The Property of a Gentleman

‘Yes—your father did discuss the matter with me briefly when I visited you twelve months ago.’ She looked away, awkward, suddenly.

‘So you knew what he intended all along.’

‘He wanted my opinion.’

‘And you gave it. You approved of what he intended doing—that it would be in my best interests to marry Mr Fitzalan?’

‘Yes, I did. I saw no reason not to. He is a good man and you know your father held him in the highest regard. He always admired a man who knew his own mind.’

She didn’t tell her how deeply concerned her father had been by Leslie Stephenson’s cruel rejection of her almost three years ago, or that it troubled him greatly to see that she showed no interest in marrying anyone since that time. But he loved her dearly and wanted to know she would be well taken care of after his death, and to his mind there was only one man worthy of his beautiful, spirited daughter, a man with a spirit to equal her own, and that man was Marcus Fitzalan.

He knew he had it within his power to bring the two of them together—that Atwood Mine would be used as the bait—and the idea of Eve being in the protective care of Mr Fitzalan when he was gone gave him a great deal of comfort.

‘I know this isn’t easy for you and you have every right to be angry, Eve. But what do you feel about Mr Fitzalan?’ asked her grandmother directly. ‘Will you marry him?’

‘Oh, Grandmother—how can I? I hardly know him.’

‘That will not be difficult to remedy. I would, of course, be happy to accommodate you in Cumbria, Eve, but for your own good I would advise you to accede to your father’s wishes and stay here and marry.’

Eve turned slowly and looked at her grandmother, sensing by the tone of her voice and the manner in which she spoke that she didn’t want her to go and live with her in Cumbria, which she considered strange, for she had never objected to her visits in the past—in fact, she had always encouraged them.

With her thin fingers coiled around the knob of her cane, her grandmother sat so straight and stiff she might have been armour plated. She was a woman of great dignity and had been beautiful in her time, and despite her grand age of sixty years the signs remained. But there was no emotion of any kind in her expression, no softness or gentle understanding, as she would have seen on her mother’s face before her death.

Sensing what she was thinking, her grandmother looked at her severely. ‘And you needn’t look so put out, Eve. You know how much I look forward to your visits—but that’s all they were. Cumbria’s no place for a young girl with her whole life before her, and if you were to go and live with your Aunt Shona in London you know you would not endure it for long. After the first few weeks the excitement of city life would have worn off and you would be pining to be back in the West Riding. It always happens.’

Eve sighed. What her grandmother said was true. She always looked forward to visiting London and her Aunt Shona, but the excitement of the parties and balls her aunt and cousins were so fond of attending soon wore off and she could never wait to return home.

‘But I don’t want to marry Mr Fitzalan, Grandmother. He is practically a stranger to me—which I am sure you find surprising, considering the close friendship that existed between him and my father. From what I have heard of him I do not like him. Besides, he is so old.’

‘Rubbish. Thirty is not old. My dear Eve,’ her grandmother remonstrated with undue sharpness, ‘you have to marry some time, so why not marry Mr Fitzalan? He may not have been blessed with noble blood, as you have fortunately been yourself, but there was nothing unsophisticated about him that I could see.

‘Despite his humble origins, the fact remains that through his father’s marriage to Mr Henry Woodrow’s daughter, a gentleman and wealthy businessman over at Netherley, his present credentials are admirable. He is a man of power and influence, of considerable property and business—and owner of a fine house too, I have been told, built by his grandfather. It is reputed to be very grand indeed. I am sure life would be pleasant for you living there.’

‘I dare say it would be—if I agree to marry him. Although it would appear that I am left with little choice, Grandmother,’ she said, wondering what her grandmother would say if she knew of the close familiarity Eve and Mr Fitzalan had displayed towards each other three years ago at Atwood Fair.

She spoke harshly, more than was usual when she addressed her grandmother, causing the redoubtable lady to cast an imperious eye over her, but she did not reprimand her as she would have done at any other time, for she put Eve’s irritability down to the trauma of the day.

