Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Carraway was even more stunning than West had remembered, though he had only seen it from a distance before this.
It was impressive, elegant, expansive, and tasteful all in one building, and it was perfectly situated in the hills and peaks of Derbyshire.
One had to drive through a very dense grove of trees before the space opened up to reveal the house, and it caught one’s breath so suddenly and so completely that it was a shock to the mind and body.
The stone was a gentle neutral shade, yet seemed to sparkle in the sun like bits of diamond had been imbedded there.
Large windows, clean terraces and balconies, pristine landscaping in the front of the house to welcome visitors and soften the sharp Tudor aspect of the building.
It was the most picturesque country house West had ever seen, sitting on the gentle rise of a hill, with a small pond further down, connected to a stream that disappeared behind the house. The drive was neat and tidy, the gravel recently combed and the grass trimmed.
To his surprise, Mr. and Mrs. Beale appeared to be waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the house, hand in hand.
He suspected it was them, at any rate. He could not imagine any of the servants holding hands in greeting, and their attire was of the finer sort, even if it was simpler than what might be seen in London.
Mr. Beale had dark hair and angular features, but his smile seemed to be one of ease on that face rather than a foreign sensation.
Mrs. Beale might well have been his opposite in looks, with her very fair hair and softly sculpted face, round in that youthful manner, but with a hint of cheekbones for a variety of topography there.
Her smile, too, was easy, pressing rosy cheeks closer to her eyes and hiding their shade from their view.
A more gentle but perfect welcome he could not imagine.
The carriage they had rented in Fencrest Village pulled to a stop before the house, and West felt his chest tighten in a way it rarely did.
Anticipation, anxiety, fear, perhaps a slight sense of nausea .
. . These people were the most influential people in the area, and he was about to meet them as the new baron and master of Fenmore, not that it meant anything anymore.
What if they found him tiresome or young or unimpressive?
A soft hand fell on his arm, and he glanced at it before following that hand up a slender arm and into the softly smiling face of Elena.
She hadn’t said much on their journey over, and Fred had dozed the entire time like a child, leaving him to his thoughts far too much. But if Elena was smiling at him like that, she must have some sense of what he was feeling.
“It will all be fine,” she murmured, rubbing his arm gently. “They are just people like you and me. We don’t need to have their support to make Fenmore a success. Would it help? Of course. But we’ve already been succeeding without them.”
We.
Why was that such a delicious word for her to use?
Whatever came in the future, whatever happened with the challenge, whatever decisions were made, in this moment, in this place, they were a unit. Partners. For good or ill, they would still be working together for Fenmore.
And here, they both wanted Fenmore to have the best.
“We can do this,” West said softly, wishing he were brave enough to cover her hand with his.
Her smile spread just enough to tickle the back of his throat. “We can.”
“And for everything else, there is me,” Fred announced to no one in particular.
West rolled his eyes while Elena stifled a laugh.
The door to the carriage opened and a footman stepped back, though where he had come from was less clear. West would swear that only the Beales had been waiting for them, but here was a young man in simple blue livery, silent and straight-backed.
Right, then.
West stepped out, then turned to assist Elena down before Fred clambered out after her. Fred, being the dramatic sort, heaved a sigh of relief, though the drive over had not been more than an hour. And that was without pushing the horses for speed.
A leisurely carriage ride of an hour, and Fred was pretending it had been a dreadfully tiring experience.
Idiot.
“Welcome to Carraway,” Mr. Beale boomed, his voice carrying surprisingly well. “Edmond Beale, at your service.”
Since it seemed they were going for informal introductions, and they would not know which man was Lord Bickham, West stepped forward, hand outstretched. “West Howard, Lord Bickham.”
“A pleasure, my lord,” Beale greeted, shaking his hand firmly and bowing from the neck. “My wife Mariah.”
Mrs. Beale curtsied, still smiling prettily. “My lord.”
West bowed his greeting, then turned to indicate the others. “Miss Elena Williams, and my cousin, Mr. Frederick Gates.”
The respective bows and curtsies took place, and then Mrs. Beale, surprising them all, came forward and took Elena’s hands.
“My dear Miss Williams, it is a pleasure to meet you. Mrs. Wickerton wrote of you in such excessively flattering terms that I could not think you to be real. Were it not for the fact that I know my relation does not flatter needlessly, I would think it all a gross misrepresentation. As it is, I believe we shall become good friends.”
Elena blinked rather rapidly at this praise, her face paling slightly. “I did not realize she held me in such high esteem. I . . . do not socialize much . . . and . . .” She trailed off, biting her lip.
West loved that she did that. It was a sign of her true feelings, no matter what was going on around her or what company they were in.
She would never wear any sort of facade for the public, always being true to herself first and foremost. From his experience in Society, that was rare in a woman of her station.
A mother, aunt, or chaperone might have told her never to bite her lip in a public setting, but West would always prefer genuine reactions.
The fact that it drew his attention to her lips more than normal was simply an additional benefit to the gesture.
Mrs. Beale laughed, an easy, airy sound. “And you, like all creatures of sense, avoid my relation wherever possible to avoid making it into her little book of gossip? Pardon me, her prayers?”
Elena’s face pinked immediately, making Mrs. Beale grin and look back at her husband. “Edmond, you are not alone in your avoidance, you see?”
