Книга - Mr Fairclough’s Inherited Bride

Mr Fairclough's Inherited Bride
Georgie Lee


Facing the past… To build a future together! Silas Fairclough’s new life in America is dramatically changed when he learns his mentor’s dying wish is for him to wed his ward. Silas’s marriage to beautiful, quiet Lady Mary Weddell will be a practical, sensible arrangement. But now his family in England need him – and that means taking his bride back to the land of scandal and ruin she’d left behind…!







Facing the past…

To build a future together!

Part of Secrets of a Victorian Household. Silas Fairclough’s new life in America is dramatically changed when he learns his mentor’s dying wish is for him to wed his ward. Silas’s marriage to beautiful, quiet Lady Mary Weddell will be a practical, sensible arrangement. But now his family in England needs him—and that means taking his bride back to the land of scandal and ruin she’d left behind…


A lifelong history buff, GEORGIE LEE hasn’t given up hope that she will one day inherit a title and a manor house. Until then she fulfils her dreams of lords, ladies and a Season in London through her stories. When not writing she can be found reading non-fiction history or watching any film with a costume and an accent. Please visit georgie-lee.com to learn more about Georgie and her books.


Also by Georgie Lee (#ub7613846-1a01-5896-82ec-7f2018bc81c0)

Scandal and Disgrace miniseries

Rescued from Ruin

Miss Marianne’s Disgrace

Courting Danger with Mr Dyer

Secrets of a Victorian Household collection

Miss Lottie’s Christmas Protector by Sophia James Miss Amelia’s Mistletoe Marquess by Jenni Fletcher Mr Fairclough’s Inherited Bride

And look out for the last book

Lilian and the Irresistible Duke by Virginia Heath coming soon

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


Mr. Fairclough’s Inherited Bride

Georgie Lee






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-0-008-90117-2

MR FAIRCLOUGH’S INHERITED BRIDE

© 2019 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Note to Readers (#ub7613846-1a01-5896-82ec-7f2018bc81c0)


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To Anne, always in our hearts.

To Grandma, thank you.


Contents

Cover (#ue831a05b-220e-5a27-87c5-62de9e8c4bac)

Back Cover Text (#uc1d1bd24-fa57-5d9e-8a94-fdfe7f242813)

About the Author (#ubc4b5c5d-e76f-565d-9dea-c702d9fa63c7)

Booklist (#u3ea1e9cf-0977-597c-86f2-b2d81dd8fffa)

Title Page (#ubee33dde-9d4a-5a52-ba9d-d7be30052e53)

Copyright (#u3851159c-154b-55a9-8832-600b16cc4566)

Note to Readers

Dedication (#u55d392fa-6650-55ad-a6b7-6bf99b4b3ce9)

Chapter One (#ud2590747-613c-57a3-bba1-89e1786e695b)

Chapter Two (#u1c8fce74-ff03-57d6-9022-bac5f47736b3)

Chapter Three (#ufce03184-1fcc-580a-aec3-cfcf127a3c3c)

Chapter Four (#ub212bd3a-bd34-5440-9fab-87d0da9ea818)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One (#ub7613846-1a01-5896-82ec-7f2018bc81c0)

Baltimore—September 1842


‘Gentlemen, listen.’ Silas rapped his knuckles on the polished top of the rosewood dining table, bringing the boisterous men in their black dinner jackets and white waistcoats surrounding it to attention. ‘If we can manufacture iron rails in America instead of relying on England, we could dominate the competition.’

‘But the English rails are far superior to ours,’ Mr Penniman answered, resting his hands on his round stomach. ‘As are their engines.’

‘They’re cheaper, too,’ Mr Baxter added, flicking away a small crumb sitting beside his plate.

‘The prices will shoot up if the government changes the tariff rates or something interrupts the English supply,’ Silas reminded them, determined to win these investors over to his idea. ‘If we build our own foundries and hire the best iron workers, buy from the best domestic suppliers, we can produce our own rails and lay them ten times quicker than the competition. It’ll ensure that the Baltimore Southern Railroad is the most impressive in America and at the forefront of innovation and development. We could even manufacture our own locomotives.’

The table erupted in a cacophony of disbelief and amazement with Mr Penniman and Mr Baxter astounded by the idea while Mr Wilson and Mr Farrow marvelled at the possibility.

At the far end of the table, Richard Jackson, Silas’s business partner and mentor, remained silent where he sat beside Lady Mary Weddell, his ward and hostess for tonight. He allowed the men to argue among themselves and left it to Silas to convince the wealthy investors to part with more money than they’d already supplied to the Baltimore Southern. Silas would not disappoint Richard or himself or allow other men’s lack of vision to dry up his income and keep him from sending home the money his family relied on for their upkeep. The Baltimore Southern would grow and succeed. He’d make damn sure of it.

‘America is heading west, gentleman.’ Silas raised his voice to gather the men’s attention. ‘When her boundaries reach the Pacific Ocean, new ports and trade routes with South America and the east will open up and provide untold opportunities. The railroads will be key to bridging the continent and reaping the benefits of those new opportunities.’

‘You can’t imagine the railways will stretch that far?’ Mr Penniman leaned forward to see past the other men to Silas. ‘It would take an engineering feat of immense proportions to traverse the Sierra Nevada.’

‘In time we’ll have those engineers and the equipment capable of conquering mountains. Already we’ve made it so that a man travelling from Kentucky to Washington, D.C. can do it in four days by rail instead of three weeks on horseback. Imagine being able to cross the county in a matter of weeks, of goods and raw materials reaching factories and markets as quickly. With your investment in the foundry we can take the first steps towards claiming this magnificent future.’

The men nodded and mumbled their agreement. Even those who’d been hesitant tilted their heads in thought at Silas’s proposal. Silas shifted in his chair, determined not to betray the excitement surging inside him. He’d won them over. He could feel it.

‘You do dream big, Mr Fairclough,’ the balding Mr Penniman said before leaning over to take the last sweet from the platter in the centre of the table.

‘His big dreams will overshadow all of us one of these days,’ Richard added, finally making his presence as the senior partner and the owner of this house felt. He held a handkerchief to his mouth and coughed as quietly as he could before sliding it back into his pocket. ‘The smart man would buy into the future while it’s still affordable.’

‘I assure you, gentleman, we aren’t the only ones having this discussion, but we must be the first to put our plans into action.’ Silas motioned for his valet, Tibbs, to instruct the footmen silently waiting along the periphery of the dining room to refill the brandy glasses with the fine vintage Silas had procured from one of his best English sources. None of the servers made a move to top up Silas’s glass, though. Tonight required a clear head.

Mr Penniman covered the top of his crystal glass with his hand, glancing at Lady Mary Weddell to say that it was in deference to her that he exercised restraint. ‘No, thank you, I think I’ve had enough for the evening.’

‘Don’t deny yourself the pleasures of Mr Fairclough and Mr Jackson’s generosity on my account, Mr Penniman,’ Lady Mary encouraged, offering him and a number of the other gentlemen a smile that saw them sit back and allow their glasses to be refilled. ‘I refuse to let my presence parch a gentleman, especially while discussing matters that require a robust thirst.’

She motioned for a footman to place a new tray of sweets on the table in front of Mr Penniman. She’d been so sly in her ordering of the extra treats that not even Silas had noticed their arrival in the dining room. Clever girl.

Mr Penniman didn’t hesitate to select the largest chocolate dusted with white sugar. ‘You’re a very smart woman, Lady Mary. You’ll make some man very lucky one day.’

Lady Mary’s smile remained as beguiling as before but the sparkle she’d turned on Mr Penniman dulled. He was oblivious to the change in her as he savoured the chocolate, but Silas noticed it. It was the same painful regret that used to mar the drawn faces of the women who regularly appeared on the doorstep of the Fairclough Foundation, begging for help. He doubted Lady Mary shared that sort of misery, but the nagging feeling that something unpleasant had brought her to America was as difficult to ignore as her help in wooing the investors.

Silas motioned for Tibbs, who leaned down beside him. ‘Send Lady Mary a nice gift, something to thank her for her assistance tonight.’

‘How nice a gift, sir?’ The mental tally of Tibbs’s contacts at various Baltimore shops and goldsmiths was almost visible in his light grey eyes.

