His Wayward Bride (Romance of the Turf Book 3)

by Theresa Romain

“I have to leave,” she said.

  “Then I guess you’d better leave.” He didn’t look up. Didn’t even look at her. “Find your cocoon where you can. I’ve got a horse’s life to save, if I’m able.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Jonah couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept. He slogged in from the mews, grimy and weary and heartsore. Foggy in his head. Tired in his limbs.

  He’d have a bath and a sleep, maybe, then…who knew what would come next? He wasn’t going to stay in this house much longer, that was for certain. Not with Irene’s gloating father and the mother and brother who resembled her so strongly. Maybe he’d pack up and stay in a hotel tonight. He could leave for Newmarket tomorrow morning. Or should he pursue the annulment while he was here?

  Irene. Illegitimate.

  He didn’t care about that, but she cared. And that was the root of so many problems between them. She cared about things she couldn’t control, and she tried to control them. And God bless her, sometimes she even succeeded. A lot of the time, actually, and the world was better for it.

  He loved that about her. Yet it kept them from being together, because what was one man against the world? Hardly anything. And he wouldn’t take the world from her even if he could.

  At the head of the stairs, Sir William stared down at him.

  “No,” said Jonah. “Just…no. Whatever you’re going to say. No. Not right now.”

  Sir William rolled his chair back a foot. “No? What’s ‘no’ about right now?”

  “No,” Jonah said again. “Leave me be. I haven’t slept, and I’m filthy.”

  “Ah. Irene isn’t here, and you’re feeling grumbly.”

  “She was here,” Jonah admitted. “And now she’s not. And she won’t ever be here again. That’s why I’m grumbly.”

  “I see.” Sir William considered. “It’s probably no use to tell you that a wife’s place is with her husband, and Irene should go where you do.”

  Jonah sank onto the floor beside his father’s chair, resting his feet on the stairs. “Really? Is that what my mother did?”

  He expected a flippant or sarcastic reply, because of course that wasn’t what his mother had done. Sir William had traveled so much, building his fortune and reputation as a horse breeder, that Mariah Chandler had needed to stay home to keep the household together. Until she’d become ill—and she’d been ill for a long time before her death—she was the only parent Jonah and his siblings had.

  “We weren’t always together, no,” Sir William answered seriously. “But she was on my mind when we were apart. She had a way of making me want to be where she wanted to be.”

  “Irene has a way of making me want to be where she is,” Jonah replied. “I’m not sure if that’s the same thing. I don’t know if she wants to be where she is.”

  “Whether it’s the same thing or not, what’s the problem?”

  If Jonah had been slightly less tired, or slightly less wounded, he might have said nothing at all. But he was weary and hurting, and his father…asked. Sir William Chandler had actually asked about his welfare.

  So he told his father about the match race. Bridget Brown’s precarious condition, and the way Jonah had packed and wrapped the split hoof again. And then the fight—was it even a fight?—with Irene that led to her leaving.

  “It wasn’t really a fight,” he decided. “We were both so calm. That might have made it worse, how calm we were. We calmly discussed how we couldn’t manage a life together, and then she left. The end.”

  “To hell with her, then,” Sir William said evenly.

  “Let us refrain from damning her, please. I love her. I’ve loved her since the first time we spoke.”

  The baronet drummed his fingertips on the rims of his wheelchair. “All right. No damning. I can help you, though, while I’m here. I can help you get an annulment. You’ve plenty of grounds. Fraud or desertion. Insanity, if it comes to that.”

  “I know. She said the same thing.” Jonah snorted. “But then she left the matter in my hands.”

  “And what do you want?”

  “The same thing I’ve always wanted.”

  “Irene,” guessed Sir William.

  “Right in one. I want to do what’s best for her, even if it’s not what I want. Even if it means we aren’t together.”

  “And did you tell her that? Did you overwhelm her with passionate declarations? Did you make it clear you couldn’t do without her?”

  “In my way,” Jonah said dryly. “But I didn’t want to trick her into choosing me. I want her to want to stay.”

  Sir William groaned. “You’re hopeless. Come on. Let’s get you a bath. You’re filthy.”

  Jonah creaked to his feet and followed his father to the bathing chamber. “Will not being filthy make my wife come back?”

  “The bath is for everyone else’s sake, not yours. Don’t worry, I’ll leave you alone to it. But you have to hear my fatherly advice first, such as it is.” Wheeling to the copper tub, Sir William operated the piped-water taps with practiced ease. “Now, you said you tried in your way to communicate your love and devotion, or whatever it is you feel.”

  “Er…both of those things.” The water pouring into the copper tub was steaming. It looked like heaven. Jonah swayed on his feet. “Yes. Whatever it was.”

  “Your way is solid and true. But it’s a trainer’s way, and she’s already been trained by a racehorse—that father of hers is all flash and false victory. She’s expecting false victory, and you don’t even give her the flashiness to convince her.”

  Jonah leaned against the wall. “Father. Stop. If she doesn’t choose to stay of her own accord, I can’t trust the decision.”

  “Yes, but a decision isn’t made out of nothing.” Sir William tested the water, then turned it off. “It’s made out of every bit of evidence a person can scrape together. How do you decide when a horse is ready to take a rider?”

  Analogies. Ugh. God. “You know how.”

  “Say it.”

  “Help me get my boots off, then.”

  Sir William rolled his eyes, then beckoned. Jonah stuck out a foot at the height of his father’s hand, bracing himself against the wall as the baronet yanked.

