Beth sat in the sudden solitude. She felt oddly removed and was conscious of a certain numbness. In many ways, she wished she could follow her mother-in-law’s advice and leave immediately, but it seemed cowardly and cruel. Besides, it would worry Ren and hurt him. One could not share intimacies like they had the previous night and then slope off like a thief in the night. No, she needed to talk to him, explain to him, convince him.
* * *
The discussion with his solicitor had taken longer than Ren had anticipated so it was afternoon by the time he returned. Still, despite this delay, his earlier ebullience still lingered. Indeed, he even wished Robbins a pleasant afternoon, although this gentleman seemed lugubrious, nodding his head as though holding the sentiment in serious doubt. Maybe it was his ankles or feet, or some other part of his anatomy, aching due to an upcoming weather system or meteorite. This made him remember the picnic and felt himself smile, recognising a lightness in spirit he had not experienced in a long time.
‘Her ladyship is waiting for you in the library.’
‘Jolly good,’ Ren said and then almost chuckled out loud.
Jolly good? Jolly good?
‘Ren,’ Beth said, the instant he entered the library. She sat in an upright chair close to the hearth. It was dim. The windows were small and narrow and the only other light was the flickering amber glow from the hearth.
He threw himself in the more comfortable seat opposite and pulled the bell for the lamps to be lit.
‘It is possible,’ he said. ‘Indeed, there is not a single legal obstacle to prevent me from disposing of my land as I see fit. It is not encumbered or entailed.’
‘You mean giving the estate to the tenants?’ Beth said, her hands still clasped together.
‘Of course. Naturally my solicitor disapproved of the notion and looked as though he was suffering a sudden bout of dyspepsia, but there is nothing to prevent me from doing so, at least not legally, although he hated saying this.’
He grinned, remembering that gentleman’s countenance. He had a dark moustache and he tended to purse his lips in disapproval, making the moustache twitch.
‘And this is what you want? You will be ostracised, you know? Your peers will not like it,’ Beth said, her expression surprisingly sombre and showing none of the elation he had hoped.
He leaned forward, taking her hands within his own. They were warm from the fire, but fragile. She seemed suddenly very slight and stiff within the tall, straight chair.
‘Yes,’ he said. Already, he could think of tenants who might be able to buy their farms outright. Others could perhaps rent with the intent to buy. ‘You came with the suggestion. You advocated the plan.’
‘I know.’ She stood, freeing her hand and moving abruptly, banging into the side table so that the water glass fell. The tumbler shattered on floor. She stooped, her fingers sweeping the floor with quick, useless gestures.
‘Don’t. You’ll hurt yourself.’ He caught her hands, holding them. ‘There’s glass. Allie will clean it.’
‘Beth?’
Tears shimmered in her sightless eyes. She again pulled her hands free and sat back on the chair, sitting awkwardly. ‘You will be without any dishes at all at this rate. This is the second thing today.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
He rang the bell and moments later Allie and another maid entered.
‘Light the lamps as well,’ he directed.
They did so and, while the maids cleaned, removing the glass and wiping up the water, Ren watched his wife.
Her usual calm had deserted her. There was a tension evident in the hunch of her shoulders, the angle of her neck and the way her hands clasped together. She had always hated it when her blindness caused mishap. She always hated any reminder that her disability made her less independent.
His gaze roamed the full shelves, their embossed titles glimmering gold in the lamplight. He had been busy today. He had planned a future, not only for the tenants, but for himself and Beth. He’d allowed his mind to fill with happy images: a proper marriage, children, a family.
He had somehow imagined they could spend time at Allington and here in London. He had decided that she would gain comfort and familiarity in this house. They’d go to the ballet or the opera. He’d read to her.
Yes, he’d designed all manner of pretty pictures.
At last the maids finished. They curtsied and left, the door closed behind them and he sat alone with his wife once more.
‘Can we talk?’ he asked.
‘It seems we have that capability. Inhalation, movement of mouths.’
She always did that, joked when feeling vulnerable.
‘As I said, I will not give the land to the Duke so you need not worry that he will gain influence within the neighbourhood. And I don’t care if every stuffy peer in the House of Lords has a screaming fit.’
‘That would be noisy.’ She gave a wan smile, then paused. He saw her fingers pluck at a loose thread. ‘I am thankful you will not give it to the Duke. Truly thankful, but before you give it to the tenants...um...please, look at all your—your choices in case there is something else, you know, another choice—’
‘What do you mean? You were all in favour of giving the land to the farmers before. Have you thought of something?’
‘I—’ She seemed about to say something, but then shook her head. ‘Ren, I need to tell you something. I will be leaving. This afternoon. Allie is already packing.’
‘You are?’
A log crackled. The clock ticked.
‘Yes.’
‘You still want to end this marriage?’ he asked.
She nodded.
It hurt again, slicing through him, the way it had hurt after Edmund’s service when she had first suggested an annulment.
‘I am not certain if an annulment is possible any more,’ he said gently.
He saw her lips quirk slightly and felt a moment’s reprieve in that shared humour which had always been at the foundation of their relationship.
