A Countess of Convenience (30 page)

He could see she was still excited by the evening, so he pulled his pillow up against the headboard and leaned back, content to indulge her. “They are tariff laws that protect our grain farmers from cheap imports."

"That sounds like good thing. Why should anyone want to change them?"

"The disease that has attacked the potato crop this year will likely cause a scarcity of food. Some in the government think the Corn Laws should be suspended to lower the cost of bread."

"Oh.” She thought for a moment. “Why were the gentlemen at dinner tonight so opposed to that?"

"They are mostly large land owners whose rents come from farmers protected by the tariffs. They fear if we admit the tariffs keep the cost of bread high, the people will demand the laws be repealed, not just suspended."

She mulled over that information. “But if the laws do, in fact, make bread more costly, wouldn't it help the poor if they were repealed?"

He sighed over her naivety. “Prudence, the poor will always be with us, so we must consider other factors."

"Such as?"

She was worse than a dog with a bone. “When did you become so interested in politics?"

"I want to understand what the people around me are talking about."

"This issue has a lot to do with the rights and privileges of the aristocracy. We've lost a great deal of those rights in recent years. Many feel the Corn Laws should be preserved as a matter of principal."

She wrinkled her nose as though she smelled something unpleasant. “People must go hungry to make a point?"

He huffed with impatience. “As you just admitted, this is something you don't understand."

She sat up and placed her fists on her hips. “I understand that it's wrong for those who have so much to obtain more from those who have so little."

"You sound like a Manchester liberal, my dear."

The sharp downturn of the corners of her mouth made him realize their discussion had degenerated into an argument. He leaned forward and slipped his arm around her. “Let's not argue about dull old politics, when we could be enjoying other pursuits."

He tried to kiss her cheek, but she moved away, coming from under the covers and out of his reach. “Why do you always do that?” she asked as though he'd just committed some crime.

"Do what? Kiss my wife?"

"Stop our discussions with kisses and such?"

He shrugged. “Because I much prefer kisses and such."

"To talking with me?"

"Yes, when the talk turns into bickering."

She began to wave her upturned palms as she spoke. “What is bickering? Whenever I have an opinion that differs from yours?"

Obviously, she was determined to have an argument, so he'd give her what she wanted. “Are you expressing an opinion or a prejudice?"

That let a little steam out of her righteous indignation. “What do you mean?"

"Despite the excellent progress you've made in learning to act like a countess, you still bear ill will toward the upper class you feel has slighted you. So is your concern really for the poor or is this just another reason to denigrate the aristocracy?"

She crouched on the bed and stared at him. At first she seemed shocked by his assessment of her motives, but then she took a deep breath and relaxed her shoulders. “Have you ever been inside a cotton manufactory?"

What foolishness was this? “No, have you?"

"My father liked to take me along when he planned to be there for just a short while. One day, when he suggested another trip, I tearfully begged not to go. He asked why, and I admitted that the place terrified me.

"The noise of the machines was deafening, the lint that filled the air tickled my nose and stuck in my throat, but worst of all was seeing the children who worked there. Many were no bigger than little Freddy Bailey. My father said children's small fingers could do some of the fine work better than adults', so I feared he'd make me work there, too.

"When I told him that, he laughed and hugged me and said as long as I had a rich papa I need never worry about having to work anywhere. When he died and Mother and Neil complained that he'd left us no money, I feared we'd all have to work in that terrible place."

She visibly relaxed and took a deep breath. “I guess that's why I so loved living in the country. Being sent there was far preferable to the cotton manufactory. I know I've never been really poor, but I've feared it all my life, and I think those who have to work in dark, noisy buildings from sunup until sundown deserve, at the very least, enough to eat."

Realizing her outburst stemmed from childhood fears, Malvern forgave it and gestured toward her side of the bed. “Get under the covers before you get chilled, Prudence."