‘However, no one seems to have considered the idea that Mr Fitzalan might not want to marry me,’ Eve said with an inappropriate lack of seriousness. ‘He might surprise everyone and decide that the mine is not so very important to him after all—although, should that be the case, I doubt another will hurry to take his place. The reduced size of my inheritance is hardly large enough to tempt any other man in asking for me.’

‘Nonsense. Two thousand pounds a year is a veritable fortune to some young men. And you forget that when I die, Eve, you will be comfortably well off—although not as well off as I should have liked to leave you, as I am the head of a large family and have other dependents scattered throughout the length and breadth of England. But that will not be for some considerable time because I fully intend living a good many years yet.

‘But I would still advise you to seriously consider marrying Mr Fitzalan. Despite what you have just said, by all accounts he would dispose of everything he owns to bring Atwood Mine back into his family—so he will not take much persuading to marry you. I am sure if you put your mind to it and do not repeat the performance of this afternoon—when you forgot your manners and accused the poor man so shockingly of contriving to obtain the mine by devious means from your father—you will get on well enough.’

‘I said nothing to Mr Fitzalan that he did not deserve.’

‘Whatever your opinions might be, they are unjust and ill-founded, Eve. You really should know better than to listen to tittle-tattle. Your outburst was unpardonable and at any other time you could have been sure of my severest reproof.’

‘But I don’t love him—and I doubt I could ever love such a man as he has been painted,’ and as I know him to be, she thought with secret shame.

Her grandmother stared at her askance. ‘Love? What has love to do with anything? You are talking nonsense. If it’s love you want then I dare say it will come with marriage. Young people of today enjoy a greater independence than was the case in my day, when marriages were arranged for the benefit of families. In situations such as ours it is expected to bring advantage, wealth and status to the prospective partners and their families. If this nation is to remain strong then it is important that distinguished families like our own continue to uphold that tradition.’

‘But this is not your day, Grandmother,’ cried Eve, unable to keep the bitterness and frustration from her voice, causing her grandmother to draw herself up and look at her severely.

‘Maybe not—and I can see that things have not changed for the better. In cases such as this, take my advice and leave your emotions behind. Marriage is too crucial a matter to be determined on such frivolous considerations as romantic love. Call it old-fashioned if you must, but I am of the belief that children should defer to their parents regarding marriage. However, with marriage to Mr Fitzalan in mind, it’s a pity your father did not think of introducing the two of you sooner.’

‘But I had no wish to meet him.’

As if sensing her wretchedness, her grandmother’s expression softened a little. ‘Despite the fact that your parents allowed you to do very much as you pleased for most of the time, running about the countryside like a young hoyden, you’re a good girl, Eve—and I am pleased to see you have become a sensible young lady at last, with far more about you than Shona’s and Mary’s girls,’ she said, referring to her two remaining daughters, which caused Eve to look at her in surprise, for this was praise indeed coming from her grandmother.

‘Listen, Eve,’ she went on, leaning slightly forward in her chair and fixing her granddaughter with a hard stare. ‘I know you think I am being hard—cruel, even, in asking you to think seriously about marriage to Mr Fitzalan—but like your father I want to see you well secured. If you stubbornly refuse, then apart from the annuity your father has left you—and your mother’s jewellery and other possessions, which are already in your possession but not worth a fortune—you will lose everything to Gerald—and there’s a wastrel if ever there was. You cannot turn your back on this chance of retaining something of your father’s estate—which to my mind is the best thing he could have left you.

‘Coming from Cumbria I have only a little knowledge of the mining of coal, but I know enough to realise that it is the lifeblood of the people in this area and one of the most important, profitable commodities in England. Its potential and economic significance is immense. I have seen for myself that mines are being sunk all the way along Atwood Valley, and your father told me himself that Atwood Mine has no rival. Trade is increasing at a rapid rate and explorations have shown there are unexploited deep seams of coal reserves. My dear girl—you would be a fool to let it go.’

For the first time Eve felt a reluctant stirring of admiration for her grandmother. The intensity of feeling in her voice and her eyes told her that she cared, that it did matter to her what became of her, and she was grateful, but she could not suppress a deep sigh. ‘You make it sound like an ultimatum, Grandmother—like some necessary evil.’