For a moment that picture of home, purpose, belonging and love came back into focus.
Her face straightened, her expression serious, sad almost. ‘An annulment is possible,’ she said. ‘I was not of age, nor Jamie, so there wasn’t appropriate consent at the time of our marriage.’
As she spoke, her voice oddly flat and without expression, his vision of home and family shattered, just as the glass had shattered. She had thought about it. She must have researched this while still in Allington. She must have summoned the country solicitor, Mr Tyrell. He would have listened to her plight. He would have returned to his office and pulled out huge dusty tomes of law books. This was no momentary, nervous wobble. Her desire for an annulment had been well considered. Last night was the aberration.
He should not be surprised. Beth had never wanted marriage. Independence had always been her primary ambition.
The silence lengthened. He tried to find his voice. His mouth was dry. He stood and poured himself a brandy, swallowing it in a single gulp.
‘You have thought this through in great detail,’ he said at last. ‘It appears you are serious about this intent.’
‘Yes,’ she said.
He poured himself a second drink.
‘I feel,’ she said, still in that oddly flat voice, ‘that it is best for all concerned if our marriage is concluded.’
Chapter Fifteen
Concluded...finished...completed...done...over...
The words thumped through her mind just as Allie thumped through the room, her disapproval evident. Beth sat quite still, listlessly aware of Allie’s movement.
Those vague, unformed, unacknowledged hopes lay in ruins about her. They could not be.
That night with Ren had been wonderful, momentous. She would hold it dear to her heart. She would cherish i
t for ever.
But she would now do the right thing. She would leave today and go to this cottage as Ren’s mother had suggested. Then she would return to Allington. The marriage would be dissolved. She would return to what had always been her life. She would help the tenants. She would support Jamie in his scientific pursuits. She would live for Sundays and Miss Plimco on the organ. She would be thankful that the Duke would not control Graham Hill and, in time, Ren would marry this Annabelle and she would be a good neighbour.
Except, she realised dully, that her contentment had been shattered.
She now wanted things she could not have. She had seen what life could offer. She had glimpsed the joys of partnership: shared goals, shared jokes, shared pleasure—
Allie banged something heavy on to the floor.
‘I did not realise we were taking the bricks from our beds and choosing to drop them all into our cases,’ Beth said irritably. ‘I cannot believe it is possible to make quite so much noise while packing clothes.’
‘And I did not realise that we are suddenly seeing her ladyship as an ally. Going off like this, if you ask me, it’s a right rum do.’
‘I didn’t,’ Beth said. ‘Anyhow, I believe her ladyship wants what is best for her son and I want that, too.’
‘Her ladyship wants and has always wanted what’s best for her ladyship as far as I can tell.’
‘Yes, well in this instance, I think she is right and that my immediate withdrawal is indeed best for his lordship.’
Allie thumped something else on the floor. ‘And I’m thinking his lordship was looking quite happy this morning. Maybe you’re what’s best for him, if you don’t mind my saying so.’
‘Would it matter if I did?’ Beth said. ‘And, please, is it possible to pack with a little less noise?’
‘I reckon it’s possible, but not likely. A person needs to relieve their feelings.’
‘And it appears you are determined to do so by throwing coal or bricks about our accommodation.’
‘I am determined to make you see sense.’
‘I cannot be the wife he needs. I cannot be independent. I cannot be fashionable. I—I cannot give him children,’ Beth said. ‘Those are unarguable facts.’
The bottles clinked as Allie moved them. ‘None of them is in the least unarguable. Indeed, I am very able to argue on all counts and that you may tie to. Particularly this nonsense about children. I know I’m a maid and not to know these things, but the only thing what doesn’t work is your eyes and I don’t know as if they have much to do with making babies.’
‘I couldn’t look after a child.’
‘And those fancy ladies do? You’d have servants. Me, for a start.’
Beth stood, walking to the window. She hadn’t spoken to anyone about this, not even Jamie. Slowly, she rubbed her finger tip on the cool glass pane and spoke so low that she heard Allie step closer. ‘There was an aunt in my family who was blind and also a great-aunt who could see very little.’
‘Yes, I remember your mother mentioning that. But both are long gone.’
‘But I worry—’ The pad of her finger squeaked against the glass. ‘You know how Master Jamie always goes and gets prize bulls and horses to make certain that the foals and calves are strong? I—What if faults or weaknesses can be passed from a parent to a child? If a strong bull creates a strong calf, could not a blind woman create a blind child?’
‘Gracious, my lady, you have been spending too long with Master Jamie, is all I can say. I knew you worried that you could not properly look after a child—but this is not sensible. Indeed, Master Jamie, for all his good points, is not entirely sensible and well you know it.’
‘Not sensible perhaps, but intelligent. And our livestock is some of the best in England.’
‘That’s as may be. I don’t know much about cows. Personally, I’ve always favoured sense over intellect. Life doesn’t come with guarantees whether you’re blind or sighted. Babies are born healthy and take ill. They are born ill and recover. You takes your chances. We all do. I call thinking any different than that borrowing trouble.’