Apparently she realized the unseemliness of her militant stance against her husband, for she meekly obeyed. He plumped their pillows, arranged the covers and lay down beside her, deciding there would be no lovemaking tonight. She was obviously overwrought by the evening's excitement.

And wasn't this a perfect example of why women should not become involved in politics. They were too emotional. In the future, he'd answer her questions, but not allow himself to be drawn into arguments over her simplistic views.

But he lay awake long after her breathing had become deep and regular, haunted by the vision she had given him of Freddy Bailey trapped away from the sunshine by large clattering machines.

Despite the cold blustery weather, Neil cantered his horse down the lane that led to Pepper Hill feeling as though the sun shone and birds sang. With Malvern away in York, Neil had more or less been in charge at Aysbeck Hall, and if he did say so himself, he'd managed quite well.

His new sense of self-confidence as well as dear Effie's encouragement had made him decide there was no reason to delay his proposal. Of course, the squire's blessings were needed, so Neil must broach the subject of marriage to Squire Culpepper before speaking of it to Effie.

He didn't feel particularly confident about that. While the squire was always friendly, he still managed to give Neil the feeling that he could see through Neil's screen of false well-being.

Squire Culpepper was alone in his library when Neil was ushered in to see him. He looked up from the newspaper he was reading and said, “Well, Weathersby, this is a surprise. I expected everyone to be like me and sit close to their fireplace on such a raw day."

Neil stood before the hearth, pretending to warm his hands while he really steadied his nerves. “I have something I wanted to speak to you about, sir, and was too anxious to wait for better weather."

The squire carefully folded his paper and set it aside. “This sounds serious. Won't you sit?"

Neil moved to the chair that faced the squire. He cleared his throat. “As you know, I've been spending a good deal of time with your daughter. I'm very fond of her, and I believe she cares for me. I'd like to ask her to marry me, but I won't do that without your approval."

The squire stared into the fire for a moment before looking back at Neil. “Can't say this comes as a surprise. I've noticed how you two young people look at each other, but it takes more to make a marriage than love. Just exactly what are your circumstances?"

This was the moment Neil had dreaded. It shamed him to admit how truly impoverished he was, but the squire would eventually have to know, and Neil didn't want the man to think him dishonest. Hoping his family connections would win the day, he squared his shoulders and pressed on. “You know from previous discussions that the property I inherited from my father has been sold.

"I am presently working for the Earl of Malvern to repay a loan that paid off my London debts. Unless I find a way to repay him, I'm bound to stay at Aysbeck for five years. I feel sure the earl would allow my wife to live with me at Aysbeck or we could live here, if you permit. Effie would probably be more comfortable with that."

The squire studied the fire again. Finally he said, “And what will you do after the five years at Aysbeck?"

Neil was stunned. He'd expected the squire to suggest using Effie's dowry to solve his financial problems. “Why, I—I really haven't planned that far ahead."

The genial country gentleman changed into a hard-eyed ironmonger. “Don't you think you should? In five years, you'd most likely have children to provide for."

"I assumed Effie would have some income."

"So you plan to do nothing but live off your wife's money?"

Neil felt as if he had been slapped in the face. “Really, Squire! I am related to three noble families; with my connections, Effie's social position will be greatly elevated."

"In case you haven't noticed, Effie doesn't put a lot of importance on social positions. You're a young man with a great deal of potential. It's time you begin to develop that potential."

Neil wanted to tell this common tradesman to go to hell, but he wanted Effie more. Finally, in a meek voice, he said, “What do you mean?"

"You must stop expecting good things to come to you because you happened to have been born with elegant relatives. Accept the responsibility for your own destiny. Know what you want and go after it."

Was the man mad? “I'm a gentleman. I can't do just anything I want to."

"Why not?"

Unable to answer that, Neil hung his head. The squire obviously meant to humiliate him. He was probably an aristocrat-hater just like Oscar Crump. The squire had been pleasant to Malvern because he was rich and powerful, but felt free to vent his spleen on Neil, who wasn't. Trying to save a bit of his dignity, Neil rose from his chair. “I seem to be wasting your time, Squire. I'll be on my way."

