‘That is a shame.’ He regarded her with sorrowful eyes.
After this interview she doubted if she’d ever see Lord Whittonstall again. But his pity was the last thing she wanted or required.
‘Until my stepfather’s will was read I was determined never to marry. I wanted to put my energy into the family firm, rather than into hating him.’
‘Not all men are beasts like your stepfather,’ he remarked, his face becoming resolute.
She knew then that he understood.
‘I am sure you will find someone. But what is the hurry? Why did you rush out and contact my cousin? The instant after you returned here from the will-reading you must have sent the note. It is the timing, Miss Blackwell.’
‘You would make a good detective. One final twist.’ Eleanor clasped her hands together and struggled to keep her voice even. ‘I have to marry within the month.’
Lord Whittonstall’s eyes had opened wide. Thank heavens! He finally understood the truly shocking nature of the will. All the nervous energy flowed out of her.
‘There would not be time for a proper settlement if you had to marry within a month,’ he said. ‘Lawyers are notoriously slow about such things. They often take longer than posting the banns.’
‘You appear remarkably well informed.’
His lips turned up in a smile. ‘I’ve a variety of cousins. Some of my female cousins are more headstrong than others and have wanted to marry quickly out of devotion to their fiancés. But it would be financial suicide. Their interests have to be protected. Fortune-hunters are ten a penny in London these days.’
A warm glow filled Eleanor. Against all hope or expectation Lord Whittonstall understood the obstacles she faced.
‘I see you appreciate the crux of the problem. I know only too well what happens when there is no proper settlement.’
‘You do?’
‘My mother married too quickly. I think she wanted to erase the shame of my father’s death from her conscience. She was the sort of woman who wanted to be married and have a home.’
Eleanor bit her lip. All her mother had wanted to be was petted and admired. A decorative object rather than something useful. Eleanor’s strength was her brain rather than her beauty, and therefore she trod a very different path from her mother.
‘But why did you stay if you found the situation intolerable? Surely you could have started a new company? Or, failing that, found a job elsewhere.’
‘I gave a promise to the employees when my father died,’ she said, needing him to understand her reasoning. ‘I promised them that if they stuck with me and the company I would give my all for them—and I have. Moles has more than prospered in my tenure.’
‘These men are all skilled. They could easily find jobs elsewhere. Would they do the same for you?’
‘A promise, Lord Whittonstall, is a promise.’
‘And you were prepared to compromise your life for a business?’ His eyes showed his incredulity.
Eleanor pressed her hands together and held back a frustrated scream. It wasn’t just a business. It was her heritage. Something that had been built with the sweat and blood of her forefathers. It was the only thing of her family’s that she had left. She was the last one. It was the only place where she truly belonged.
Suddenly she knew what she had to do. She had to make him understand. Then he’d see why she’d changed her mind, and that it had nothing to do with her reaction to him.
‘Come with me. See the forge. Meet the men who work here and then you will understand.’
‘I doubt I will.’
‘You doubted I could best you at swords.’
He gave a sudden barking laugh. ‘I stand corrected.’
Giving in to her impulse, she led him out of the office and gave him a brief tour of Moles. She showed him where the iron was kept, how it was made into steel, and then how the swords were made. All the while, whenever they encountered anyone, she introduced him to the men who made Moles—from the most junior errand boy to Mr Swaddle, who was busy with his experiments. To her great relief Lord Whittonstall asked intelligent questions and didn’t patronise her. He seemed genuinely surprised to learn how long some of the men had worked there, and of their hopes for the future.
‘There,’ she said, when the tour was done and they had stopped outside the office building, underneath the apple tree that her great-grandmother had planted. The blossom was late this year and had just started to open. ‘Do you understand now?’
‘They certainly hold you in high esteem. When the blacksmith needed you to inspect the latest shipment of iron Mr Swaddle took me aside to explain about how you had single-handedly rescued this company.’
‘Mr Swaddle is given to exaggeration. We worked together. Everyone did. The men did the physical labour. I simply did the accounts and worked to get the swords where they would be appreciated. If a fifteen-year-girl could do it, how hard could it have been?’
She found it hard to keep the bitterness from her voice. She shook her head. Algernon’s pompous pronouncements had affected her more than she’d thought possible.
‘And you have continued to do it for the last fifteen years?’
‘It has become a habit.’ She ducked her head. ‘I enjoy my work and enjoy working with the men. Mr Swaddle, for all his eccentric dress, is a genius with steel.’
‘He doesn’t like Algernon Forecastle. Doesn’t trust him. He made that quite clear.’
‘These people depend on me. I can’t allow Algernon to ruin their lives.’ Eleanor drew a deep breath. ‘I went to see your cousin to secure their future. I went to offer to pay his debts in return for a marriage on paper. But I couldn’t do it. And I shall have to live with my selfish decision for the rest of my life. When the time came I was a coward and couldn’t even say the words. So I asked your cousin for his help in another way. It may do some good. There—now you know the truth and my reasons. I hope you are satisfied.’
‘You care a lot about these people?’
‘Yes, I do.’ She stood with her feet firmly planted on the ground and dared him to make a derogatory comment.
A light breeze blew a strand of hair into her mouth. She pushed it away and still he looked at her.
He put a hand on her arm, keeping her there. His brows drew together and his eyes darkened to coal black. ‘Marry me.’
Eleanor froze. A thousand disconnected thoughts flew through her brain. A huge part of her screamed that this was the miracle she’d been longing for. Lord Whittonstall had asked her to marry him. But she also knew she didn’t want him offering out of pity. She had her pride. ‘I wasn’t begging you for help. I was attempting to explain.’
‘Is there something wrong with marrying me?’ Ben stared at Eleanor Blackwell. He had not intended to ask her to marry him when he’d arrived at Moles, but now, seeing her here and hearing her story, he knew it was the right thing to do. The perfect solution to his problem and to hers. Mutual assistance.
She pulled away from him. ‘You have no reason to want to marry me. Don’t patronise me. I can’t stand it.’
‘It is far from a joke.’
A deep frown appeared between her delicate brows. ‘But why would you want to marry me?’
‘You mean I’m no wastrel