‘Did you want me to help you back to bed?’
‘I—er—no. I just—um—I was up. I needed to stretch,’ she said.
‘Of course, my lady,’ Allie said. ‘I have your chocolate right here.’
Beth sat on her bed. Allie handed her the hot beverage and she sipped carefully.
Thankfully, Allie retreated back into the dressing room and Beth leaned back against her headboard, trying to make sense of her thoughts.
Last night had changed everything...and nothing. It had changed everything because now they were no longer eligible for an annulment. Indeed, she no longer wanted one. She wanted Ren.
It had changed nothing because the marriage must end.
She squeezed her eyelids shut. She would not have children if they were likely to be blind.
Besides, while last night had been momentous for her, it likely had meant little to Ren.
She rang the bell.
‘Help me get dressed. We’ll go for a walk. I cannot stay inside all day,’ she told Allie, as soon as she heard her footsteps. ‘You’ll need to guide me, but no talk of ribbons or anything else for that matter.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
* * *
It was a cool morning. The air felt damp and Beth was glad that they had dressed warmly. Placing her hand on Allie’s arm, they stepped along the street and, obedient to direction, the girl remained quiet for once.
Beside her, Beth could hear the footsteps of other pedestrians, their brisk tap mixed with the whirring of pram wheels and the rattle of carriages. Occasionally, she heard other sounds: birds, a boy’s whistle and a newsboy shouting.
Even the air smelled pleasant, as though the breeze had pushed away that city smell of coal and the Thames. She felt her step lighten and the stir of a small, hopeful, illogical part of her. What ifs circled her mind. What if she could live in London? What if Ren cared for her? What if he didn’t want children? What if there was a chance for them?
‘Beth!’ She startled at Ren’s voice as though her thoughts had conjured up his presence.
‘Ren!’ Her fingers tightened on Allie’s arm.
She heard his firm footsteps and inhaled again the scent that seemed so unique to him.
‘We need to talk. Leave us,’ he said to Allie.
She heard Allie’s murmured greeting and the rustle of her clothes as she bobbed a curtsy. ‘You have now taken to dismissing my servants out of hand?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Beth, I need to tell you right away. You’re right.’
‘I am?’
‘I cannot give it to the Duke.’
‘Really?’ She felt a bubble of hope. ‘You’ll keep it?’
‘I can’t. That remains the same. But there must be a better, an alternate, solution and I owe it to the tenants to explore every option. I am going to see if I can give the land to them. Why not give it to those who love it and will nurture it and who have farmed it for generations? What do I care if every earl and duke despises me across all of England?’
She reached for his hand, clasping it tightly. ‘Really? I am so glad. It is the right thing to do. Indeed, if you could see his tenants, even Arnold’s sister’s child was naught but skin and bone and then there is Mrs Cridge and I do worry about Mr Sloan’s toes.’
‘His toes?’ She heard laughter ripple through his voice.
‘His whole foot actually.’
‘His foot?’
‘Yes, the toes are swollen and he cannot farm and I know that the Duke would kick him off the land.’
‘On account of his foot?’
‘And there are so many others like that. I mean, Mr Brack has a sore back and Mrs Stow’s son has fits and—’
‘Enough, enough! I do not need a catalogue of all the tenants and their ailments. Come, shall we walk back into the house? I need to go to the solicitor and then later, you and I...we have so much to talk about.’
‘We do?’
That irrational hope flared and flickered.
It was a confluence of sound: shouting, rattling, a whip’s snap, a high-pitched whinny, hooves, a woman’s scream.
‘What? What’s happening?’ The noise surrounded her, coming at her so that she could not discern its cause or make sense of it. She stepped forward as though proximity might bring clarity.
‘Beth!’
And then the air moved. It swirled, picking her up. She heard Ren’s shout. She felt her cane fall as her arms flailed. She heard her own scream. A force propelled her, slamming her backwards until she was stopped by Ren’s firm grasp. She felt his arms tighten about her as she was lifted, pressed against his chest, the thunder of his heart audible.
In the background, the wheels slowed to a rattle.
Someone shouted. The horse whinnied again.
‘Beth? Are you hurt?’ Ren’s voice was deep. She felt its vibration through his chest as she heard the words.
‘I’m fine,’ she said.
His arms felt strong and she wanted only to stay within the safety of his clasp. Now, in contrast to the earlier cacophony, the street seemed eerily quiet. Everything appeared to have stopped: the carriage wheels, the prams, the newsboys, even the birds. She heard only the horse’s laboured breathing and the frantic beat of her own heart.
‘Sorry about that, folks,’ a masculine voice spoke, breaking into the hush. ‘No one hurt? Nelson here is still learning the ropes.’
‘Drive a little slower until he does,’ Ren said. ‘Or you will hurt someone.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Then there seemed to be a return to normalcy. She heard the wheels move again with a clip-clop of hooves. A pram started to roll. The nannies chattered.
Ren released her. ‘Fool of a driver. You’re not hurt? You are certain?’
She shook her head. ‘I am fine,’ she repeated.
‘Thank God. Why did you step towards them?’ Ren asked.