Mr. Beale exhaled a groan. “I do not avoid her on purpose, Mariah. I simply have learned it is in my best interest to speak with her as little as possible, and only on the most polite and superficial of topics.”
Mrs. Beale turned and looped her arm through Elena’s, huffing playfully. “You only have to learn how to manage her, Edmond.”
“I’d rather keep my exposure at a minimum, thank you.” He kept his expression bland, but his eyes spoke rather clearly of his devotion to and adoration for his wife.
What a display to see in a man of his station and influence!
This was exactly the sort of relationship and marriage that West would want for himself.
It was the sort of expression and antics his parents had shared and what he had grown up witnessing and admiring.
He had never thought much of it as an adult, finding other things to occupy his time rather than anything resembling courtship, flirtation, or marital prospects.
There had never been any sense of haste for matrimonial connections, and as a second son, he had no desperate need for an heir.
He had never wanted to marry for influence, status, fortune, or convenience.
Still did not. But now that he was the baron, he would have to think of his matrimonial future at some point.
Only Elena had made him think about it without a sense of dread or irritation.
He could marry Elena . . .
But that would be marrying for his convenience, her convenience, and for the sake of satiating his curiosity about his fixation on her. Perhaps about improving the status of Fenmore faster than he might be able to do himself.
All fair enough reasons, and likely all reasons she would accept, given her lack of sentimentality, by her own admission.
None of them were good enough reasons to make Elena his wife.
Elena deserved an advantageous love match.
Someone who saw her and embraced her, not someone who tolerated her eccentricities because they could not be bothered with them.
Not someone who abandoned her to some far-off country estate while they indulged in their own selfishness.
Not someone who would only come to her when he wanted a child and ignore every majestic piece of her that came along with that child-producing aspect.
Not someone who would use her for themselves.
Not someone who was merely curious.
Not someone who could not say, with certainty, that he loved her.
He fully believed that he could love her, if he ever figured out what it meant to love someone in a romantic sense.
He certainly liked Elena enough to pursue the idea, and to try and fall in love with her, if it could happen.
He could see her flourishing at the estate, perhaps even more than the estate itself might flourish.
But he wanted to flourish with her. If they could.
Perhaps this time away from Fenmore, admittedly only a few days, could give him the insight he needed.
He would certainly try.
“West?”
He jerked himself at the feeling of Fred’s hand on his shoulder. He looked at his cousin blankly, unsure how long he had been consumed by his own thoughts.
Fred frowned and nudged his head towards the house. West followed his gesture and noted that Elena and Mrs. Beale had already started up the stairs, while Mr. Beale was waiting for them with an indulgent smile.
“Right,” West muttered, starting forward and forcing a smile.
“Where in the world did you go?” Fred murmured for him alone. “Your eyes were so far away.”
“I wasn’t staring at her, was I?” West hissed.
“Her who?” Fred asked with all the innocence of a bad actor. “There are two hers ahead. Staring at one will get you beaten; staring at another will make you insane.”
West chose to stare at his cousin.
Fred snorted very softly in response. “Her her? No. You stared at a stair, of all things. Stair staring. You’re a stair starer.”
“I will pay you to shut up.”
“How much?”
West could only sigh and fall into step beside Mr. Beale.
“I hope you do not mind, sir, but I would very much like to ignore my cousin for most of this visit. I cannot leave him at Fenmore, for fear of what he might do without proper adult supervision, but as you can imagine, I find excessive time in his company rather poor for my moods.”
Mr. Beale proved his good humor by nodding without a twitch of his mouth.
“Understood, sir. My wife and I have no children as yet, but we are accustomed to entertaining nieces and nephews at Carraway, so there will be many things for Mr. Gates to explore and experience without any of us having to converse with him overly much. The orchards, for example, are completely walled in.”
“I volunteer to test that theory!” Fred cried from behind them.
West muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “Should I apologize for him now or wait until the end of the visit?”
Mr. Beale did chuckle now. “I suspect he provides charm along with the amusement. Perhaps he might wish to meet one of my sisters-in-law—”
“Do not finish that sentence if you value your own sanity,” West suggested almost harshly.
Mr. Beale clapped him on the back as they continued to walk up the stairs, reaching the summit level that led into the house, passing under a neat portico with majestic Corinthian columns standing sentinel.
“We all need a little entertainment, Lord Bickham, and I have a feeling that your cousin will provide ample amounts during your visit.”
“He has been providing entertainment from the moment of his birth,” West told him wryly. “I am certain that is why his sisters let him survive this long.”
His host’s eyes brightened. “Ah, he comes from a family of sisters, does he? That only makes me want him for my wife’s sister even more.”
West sighed a weary, longsuffering sigh.
“Mr. Beale, if you wish to provide an introduction between Fred and your sister-in-law, I will allow it, but only if you tell me everything you have done and plan to do with your fields. I have an estate to restore, and you may have exactly the insight I need.”
“Deal,” Mr. Beale agreed so quickly, West wondered if there might be a trick afoot.
But they shook hands on it anyway, Fred meandering along behind them without much input. Or perhaps only out of the range of hearing their words. Either way, his fate was being decided without his opinion, and there was something vastly satisfying about that.
“Now,” Mr. Beale intoned in his surprisingly booming voice, “who is going to tell me about Miss Williams and who she is to you?”
Fred laughed uproariously behind them, proving his hearing to be better than West thought, while West only groaned and shook his head.