‘And I call it being realistic.’
* * *
Ren blinked blearily. He handed his hat and coat to Robbins. It was only midnight. He had meant to stay out at his club but even the cards had not been able to hold his attention. In fact, he feared he would lose a considerable sum if he continued to play so distractedly.
‘Did you wish a fire lit in the library or study, my lord?’ Robbins asked.
‘Neither. I’ll go to bed.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘And send up a bottle of brandy.’
‘Yes, my lord. Your mother called around this evening, my lord, following your departure.’
Ren frowned. He had been seeing entirely too much of his mother of late. ‘What did she want?’
‘I could not say, my lord. She said that she would call in early tomorrow.’
‘Good lord, make that two bottles. One will not be sufficient.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘I am joking, Robbins.’
‘Yes, my lord. I knew that.’
Ren walked up the stairs. The house felt very quiet. Ludicrous, he knew. Beth hardly made any noise and he had at least a score of servants.
Still, it felt silent with a hushed emptiness. He pushed open her bedchamber, staring inwards, like a child might pick at a wound. There was no fire in the grate. The nightstand had been cleared of any bottles. The hearth was fresh laid and the bed made.
It seemed as though every hint of her presence had been scoured clean, leaving no trace of her, as though she had never been. He had known she was leaving. She had said that clearly enough and yet, when faced with the stark reality of her absence, he felt hollow, the vacuum almost worse than pain.
From the hall landing, he heard Robbins’s tread and he turned away going to his own room where Robbins had placed the cut-crystal decanter and glass.
‘Thank you.’ He took a sip from his glass. The fiery liquid burned.
After dismissing Robbins, he sat in the comfortable chair, staring into the flickering flames. He frowned, trying to discern his emotions. It was an unusual occupation as he generally tried to escape his emotions, not discern them. Indeed, by rights he should drain the decanter and order another.
But he wouldn’t.
He felt that under the pain and hollow ache, Beth’s visit had changed him. She might have left no lasting impression on his house, but she had on his heart. For the first time since he had been sent from Graham Hill, he felt he had a role to play.
Beth could not give him love, but she had helped him to climb from the morass of drink and gambling.
She had given him his self-respect and purpose.
He did not want to lose it again.
* * *
Lady Graham entered the next morning. Her hair was arranged in a mass of ringlets, somewhat youthful for her age, her gown was of the latest style and her hat bore some sort of fruit.
‘Darling, you’re back,’ she said, seating herself close to the fire and looking about the study with an appraising glance.
‘Your powers of observations astound. We are expecting a famine?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Your hat.’
‘Don’t be foolish,’ she said, making a slight ‘tsk.’ ‘I have determined the perfect solution.’
‘To feed London’s needy?’
‘No.’ She permitted her forehead to crinkle in irritation. ‘To your dilemma.’
‘I didn’t know I had one,’ he said.
‘Yes, regarding the estate.’ She spoke in low and confidential tones, somewhat ludicrous given that they were in his study.
He straightened. ‘As I said yesterday, I have made a decision on that.’
‘I kno
w, darling, but may I be honest with you?’ She leaned forward so that a bunch of grapes bobbed in a rather mesmerising fashion.
‘That would be a novel experience.’
‘I know you believe you have no right to the land because Lord Graham may not be your father. We have never really spoken openly about this and I am not proud of that episode in my life. However, I think I have come up with another suggestion which will solve any concerns you might have in keeping the estate.’
‘Another suggestion?’
‘Yes, I am hoping it will encourage you to...to reconsider this idea about giving the land to the tenants. You see, the Duke has a second cousin. A female.’
‘The Duke?’
‘Of Ayrebourne.’
‘I am delighted for him. Perhaps she will encourage him to stop starving the tenants. Or we could always send your hat as emergency rations.’
‘Really, I do wish you would be serious.’
‘I am. I find starving a very serious matter,’ he said.
‘I am sure that is all greatly exaggerated. Both Beth and her brother have very modern ideas.’
‘That people should not starve amidst plenty is indeed revolutionary. But pray enlighten me about your solution to the situation, if it does not involve your hat.’
‘You can marry his cousin. Her name is Annabelle and she is also related Lord Graham and while the kinship might not be as close as the Duke’s it would ensure that any children you have would be of the right lineage to inherit the estate. This would free you from your peculiar suggestion to give away the land. Indeed, you could keep the estate with a clean conscience.’ She finished in firm tones and with a self-satisfied smile, unpleasantly reminiscent of a cat licking cream.
‘You have obviously given this a great deal of thought. There is a problem. I have a wife.’
‘But that’s it. You can have the marriage annulled.’
‘Indeed?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘And what exactly do you know about annulment?’
‘That it is entirely possible in your case. You see, neither Beth nor Jamie were of age so there was no proper consent.’
‘How fascinating. Oddly, those were the exact words that Beth said to me. Is it possible that you spoke to her yesterday during my absence?’
Her Convenient Husband's Return Page 16