As I said, you will not be compelled to do anything. I’m not a young man, and you are far too stubborn for me. But let me tell you this. You may enjoy your work now, and you may even enjoy it forever, but you must have more in your life than work. Life is about people, my dear. If I hadn’t dragged my head up from under all my paperwork to see your mother for the first time, what would my life be? I would be a sad old man, slaving at a drowning business, without a friend in the world. I should be miserable.”
“There is more to life than children and a husband.”
“That is true, but there is also more to life than work.”
There was a long pause between them, then Charles sighed.
“My dear girl, I don’t mean to make you upset. But think over what I’ve said. I should like you to set your mind towards marriage. We will be joining the Season, and that’s that, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll look around for something more tangible than your work.”
“Yes, Papa,” Eleanor said weakly. There didn’t seem much else to say.
Chapter Three
Three Days Later
Henry fidgeted in his uncomfortable best suit. He was already missing the relaxed fashions of the French countryside, along with his cool suits and loosened cravats. This was London, so comfort and freedom were not two words a gentlemen expected to encounter often.
The carriage was taking him deep into the city, to a particular warehouse attached to an office building. A leather folder, tied with a strip of narrow black ribbon, contained all the details Henry needed to know about Fairfax Porcelain Manufacturing, as well as the man who owned it. Charles Fairfax was a good businessman, that was generally agreed upon, although he had no sons, only two daughters. The business had been a good one for decades, but lately it had begun to struggle, according to Henry’s research.
What they needed was a man with money, one with ideas as to how to expand and renew their business.
Henry had one of those two things.
He was sure William would lend him the money, if need be. He had some money from the estate, and surely, he would marry soon enough. William knew his duty, as he liked to remind them all frequently.
The idea of marriage, as always, made Henry shift uncomfortably. He still hadn’t decided which was worse; joining the Season and marrying a woman who cared nothing for travel and had no original ideas beyond what she read in the gossip columns, or letting the year go by and resigning himself to a life of poverty and sponging off his brothers and sister.
I wish William and Alexander would marry first. Then there might be a sister-in-law or family friend for me to meet. Wouldn’t that be easier? A match built on friendship? Love is nonsense, after all. Nice to read about in novels, but it doesn’t exist.
The carriage slowed in a particularly busy part of London, in front of a tall, thin office building. Polite Society generally avoided the more industrial area of London, on account of it being vulgar and unbecoming to have an interest in trade or business. As a second son, Henry’s interest in entrepreneurship was mostly ignored, since he was not going to be a duke, after all. Second sons were allowed a great deal of freedom.
Generally speaking, of course.
Smoothing a hand over his cream-and-gold waistcoat and wondering why he cared so much about his appearance today, Henry stepped out of the carriage. The door to the offices was already open, and a thin, gray-haired man that he recognized as Charles Fairfax stood at the door, smiling nervously.
“Lord Henry!” Mr. Fairfax said, voice wobbling.
“I apologise for my lateness, sir,” Henry said, striding up the stairs and stepping past Mr. Fairfax into the high-ceilinged foyer inside. “There was a snarl of horses and carts on our road, and we were obliged to wait for it to clear.”
“No apology necessary, not at all!” Mr. Fairfax made an awkward bow which immediately made Henry feel uncomfortable. “A duke arrives when he means to, I’m sure!”
“I’m not a duke,” Henry said shortly. “Lord Henry is an honorary title. My brother is the Duke of Dunleigh. I hope that is clear, Mr. Fairfax. If it is not, we can end our business here. I am no duke. Do you understand? Is this clear?”
“It is abundantly clear, Lord Henry,” came an unfamiliar feminine voice from behind Henry, making him jump.
He turned around, trying not to glare.
A young woman in her early twenties stood behind him, lips pressed together. She was remarkably pretty, with smooth auburn hair twisted back in a simple knot at the base of her neck, tendrils escaping around her face. She had large green eyes – real green, not hazel or blue-green – and a pale oval face. She wore a simple dress, nothing that Katherine would ever stoop to wear. She had a sheaf of papers tucked under her arm and was currently glaring balefully up at Henry.
He felt color rise to his cheeks.
“I didn’t mean…” he began but was interrupted.
“You meant that my father might not have done his research,” she said shortly. “That he did not understand who you were and might in fact be hoping to leverage the influence of the Duke of Dunleigh, who is not, of course, you.”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
“I can see that I’ve given offence,” Henry said at last. “I will confess, I initially thought… but please, I must beg for your forgiveness. I hate to be late, and my delay made me skittish. That’s no excuse, of course.”