‘I—I heard the noise—’ she stammered. ‘I didn’t know I was.’
She shivered. As a child, she’d dreamed that her world of blackness was filled with unseen dangers—the menace of the unknown. Later, she had tried to change these thoughts, imagining instead a world of wonder, of mint-green grass, of unimaginable delights. But sometimes...
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘It is not your fault. The drivers should not have been so foolhardy. I am just glad I caught you. I’m sorry, too. I should have looked after you better. Come, let us get you back into the house. We’ll ask Allie to bring you a sustaining cup of tea.’
‘Thank you.’
They climbed the six steps to the front door and entered the hall which smelled of lemon-scented floor wax. They crossed the floor. Beth stumbled at the bottom stair. She did not yet know dimensions of the hall.
‘Twenty-one steps up,’ Ren said as he took her to the second floor.
‘Thank you.’
She felt oddly distanced from everything and everyone, as though she was collecting data for one of Jamie’s experiments. Lemon floor wax, twenty-one steps to the second-storey landing, five steps to her bedchamber...
‘Sit down until Allie brings the tea,’ Ren said.
Beth complied. She sat on the armchair near the hearth within her bedchamber. She could still smell the lavender that Allie had spilled last night. The door opened and Beth heard the rattle of cups.
More data.
‘Good gracious, you’re white as a ghost. A good cup of tea will soon set you to rights. Probably the shock, most like. Now, my sainted mother would recommend sugar. Would you like sugar?’
‘No, thank you.’
Sugar—did sugar help? Could one design an experiment on the beneficial impact of sugar?
‘And Mr Robbins wanted me to find out if a doctor is required.’
‘No,’ B
eth said.
She did not even have a scratch. She wondered why everyone insisted on fussing.
‘You’re quite certain?’ Ren asked.
‘Absolutely.’
She sipped her tea, pulling a face. Apparently, Allie had decided to heed her sainted mother’s advice on the sugar.
‘Truly, I am quite all right. Indeed, Ren, you do not need to stay here. Please go into town. I will be fine.’
‘I don’t need to go today.’
‘But you do need to find out if your idea is even possible. I know you won’t be able to think things through properly until you know this.’
‘And you will be fine?’
‘Absolutely. Besides, I am certain that Allie will ensure that my every need is met and then some.’
‘Right,’ he said. ‘I will talk to my solicitor. I will leave you in your maid’s excellent care and we will talk later.’
* * *
Ren strode towards his solicitor’s office. The street was pleasantly busy. Ladies walked by, likely on their way to the dressmaker or to purchase a bonnet. Coffee from the coffee house on the corner scented the air and the weather had improved, the clouds punctured by weak rays of flickering sunshine.
Despite this, Ren felt apprehension. That moment in the street had happened so fast. Indeed, if he closed his eyes, he felt certain he would still see the carriage hurtling towards her. The image of horse and vehicle was imprinted on his mind. It clutched at his stomach and made his palms damp with sweat and his breathing quick.
Last night he had recognised that she was a vital aspect of his life.
Today he knew that she was more important than life itself.
And he knew also that they would make this marriage work. He loved Beth. They would stay married. Moreover, he would not give Graham Hill to the Duke. He would find another path to honour, both for Beth’s sake and for Sloan and his toes or his fits or whatever it was. Sloan, Stow and Brack—they were names and people he had known his whole life. Honest folk. They had given him apples. They had rescued him when he got stuck in the upper limbs of an oak tree and had taught him how to ride and fish.
Over the years, Ren had schooled his thoughts not to drift to Graham Hill. It hurt too much. He refused to pine over a past that was not his. Now, for the first time since that awful day, he allowed himself to remember childhood pleasures. There was the brook to the left of Graham Hill close to Mrs Cridge’s cottage. They used to wade in its chill waters which flooded every spring, but dried to the merest trickle by August. Then there was the blacksmith, a kind giant of a man, his bulging forearms glistening with sweat as he struck the glowing molten metal. Ren had loved the forge. He’d loved the movement of the bellows wielded in the man’s huge hams of hands, the way he would shaped the fiery metal, his forehead and torso streaked with dirt and perspiration. And the country smelled sweeter and seemed layered with colours; the different greens of vegetation, verdant and full of life.
The memories hurt, but it was not that crippling, searing, incapacitating pain. It was not that feeling of dislocation, that knowledge that everything he had known or loved or believed was a mirage.
Rather it was a duller ache, mixed with remembered pleasure.
‘Ren!’
He turned, looking into the street towards his mother’s rather ostentatious carriage and perfectly matched bays. She drew to a sudden stop in front of him.
The footman jumped from his post, swinging open the door.
‘You are getting out?’ Ren asked, after the usual salutations. He really did not desire his mother’s company, but could hardly be uncivil. Since his father’s death they had been polite, socialising when needs must. For Edmund’s sake he had never wanted to fuel the rumours which were already rife.
‘Yes, dear, I thought I would walk with you for a moment. Unless you would like to get in? We can drop you somewhere.’
‘I am going to my solicitor and am almost there,’ he said.