‘Ladylike exquisite.’ Silas raised his half-drunk glass of brandy to Lady Mary, who nodded serenely. She was a plain young woman he guessed to be about three or four years younger than his twenty-five, with lively and intelligent brown eyes which seemed to miss nothing about her surroundings. She wore her blonde hair in a more mature fashion without the barrel curls most young women preferred. Her slender waist and stomach were accentuated by full breasts that were well hidden beneath a high-necked and far too plain dark grey gown. Despite the puritan simplicity of her attire, she sat with the poise of a queen, seeing over the table and the dinner arrangements with the panache of an experienced hostess. If she wore better dresses and did her hair in a more becoming fashion, she would be striking, but standing out, as Silas had learned during the three months that she’d lived with Richard, was not her habit. Instead, she remained discreetly present, understanding the gravity of what Richard and Silas were trying to accomplish and coyly doing all she could to help them achieve it.

‘Yes, sir.’ Tibbs straightened and Silas was certain Lady Mary would like whatever Tibbs selected for her. Silas couldn’t speak to her tastes for he’d never enjoyed a private conversation with her beyond the weather. Despite them both being from England, she didn’t hail from the same barely respectable part of London that Silas did. Thankfully, most Yanks didn’t recognise the subtle difference in their accents, all to Silas’s benefit. The higher up the social ladder they believed him to be, the more favourably they viewed him and his wild ideas.

‘Gentlemen, here’s to us and the future success of the Baltimore Southern’s expansion.’ Richard raised his brandy glass, the level of the liquid inside of it as unchanged as Silas’s glass. The guests raised their drinks in answer, offering up a supportive cheer that made Silas smile. They’d secured the investors, even Mr Penniman who smiled at Lady Mary as widely as he did whenever his horse placed first in a race. Silas drained his brandy and motioned for Tibbs to refill it, ready to celebrate before tomorrow and the hard work began.






‘We did it.’ Silas relaxed into the leather wing-backed chair in Richard’s study and stretched his feet towards the roaring fire in the grate. The study was an impressive room full of fine wood furniture and leather chairs where Richard had spent years building up his wealth through various business ventures, though it was the railroads that were closest to his heart, as they were to Silas’s. Silas had been speechless the first time he’d stood in here, having stepped off the boat from England the day before, and he’d promised himself that one day he’d have a room like this. It was a pleasure to sit in this chair tonight and think of his study at home and how he’d achieved almost every goal he’d set for himself since leaving Liverpool nearly five years ago.

‘Not we, you.’ Richard removed his handkerchief from his pocket and coughed into it.

‘They wouldn’t have supported me if it weren’t for your influence.’ Silas traced the bottom of his brandy glass, wishing his ideas could stand on his reputation and merit, but he had yet to cultivate that kind of influence. More years in Baltimore establishing roots and a string of successes as long as the Baltimore Southern’s tracks would earn him the respect he craved. Until then, he was thankful for Richard’s influence and every opportunity he’d provided Silas since Silas had arrived in America. Without Richard, Silas would still be the penniless, prospectless nobody he’d been when he’d left Liverpool. Silas tapped his glass with the pad of his finger. He’d never be that man again. ‘I’ve already applied to the English patent owner for permission to build his locomotive here. Given what we’ve already invested in the steam works, it needs to start producing engines as soon as possible.’

The rails manufactured in the new foundry could be sold to other railroads to offset the cost of the Baltimore Southern’s investment, but stronger, faster engines were the real key to railroad’s future. Silas wished there were better American models to be had, but his adopted country had yet to produce a winning design. In time he was sure they would, but at present he needed the rights to the British one.

‘That engine will take the Baltimore Southern to new heights and success.’ Richard inhaled, the air rattling through his chest. ‘But sooner than any of us would like, you’ll have to win over investors without me.’

‘You aren’t thinking of retiring, are you?’ Richard lived for his work.

‘I’m dying, Silas.’

The same tightening of his stomach that’d almost made him retch ten years ago when his mother had stepped out of his father’s sickroom to hand Silas his father’s signet ring hovered about him like the heat from the fire. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I consulted a number of medical men while I was in Philadelphia, the best in the country. They confirmed what I’ve suspect for some time.’

‘That can’t be.’ Silas hadn’t missed the coughing or the gradual thinning of Richard’s body over the last year, but he’d ignored it and everything it meant, hoping it wasn’t true, willing it to not be true. ‘There must be some treatment here or in Europe. They’re more advanced there than most of the quacks here who still think bleeding is the cure for everything.’

‘No, Silas, you and I can struggle and strive against a great many things, but not this.’ Richard sank into his chair, his slender body almost engulfed by the rich leather. ‘I only regret that I won’t be able to see the transcontinental railroad you envision. You’re a dreamer, with a knack for making them come true, and I’m proud of you for it and for everything you’ve done since you first showed up on my doorstep with a letter of introduction from Jasper King and little more than a worn suit and a couple of British pounds. I took a chance that you were worthy of Jasper’s trust and mine, and you’ve proven me right at every turn. You’ve gone from someone with nothing to part-owner of a railroad with a tidy income of your own that will only grow a great deal larger after tonight.’

‘Don’t curse us. All we have are their promises. We don’t have their money yet or the tracks laid or the patent to the English steam engine.’ Silas took a deep pull of brandy. Apparently, they didn’t have a future together in the venture either. No, many people lived with consumption for years, there was no reason to think Richard couldn’t, too.

‘I don’t mean the railroad. I have no children, no wife, my life spent married to my business and increasing my fortune. There are days when I think that was a mistake, until I see you.’ He reached over and laid a fatherly hand on Silas’s arm. ‘You’re like a son to me, Silas, I don’t want to see the same loneliness befall you.’

‘It won’t. In time, I’ll marry.’ Matrimony was not uppermost in his mind tonight, or any other night as of late.

‘I also don’t want to have what I’ve built up fall to pieces. I’m leaving you not only my share of the railway, but almost all of my estate.’

‘I don’t want it.’

Or deserve it.

He didn’t wish to make his fortune by inheriting it from his mentor.

‘I still insist you have it, at least everything I’m not leaving to Lady Mary. She’ll get the house and a tidy financial settlement. It would mean the world to me if you’d look after her when I’m gone. She may not be related to me by blood, but she did a great deal for my sister in her last years and she’s brought me immense comfort over these past three months. I want to leave her with a secure future so she never has to want or worry about anything.’

‘Of course I’ll make sure she and her investments are well protected.’ Silas watched the flames in the grate leap and fall as they consumed the log. He understood the importance of protecting those he cared about. The cheques he regularly sent home to England supported his mother and sisters so that the donations to the Fairclough Foundation could continue to help the women in need. He threw back the rest of the brandy, the sting to his throat making his eyes water. Yes, he took care of his family with money, but little else. What else could they expect of him? He’d never wanted to be part of the Foundation, and if he hadn’t come here to work with Richard there wouldn’t be money to send home. It was the same circular thinking that plagued him every time he thought about how far away he was from his loved ones. He refilled his empty glass. Tonight, he had no patience for those old regrets.

‘But of course, money isn’t everything,’ Richard mused.

‘No, it isn’t.’ Silas set his drink on the table, all too familiar with that tone. The promise of a business proposal crackled in the air like the sap from the logs in the fire. What the devil could his friend be about to propose at a time like this?

‘There are other, less tangible things to consider, such as standing, influence, a gentleman giving off the right sort of air when negotiating business or society, as you witnessed tonight.’

‘I don’t exactly smell of the fish market.’

‘But you need that little something extra to raise everyone’s opinion of you even higher.’

‘Is it that low?’ Silas laughed. He occasionally enjoyed a good game of cards at the clubs or a few other carnal pleasures when the need arose, but he’d never been in debt, got drunk or landed a woman, respectable or not, in any difficulty. He’d seen what’d happened to those unfortunate women enough times growing up at the Fairclough Foundation to ensure no woman suffered because of his attention or her situation in life. ‘Given the way the mothers throw their daughters at me at the balls, I thought I was rather admired by Baltimore society.’

‘In every endeavour there is always room for improvement.’ Richard opened the small humidor on the table beside him and held it out to Silas. Silas selected a cigar from the box. He didn’t smoke often, but something in Richard’s manner told him this occasion called for it or a stiffer drink. Richard took a cigar from the humidor and set the box back on the table. He withdrew the silver clipper on the chain from his waistcoat pocket, snipped off the end and set it between his lips. He leaned forward, accepting a light from Silas who held out a small stick from the fire. Richard inhaled deeply as he sat back before taking the cigar out of his mouth and exhaling with a wincing cough that saddened Silas. ‘You need the kind of improved opinion that an impressive and respectable marriage confers on a man.’

Silas choked on the smoke and the unexpected suggestion. ‘The kind of respectability you never sought for yourself.’

‘I almost did once, many years ago when I lived in Mobile. I was in the cotton business back then and on my way to making my first real fortune. We were in love, but yellow fever stole her from me. I never found another like her after that.’