"Sit down and look me in the eye like a man,” the squire said in a hard voice.

Neil was so startled by the command that he instantly obeyed.

The squire glared at him with an angry frown. “Do you care so little for my daughter that you can't face criticism for a chance to win her?"

"Do I have a chance to win her?"

"You'll never know if you leave now."

The thought of never seeing Effie again caused a sharp pain in his chest, and Neil suddenly realized how important the sweet-faced woman had become to him. He had to swallow before he could speak. “The truth of the matter is, sir, that I care very deeply for Effie, and I'd like to give her the world, but I can't. I hide behind family relationships, because it's the only thing of value I have."

The squire's expression softened a bit. “Are you happy in that situation?"

"Certainly not. All my life, I've felt as though I'm swimming against a strong current and never reaching a safe shore. I thought—hoped I'd finally found one."

"Where?"

"With Effie."

"And what are you willing to do to achieve that haven?"

"Anything,” Neil said and meant it from the bottom of his heart.

"Can you give up the high-life in London?"

"I went to London to discover who I really was, but there I became more confused. I thought I hated country life, but every day at Aysbeck I've become more comfortable. I've begun to think this is the life I was suited for all along."

The squire pursed his lips and stared into Neil's eyes as though searching his soul. After a long pause, he said, “I have two things to leave my daughters, stock in the family mines and this estate. My older daughter's husband already handles legal affairs for the mines and is happy with the position. I would like to leave Effie this estate, but she can't run it by herself, and I'll not leave it to her if she marries a man who'll play the absentee landlord and squander it away."

Neil couldn't speak. The thought of having an estate like Pepper Hill took his breath away.

Still frowning at him, the squire said, “Can you give up the city and take care of this estate as it should be cared for?"

Neil's head bobbed up and down. “Oh, yes, sir. I'll be happy to—happy to."

The squire shook his finger at him. “I have no intention of turning the place over to you as long as I'm in good health, and I am as strong as an old bull. You'll have to take orders from me until I'm convinced you know what you're doing."

With his head still bobbing, Neil felt like a marionette, but he couldn't stop. “I know I have a lot to learn, and I can think of no one I'd rather have as a tutor than you, sir."

Even though his features were more relaxed, the squire still sounded stern as he said, “I'll put you through your paces; make no mistake about that."

Neil fought down a strong urge to embrace the old man. “I want you to, sir. I want to learn everything I can."

"I'll have to make some arrangement with Malvern about your indebtedness to him. Can't wait five years for you to start here.” He stood and stuck out his hand.

Neil's legs were so rubbery that he had to push heavily against the arms of the chair in order to stand. Finally he clasped the squire's hand and shook it manfully.

With a broad smile, the squire said, “Welcome to the family, son."

"Ah—I haven't asked Effie yet, sir."

"Don't think you'll have any difficulty in that quarter, judging from the way that young lady has been moping about lately."

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The butler led Neil to the second floor salon where Effie sat over her embroidery frame applying dainty stitches to a growing bouquet of flowers. As he approached her, she slipped the needle into the cloth for safekeeping and looked up at him with a pinched expression.

Knowing the poor dear must be as nervous as he'd been when he approached her father, he smiled reassuringly. “I suppose you heard that I've just had a private conversation with the squire?"

"Edgar did mention that you were here,” she said in a soft voice.

He sat in the chair nearest to her. “And did you guess what I spoke to him about?"

She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

Neil reached for her hand. “Dearest, don't worry. I begged his permission to ask for your hand, and he gave it. Miss Effie Culpepper, will you marry me?"

Effie made a small cry, as if she'd experienced a sharp pain. “I cannot."

Neil blinked at her in disbelief. If he was sure of anything in this world, it was that Effie greatly admired him. Why would she say no? He stared at her expectantly, waiting for some clarification. Surely he had misunderstood.