“No apology necessary, my lord!” Mr. Fairfax said hastily, shooting a quick and warning glance at his daughter. “This is Miss Eleanor Fairfax, my… my daughter. I suppose that much is evident. My dear, there is no need for you to join us.”
The tension in the atmosphere intensified.
“It’s no trouble, Papa,” Miss Fairfax said smoothly. “See, I’ve prepared all the information Lord Henry will want to see. The accounts, our own future plans, and so on. A few sketches for new designs, that sort of thing.”
“Lord Henry does not want to waste his time with that.”
“Actually, I do,” Henry said apologetically. “Miss Fairfax, may I…?”
She wordlessly held out the papers to him, whisking back her hand as soon as he took it so that their fingers did not touch.
She does not like me, he thought grimly. Not a good start.
Mr. Fairfax glanced nervously between his guest and his daughter.
“Eleanor, do step aside with me for a moment. Excuse us, Lord Henry,” Mr. Fairfax said, his voice trembling a little.
Henry inclined his head. The older man drew his daughter away a few steps, and began to hiss sibilantly at her, quite loud enough for Henry to hear, no matter how pointedly he cleared his throat.
“Eleanor, do you know how much this gentleman plans to invest? His involvement could turn the business about! If you offend him…”
“Have a care, Papa, he can hear!”
“Mind your tongue, that’s all, my girl.”
When they turned back to face Henry, Miss Fairfax’s face was flushed, and Mr. Fairfax looked wearier than ever. Henry smiled, not showing any teeth, and tried to pretend that he hadn’t heard any of that.
“Shall we proceed with the tour, Lord Henry?” Mr. Fairfax said brightly.
Anything was better than standing in the foyer under Miss Fairfax’s baleful, unblinking eye, so Henry agreed enthusiastically.
He should have known better. Of course, Miss Fairfax came with them.
The warehouse behind the offices contained a good selection of the inventory, as well as the kilns and other apparatus. A great number of the workers were there, stepping aside from their work to bow or curtsey as Mr. Fairfax, his daughter, and his guest came by.
Henry couldn’t help but notice that Miss Fairfax greeted most of the workers by name, occasionally murmuring a few lines of conversation to one or the other, and they all smiled at her as she went by.
Mr. Fairfax, on the other hand, was visibly flagging. He was out of breath before they were halfway across the warehouse floor, and at one point, he seemed to forget entirely about a whole section of their new items, the ones that were just beginning to be sold. Miss Fairfax, of course, was there to step in, smoothly continuing what her father was saying. If Henry had been less experienced in the matters of business, he might have thought it was planned that way, and nothing to do with Mr. Fairfax forgetting things, and his watchful daughter stepping in to save his embarrassment.
Henry was nothing if not a gentleman, so he pretended to be convinced, nodding politely, even when Mr. Fairfax repeated himself, more than once. Even when he pointed out the obvious, and got the numbers wrong, and had to have his poor daughter whisper the correct thing in his ear. Occasionally, he shrugged her off angrily, or made a sharp comment, then the poor girl’s face flushed bright red – the curse of all red-heads, Henry thought – and she was obliged to step back, and Henry pretended again not to notice.
It was a relief when they passed out of the warehouse and went back up into the offices. Mr. Fairfax struggled on the stairs, panting for breath, but glared at his daughter when she quietly offered him her arm.
“Go on ahead of me,” he said at one point, leaning on the stair railing and gasping. “I’ll just have a word with one of the workers down here. Give Lord Henry some tea, Eleanor.”
It was clearly a ploy, one designed to let Mr. Fairfax take a break to catch his breath, but Henry politely bowed and carried on up the stairs.
Miss Fairfax wavered for a minute, then after some urgent whispering between them, followed Henry, face like thunder.
“I’ve rung for tea,” she said shortly, sailing past him into a medium-sized office, packed with books and papers. Ink and blank paper were set out by the empty chair, and the opposite chair was clearly never used, judging by the pile of books on it.
“Your father doesn’t have many visitors, does he?” Henry remarked, eyeing the book-laden chair.
Miss Fairfax glared at him, and Henry deduced that he’d once again said the wrong thing.
“This is not my father’s office. It is mine.”
“Yours?” Henry echoed, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.
The girl visibly bristled. “Yes, mine, Lord Henry. I daresay you’re shocked at the idea of a woman being able to handle matters of business, not to mention numbers and accounts.”