It was the first time Silas had ever heard Richard speak with such affection about a woman who wasn’t his now-departed sister in England. It tightened his chest to realise Richard might be reunited with both women far too soon. ‘Then what’s turned your thoughts to matrimony?’

‘Your future and Lady Mary’s.’ He wheezed as he exhaled smoke. ‘A well-settled woman isn’t a single one at the mercy of every fortune hunter in the States, but a married one with a home and family, one who can successfully host dinners and help further your interests because they are her own.’

Silas took a deep drag off the cigar. He’d never in all their time together ever questioned Richard’s reasoning for anything. He hated to make an exception this far into the game. ‘I give you my word that I’ll make sure she’s well protected from fortune hunters and that she contracts a good marriage.’

Richard threw back his head and laughed, the cheerful sound weighted down by the rattle marring it. ‘Shame on me for not being more direct.’

‘You’re being very direct.’ A little bit too much for Silas’s liking. He’d always imagined himself settling down some day, but not quite this soon and not with a near stranger. Lady Mary was a pleasant enough woman, but he knew almost nothing about her. He wasn’t one to pry into other people’s affairs, at least those not connected to business that could benefit him in negotiations. ‘But the lady and I aren’t well acquainted.’

‘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.

Mr Fairclough’s deep voice, his accent a touch less refined than her father and brother’s, but far from the roughness of the London streets or fields, cut through the quiet with some matter of business. The tone of his voice held her interest, the notes of it deep and sure the way Preston’s had been during those darks nights in the stable or his carriage, until it’d turned callous and cold like the road to Gretna Green.

Mary slipped away from the door and through the narrow entrance hall of the brick row house with its marble floors and tall ceilings, and up the polished wood staircase to her room. She sat at her dressing table, leaving the bell to summon Mrs Parker, her lady’s maid, untouched. Despite having grown up with a nurse to feed and care for her, a governess to teach her and, when she’d finally come out in society, a lady’s maid to see to her beautiful ball gowns and carriage dresses, the last four years of attending to herself made her hesitant to ring the bell.

No, not any more.

She was no longer a companion but a lady and she would never be anything less ever again. She picked up the bell and shook it, the tinny noise cutting through the still of the room.

‘You’re upstairs early tonight, Lady Mary.’ Mrs Parker beamed as she came in from the adjacent room. Mary smiled at the older woman’s American frankness. If a lady’s maid had ever addressed her mother in so informal a manner she would have been dismissed without a reference. That strict distance between servants and employers had seemed so right and proper to Mary back then. It didn’t any more.

‘It was a successful, if not tiring one.’ It’d taken a great deal of organising prior to the dinner to make everything during it seem effortless and serene, and Mary was eager to sleep. She would need all the rest she could gather to get through the difficulties she was sure to face in the coming months if Richard’s health declined as quickly as his sister’s had. She’d seen the bloody handkerchiefs and heard the rattle in his chest, the same one that had claimed Ruth in the end. Mary clutched the watch on the ribbon, her eyes misting with tears. She was tired of losing people she cared about and who genuinely cared about her.

‘There, there, Lady Mary, what’s the matter?’ Mrs Parker laid a comforting hand on Mary’s shoulder and she didn’t shrug it off the way her mother had when her old housekeeper had tried to comfort her after the death of Mary’s grandmother. Instead, Mary welcomed the kind gesture. It reminded her of Ruth.

‘Nothing, only I’m a little tired from tonight’s excitement.’ There was no point ruining her evening, too. She would learn the truth about Richard soon enough assuming she didn’t already know.

Mrs Parker nodded her head, making the pile of grey hair arranged in a careful twist on top of it shiver with the motion. ‘I’ll get to laying out your nightclothes and have the maid send up the water to wash your face.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Parker.’

‘My pleasure.’ She turned and began to bustle about, removing Mary’s fine linen nightgown from the dresser, the one she’d purchased to replace the plain cotton ones she’d arrived with, and laid it out on the coverlet. ‘It’s so nice to have a young person in the house and a lady’s touch to soften things about the edges, but if you don’t mind my saying, some places, like this room, could do with a little more feminine charm.’

‘Yes, it could.’ Mary hadn’t made any changes to the room since she’d been here, leaving the handsome furniture and even the hunting pictures on the walls exactly as she’d found them when she’d arrived. It was the most comfortable room she’d occupied since leaving Foxcomb Hall, her family’s estate, four years ago, but far more formal and elaborate than her bedroom at Ruth’s had been. Richard had encouraged her to redecorate it. Perhaps it was finally time to learn to properly decorate a room. It was a skill she’d never mastered. Her mother had never been allowed to choose anything except the menus at Foxcomb Hall and even these had come under her father’s irritating scrutiny. ‘Tomorrow you and I can go shopping for some different fabric for the curtains.’

‘That would be lovely, a nice shade of blue, perhaps.’ Mrs Parker eyed the room as if she’d had plans for it for some time and could at last set them in motion. Mary didn’t mind.

‘But no chintz. I detest chintz.’ Her father had made Foxcomb Hall awash in it.

‘So do I.’ Mrs Parker winked in solidarity, then looked about with a disapproving tut. ‘Let me see where that maid has got to with the water. I like the girl, but she’s gone too long without a proper lady to serve. It’s made her forgetful.’ Mrs Parker bustled out of the room in search of the errant pitcher and basin.

A proper lady.

Mary was surprised Mrs Parker had said so. She’d walked in on Mary crying over the last letter from Mary’s sister, Jane, and Mary had told her everything, needing a friend and the comfort that Ruth had once provided. Not since those first few weeks with Ruth had Mary felt so lonely and far from the family she once thought had loved her. Mrs Parker had proven as sympathetic as Ruth and Richard, not judging or blaming her for having been young and in love and too naive to understanding the consequences of her decisions. It gave her some hope that others in America would be as forgiving, but after her parents’ shameful behaviour, it was a thin hope.

No one here besides those two will ever know. Richard had assured her that there were too many people with questionable histories of their own that they’d conveniently left behind when they’d come to the States to chase their dreams of success and freedom to worry about hers. Mary hoped that was true.

Mary sat at the dressing table where her ribbons, sewing box, stationery and other personal effects had been arranged. These little things were the only effort she’d made to bring any of herself into the room. She moved aside a small book of poetry and studied the letter she’d written on the fine paper beneath it. It was to her mother and father to let them know where she was living, but, try as she might to finish it, seal it and send it, she couldn’t. They’d stopped caring about where she was or what she was doing four years ago. The only one who cared was Jane. Her letters sat tied with a blue ribbon in the top drawer, her longing to see her sister again and share everything that had happened since they’d last been together dripping from each finely formed word. These letters were the only thing Mary ever received from her family, from the only family member who had cared enough to defy their father to correspond with Mary.

Mary took the thickest letter from Jane out of the drawer and opened it to read again about Jane’s wedding at St George’s London last year. Her sister described the cream satin of her dress, the fine lace of her train, the music, guests and every detail of the dishes served at the wedding breakfast. It was everything that would have been Mary’s if she hadn’t been so weak and stupid, if she’d followed her head instead of her heart. It was a mistake she would never make again.

The jingle of equipage and the snort of horses on the kerb outside drew Mary to the window. She pushed aside the curtain to see the black-lacquered top of Mr Fairclough’s carriage glistening with the carriage lamps affixed to the sides. The front door opened, spilling light into the street as Mr Fairclough crossed the pavement with sure, firm steps that made the edges of his cape flutter. His head was bent down, tilting his top hat at an angle of contemplation made obvious when he stopped outside the carriage door to raise a hand in goodbye to Richard. It was the same motion Mary had made when bidding the servants at Ruth’s cottage goodbye after Mary had overseen the packing up, selling and dispersing of Ruth’s things according to her will. The rest had been sent on to Richard to be absorbed into the various rooms of his house. Every once in a while Mary noticed them, pausing to think that they shouldn’t be here, she shouldn’t be here but in the London Jane described.

Fool. You were such a fool. She crumpled the letter and let a tear of anger and self-pity slip down her cheek before she roughly wiped it away. It all could have been different if she’d chosen better, but she hadn’t and it’d cost her everything: her family, her heart, her future, her life and all the things about it that she’d loved.

