Her Convenient Husband's Return
In some ways, her father had lacked moral fibre. In others, he had been remarkable. He’d helped her to see with her hands, to learn from sounds and scents and textures.
But it was her mother who had taught her independence and, more importantly, how swiftly such independence could be lost.
Lil, short for Lilliputian due to her small stature, slowed when the drive ended. Beth leaned forward, stroking the mare’s neck, warm and damp with sweat. Arnold swung off his mount to open the gate. She heard its creak as it swung forward and, more through habit than need, counted the twenty-one steps across the courtyard.
Lil stopped and Beth dismounted. She paused, leaning against the animal, her hand stretched against Lil’s warm round barrel of a ribcage. She heard the horse’s breath. She heard the movement of her tail, its swish, and Arnold’s footsteps as he took Lil from her, the reins jangling.
Except... She frowned, discomfort snaking through her. There was a wrongness, a silence, an emptiness about the place. No one had greeted her; no groom or footman had come. She could hear nothing except the retreating tap of Lil’s hooves as Arnold led her to the stable.
The unease grew. Dobson should be here opening the door, ushering her inwards, offering refreshment. Beth walked to the entrance. The door was closed. She laid her palm flat against its smooth surface, reaching upward to ring the bell.
It echoed hollowly.
Goose pimples prickled despite the spring sunshine. Pushing open the door, she stepped inside.
‘Dobson?’ Her voice sounded small, swallowed in the emptiness. ‘Dobson?’ she repeated.
This time she was rewarded by the butler’s familiar step.
‘Ma’am,’ he said. ‘I am sorry no one was there to meet you.’
‘It’s fine. But is anything wrong? Has something happened?’
‘Her ladyship is on her way, ma’am,’ he said.
Beth exhaled with relief. ‘That is all right then.’
Granted, her mother-in-law was a woman of limited intelligence and considerable hysteria, but her arrival was hardly tragic. Besides, Lady Graham would not stay long; she loathed the country almost as much as Ren and spent most of her time in London.
‘No, ma’am that is not it,’ Dobson said, pausing as the clatter of carriage wheels sounded outside. ‘Excuse me, ma’am,’ he said.
After Dobson left, Beth found herself standing disoriented within the hall. She had forgotten to count her steps and reached forward tentatively, feeling for the wall or a piece of furniture which might serve to determine her location. In doing so, she dropped her cane. Stooping, she picked it up, her fingertips fumbling across the cool hard marble. Before she could rise, she heard the approach of rapid footsteps, accompanied by the swish of skirts: her mother-in-law. She recognised her perfume, lily of the valley.
‘Lady Graham?’ Beth straightened.
‘Beth—what are you doing here?’ Lady Graham said. Then with a groan, the elder woman stumbled against her in what seemed to be half-embrace and half-faint.
‘Lady Graham? What is it? What has happened?’
‘My son is dead.’
‘Ren?’ Beth’s heart thundered, pounding against her ears so loudly that its beat obliterated all other sounds. Every part of her body chilled, the blood pooling in her feet like solid ice. Her stomach tightened. The taste of bile rose in her throat so that she feared she might vomit.
‘No, Edmund,’ Lady Graham said.
‘Edmund.’
A mix of relief, sorrow and guilt washed over her as she clutched at her mother-in-law, conscious of the woman’s trembling form beneath her hands. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Edmund was Ren’s brother. He was a friend. He was a country gentleman. He loved the land, his people, science and innovation.
‘He was a good man,’ she said inadequately.
Then, above the thudding of her heart, Beth heard the approach of quick footsteps. With another sob, Lady Graham released Beth’s arm and Beth heard her maid’s comforting tones and the duet of their steps cross the floor and ascend the stairs.
Again disoriented, Beth stepped to the wall, but stumbled over her cane, almost falling. The wall saved her and, thankfully, she leaned against it. Her thoughts had slowed and merged into a single refrain: not Ren, not Ren, not Ren. Her breath came in pants as though she had been running. She felt dizzy and pushed her spine and palms against the wall as though its cool hardness might serve as an anchor.
That moment when she’d thought...when she’d thought Ren had died shuddered through her, sharper and more intense than the pain she now felt for Edmund.
