the question. Had his pride been so badly injured by Louisa that he’d felt the need to propose to the very next woman he met? Or was he so unaccustomed to hearing the word no that he’d had to keep going until he got the answer he wanted? It was just the kind of reckless, impulsive behaviour he might have expected from his younger self, not the sensible, respectable man of business he was today. After all the time and thought he’d put into deciding whether or not to ask Louisa, was he really prepared to jump to the furthest extreme and marry a complete stranger?
What if she said yes?
The brother dropped into the seat opposite and Robert gave a polite nod, wishing he could throw a fist at his jaw instead. Now that the woman’s situation was clearer he felt angrier towards the youth than ever. If he were really friends with Lester, then surely he knew what kind of a man he was, especially where women were concerned. What kind of brother actively encouraged his sister to marry such a reprobate?
The idea of offering her an alternative had come to him out of the blue, somewhere around the time she’d demanded to know his real opinion of Charles Lester. It had been an impulse, a desire to make amends for his insulting behaviour, combined with a determination to put Louisa behind him and get his affairs settled once and for all, but then he was accustomed to trusting his impulses. His business instincts had never steered him wrong before, and wasn’t marriage a business? When one deal didn’t work out, he moved on to another.
It wasn’t as if he’d ever expected to marry for love. Growing up with his mother had taught him the folly of that particular emotion. He’d done his best to act the lovesick swain for Louisa, though in truth he’d found the pretence as tedious as the rest of their courtship. Perhaps that had been his mistake, trying to speak a language he didn’t understand. Business, he did understand. Business, he was good at it. In his domain, no one could ever accuse him of not being good enough.
In which case, why not take emotion out of the equation and treat marriage strictly as a business arrangement? He had neither the time nor inclination for a new courtship, and this woman seemed more than a little reluctant to wed Sir Charles. It was the perfect business proposal, a mutually beneficial arrangement for them both. He was in the market for a wife, she for a husband. He’d thought to make a society match, but since Louisa had made it abundantly clear that no lady of any social standing would have him, asking this stranger had seemed the obvious thing to do.
Somehow, insanely, it still did.
Even if she was the strangest-looking damsel in distress he’d ever seen. With his eyes closed, he’d assumed the brother’s insults had been exaggerated to hurt her feelings, but first impressions made it difficult to argue. It was hard to imagine what Sir Charles saw in her. Her clothes were so old-fashioned they seemed to belong to another era, every item a drab, uniform grey that did nothing for her wan complexion. Her collar was so high it looked as if it must surely constrict her breathing, while the rest of her gown was completely shapeless, hanging loose around her waist with almost no definition at all. Combined with an ancient-looking poke bonnet, woollen gloves, a shawl that might better serve as a dishcloth and a pair of heavy lace-up boots, she seemed determined to look as severe and dowdy as possible.
Ungallant as it sounded, she wasn’t exactly the bride he’d envisaged when he’d set out that morning. Louisa, with her golden curls and indigo-blue eyes, was the most exquisitely beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on. This woman looked as though she never even glanced in a mirror. Side by side they might resemble an old crow next to a glamorous swan.
After Louisa’s rejection, on the other hand, the very contrast was appealing. Besides which, there was no trace of meanness in her face, no hint of Louisa’s sulkiness or petulance. It was a pleasant face, albeit a trifle too thin, a fact accentuated by the severity of her hairstyle, scraped back so tightly that he could hardly distinguish the colour, a nondescript shade somewhere between blonde and brown. But her skin was clear, her lips full and wide, and there were even faint lines curving upwards from the corners of her eyes as if, difficult though it was to imagine, she was accustomed to laughter. Overall, she might be quite pretty, if she hadn’t clearly resolved to be otherwise.
‘It’s only twenty minutes to Pickering.’ The brother seemed blithely unaware of any tension in the compartment. ‘So the porter says.’
‘A little longer.’ Robert interrupted smoothly, glad of the chance to prove his respectability, if not his sanity, at least. ‘Forgive my intrusion, but the new deviation line to Whitby has only just opened. It’s a longer route so it’s caused a few delays along the branch line, but some of the porters still forget.’
‘The new line takes longer than the old one?’ The youth sounded scornful. ‘That doesn’t sound like progress.’
Robert allowed himself a cynical half-smile. What was it the sister had called him? Pompous. The word seemed particularly apt.
‘It’s much safer than the old rope-worked system at Beckhole. It’s a steep hill and there have been several bad accidents there over the years. The new route is safer.’
‘Ah...well, when you put it like that.’ The youth nodded sagely. ‘Are you connected to the railway, sir?’
‘I’m on the board of directors.’ Robert smiled, gratified to see the woman’s head twist slightly towards him, as if she were reviewing an earlier opinion.
‘Indeed? Then I’m glad to meet you. My name’s Percy Holt.’
‘Robert Felstone, delighted to meet you.’
‘Felstone? Have we met before, sir? Your name seems familiar, but I can’t place it.’
‘I don’t think so. Unless...perhaps you visit the area often?’
‘No, not for a long time, though we used to come every summer as children. Our mother was from Pickering. We’re going to stay with our aunt there now.’ The youth gestured towards the woman almost as an afterthought. ‘This is my sister, Miss Ianthe Holt.’
‘A pleasure, Miss Holt.’
He offered a hand, wondering if she would take it. She could hardly refuse to acknowledge him without telling her brother what had just happened and, from what he’d observed of their relationship, he didn’t think she was about to do that. Besides, for some strange reason he found himself actually wanting to touch her, to find out if she were really as buttoned-up as she seemed. She looked so strait-laced that he felt an unexpected desire to ruffle her up.
‘Mr Felstone.’ She extended a hand, letting it drift vaguely in his direction before retracting it again quickly.
Robert felt a powerful urge to laugh. He wasn’t accustomed to women expressing anything other than gratitude for his attention. Even Louisa, insincere as she’d apparently been, had seemed flattered by it. This woman looked as though she wanted to throw him from the train. Was she still angry over his earlier comments or did she simply doubt the sincerity of his proposal? he wondered. And in the latter case...how could he convince her?
‘Ianthe. That’s an unusual name.’
He flashed his most charming smile. Even during his penniless youth, he’d quickly discovered the disarming effects of his good looks upon women. Since earning his fortune, these seemed to have increased tenfold, though he suspected this woman might prove more of a challenge.
‘It’s from a poem.’ Her expression didn’t alter.
‘Ah. There are gaps in my education, I’m afraid. I never studied poetry.’
‘You amaze me.’ She didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm. ‘It teaches men refinement, I think. Or at least how to speak to a lady.’
‘Ianthe!’ Percy sounded shocked. ‘Forgive my sister, Mr Felstone. We’ve travelled all the way from London today. She must be tired.’
‘On the contrary—’ she glared at her brother acerbically ‘—I’m feeling quite fresh. There’s no need to speak for me.’
Robert bit back a smile. No, it seemed the prim