Mary watched Mr Fairclough climb into the carriage. She could see nothing of him through the dark window at the back, but if even one of his thoughts turned to her and what Richard had suggested she hoped it was favourable. The driver snapped the reins and the clop of the horse’s hooves echoed off the cobbles as the vehicle carried him away. She’d listened to Mr Fairclough tonight speaking in her native accent about ideas and prospects, the future and plans for himself and the business, and she’d been impressed. She wanted to be like him, to come from nothing and make something of herself. Marriage to a man of his standing and potential could help her achieve that goal. If she put as much effort into herself and this matter as he did his railroads, the future she’d once imagined for herself could be hers again. She would be a married woman, even if she knew very little about the man she was setting her sights on.

Not a difficult problem to rectify, she could hear Richard say, and it wasn’t.

She hadn’t been expected to marry for love when she’d come out in England. There was no reason to allow love to be the guiding force in a match here either. After all, her parents had supposedly loved her, but they hadn’t hesitated to cast her out of their lives. Preston had sworn to love her, but he’d abandoned her the moment he’d had the chance. Only Ruth had loved her and death had stolen her away, leaving Mary to grieve as deeply as she had in that dirty inn on the lonely road to Gretna Green. Mary refused to allow love to guide her or to shatter her or her world again. Her last attempt at marriage had been the wild imaginings of a lovesick girl struck dumb by infatuation. Her next marriage would be one of sense and rational thought, of a partnership with a man she respected who could make her a true lady once again.




Chapter Two (#ub7613846-1a01-5896-82ec-7f2018bc81c0)

December 1842


‘Here you are.’ Silas dusted and dried the ink of his signature and handed it across the desk to Mr Hachman, his man of affairs. Outside his office door, and down the stairs, the whir of machines in the Baltimore Southern machine shop made a steady hum, broken now and again by the metal clink of hammers pounding steel into the parts and pieces needed to build and maintain a railroad. This machine shop was the first of what Silas hoped would be many to come. Soon they and numerous station houses would dot the landscapes of Baltimore and cities across the States, helping ferry people and the mass of goods entering Baltimore’s ports up and down the coast.

‘Congratulations, Mr Fairclough, on your first delivery of steel railway tracks from your, I mean the Baltimore Southern’s, new foundry.’ Mr Hachman collected the signed papers and slid them into his leather portfolio. ‘The regular deliveries will keep the men employed here and on the tracks busy for ages.’

‘Good, for there are a great many men in need of jobs.’ The country hadn’t entirely recovered after the panic of 1837 and with cotton prices still low, there were many men in need of work. Silas and his railroad would give it to them. He touched the signet ring on his left little finger. His father had once accused Silas of not possessing a charitable enough spirit, of being greedy and grasping, but he wasn’t; he simply pursued charity in a different manner than his father. After all, there was nothing wrong with helping one’s self while helping others. It didn’t all have to be privation. ‘We’ll dominate the American market and never have our progress hampered by the Atlantic Ocean or foreign politics again.’

‘It is a grand day, Mr Fairclough, and a grand future for you and Mr Jackson.’

‘All we need now is the new English engine to haul more goods and people over our freshly laid tracks.’

We also need Richard to remain well enough to see everything come to fruition.

Silas flicked a speck off the green-velvet blotter. The rattle in Richard’s lungs had grown worse with the cold weather. The ever-increasing progress of his disease was too much like the month the typhoid had crept through his family’s London neighbourhood while everyone waited to see if they or someone they loved developed the fever. The question for the Faircloughs had been answered when Silas’s father had fallen ill. The determination, energy and spirit that had carried his father through a hundred difficulties with the Foundation hadn’t been enough to fight off the disease and he’d passed, leaving so much for Silas to carry, just as Richard would. Silas swivelled his chair around to peer out the large window behind him at the packed dirt of the Baltimore Southern rail yard. The landscape was made starker by the grey clouds hanging low in the sky and the bare trees dotting the edge of the property. He was prepared to take over the management of the railway, but he didn’t want it in this manner just as he hadn’t wanted his father to die. He wouldn’t disappoint Richard in the end the way he’d disappointed his father.

‘Mr Fairclough, there’s another matter of some concern that I must discuss with you,’ Mr Hachman said, halting Silas’s melancholy turn. ‘Our English solicitor called on your mother and was informed that the Fairclough Foundation has not received their usual monthly drafts for the last six months.’

‘How is that possible?’ Silas swivelled around to face his manager. ‘I personally sign those bank drafts and include a letter with them every month.’

‘I don’t know. This was all the solicitor sent concerning the matter.’ Mr Hachman removed a paper from his portfolio and handed it to Silas.

Silas read the man’s brief account of his conversation with Silas’s mother in October. He jumped to his feet, flinging the letter down on his desk. ‘This is two months old.’

‘It was sent by packet ship which was delayed in Liverpool while they waited for the hold to be filled.’

‘Given what we pay him to represent our interests in England, he should’ve had the wherewithal to send this by Cunard steamer.’

‘I’ve sent word that all future correspondence regarding any Baltimore Southern or Fairclough family business is to be sent the fastest way possible.’

‘But what about this?’ His stomach knotted at the prospect of his family going without or enduring financial straits due to this unexplained delay. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied with the foundry, he might have kept a better eye on the regular payments instead of leaving it to others. He could have stopped this problem before it had even become one.

‘I’ve received no follow-up correspondence since this letter. Our solicitor, having heard nothing from us, may have assumed the issue was resolved or is still waiting for additional instructions.’

‘I wonder why one of my sisters didn’t write to tell me there was a problem.’ They’d never been shy about describing the most trivial details of their lives and delighting over any description of his, cheering him on from afar. He had no idea what his mother thought of his life in America. The few letters she’d sent to him over the years had been terse in regards to whatever business had forced her to break her missive silence. He couldn’t blame her for not putting pen to paper more often. He hadn’t given her a great deal of reason to write to him when he’d left England.

‘I can’t say, sir, but if you have any other channels through which to investigate the matter, I suggest you employ them.’

‘I’ll send a letter to Lady Alexandra, my father’s cousin. She’s on good terms with my mother. If they’re in trouble she’ll know about it. Arrange for a bank draft to include with the letter. I want it sent by steamer immediately.’

‘Yes, Mr Fairclough.’ The man clapped closed his leather folder, collected his things and left.

Silas laid a piece of paper on the blotter and, in very concise terms so as not to create a panic where there might not be one, but also to stress the urgency of the situation, wrote to Lady Alexandra. Silas prayed his mother would turn to Lady Alexandra for help if things were truly dire, but he knew the strength of the Fairclough pride. His father used to say that Silas possessed an overabundance of it, just like the Earl, his grandfather.

It can’t be that bad. If it were, Lady Alexandra would have written to me about it at once.

The fact that he had not received a concerned letter from her or either of his sisters gave him some hope. Perhaps there was already a letter on the way stating that all was well and the bank drafts had been received and cashed.

It’d been a long time since he’d communicated with Lady Alexandra and as he dusted the letter and prepared it for the inclusion of the draft, he thought of the Christmases that he and his family had spent at the grand dame’s manor house. His sisters might not have cared to spend time at Lady Alexandra’s estate, but Silas had been mesmerised by her lavish life, stately house, manners, servants and the bit of port she used to slip him after dinner. Time with her had been his first taste of true prosperity and he’d appreciated it, especially the Christmas after his father had passed.

When was the last time I was home for Christmas?

He couldn’t remember. It was long before Liverpool. During the last few years, the railroad’s affairs had made it impossible for him to travel. He summoned his clerk and gave him the letter for Mr Hachman. The attorney was one of the best man of affairs Silas had ever worked with and he reminded Silas of Septimus Clarke, the Fairclough Foundation’s general manager who’d helped see it through the difficult years following Silas’s father’s death. He was the same man who’d convinced his mother to find a place for Silas in Liverpool with Jasper King, placing Silas on the path that had led him to Richard and finally to success.

Silas wondered if his mother cursed her decision to let him go to Liverpool all those years ago, especially since Septimus had retired. Millie had written to Silas about Jerome Edwards, the new manager who’d been engaged to take Septimus’s place. She’d spoken highly of him, but Silas regretted not having been there to help interview him and other prospective candidates, to at last put his business skills to use for his family and show his mother that his natural gifts had real value. Instead, he’d trusted from afar that his mother and sisters had made the right decision, just as he’d trusted that the monthly payments had reach them. They hadn’t.

The door to Silas’s office opened and Richard strode in with confident steps but there was no mistaking now the looseness in his suit or the hollowness in his cheeks. Silas touched the signet ring with his thumb, his heart dropping even while he smiled. ‘Richard, what brings you here?’

‘I want to see the plans for the new English locomotive you’ve been telling me about.’