And yet, Edmund had been her friend. Good God, she had spent more time in his company than that of her husband. Ren was but a name on a marriage certificate—a boy who had been her friend, a man who had married her and left—
‘Beth?’
Ren’s voice. Beth’s knees shook and tears prickled, spilling over and tracking down her cheeks. Impulsively she stretched out her hands. For a moment she felt only emptiness and then she touched the solid, reassuring bulk of his arm. Her hand tightened. She could feel the fine wool under her fingertips. She could feel the hard strength of his muscles tensing under the cloth and recognised the smell of him: part-cologne, part-fresh hay and part his own scent.
‘You’re here?’
His presence seemed like a miracle, all the more precious because, for a moment, she had thought him dead.
Impulsively, she tightened her hold on him, leaning into him, placing her face on his chest, conscious of the cloth against her cheek and, beneath it, the steady, constant thumping of his heart.
* * *
Her hair smelled of soap. The years disappeared. They were chums again. He was Rendell Graham once more. He belonged. His hold tightened as he felt her strength, her comfort, her essential goodness. Strands of her hair tickled his chin. He had forgotten its vibrancy. He had forgotten its luminosity. He had forgotten how she seemed to impart her own light, so that she more closely resembled angels in a church window than flesh and blood.
And he had forgotten also how she made his senses swim, how he wanted both to protect her above all things and yet also to hold her, to press her to him, to take that which he did not deserve, breaking his word—
‘Excuse me, my lord.’ Dobson entered the hall, clearing his throat.
Ren stiffened, stepping back abruptly. ‘Don’t!’ he said. ‘That is my brother’s name.’
‘I am—um—sorry—my—Master Rendell, sir.’
Ren exhaled. It was not this man’s fault that he had called him by a name he did not merit. ‘Yes?’
‘There are a number of matters we must discuss,’ Dobson said.
‘Very well, I will see you in the study shortly.’
Dobson left. Ren glanced at this slight woman...his wife. She was as beautiful as he remembered—more so since her body had rounded slightly so that she looked less waif and more woman. Her skin was flushed, but still resembled fine porcelain and she held herself with a calm grace and composure.
He’d tried to paint her once. It had not worked. He had not been able to get that skin tone, that luminosity. Of course, that was back when he still painted.
‘I am sorry,’ Beth said, angling her head and looking at him with eyes that couldn’t see yet saw too much. ‘Is there anything I can do to help you or your mother?’
‘No,’ Ren said, briskly. ‘No. You should not be wasting your time with us. Jamie will need you. He was as much Edmund’s brother as I.’
Despite the four-year age difference, Edmund and Jamie had shared a common interest in the scientific and a devotion to the land.
Worry and shock flickered across her features. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I must tell him. I don’t want him to find out from someone else. Except I don’t even know yet what happened. Edmund could not have even reached the Continent.’
‘Cholera outbreak on board the ship.’
Ren still couldn’t fathom how he’d managed to survive duels, crazy horse races, boxing matches and drunken gallops while Edmund had succumbed within days of leaving home.
‘He didn’t even see battle?’
‘No. Would it have made it better if he had? If he’d died for King and country?’ Ren asked, with bitter anger.
‘I don’t know. It wouldn’t change that he is gone.’
She was honest at least. Most women of his acquaintance seemed to glamorise such sacrifice.
‘Will there be a—a funeral?’ she asked.
‘We do not have a body.’ He spoke harshly, wanting to inflict pain although on whom he did not know.
‘A service, at least? I want—I need to say goodbye. The tenants, too.’
‘It is not customary for ladies to attend funerals,’ he said. The need for distance became greater. He must not grow used to her company. He must not seek her advice or her comfort. He must not rely on her. Beth had never wanted marriage to anyone. She valued her independence. Moreover, she belonged here in the country. Indeed, familiarity with her environment was an integral part of her independence.
And Graham Hill was the one place he could not live.
‘You know I have never been bound by custom.’
That much was true. If custom were to prevail she should be housebound, dependent on servants. Instead, she rode about her estate on that tiny horse and ran Jamie’s house and even aspects of the estate with admirable efficiency.
