His Unsuitable Viscountess. Michelle Styles

business to run.’ Eleanor paused in the doorway. ‘Good day to you both.’

      ‘Mrs Blackwell, there will be a rematch. I have my reputation to think of.’

      Eleanor ignored the tremor of excitement. Fencing with Lord Whittonstall was off the agenda. It would only lead to heartache. She had other more important things to think about. And she would never forget her quest again.

      Ben watched Viv march around the terrace, making various lunges at unsuspecting bushes.

      ‘Would you mind telling me what is going on? You avoided my questions all over luncheon. Fobbing me off with nonsensical answers.’

      Viv completed his lunge. ‘I am sure it is as Mrs Blackwell indicated. She has seen how much business I have sent her way and wants me to help her.’

      ‘You may drop the pretence. How bad are your finances?’

      Viv made a disgusted noise. ‘We don’t all have your financial acumen, Ben. If you weren’t my cousin I’d hate you. What with your title, your fortune and your excellent looks. Plus a reputation for lively and intelligent conversation.’

      ‘That would be the side of me the public sees. My father died before I was born and my pregnant wife in a tragic accident. My fortune was squandered by rapacious financiers that my mother mistakenly trusted. I worked hard to rescue it.’

      Viv dropped his gaze. ‘My debts will be paid some time. I have never not paid a debt of honour. Temporary cash problem.’

      ‘Is it that bad, Viv?’

      ‘My luck has changed, Ben.’ Viv poured two glasses of port and held one out to him.

      Ben shook his head. Viv downed both of them in quick succession.

      ‘Mrs Blackwell came here for another purpose,’ Ben said, tapping his fingers together. ‘Her pretty speech about you being a rival to the great Beau was concocted on the spot. Nobody could take that assertion seriously. Before she knew I was there I overheard her practising a speech to be directed at you. And when I tried to send her on her way she insisted it was imperative she see you today. She thought that wearing a coal scuttle bonnet was appropriate for her task.’

      ‘The sword was obviously for me.’ Viv held it out. ‘See—on the blade she has had my name engraved. You must have misheard her.’

      Ben turned the blade over and saw the engraved name. He had dismissed it earlier as fancy scrollwork. Eleanor Blackwell had planned to give this sword to Viv, but it didn’t make him believe the explanation she’d given—her colour had been too high and her manner too abrupt. Everything about her had been too much at odds with her desperation before they’d fought. Was she in some sort of trouble? Why did she need Viv’s help in particular? And, more importantly, what had changed her mind?

      He handed the sword back to Viv.

      ‘Mrs Blackwell did intend to give it to you. But your birthday is not for another few months. She could have come back any day. But it had to be today that she saw you. Why?’

      ‘You have far too cautious a mind, cousin. I’m London-bound at Mrs Blackwell’s specific request. Going to meet my destiny.’ Viv rubbed a hand along his stubble and belched. ‘And while we are there you can introduce me to all the heiresses that your dear mama has lined up for you. She possesses a certain flair for discovering heiresses. Don’t deny it! My mother constantly writes of the despair you cause your mother.’

      Ben knew precisely what Viv meant. Every season since Alice’s death his mother had made it her mission to sniff out a possible replacement. She liked to pretend that the way Alice had died had no bearing. A tragic accident, best forgotten.

      No matter where he went in London she arranged for accidental meetings with women she deemed suitable. While all the while remaining deaf to his arguments that he wanted to choose his own bride in his own time, or indeed that he had a good enough heir in Viv. Every time he rejected one of her protégées she’d sigh and remind him how his father would want him to do his duty if he were alive, and how as his mother all she wanted was the best for him.

      The truth was, none of the debutantes excited him. And what was the point in indulging in a meaningless affair with some piece of Haymarket ware? He knew what he’d shared with Alice. He also knew that it was in spite of his mother rather than because of his mother that he’d fallen for Alice. And he’d vowed that any bride of his would not have to suffer what he’d inadvertently caused Alice to suffer. Never again. He could not make it up to Alice, but he could prevent it from reoccurring.

      There had been a spark, a flash of chemistry between him and Mrs Blackwell. And he could have murdered Viv for interrupting him. He’d wanted to see if it was real. If her lips did taste as sweet as he’d imagined.

      ‘Is there a Mr Blackwell?’

      ‘I’m speaking of the bright lights of London and pretty heiresses and you want to discuss Mrs Blackwell?’ Viv gave him a quick indulgent smile. ‘Well, I believe she is an ape-leading spinster. Her father’s name was Blackwell. He was alive when Papa bought me my first sword. Now, enough of the woman. I’m much more interested in strategy. Do I wear my plum waistcoat or my emerald-green with the sword?’

      ‘Strategy?’

      ‘When Mrs Blackwell placed this sword in my hands I knew I was accepting her trust and admiration. I plan to fulfil her request. This sword needs to be seen and it will be—with all the bravado I can muster.’

      Ben tapped his finger against his lips. His sense of unease increased.

      Why the pretence? What had been Mrs Blackwell’s true intention in coming here today?

      He forced his mind away from the duel they had shared. If Viv had not interrupted she would have been in his arms, looking up at him with her marvellous eyes. That jolt of energy coursed through him again at the mere memory. He’d thought that part of him dead, but it was there and alive. And she was the cause.

      ‘You are sure you know of no other reason why Miss Blackwell would seek you out?’ he asked.

      ‘Relax, cousin, and accept good fortune when it comes your way.’ Viv made another flourish with his new sword. ‘It might seem a large thing, even insurmountable, to Mrs Blackwell, but it is something I am delighted to do.’

      ‘You’re mistaken. She needed your help with something else, but after she spoke with you she changed her mind.’

      Viv rolled his eyes. ‘You can believe what you want. It is my sword now, and I shall enjoy it. You’re bad-tempered because she chose me over you. Because someone proved you were merely human at fencing. You had to lose some time. Be grateful it was in private. Face it. Mrs Blackwell did us both a favour.’

      He stalked off with the sword tucked under his arm, leaving Ben standing there.

      ‘We are far from finished, Eleanor Blackwell,’ Ben muttered, reaching for his walking stick. ‘Whatever trouble you are in, giving Viv that sword has only increased it tenfold. You must trust me on this.’

      ‘I failed, Grandfather.’

      Eleanor regarded her grandfather’s portrait, which hung next to her great-great-grandfather’s sword in the office at the foundry. Always when she re-entered the office she spoke to the painting. It made her feel as if she wasn’t the only one left who cared about the company.

      Ever since she’d returned from Sir Vivian’s she’d been trying to work up the courage to come into this room. In many ways the office still felt as if it belonged to her grandfather and she was only borrowing it, even twenty years after his death. Her father had lacked the courage to change it, and Eleanor had never wanted to. She always found inspiration and peace in the old leather chair, the walnut desk and the various swords hanging on the walls. But today everything stood in mute rebuke. Even the Villumiay clock her grandfather had won just before he died seemed to pause and frown, as if it knew how far her failure extended. She’d lacked the courage even to ask.

      Eleanor