‘It’s magnificent.’ Silas laid out a number of drawings of the English-built locomotive that had been sent to him during his correspondence with Mr Williams, the engine’s designer. They were drawn in a fine hand with strong lines and a view from every angle. ‘It uses half the amount of coal as our current model and is stronger and faster. With this engine we can reduce travel times and haul twice the freight. Between this and the new track, we’ll surpass our competition.’

‘I have no doubt it will be as successful as our foundry.’ He clapped Silas on the back, the heavy fall of his hand much lighter than before. ‘Let’s go for a walk and you can show me the new steam works.’

They left the relative quiet of the office for the clatter and banging of the machine shop. Silas and Richard called out and replied to greetings from the workers whose faces were blackened by sweat and grease. Silas and Richard’s dark suits were a stark contrast to the men’s stained shirts and sturdy trousers. Outside, the musty scent of coal from the large deposits elsewhere on the grounds carried on the light breeze. It mingled with the dampness from the nearby Patapsco River that flowed out into the Atlantic, its waters crowded with ships hauling goods and rough materials in and out of Baltimore harbour.

They walked across the rail yard to a tall new building of glass and iron being constructed near the tracks. Men moved about the metal structure, heaving the large panes of glass into place. ‘I doubled the size of the steam works to accommodate the increased width of the English engine and added more glass for better light for the workers. It’s a bit of a gamble, but it’ll be worth it when the first steam engine rolls out of here and we’re turning a profit instead of sinking money into it.’

‘I’m glad to see our plans progressing, although the credit for this one is entirely due to you.’ Richard waved his walking stick at the organised chaos around them, then fixed on Silas. ‘With so much settled, have you given the matter of matrimony any further consideration?’

‘I have not.’ This last week was the most time Silas had spent in Baltimore since September. He’d travelled between Baltimore and Pennsylvania to oversee the acquisition of the foundry and the conversion of the steel works into producing rails. On the rare occasion when he had been in town, meetings with businessmen and investors had left him little time to enjoy the quiet of his home much less Richard’s, or the pleasantries of courting Lady Mary.

‘I still say it’s a strong proposal. You won’t have to waste time courting flibbertigibbets and she won’t have to parade herself in front of society bachelors who’ll size up what I intend to settled on her and see if it’s enough to make them overlook everything else.’

‘What everything else?’

‘I’ll leave that to the lady to tell you. I’m not her father, simply someone who’s concerned about her future and happiness, and yours. I want you both to have a true partner, not someone who’ll only see the advantage in the other and then turn cold once that advantage is no longer a benefit.’

‘I thought this entire idea was to my and Lady Mary’s advantage.’ Silas laughed as they strolled towards the dock where the ship unloaded the coal, the scent of it and the grease mingling with the faint mist of steam from the nearby engines.

‘It is and I’m convinced the two of you are companionable. Speak to her tonight at Mrs Penniman’s Christmastime Ball. Try to see in her what I see and what she can offer you. If you can’t, then I won’t hold it against you if you decline.’

And he wouldn’t. Silas was sure of it. Richard might propose an idea, but in the end the final decision always remained with Silas. It was time to evaluate this investment and make a decision and settle the matter one way or another.




Chapter Three (#ub7613846-1a01-5896-82ec-7f2018bc81c0)


Mary sat across from Richard in the carriage, her yellow-silk ball gown pressed in by Mrs Parker who sat beside her. They waited in the long queue of vehicles inching towards the Pennimans’ front door. Christmas was still three weeks away but the Pennimans’ Christmastime Ball marked the start of the festive season in Baltimore and the round of parties before everyone secluded themselves with their families to celebrate the season. The Pennimans’ Mount Vernon Square house was built in the classical style with wide columns flanking a massive wooden front door. It stood with a number of equally impressive homes surrounding the wide, tree-filled square at the centre of which stood a tall Doric column topped with a statue of President George Washington.

‘You spoke to Mr Fairclough again about your idea, didn’t you?’ Mary asked Richard, struggling to sit still on the squabs as the carriage moved forward, then stopped. Foundry business had kept Mr Fairclough away from Baltimore for so long that Mary was afraid he’d forgotten about her. While he’d been gone, she’d purchased a new ball gown and two day dresses to make herself more appealing. She’s been afraid to order more items, wanting to maintain some dignity should Mr Fairclough laugh off the idea of marrying her. Even if Mr Fairclough entertained the prospect, she didn’t relish the ball being the first chance to broach the matter with him. There were too many things that could go wrong and ruin this venture before it even began. Mary had been thrilled when the invitation had arrived. She wasn’t so thrilled now. It’d been years since she’d last attended a ball and she’d been a very different woman then, inexperienced and immature. She was none of those things tonight.

‘I spoke with him.’ Richard clasped the leather strap as the carriage shifted forward again.

‘Was he amenable to the idea?’ The promise of a sizeable inheritance should help him overlook her past mistakes, but she wanted to be loved for who she was, not how many dollars were in her bank account.

Love. Mary silently huffed, rapping her closed fan against her gloved palm. There was a notion she’d better dismiss. She’d placed her trust in love once before and it’d ruined her. She wouldn’t make that mistake twice. If Richard believed Mr Fairclough was a good match for her, then that was enough reason for her to encourage the gentleman.

‘He hasn’t rejected it.’

‘That’s hardly comforting.’

‘When it comes to Silas Fairclough, the lack of an outright rejection is good. He takes time to consider things. I’ve done my best to demonstrate the advantage of a union with you. It’s up to you to close the deal.’

Mary resisted the urge to sigh. She’d been reduced to nothing more than a foundry to be negotiated and invested in. Well, it was better than being damaged goods that couldn’t even be given away four years ago. She smoothed her gloved hands over her dress, wondering if she should have allowed the modiste to cut the bodice of the gown a touch lower. Mary had learned a long time ago what really caught a man’s attention—there was no point in not advertising its availability to Mr Fairclough along with the potential for her more monetary assets. He might be thoughtful when it came to making decisions, but he was a still a man and, thankfully, a very nice-looking one with an admirable physique. She might not be pursuing him out of affection, but even she wasn’t about to chase after any man, no matter how old or pudgy he was, simply because he might make her a wife. She wasn’t so desperate yet.

‘Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll succeed. You have Silas’s tenaciousness and good sense and he has your forgiving and kind-hearted nature, and both of you possess an eagerness for life that I admire. The two of you will get on well.’

‘I hope so.’ The future she wished to claim seemed to depend on it. Although she wasn’t so certain she was as forgiving as Richard believed. The grudges she held against those still living across the ocean made the Rock of Gibraltar seem like a pebble in comparison. She took a deep breath and reached up to caress the watch, but it wasn’t attached to her dress. She’d left it at home, but she pictured Ruth and the many hours she’d spent coaching Mary in patience and forgiveness, encouraging her to see past people’s shortcomings. Mary had done her best to learn those lessons, but not even Ruth’s influence had been enough to soften Mary’s heart against her family. Mary adjusted the skirt of her dress, putting the old grievances aside. This ball was about claiming a different destiny than the one the people in England had chosen for her, not being bogged down by the past.

The carriage finally rolled up to the front walk and a footman opened the door. He offered Mary one gloved hand to help her down and she took it, Mr Fairclough momentarily forgotten in her eagerness to rush up the steps and into the light, music, voices and energy spilling from the house. There had been little life in the country with Ruth and a sedate and quiet one with Richard in Baltimore, but the self-imposed semi-seclusion which she’d endured for the past four years ended tonight. She would make her presence in Baltimore known in a way that even sitting at the head of Richard’s table hadn’t done. There would be no going back to anonymity after the ball and it terrified her as much as it thrilled her.

Richard escorted her inside and Mrs Parker following behind as expected of a respectable chaperon. In England, a lady’s maid would never accompany her lady to a ball, but things in America were different and Mary was glad. She needed the comfort of friends around her tonight. Mary and Richard stepped into a rectangular hall with a black and white marble floor, white walls and more of the tall columns that had dominated the front of the house. They waded through the crush of people, Richard exchanging greetings with fellow businessmen while Mary smiled pleasantly at them. It wasn’t long before they were in the receiving line and in front of the hosts.

‘Lady Mary, it’s a pleasure to have you here,’ Mr Penniman greeted from where he stood beside his plump wife. ‘May I introduce Mrs Penniman?’

Mary curtsied to their hostess, noting the fine flowers embroidered on the mauve silk of the other woman’s ball gown and the massive diamonds encircling her wrists and throat. Mary’s mother had once looked this radiant in her silks and family jewels and Mary had admired and coveted them the way she did Mrs Penniman’s. If all went well tonight, she might enjoy such elegance again. It made her heart flutter as she rose, smiling respectfully at the matron who offered a beaming a smile in return.