He forced his mind to shift. He was not here to analyse the woman who was his wife in name only, but to bury his brother ‘in name only.’ Efficiency was essential. He must take whatever steps were needed to cut his ties with the estate. To stay here was torture. Graham Hill was everything he had loved, everything he had taken for granted as his birth right and everything which had been ripped from him.
For a moment, he let his gaze wander over the familiar hall with the huge stone fireplace and dark beams criss-crossing the high arched ceiling. He had been back maybe five times since he had learned the truth, since he had learned that he was not really Rendell Graham, the legitimate child of Marcus Graham.
Instead, he was the bastard offspring of a mediocre portrait painter.
Abruptly, he turned back to Beth. ‘I will let you and Jamie know the time for the service,’ he said brusquely.
‘Thank you.’
For a moment she did not move. Her mouth opened slightly. She bit her lower lip. Her hand reached up to him. She ran her fingers across his cheek as she used to do. The touch was both familiar, but infinitely different. The moment stilled.
‘You do not always have to be strong and brave,’ she said.
His lips twisted. He thought of his life in London, of the stupid bets and nights obliterated by alcohol.
‘I’m not,’ he said.
Chapter Three
Beth sat beside the fire. It crackled, the snap of the flames tangling with the rhythmic tick of the mantel clock. She rubbed her hands with a dry chafing sound. She felt chilled, despite the spring season.
Jamie would be home soon. He would come in and talk crops and science in his single-minded manner.
And she would tell him about Edmund.
In many ways, Edmund had been his only friend; they had shared a fascination with science. Granted, Edmund had been older and more interested in mechanised invention than seeds, but there had been similarities in their minds and intellects.
And now, she must tell him about Edmund’s death. Strange how someone remains alive until one is told otherwise. Edmund was still alive to Jamie and would remain alive until she told him he was not. In many ways it made her the executioner.
Beth stood, too restless to be contained within the easy chair. She paced the seven steps to the window. She thought of Ren. He and Edmund had been inseparable as children—although he had spent little enough time here since. Her heart hurt for him, but she also felt anger. Why had he turned so resolutely against Graham Hill? How had London’s lure become so strong for the boy she used to know?
She remembered the four of them scrambling across the countryside. Well, Jamie and Edmund would scramble. She would often sit while Ren painted. She’d hear the movement of his brush strokes across the canvas, mixed with myriad woodland sounds; water, birds, bees, leaves... And Ren would describe everything: puffy clouds resembling sheep before shearing, streams dancing with the tinkling of harpsichords and tiny snowdrops hidden under the bushes like shy maidens.
Yet now Ren was at the big house with a mother he did not like.
Alone.
He no longer painted. He no longer liked the country. If gossip was true, his life in London was dissolute.
‘Arnold said you needed to speak to me.’
She startled at Jamie’s voice, wheeling from the window.
‘Yes. I need to tell—’
‘I know about Edmund,’ he said.
‘You do?’ She exhaled, both relieved that she need not tell him and guilty that she had not been the one to do so.
‘Lady Graham’s maid told the whole staff. Should not have enlisted. Tried to talk sense into him.’
She heard the wheeze of cushioning as her brother threw himself heavily into his chair.
‘He never was the same after Mirabelle died,’ she said.
‘Still had the land.’
Beth permitted herself a sad half-smile. For Jamie, the land, the scientific pursuit of hardy crops and livestock would always be sufficient. There was an invulnerability about him that she envied.
‘So Ren is Lord Graham now,’ Jamie said.
‘Yes.’
He made a grumbling sound. ‘I hope he intends to take his responsibilities seriously. No more capering about. He’ll have to spend more time here.’
‘I guess—’ she said jerkily.
His words startled her. She had not thought of this and felt that quick mix of emotion too tangled to properly discern: a jumble of breathless disorientation; anticipation and apprehension.
‘He may not want to,’ she said.
‘Must. His responsibility now,’ Jamie said. ‘Wonder what he knows about seeds?’
‘Not much. London isn’t big on seeds.’ She gave a half-smile that felt more like a stifled sob.
‘Guess I could teach him.’