He recovered quickly. “Not at all, Miss Fairfax. I have a sister who is remarkably intelligent. More intelligent than me, I’d say.”
“Then perhaps I ought to be doing business with her.”
The smile crept across Henry’s face before he could smother it. Miss Fairfax didn’t seem to like that and eyed him with suspicion and dislike.
“What are you laughing at, Lord Henry?” she asked, voice tight.
“I am not laughing. I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to offend you, Miss Fairfax. I am not one of those men who thinks that ladies have smaller brains and can somehow not handle the sight of blood or of long numbers. Really, it matters little to me whether I do business with you or your father.”
Miss Fairfax looked slightly mollified, but not much.
“Right. Well. I understand you have a large amount of capital to invest in our business. Are you able to access that money right away?”
“Oh, yes,” Henry lied. “I have a great many ideas to improve the business. It requires a lot of modernization, of course, not least of all…”
“I’ve already suggested modernization to my father,” she interrupted. “But perhaps he’ll be more inclined to listen to you. You are, after all, a man and a stranger.”
There was no ignoring the bitterness in her voice, simmering just beneath the surface. Henry shifted, beginning to feel uncomfortable.
“Miss Fairfax, let me be clear. I have no intention of stepping on your toes. I have no intention of stopping your father from listening to you, or accepting your help, or…”
“Accepting my help?” Miss Fairfax hissed, crossing the office in a trice and standing entirely too close to Henry for comfort. He found himself leaning backwards before the whirlwind of her anger, even though her head barely came up to his chin.
“I do not need your help, Lord Henry. I have been running this business, as much as my father will allow without relinquishing more control, and I can truthfully say that if it were not for me, we may well have gone under years ago. I am a good businesswoman, Lord Henry, but since I am a woman, I have to fight for every suggestion to be heard. If I had my way, Lord Henry, I would not…”
“Let me guess,” he interrupted, recovering himself a little. “You would never stoop to enticing an investor? Would never accept capital from a spoiled little lord like me?”
She had the grace to blush. However, Miss Fairfax had auburn hair and pale skin, and Henry guessed that she blushed at most things.
“I didn’t say that,” she said, losing some of her anger. “But I would not take capital from you in particular, sir. We need an investor, but I think a more established businessman would be required.”
“You must know that an established businessman would not stand here and bandy words with the owner’s daughter, no matter how hard she worked to keep the business afloat.”
“If nobody will listen to me, then I will be obliged to make myself heard,” she said shortly. “I’ve gotten good at it.”
For a moment, they glared at each other, her tilting her head to look up, him peering down. Henry was not a tall man, but Eleanor Fairfax could be no taller than five feet tall. In this light, her eyes were the most ethereal green he had ever seen. She hadn’t bothered with the discreet touches of powder and rouge some modern ladies favored, and her hair was slowly but surely coming undone around her temples.
As if sensing his gaze, she lifted her hand and tucked a few tendrils behind her ears. Some of the anger faded from her eyes.
“I… I should not have said all that,” she muttered, dropping her gaze. Henry let out a breath, not quite aware that he’d been holding it at all.
“I appreciate honesty, Miss Fairfax,” he murmured, but she wasn’t listening.
She turned, walking briskly over to the window. He suspected that she was trying to compose herself, before he said something else and she hurled a paperweight at his head.
Before another word could be exchanged, the door opened, and a breathless Mr. Fairfax appeared, smiling weakly.
“My apologies, the worker was quite chatty,” he said, for all the world as if Lord Henry and Miss Fairfax didn’t know that he’d spent the time slowly and painfully dragging himself up the stairs, not talking to anyone at all. The man glanced around the messy office and frowned.
“Oh, Eleanor, why did you bring Lord Henry in here? And where is the tea? Fetch some at once!”
Miss Fairfax wordlessly moved to obey, striding towards the exit. Without being asked, Henry stepped out of her way.
He suspected many people did that around Miss Fairfax. It was easier to just get out of her way, really.
I hope you enjoyed the preview of my new novel“An Unconventional Gentleman” It will be live on Amazon soon…
This Post Has 4 Comments
Can’t wait to finish it. There’s a mistake in the first chapter when William asks Henry to meet him in his office. It uses Henry’s name when William was meant.
Cannot wait!
I truly enjoy your books and look forward to the new one.
I will definitely be waiting for this book to become available to purchase. Thank you for this preview.