‘Lady Mary, you honour us with your presence. I never thought to have the daughter of an earl in my humble home.’

Mary’s stomach tightened at the mention of her lineage and she braced herself, sure someone would step up to call her a fraud, but no one did, leaving it to her to make an impression on the hostess. ‘Your home is as fine, if not finer, than most in Grosvenor Square and I’m delighted to be included in tonight’s festivities.’

‘Thank you so much, Lady Mary.’

Mary could see the matron sought as much approval as Mary did when it came to her efforts to entertain. She wondered from what humble roots Mrs Penniman had risen. She would have to ask Mrs Parker later.

The required pleasantries complete, Richard escorted Mary away from their hosts. They strolled through the high-ceilinged main hall with its white plaster and marble curving staircase leading up to the higher floors, past the ancient Roman sculptures and towards the large ballroom at the back of the house. It was slow going as they stopped every few feet for another meeting or introduction. Mary did her best to give her full attention to each new person, all the while aware of everyone around them. She was, without being too obvious, searching for Mr Fairclough.

When they finally extricated themselves from Mr and Mrs Baxter, who proved as eager as Mrs Penniman to meet Mary, Richard escorted her to the ballroom. The sight of it took her breath away. It was as impressive as any in England with a soaring-glass and wrought-iron ceiling. Tall columns interspersed with numerous windows dominated three of the four walls, allowing the city lights from outside to twinkle like the candles did in the chandeliers and sconces. On a raised dais at one end, the musicians played for the dancers who whirled and turned in their wide-skirted dresses and dark suits. It was everything she’d dearly loved once and that had comprised so much of her life, and everything she thought she would never delight in again. She longed to rush into the crowd, find a partner and enjoy the dances that had marked her Season in London before her life had collapsed but she remained beside Richard. She didn’t want to crave it too much and have it all pulled away from her.

Without thinking, she glanced around, still searching for Mr Fairclough, eager to see him. A very small part of her, the one that had been tricked by Preston, stirred before she stamped it out. The idea that she was chasing after a man again frightened her, but this wasn’t intended to be that sort of arrangement and she must be sensible and level headed in this matter. This was about a respectable marriage and a better future, not some clandestine tryst.

‘I’ll leave you two ladies here.’ Richard, removed her hand from his arm. ‘I’m off to the game room with the gentlemen.’

‘So soon?’ She hadn’t imagined facing the ballroom without the surety of Richard’s reputation to help bolster hers or to navigate the Mr Fairclough matter alone.

‘I trust you’ll be fine with Mrs Parker.’

‘Don’t worry, Mr Jackson, I’ll watch out for her as if she were my own daughter,’ Mrs Parker assured him.

‘I don’t doubt you will. Ladies.’ With a bow, he made for the smoky gambling room where the married gentlemen and confirmed bachelors would hole up for the evening, leaving the single men of marriageable age to the debutantes and their mothers.

Those debutantes and mothers watched Mary who pretended not to notice their curious scrutiny as she waded into the crowd. She and Mrs Parker stood on the edge of the dance floor as the dancers twirled by during the rousing reel. The young women’s cheeks were flush with the thrill of the dance or the attention of the gentleman holding their hands. They were innocent in their white dresses of cascading ruffles accented with pink ribbons and bows and everything expected of well-bred young ladies, everything Mary no longer was. The men dancing with them gazed down at their simpering partners with an adoration verging on worship, as if they weren’t worthy to hold the gloved hands of these fair maidens.

‘I don’t know how I’ll compete with them for Mr Fairclough’s attentions,’ Mary said to Mrs Parker. The dancing women were only a few years younger than her, but they didn’t know disappointment, betrayal, shame and guilt as intimately as she did, and if they or their mothers knew the truth about Mary they’d promenade right out of the room to get away from her.

‘Chin up, Lady Mary. You’re a woman of experience, that’s more than most of them can say, although I could point out the ones who could say it but I won’t, at least not yet. You need to meet them first.’ She winked and Mary stifled a laugh.

‘Are you suggesting that they aren’t as innocent as they look?’

‘Most people aren’t, that’s a good rule for anyone to remember, especially you who has suffered enough for her mistakes and doesn’t deserve any more.’ Mrs Parker slipped her hand in Mary’s and gave it a comforting squeeze.

‘Thank you, Mrs Parker, that means a great deal to me.’

‘Smile, Lady Mary, and look merry, you have a man to catch.’ Mrs Parker levelled her hand towards the opposite side of the dance floor. There, Mr Fairclough stood with a young woman on either side of him. They peered up at him with eyes so round it was a wonder he didn’t fall into them. He smiled in delight at their adoration, making Mary want to gag. She’d seen that expression on a hundred young ladies’ faces during her Season, their hopeful mothers standing behind them wondering if they’d found a real catch. It was all an act she knew well. They wanted Mr Fairclough for nothing more than his money. They had no real interest in him, although Mary wasn’t certain her reasons for pursuing him were any more noble than theirs.

‘What do you think of Richard’s proposal of me and Mr Fairclough?’ Mary’s judgement had failed her once before. It was time to rely on other people’s more clearheaded opinions.

‘I’ve known him since he arrived in Baltimore and I haven’t a bad thing to say about him. My brother is the foreman at his machine shop and all the workers there speak highly of him, too. He’s good to his employees, paying poor Mr Stone who was sick and has three children at home who would have starved if his pay had been withheld. Unlike some of these hard-hearted businessmen in here who care only for profits, Mr Fairclough takes care of his workers. I think Mr Jackson is right, the two of you will suit, but not if you lose him to one of those gadflies flitting about him.’ Mrs Parker set her plump shoulders, hidden beneath the lines of her dark blue dress devoid of all ruffles and frills, and faced Mary. ‘Come. It’s time to shoo them away.’

‘Yes, it is.’ Bolstered by Mrs Parker’s support, Mary took hold of the sides of her skirt and accompanied her companion around the edge of the ballroom towards Mr Fairclough.

The music ended and couples entered and left the dance floor. The change in partners made Mary walk faster, afraid Mr Fairclough would escort one of those fawning women out for the next dance and give the little vixen a chance to snare him. Mary wasn’t about to lose out on becoming a wife just because, like the horses to Gretna Green, she hadn’t been quick enough. If she and Preston had arrived at the anvil a day or even a few hours sooner, it would have all been done, and then everything that had happened afterwards wouldn’t have mattered. She wouldn’t have been cast aside because she would have been wed.

‘Mr Fairclough, you promised me the next dance,’ Mary announced, stepping between him and one young woman and catching Mrs Parker’s congratulatory smile from where she stood just behind him. The women flanking him all but sneered at Mary. It wasn’t their reaction she cared about, but Mr Fairclough’s. He could easily laugh at her the way Preston had while she’d lain in the inn’s old bed, still in pain, asking if they’d continue on to Gretna Green when she felt better. Then he’d walked out the door, leaving her to the hard innkeeper’s wife who’d demanded payment from her father for the stained sheets and what little care she’d offered Mary. When her father had returned from paying the greedy woman, things had become far worse than she could have imagined when the bleeding had first started in the carriage or when Preston’s back had faded down the inn’s dark hall.

The memory of it nearly made Mary mumble her apologies and flee into the crowd, but she stood her ground. She wasn’t about to run, not with the mothers whispering about Mary’s forwardness. They must wonder who this young woman was who wasn’t a debutante judging by her dress and wasn’t married either given her bare ring finger. She shouldn’t have asked him to dance—it wasn’t done—but she’d made her statement and there was no backing down from it.

Mary’s stiff stance softened when Mr Fairclough’s surprise changed into delight. ‘You’re right, Lady Mary, I’d forgotten. Can you forgive me?’

The Lady before her name silenced the mothers and their daughters who gazed on Mary with more respect than they’d shown when she’d first trounced between them and the object of their hunt. If only her title had guaranteed her this much respect back home.

‘How could I hold such a small oversight against you?’ she answered with a graciousness to impress even herself.

‘If you ladies will excuse me?’ He offered Mary his arm and she took it, allowing him to escort her to the dance floor.

‘That was quite a bold invitation to dance,’ Mr Fairclough complimented as he laid one hand on her waist and faced her for the Viennese Waltz. Mary would have preferred a gallop or a vigorous polka to these slow steps, but she hadn’t exactly given either of them a choice. She’d simply demanded a partner. She was getting what she’d asked for.

‘I’ve learned the hard way that tarrying can lose one many opportunities.’

‘So have I. One does not form companies and forge ahead with a railroad by being shy.’