Beth nodded. The young boy she had known would have needed no convincing. He had loved the estate from its every aspect. He’d loved the tenants, the fields, the animals.
But the man—her husband—did not.
* * *
The morning of the memorial dawned clear. Beth could feel the sun’s warmth through the window pane. She was glad it was sunny. Edmund had liked the sun.
She’d visited Graham Hill the previous day, but neither Ren nor his mother had been available, so she had returned with the nebulous feeling that she ought to do something more.
That was the thing about this marriage: it had brought them no closer. There had been no return of their former friendship, no occasional visits, no notes from London, laughter or pleasant strolls.
With Mirabelle’s death, she’d taken on more duties on the Graham estate but with a confused uncertainty, unsure if she was a family member helping out or a neighbour overstepping.
Now she wondered if she should go to Graham Hill prior to the service? Or merely join Ren at the church? Likely he’d prefer to ignore her or have her sit like a stranger. But the tenants would not.
Fortunately, the arrival of a curt missive from Graham Hill settled this dilemma. Jamie read the abrupt note which stated only that the Graham carriage would collect them so that she could attend the service with her husband.
‘Indeed, that is only logical. It would be foolish to bring out both carriages to go to the same location,’ he concluded in his blunt sensible manner as though practicality was the only issue at stake.
Husband. It had been so much easier to cope with a husband when he remained unseen in London. Then she had been able to think of that quick ceremony as a dream or an episode from a past life with little impact on her present. Indeed, he had felt less absent miles away than now when she knew they were within half a mile of each other, shared a common grief, but were as remote as two islands separated by an ocean.
Of course, his instant removal the day of the marriage service had hurt. She remembered listening to the fast trot of his fashionable curricle down the drive at Allington with a confused mix of pain, relief, embarrassment.
But truthfully, relief had overshadowed all other emotion. Allington had not been sold. Her father’s gambling debt to the Duke had been paid. She was safe from Ayrebourne. Indeed, she’d not been in that unpleasant man’s presence since she had politely declined his proposal, although she still felt an uneasy prickle of goose pimples when she remembered that interview.
Even now, close to two years later, the tightness returned to her stomach whenever she remembered the day. The chill cold silence of the library had felt so absolute. She’d wished that she had ordered a fire lit. She’d felt so enclosed, so isolated alone with this man.
‘You have an answer for me?’ he’d asked, taking her hand in his.
His fingers had been cold—not a dry, crisp cold, but clammy.
She’d said the right things, the pretty phrases of refusal. Of course, she hadn’t been able to see his expression, but she’d felt his anger. His hand had tightened on her own, his fingers digging into her flesh so that for days after it had felt bruised.
‘You are refusing?’
‘Yes, with gratitude for—for the honour, of course.’
‘And this other suitor? He will be able to pay off your father’s debts. They are substantial.’
‘Yes,’ she’d said.
For a moment, Ayrebourne had made no reply. Then he’d leaned closer. She’d heard his movement, the rustle of his clothes and felt a slow, growing dread, as though time had been oddly slowed or elongated. With careful movements, he’d lifted his hand and touched her face with one single finger. ‘A shame.’
Nauseous distaste had risen, like bile, into her throat. Twisting fear had made her tongue dry and swell, becoming bulbous as if grown too big for her mouth.
She had not been able to make a response and had remained still as though paralysed. Very slowly, his finger had traced her cheek, a slow, slithering touch. Then he’d pressed close to her ear, so that she could feel his warm moist breath and the damp touch of his lips.
‘But we are still neighbours so likely I will see you from time to time. In fact, I will make sure of it.’
His lips had touched again the tip of her ear.
‘I would enjoy that,’ he’d said.
* * *
‘Shall I be helping you with your hair this morning—ma’am—my lady?’
Beth jumped at her maid’s words. ‘Yes.’
‘Gracious, you’re white as a ghost. Are you well?’ Allie entered, bringing with her the sweet smell of hot chocolate.
Beth nodded. ‘Yes, I was just thinking—unpleasant thoughts. But I am glad of the distraction.’
‘And your hair?’
‘Best see what you can do.’