He waited as his mother descended from the carriage. As always, she was dressed in the height of fashion, bedecked with feathers and flowers so that he did not know if she aimed to imitate a bouquet or an aviary.
She placed her hand on his arm, straightening and angling her head in a way which she must have imagined flattering. That was the thing about his mother; one never felt that she was entirely focused on the conversation or activity. There always seemed a part of her evaluating whether she looked her best and how she might position herself to evoke the most admiration. There was a stiffness to her face, as though afraid to display emotion for fear of setting lines within her skin.
‘So, darling, you are going to your solicitor. Does that mean you are doing it? Giving the estate to the Duke?’
‘What?’ he asked sharply. ‘How did you know?’
‘Beth told me. She came to me before I returned to London. She hoped I would convince you out of it.’
‘And do you hope to dissuade me against the plan?’ he asked.
‘Not at all darling. I mean, if that is your wish.’
He raised a brow. She seemed quite quiescent and he wondered at it. ‘It is not my wish, but I thought it honourable.’
‘So that is what you are arranging now?’ she asked, raising a gloved hand in greeting to an acquaintance across the road.
‘No, actually.’
Her face puckered into confusion before smoothing it into her usual expression. ‘You have revised your plan?’
‘I do not wish to willingly give the Duke such power over the people and land I grew up with,’ he said.
He saw her brows contract momentarily, her expression perplexed before regaining control.
‘Well, that is wonderful,’ she said.
‘Yes, isn’t it?’
‘So you will keep it. I am glad. You will assume the duties of lord of the manor. And, please, let me know if you wish to entertain, I mean once we are out of mourning. Edmund never was a great entertainer, but your father and I entertained frequently. I would be happy to help. Beth, of course, cannot.’
‘My father and you?’ he said snidely. ‘Really, I did not know you and the painter entertained.’
She had the grace to blush.
‘I am sure I do not know what you mean,’ she said, dropping her gaze to study the beading on her reticule. ‘But I am happy you are keeping the estate.’
‘I’m not, actually,’ he drawled.
Her eyebrows drew together slightly and she appeared to be studying several young gentlemen as they strolled past with their high, foolishly stiff collars and Hessian boots. He waited, knowing her well enough that her apparent abstraction was an attempt to better assess this new information.
‘Darling,’ she said at length. ‘I am a little confused. Could you clarify?’
‘Beth and I have come up with an innovative plan where I could return the land to the tenants. I have decided to explore that option with my solicitor.’
His mother gasped, for once not even bothering to hide her reaction. Her jaw dropped as she gripped his forearm with sudden fervour. ‘You what...? That does not make sense.’
‘It does, actually. It will enable me to avoid giving the estate to a man I cannot respect while also living in a manner I find honourable.’
‘But...’ She leaned into him, lowering her voice as though concerned she would be overheard even within the busy bustle of the street. ‘I—We will be the laughing stock. And what will I live on?’
‘I will ensure your income continues.’
‘From trade!’ Her nose wrinkled. ‘And the talk it would cause. Good Lord, people will think we are revolutionaries. Or that you have taken leave of your senses. I don’t know which is worse.’
‘The former. So much more distasteful than mere insanity.’
Her frown deepened. ‘I do not think it a laughing matter.
’
‘Indeed, no, although I think the Tower is more salubrious than Bedlam.’
His saw her jaw tighten and knew she was curbing her temper with difficulty. She inhaled, her hand further tightening on his arm. ‘Darling, you must reconsider. I mean, your marriage was bad enough—marrying someone with neither title, money, nor social standing. And blind. But this cannot be endured.’
‘Really, Mother. Such a talent for melodrama. You should take to the stage.’
‘Please, be sensible. Our neighbours will be quite shocked and the Duke will be—’
‘I did not know I had to take the Duke’s feelings into consideration,’ he said.
Her cheeks turned a mottled red. ‘You might be wise to do so. Please, I will pray that you will abandon the plan.’
‘Gracious, I did not know you were of a religious bent. Desperate times, I suppose. Shall I walk you back to your coach?’
‘Jest if you must but, please, do not take any impulsive action. Think about it,’ she urged, again nodding distractedly to a friend.
‘I have been doing rather a lot of thinking recently,’ he said, as they approached her well-sprung vehicle with its gilt trim and emblazoned coat of arms. ‘I think perhaps now is the time for action.’
They had turned back and were at the coach. He saw her pause, a hand on her footman’s gloved hand as he aided her into the plush interior.
‘Please, reconsider. I—The ton does not like those who act as traitors.’
‘A threat, Mother?’
‘No. Whatever you think of me, please know I care for you.’
‘Then you will be happy that I have made a decision that feels right,’ he said. ‘And might even make me happy.’
As the carriage rattled away Ren started again towards his solicitor’s office. His mother’s objections did not concern him. He had expected them and he knew well enough that she could take care of herself. She had seemed almost eager for Ayrebourne to have the place. Likely she had concocted a plan to curry favour. How odious.
Indeed, if Ayrebourne were to be become his ‘stepfather’ it would mark a new low in his rather dubious history of paternal figures. But then again, she was likely too old to be eligible for his attention.
Her Convenient Husband's Return Page 14