‘Nor does a woman secure a dance by standing near a wall.’

‘Something tells me you aren’t in the habit of standing by walls, Lady Mary.’

‘I’ve held up my fair share of them.’ Too many in the last four years, not that she and Ruth had ever attended anything like a dance, but if they had, Mary would have done all she could to fade into the decorations. Standing out in London had landed her in the worst trouble of her life. Even now apprehension made her steps a little heavier. She’d been this forward with Preston, triumphant at having snatched him away from the other ladies, but that achievement had been no victory in the end. She wondered if she’d failed to really learn from her mistakes, but Mr Fairclough was nothing like Preston. This man had built himself up through hard work instead of resting on the family laurels. ‘But not any more.’

‘Good.’






Silas turned them in time to the swaying melody of the music. The slow movement allowed him to admire the woman in his arms and the stunning change that had come over her since the last time he’d seen her. She wasn’t dressed in the white and cream satins of the other ladies her age, but she wasn’t swathed in plain grey or black either. She wore a yellow silk gown overlaid with a netting of fine red roses. The waist of the dress was cut in tight to her natural form, the bodice sloping down to reveal the barest hint of the tops of her breasts. Her slender arms, curved to match the angle of his and the dance, were covered in long, white gloves that complemented the dress, all of it whispering of mature elegance, taste and wealth. She was without jewellery, but her hair was pulled off her face and neck and arranged in small ringlets that shivered with each dance step. ‘Even if you wished to fade into the drapery, you’re too much of an interest to everyone to allow them to forget you or your daring dance invitation.’

An enticing pink spread across Lady Mary’s cheeks, bringing a glow to her smooth skin that heightened the one created by the warmth of the ballroom. ‘I’m sorry for my unconventional request. It wasn’t my intention to make a spectacle of either of us.’

‘Make a spectacle of us. It’s to your advantage and mine.’ The other women had simpered and whined at his sides. She’d stood in front of him and made her intentions clear. It was an admirable trait that could serve the wife of a businessman well. There would be no guessing what she wanted or needed. Her flaunting of convention was also intriguing. A man who wanted to succeed had to think differently when everyone else was doing the same thing. It was clear she was aware that doing something different could get results. After all, it was she dancing with him instead of either of those two women who’d been hanging on his every boring word. However, one dance wasn’t enough to make him drop on his knee and propose. What Richard was suggesting could influence the rest of his life and he would take as much time as necessary to decide as he did with any other venture, unless she proposed first. It wouldn’t surprise him if she did.

‘You want to be spoken about?’ she asked.

‘Better spoken about than ignored.’

‘I’ve never found either choice to be particularly endearing.’ She slid a hard glance at the young ladies who’d been angling for his attention where they stood whispering together while they watched Silas and Mary dance.

‘I suppose that depends on one’s station in society. You’re new so people are curious about you. It’ll make you a much sought-after guest and lend you an aura of mystery that people will scramble to delve.’

‘Or they’ll create stories to fill in the gaps.’

‘Not if you give them stories to take home first.’

‘I’m sure the gentlemen at the dinner took home enough of an impression of me for their wives.’

‘Men are useless there.’

‘You’re right. My brother, Peter, could never be counted on for news of a new neighbour.’ Her smile faded to the same sorrowful look that sometimes came over her when he saw her at Richard’s. ‘Of course he was vocal enough when it was of no benefit to me.’

He didn’t ask what it was her brother had said. He’d heard about enough disappointed fathers and brothers from the women at the Foundation to guess. He wondered if his mother spoke of him in the same disillusioned terms. He’d sneaked away from England without telling her, eager to follow his dreams while disappointing hers. Silas straightened. He had as much right to lead the life he wanted as his mother and father had and his parents should have understood this. His father hadn’t thought twice about turning his back on his own father and the naval career he’d laid out for him to establish the Foundation. However, when it had come to his own son trying to strike out on his own, he’d been nothing but critical and his mother had carried on in the same vein after his passing. ‘But he isn’t here and we are and we must make the best of this magnificent evening.’

‘I already am. It’s been ages since I’ve danced and with the most charming and clever man in the room.’ She tilted her head and offered a smile that could charm the shoes off a horse, the same one that had helped convince the rich men around Richard’s table to break convention and drink and discuss business in a lady’s presence.

‘But tonight you must truly shine.’

‘Must I?’

‘Don’t tell me a woman who marched up to a man and demanded a dance doesn’t want to stand out?’

‘I see I can’t lie to you.’

‘There’s no reason to.’

‘I don’t suppose there is.’

‘Good, then let’s plan our strategy because the dance will soon be over and I don’t want the flock of women who were with me before learning anything from you about being assertive.’ He glanced at the young women he’d abandoned to dance with Lady Mary. They watched him with anticipation, almost counting out the number of stanzas left until they could have another crack at him.

‘We can’t have that, now can we?’ Lady Mary stepped closer to him as if staking her claim. Her confidence in getting what she wanted was intriguing as was her new look this evening for there was no mistaking it was for him. Whatever Richard had proposed to her, she’d taken to the idea with a fervour. It boded well for a woman who might have to join Silas in the promotion of a number of ideas that many, including the fine owner of this house, would call insane. Some of those ideas might fail and he would have to move on to others. He guessed by her decision to come to America that Lady Mary was capable of moving on from failure instead of allowing it to destroy her. ‘What shall we do first?’

‘Introductions, lots of them and to the right ladies, those are key to successfully launching you.’ It was something Richard would have seen to in the first weeks of her arrival, but as he’d confided to Silas, it was the lady’s objections that had stopped him. Silas was glad to see that she’d changed her mind.

‘Whatever magic you intend to work, I ask you do so without mentioning my family connections.’

‘A difficult promise to make given your title.’

‘Then mention it as infrequently as you can. I’ll stand on my own merits or none at all.’

‘You’ve set quite a challenge for me.’

‘You can live up to it.’

‘I’ll surpass it.’

‘Like breeching etiquette to steal a man for a dance?’

‘No, like this.’ He swung her off the dance floor and they stopped before Mrs Wilson, another grand dame of Baltimore society whose husband had been at the dinner.

‘Mrs Wilson, have you had the pleasure of meeting Lady Mary?’ The ladies exchanged greetings before Silas continued. ‘She is one of the most renowned whist players in England.’

Mary threw Silas a questioning look he ignored. He had no idea if she played cards, but this was her entrée into a party. It was up to her to take it and she did. ‘Yes, I’m an excellent player.’

‘Then you must come to my card party Thursday night.’ Mrs Wilson trilled her fingers together in delight. ‘We could do with a little cage rattling of my regular attendees, but I must warn you that we play for higher stakes than most ladies are accustomed to.’

‘Good, it makes the game so much more interesting.’

‘Then I’ll send the invitation tomorrow.’

Before Mrs Wilson could say anything more, Silas politely guided Lady Mary away, in search of their next conquest.

‘I’ll have to practise card games with Mrs Parker before Thursday.’

‘Don’t practise too much. You’ll endear yourself to Mrs Wilson more if you lose to her. For a wealthy woman she’s quite the penny-pincher.’

‘I can feel my pin-money purse growing lighter as we speak.’






The rest of the ball passed in much the same way, with Silas leading Mary from one matron or businessman to another and making the introductions. Some introductions were sedate while others were as outlandish as her ability to play whist. She never objected to any of his more creative introductions, but went along with them, not chiding him afterwards, even when he’d boasted of her having a very distant family connection to Queen Victoria. She craved position as much as he and, like him, she’d welcomed each opportunity he offered to increase hers, meeting every expectation he’d set and amazing him as no other woman had before.






‘For someone who didn’t like gaining attention you picked up on the game very quickly,’ Silas complimented as he escorted Lady Mary through the main hall towards the front door, the large clock at the base of the stairs ringing twice to mark the late hour.

‘I’m a fast learner.’

‘With a very full social calendar.’ So much so that he wondered if she would have time to see him again. The musicians were playing the last song and most of the guests were making their way to their carriages and some much-needed rest after what was for Silas the first ball he’d enjoyed in ages.

‘Did you have a good time, Lady Mary?’ Richard asked when they reached the front hall, Mrs Parker beside them. The matron had proved herself a reliable, respectable and discreet shadow throughout the evening.

‘I had a marvellous time.’ Mary’s excitement was the greatest compliment she could have paid to Silas.