‘I don’t mean to—but you must think about it,’ she said animatedly, thumping her stick, which she was never without, hard on the carpet. ‘Let Gerald play at being Lord of the Manor all he likes—but you take control of the mine.’

‘Me and Mr Fitzalan, of course.’

‘Yes. You know your father would not have set down these conditions had he not your best interests at heart. He always wanted you and Mr Fitzalan to marry and this was his way of bringing it about. Take what is offered, Eve, and ask no questions. Had things been different he would have wanted you to marry a man of your own choosing, but knowing he would not be here to look after you, to protect you, he did what he thought was right and best for you.’

Eve’s eyes remained doubtful, but on looking at the situation with cold logic, it was with reluctance that she recognised the sense of her grandmother’s words. She was right. If she wanted to hold on to her pride and something she considered to be her birthright, then she really had no choice.

‘I promise I shall give the matter serious thought, Grandmother. At this moment I cannot say more than that.’

Gerald left for his home on the day following the funeral, leaving Eve with the knowledge that he would return to take up residence at Burntwood Hall just as soon as he had put his affairs in order.

She was alone in her father’s study, writing letters to people who had been unable to travel to the funeral, when he entered to tell her of his departure and what he intended to do. She had no choice but to speak to him, to see the mockery in his eyes and hear the lust in his voice. She shuddered at the sight of him for she disliked him intensely. The mere thought of him had the power to make her draw her breath in sharply.

If he was aware of it he seemed unconcerned and chose to ignore it. He relaxed at the sight of her, a twisted smile curving his lips, and yet his expression remained hard, his eyes alert, boldly lingering appreciatively, greedily, on the soft swelling mounds of her breasts, insolently taking in every detail. Eve met his gaze coldly. She had known ever since his last visit to Burntwood Hall that he was attracted by her—known it by the way he looked at her—and she hated him—the smile on his slack lips, the glint in his dark eyes.

Sitting in a large winged chair beside the fire, he folded his hands casually across his rapidly expanding stomach and stretched his legs out in front of him with the lazy grace of a big cat, a cold, calculating gleam in his eyes as he looked at her sitting demurely at her father’s desk.

‘Do forgive me for intruding on your privacy, Eve, but I wanted to speak to you before returning to my home. I waited until I knew your grandmother would be resting, when I would be sure to find you alone. There is much to be done, you understand. Not wishing to appear uncharitable I just wanted to tell you that you must continue to look on Burntwood Hall as your home for just as long as you want to—that I have no intention of “turning you out”, so to speak,’ he said, with feigned sympathy and generosity in his eyes.

The truth of it was that Gerald had become aware of Eve as a woman several visits ago—an extremely beautiful and desirable woman, and extremely accessible while ever she continued to live at Burntwood Hall—but more importantly he also saw her as a means of retaining Atwood Mine, which would revert to him should she refuse to marry Marcus Fitzalan, and provide him with a much needed constant source of revenue for years to come.

But he was also in the devil of a fix. Having borrowed money after losing heavily at cards at his club in St James’s, from men who knew he was Sir John Somerville’s heir—a great deal of money, thirty-five thousand pounds to be exact, with an extortionate interest on the amount borrowed—there was no possible way he could repay the loan until he came into his inheritance. Before he left London the moneylenders, having heard of Sir John’s death, had begun turning on the pressure for him to repay the loan with a terrible force. They were closing in on him, crushing him like a vice. He had to get the money. He was becoming desperate. The mere thought of what they would do to him if he didn’t come up with it made sweat break out on the palms of his hands and his heart pound uncontrollably.

These men were experts at what they did, men who would not be crossed or defied. Gerald had soon learned from their dealings with others that beneath their elegant exteriors they possessed muscles of steel combined with a ruthlessness and cruelty that stopped at nothing—tactics he would not hesitate to employ himself on others to obtain the means to repay the loan and get these men off his back for good, and only the income from Atwood Mine would enable him to obtain the kind of money he needed to do that. Sir John’s death had come as an enormous relief. He could not believe his good fortune—but without the mine his inheritance would not be enough to repay what he owed without selling off more land and property.