LITMIR.BIZ

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coming to stand beside the clerk. ‘And it will be completed today.’

       Chapter Three

      Eleanor pressed her hands to her eyes and counted to ten, hoping that Lord Whittonstall was some apparition or fevered fantasy.

      When she opened her eyes he remained standing in the doorway to the office. He looked positively immaculate in a frock coat and sand-coloured breeches, with a top hat perched on his head. Every inch the London gentleman.

      Eleanor was very aware that she hadn’t taken any time to change and remained in the same hideous black gown that she’d worn earlier. Worse, her hair, instead of staying firmly in its bun, had come loose and several tendrils now fell about her shoulders. She must look like some demented creature rather than a respectable businesswoman.

      Of the bad outcomes that could possibly happen, this beat everything hands-down. Lord Whittonstall stood before her, glowering. He obviously hadn’t accepted her garbled explanation to Sir Vivian, and Algernon was right behind her, listening to every word.

      ‘And you are …?’ Algernon asked rudely.

      ‘Benjamin Grayson, third Viscount Whittonstall.’ Lord Whittonstall’s gaze pierced Algernon’s. ‘I take it from your attire you are a vicar?’

      ‘Of this parish.’ Algernon’s smile became oily and ingratiating as Lord Whittonstall’s identity slowly penetrated his brain. ‘I do hope we will have cause to see each other on Sunday.’

      ‘Your flock undoubtedly requires your attention. I wish to speak with Mrs Blackwell alone on a matter of urgent business.’

      ‘This entire company will belong to me within the month. My uncle ensured it with his will.’ Algernon narrowed his eyes and puffed out his chest. ‘You may wish to deal with me instead of Miss Blackwell. I am sure all you require can be provided for. Moles does enjoy an excellent reputation for its business dealings. How can I assist you?’

      ‘What are you doing, Algernon?’ Eleanor cried.

      Algernon flushed. ‘I was merely trying to apprise Lord Whittonstall of the true situation. So he isn’t inadvertently misled into thinking you have something to do with Moles’ future.’

      ‘My business is with Mrs Blackwell,’ Lord Whittonstall said evenly. ‘I don’t believe a third party is necessary.’

      ‘Our business is concluded, Reverend Forecastle,’ Eleanor said pointedly. ‘Should the need arise, I will inform you of the outcome of my discussion with Lord Whittonstall. But until this company actually belongs to you, pray remember I am in charge.’

      ‘Very well. I’m going.’ Algernon jammed his hat on his head. ‘Eleanor, remember I am wise to your tricks. I, too, have friends in high places.’

      Eleanor’s insides seethed. As if she’d stoop to game-playing!

      ‘ Does Mrs Blackwell play tricks?’ Lord Whittonstall asked, in a quiet but deadly voice.

      ‘Normally I despise game-playing. The truth always comes out. One way or another,’ Eleanor replied steadily. ‘You may leave us, Reverend Forecastle. I am safe, I assure you. Lord Whittonstall is a gentleman who is held in the highest regard by all who know him.’

      Algernon shook his head. ‘And you wonder why any decent, respectable man would refuse to marry you, Eleanor. You wilfully engage in intimate conversation with strangers. Alone. I fear for you.’

      Eleanor waited until she heard the outer door slam. Every particle of her was aware of Lord Whittonstall. How much had he heard? And guessed? She wasn’t attempting to play some game with him. It was simply that he did not necessarily need to know the whole truth.

      ‘I suppose I should thank you for getting rid of the Reverend Forecastle in such short order.’ Eleanor smoothed the pleats in her black silk gown. ‘I had feared that he intended to spend the afternoon here, going over the ledgers and generally disturbing the staff.’

      ‘He believes he is the new owner of Moles?’

      ‘He isn’t. The Reverend Algernon Forecastle has no connection with Moles and he never will,’ Eleanor said pointedly, hoping to end the discussion. ‘You must trust me on this. He would ruin it in six months—nine at the outside. I refuse to allow it. I will fight with everything I can to avoid that situation. The employees of Moles look to me to save them.’

      ‘And who will save you?’ Lord Whittonstall asked softly.

      Eleanor’s heart thudded in her ears. She must have misheard the words. She shook her head, attempting to clear it.

      ‘I don’t follow.’

      ‘You are prepared to fight to your last gasp of breath. I suspect if your employees feel the same way about you as you do about them they wouldn’t want you to suffer that fate.’

      ‘You are talking fustian nonsense.’ Eleanor gave a quick smile. But his words filled her with a warm glow. She hated to think how long it had been since anyone other than her employees had asked about her welfare. ‘I know what I have to do. And I intend to do it. The Reverend Forecastle will be disappointed, but life is full of disappointments.’

      ‘That is good to know.’

      She gestured to a chair and he sat down, crossed one leg over the other, displaying immaculate black riding boots that barely contained his muscular calves. Here was a man who didn’t spend his time lifting cards and drinking port to excess, but instead rode and fenced. Why did he have to look like that? And make her pulse leap?

      ‘About this business you claim is unfinished …’ Eleanor shifted uneasily on her chair. What did he think unfinished? Their fencing? Or the kiss they had nearly shared? She firmly dragged her mind away from the tingle of awareness. That had only ever been in her imagination. ‘I must disabuse you of any notion you have. Everything has been concluded between us. Your cousin has his sword and that is the end of the matter.’

      ‘If your stepfather has left the Reverend Forecastle the workings in his will there is little you can do,’ he said, watching her through narrowed eyes. ‘Particularly if he is your stepfather’s next of kin. Even if you succeed in challenging the will it must still go to him. I take it that Moles did belong to him?’

      ‘You give legal advice?’

      ‘It is best to know how the law works. False hope leads to bitterness.’

      Eleanor put her hand on her stomach. Somehow it made things harder, having Lord Whittonstall being concerned. Right now all she wanted to do was to crawl home, go to bed and pull the covers over her head. Tomorrow she’d begin her fight back with a new and better plan.

      ‘Yes, if you are interested. Moles did belong to my stepfather. My mother neglected to make a proper settlement when she married. Everything became his when they married. Still, we had an arrangement.’

      ‘An arrangement?’

      ‘My stepfather enjoyed spending money rather than making it. He permitted me to run Moles as I saw fit and to invest the profits. I did so on the understanding …’ Eleanor held up her hand as she struggled to keep her voice calm. ‘No, on the expressed promise at my mother’s deathbed that he’d leave me the company when he died.’

      His eyes widened with astonishment. ‘Your stepfather broke his promise? Wasn’t he an honourable man?’

      Eleanor clasped her hands together. The last thing she wanted was to break down in front of Lord Whittonstall. ‘My stepfather has left me Moles and all its investments provided certain conditions are met.’

      ‘And they are …?’ He waved a hand, inviting her confidence.

      Eleanor bit her lip. Did she dare confess? With his warm eyes regarding her, the temptation grew. She glanced up to where her grandfather frowned down. One didn’t air one’s troubles to strangers. One kept

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