A footman stepped forward with her cloak and Silas took if from the man and held it up for her to slip into. She turned, eyeing him over her shoulder, the scintillating look of experience and mischief making Silas’s hand tighten on the velvet. She’d enjoyed tonight as much as he and regretted parting, too. He set the cloak on her shoulders, resisting the urge to caress the bare skin on the back of her neck with his fingertips, to see her full lips part in surprise at the gesture. He’d proven himself a trustworthy partner tonight. He didn’t wish to scare her off by acting like a cad.

She faced him as she tied the laces of the cloak, the black velvet heightening the flush of her cheeks and the sparkle illuminating her eyes. Silas had never noticed how brown they were until this moment. He couldn’t help but think that with a rich bronze-coloured silk cloak trimmed in white fur she would shine brighter than all the debutantes in their white lace and pink ribbons. She was young and pretty, and although he’d never allowed either of those traits to trick him into a decision before, it was a tempting combination tonight. The businessman in him saw the advantage of the union, while the man in him wanted to taste a little more than her investment potential.

Silas offered her his arm and they walked together behind Mrs Parker and Richard to the carriage. Their breath mingled in small clouds over their heads before disappearing into the dark night. They didn’t speak about the evening, but enjoyed the comfortable quiet of each other’s presence until they reached the carriage. They waited together while Richard and Mrs Parker settled inside, the prospect of bidding her goodnight bothering Silas more than his not having visited the game room to woo investors. When it was at last her turn, Silas handed her in, savouring the weight of her small hand in his and the pressure of it against his palm. Reluctantly, he released her and closed the carriage door, but before he could step back and let it drive away she lowered the window. ‘Thank you for a very interesting evening. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.’

‘Am I seeing you tomorrow?’

‘Most definitely.’ She slid him a sly smile that made his fingers itch to trace her full lips, her confidence as enticing as her dictate. ‘At three, we’re having tea together.’

‘It’s been a long time since I’ve had a proper English tea.’

‘Until tomorrow, then.’ With a suggestive nod, she sat back from the window, the faint outline of her in the carriage lantern barely visible as the driver urged the horse into a walk and the carriage rolled away.

With Mary gone, the winter chill settled over him, one her presence beside him this evening had kept at bay. If he went through with this, he would be taking on the responsibilities of a wife and family. He wasn’t adverse to the task for there were hundreds of workers already dependent on him and the Baltimore Southern for their livelihoods. He would never knowingly betray their trust or fail to take care of them, yet he’d failed his family once before. With the bank notes not reaching home he was failing them again. The possibility that Lady Mary might come to rely on him for something he wasn’t capable of giving or ask him to be someone he wasn’t the way his parents had done cemented his feet to the cold pavement. It wasn’t until another carriage pulled up to the kerb and a young couple came forward to climb into it that Silas began the slow walk back inside the Pennimans’ house.

There was no need to worry. During their time together tonight Lady Mary had made it clear that she understood the kind of man he was and his ambitions and desires. She would not look down on his pursuit of business and success the way his father had, but do all she could to help him in his efforts to achieve it.

Back inside the warmth of the Pennimans’ house, Silas greeted a number of his investors with enthusiastic words and smiles, his success surrounding him like the chill of the night. These reminders of his success bolstered his faith in himself and he vowed that even though he’d failed as a son, he would not fail as a husband and some day a father.




Chapter Four (#ub7613846-1a01-5896-82ec-7f2018bc81c0)


‘How do you think he’ll propose?’ Mrs Parker asked Mary as they strolled through Richard’s side garden. They were enjoying a rare fine day in the midst of cold ones as winter tightened its grip on Maryland. Despite being up late last night, Mary had barely slept, unable to think about anything but Mr Fairclough and their time together. It’d been a delightful evening and she’d been loath to part with him, her heart racing as she’d all but forced him to join her for tea today, but she hadn’t been able to let him go without some expectation of seeing him again.

This is about securing your future and nothing else, she reminded herself for the hundredth time since she’d crawled into bed last night.

The excitement that ran like a current under all thoughts of him and their time together was nothing more than discovering that there was genuine affability between them and that on his arm she’d once again been a young girl full of hope and promise who believed in the future. It hurt to imagine losing the chance to experience it again because she’d failed to capture his attention, except she hadn’t, she was sure of it. When he’d escorted her to the carriage, the look he’d given her and the way his hand had lingered in hers had struck her deep. She and Silas had been partners last night and he’d treated her with more respect than anyone else ever had. Not even Preston at his most charming moments had been so captivating, honest or genuine with her as Mr Fairclough, but she didn’t wish to get her hopes up as she’d done before and have it all fall to pieces.

‘He won’t propose. It’s too soon.’ Mr Fairclough was a man of action but he wasn’t about to act so quickly in something this important. Mary knew the folly and regret that came with rushing towards marriage, but she also knew the dangers of dallying. She was sure Mr Fairclough did, too, although which course of action he decided to take in this matter remained to be seen. Either way, Mary had dressed accordingly, donning one of her two new day gowns and some jewellery to make herself as appealing as possible. This tea was another chance to catch his eye, one she could not miss, especially given what she’d decided to tell him today. The truth could ruin everything, so better it do so now than after days or weeks of courting.

‘Oh, he’ll propose all right and he’ll do it today,’ Mrs Parker assured her, increasing Mary’s anticipation even while the rational part of her warned her against getting her hopes up. ‘I saw the two of you together last night and the way he looked at you. You’ve captured his interest and a man like him will snap you up.’

‘You make me sound like the purchase of a new foundry for his railroad.’

‘He’ll approach it that way so don’t expect roses and candies, but he’ll turn you into a queen one way or another.’

‘I’m hardly queen material, and once he finds out the truth, for I’ll have to tell him, who knows how he’ll react.’ Despite the risk to this venture, she didn’t want him to hear the story from someone else.

‘Mr Fairclough won’t judge you as harshly as you think. I don’t know all of his past, but some of the things I’ve heard him say to Mr Jackson makes me think he’s made enough mistakes of his own to not judge you for yours.’

She wanted to believe that, but she’d seen how cruel and callous men could be. Even her father and brother had turned their backs on her. Her brother had accused her of ruining his chance for a union with Lord Breckenridge’s daughter. Mary thought the young woman should have sent her a thank-you note for saving her from a loveless future. Her brother had wanted Lord Breckenridge’s daughter’s money more than he’d wanted the woman, making his and their father’s rage against Mary and her mistake even more severe. She was sure Mr Fairclough was interested in her for more than what she might one day inherit, but it didn’t mean he wished to assume the taint of her past. She had to allow him to decide whether or not to continue to pursue her so he could never say she’d tried to pull the wool over his eyes or resent her for trapping him in a questionable union.

The voice of a driver calling to the carriage horses to stop carried over the garden wall. A moment later Mr Fairclough’s hearty greeting to Richard’s butler followed. Mr Fairclough exchanged a few pleasant words with the man as he always did instead of ignoring him as if he was nothing more than a potted plant the way her father used to do with the Foxcomb servants.

Mary froze on the gravel path, wanting to rush into the house and up the front stairs to her room before Mr Fairclough could see her, but she didn’t. She would face whatever was going to happen today and move forward with her life one way or another. ‘It’s time to find out exactly what kind of man Mr Fairclough is.’






Silas warmed his hands over the sitting-room fire. The room held a decidedly masculine air, with heavy wood trim and leather decor and more weapons than watercolours on the walls. It was a bachelor’s idea of decoration if Silas had ever seen one. Silas had come straight here from the metal shop and listening to Mr Kent’s ideas for a new kind of steel rail, one that would support the larger English-designed engine once Silas acquired the patent and began manufacturing it. Except it wasn’t building more powerful steam engines in America that had Silas standing on his toes. He’d been up a great many hours last night after the ball, thinking about Lady Mary. She had proven herself an intriguing investment and Silas refused to sit idle and wait once a decision was made. However, if there was one thing Silas knew about women after growing up with two sisters and his mother, they did not wish to be treated like commodities. It would be a delicate balancing act to present a reasonable argument for why they should form a partnership while appearing like a genuinely besotted suitor. He couldn’t swoon too much because Lady Mary would instantly see through that ruse. It would tarnish whatever credibility he’d established at the ball and deny him a better taste of the vixen who’d pinned him with a look to heat his blood over her shoulder last night. That side of Lady Mary had intrigued him more than he cared to admit. He was intent on approaching this deal rationally, but the intensity of her reaction to him and what it meant if she accepted him stirred all the irrational parts of him. He wasn’t sure how he would achieve this delicate balance between business and pleasure and there was no more time to think about it as Lady Mary and Mrs Parker entered the room.

‘Good afternoon,’ Lady Mary greeted with a politeness that failed to cover the spark of anticipation in her expression.





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