Usually Beth paid little attention to her appearance, but today she’d make an effort. It would show respect. Besides, she didn’t want to give Lady Graham reason to criticise. Lady Graham had never approved of the marriage. Who would want a blind country miss as one’s son’s wife—even a second son?
She startled, the movement so abrupt that Allie made a tsking, chastising noise.
‘He’s going to be Lord Graham,’ she said.
‘Yes, my lady.’
Of course, Beth had known that since she’d first heard of Edmund’s death and yet it seemed as though she only now recognised its full import. It changed everything. She could not believe that she had not recognised this earlier. Ren was no longer just the family black sheep. He was Lord Graham. He had duties, social responsibilities, a seat in the House of Lords.
Most importantly, he’d need an heir.
That single thought thundered through her. She clasped her hands so tightly together she could feel her nails sharp against the skin.
She’d known, since childhood, she would not—must not—have children.
Her thoughts circled and bounced. They would have to get an annulment. That was the only option. But was it possible? Would they qualify? Good Lord, ‘qualify’? It sounded as though she was seeking entrance into an exclusive club or scientific society. Or would they have to get a divorce? And what were the rules about divorce?
When should she talk to Ren about this? His brother’s funeral hardly seemed suitable. Was there a good time? A protocol for the dissolution of marriage? Would he agree?
Ally made another tut-tutting sound behind her. ‘Please stay still, my lady. You are that wriggly! Worse than a dog with fleas, if I may say so. I’m thinking I’ll trim your fringe, too, while I’m about it and really you don’t want to be wriggly when I do that or goodness knows how we’ll end up.’
‘Yes,’ Beth said, dully.
She made her breathing slow, as she used to do whenever she became lost or panicked. Their farce of a marriage would be annulled. But tomorrow was soon enough to worry. Today, she would show respect and support. She would bid farewell to Edmund.
After finishing Beth’s hair, Allie helped Beth put on her black bombazine. The cool, stiff cloth brushed over her skin, sliding into place. It was the same dress she’d worn while mourning Edmund’s wife Mirabelle. That had hurt also, but not like this. This loss of a childhood friend hurt in a gut-wrenching way.
Beth had intended to wait for the carriage in the front room, but didn’t. It felt too enclosed and she found herself drawn outside. Without sight, an empty room could be a chill place, bereft of sound or movement. In the outer world, the air stirred. She could discern the comforting and familiar sounds of life, the distant jangle of cow bells or the mewling of the stable cat.
The rattle of carriage wheels caught her attention and she stepped forward as soon the noise eased, wheels and hooves silenced. The door opened and Ren got out. She knew it was him. It was in the firmness of his step. It was in his smell, that mix of scents: cologne, hay, soap. Even more striking, it was her reaction to him, a feeling which was both of comfort and discomfort.
‘You were in the stable,’ she said.
‘And you are still eerily accurate.’
He took her hand, helping her into the carriage. It was a common enough courtesy and yet her reaction was not usual. Her breathing quickened but she felt, conversely, as though she had insufficient air.
She sank into the cushioning, so much more comfortable than that in her own more economic vehicle. He sat beside her. She could feel his body’s warmth, but also the tension, as though his every nerve and muscle was as tight as the strings on the violin Mirabelle used to play.
Impulsively, she reached for his hand. She wanted to touch him as she used to do, to break through the darkness which was her world and to communicate the feelings which could not be put into words. He jolted at her touch. Disconcerted, she withdrew her hand, clasping her fingers together as though to ensure restraint.
The silence was broken as Jamie entered also, his movements slow and heavy. The cushioning creaked as he sat opposite.
The carriage door closed.
‘You’re here,’ Jamie said.
‘Your observation is also eerily accurate,’ Ren said, but with that snide note to his voice he never used to have.
‘Hope you’re planning to spend some time here, now you’re Lord Graham.’
Ren became, if possible, more rigid. She felt the stiffening of his limbs and straightened back. ‘Shall we focus on my dead brother and not my itinerary?’ he said.
The silence was almost physical now, a heavy weight as the carriage moved. It closed in on them, the quiet punctuated only by the rattling of wheels and the creaking of springs.
She swallowed, aware of a stinging in her eyes and a terrible sadness—for Edmund and also that his three best friends should sit so wordlessly.