  “It’s a combination of things. The horse’s growth and temperament—oof— and the progression with taking a saddle on the back and a bit in the mouth.” He hopped, adjusting his balance. “Increasing amounts of weight, leaning on the saddle. Training with verbal commands. Ouch!” The boot came free at last, tumbling to the floor.

  “Right.” Sir William pointed a blunt forefinger at him. “You’d never leave a horse alone and tell it, ‘Let me know when you’re ready to take a rider. I won’t pressure you, so therefore I’ll know you’re really ready when you agree.’”

  “That’s a ridiculous comparison. People are not horses.” Jonah swung up his other foot, accidentally on purpose almost kicking his father’s pointing finger.

  The baronet caught him about the ankle. “Of course they aren’t. But the thing you like best about horses is also the thing you like best about people, isn’t it? They respond to how they’re treated.”

  He yanked at this boot, tugging it free with a grunt. “I’ve worked you too hard, Jonah. But it was only because I knew I could trust you to do everything right.”

  Jonah took the second boot from him, then lined it up beside the first one. “I had to be steady. Nathaniel was wild, and Hannah was little more than a baby, and Biggie was flirting with an eye to wedding and leaving. There was no one left but me.”

  “You were more than the default choice,” Sir William said. “You’re my eldest, and I’ve always wanted you to have every chance in the world. That’s why I sent you away to school. I thought you’d benefit from the connections. Boost the family reputation, marry well.”

  Jonah stared into the depths of the copper tub. His reflection wavered and broke. “I did marry well.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Weren’t
you apologizing? You should get back to that.”

  “I’ve said what I had to. Your life’s become a good one, though it had nothing to do with school or the demands I placed on you.”

  “Who’s to say what made my life what it is? School, death, leaving, horses, marriage. It’s all part of it. I can’t take one piece out without everything changing.” The ripples in the water settled. His face formed again on the surface. “If my life isn’t always what I want, that’s not your fault.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry about Coneflower. I won’t lose another horse.”

  Sir William patted at his coat pockets. “Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. It’s not in your control. I was angry. I shouldn’t have doubted that you did everything you could. Everything right.”

  From an inside pocket of his coat, the baronet drew forth a small velvet bag. “You’ve always worn your heart in your eyes, Jonah. Ever since you were a little boy and first saw a foal born, then struggle to its feet. You’re not talkative—”

  “Impossible to imagine how I managed that in this family.”

  “—but you feel deeply. You care a great damned lot.” He drew forth Jonah’s hand and pressed the bag into it. “That’s why you do so well at the stud farm. I wouldn’t trust the future of the turf to anyone but you. No one could care more about health. Quality. Goodness.”

  Closing his fist around the bag, Jonah drew back. “I thought it was because I was useful to you. I was out of the way there, since I couldn’t do any good like Nathaniel, racketing around the country for you and winning people over.”

  Sir William sighed. “I was too hard on Nathaniel too. I sent him away so much because we didn’t care to be around each other. But I learned my lesson. People aren’t always what we think them. People aren’t always who they used to be.”

  “I am, though,” said Jonah. “I feel I’ve always been the same.” He’d always wanted the same thing, certainly. How had Irene put it? Someone to belong to, to trust. A home.

  “If that’s so, then you’ll like what’s in the bag.” His father almost smiled, as much as he ever approached a smile—a slight press of the lips, a bit of a squint. “I was a bad husband and a slightly less bad father. Based on my failures, I can offer you only one piece of advice: Don’t give up on her.”

  Jonah waited until Sir William had wheeled his chair from the room before loosening the drawstring and shaking free the bag’s light contents.

  A band of worked gold, with an intertwined J and I at its inside.

  Irene’s wedding ring. Somehow, Sir William had tracked down the pawnbroker and bought it back. He looked at the empty doorway, surprised. “Thank you?” he called after his father.

  It probably shouldn’t have been a question, but he didn’t know what to think. How to feel.

  This was a piece of Irene, but it was a piece she’d willingly left behind. Sold, for the sake of others—and if that wasn’t their relationship in a symbol, what was? Even if he didn’t give up on Irene, she had given up on them as a pair.

  He couldn’t take her out of his life without everything changing. But maybe it was past time for a change. He’d always been the dependable one, the quiet one. The Chandler who didn’t need anyone, anything, but to work with horses.

  He knew now that that wasn’t true. But what was there to stay for in London?

  Jaw set, he tucked the ring back into the bag and shook it down. Tied it off. Set it aside.

  Stripping off his clothes, he plunged into the water.

  ***

  “I brought you all sorts of things,” Laurie was saying to Irene. She was staring out the window, hoping the essays on her desk would grade themselves, when her brother had knocked at the door of her chamber as he had so many times before. Laurie was practically a student at Mrs. Brodie’s Academy, so free was he allowed to make with the library.

  She rubbed at her temples, then turned from the writing desk. “Sorry. What? What did you bring?”

  “Miss Carpenter’s library book.” He held it up, then set it on Rebecca’s bed. “And some papers from Mama. Oh! And Mouse is back. Did you know?”

  “I didn’t know.” What day was it? Saturday? Sunday? It was Sunday, in the afternoon. Only a day since she’d left Jonah and Bridget’s Brown in the mews, each trying to save the other. He needed horses. He needed that life in Newmarket. She’d done right to leave.

  It didn’t feel right. But it was.

  Struggling to focus on the conversation, she managed, “Tell me about Mouse. What happened? Did she run away again?”

  “No, her owner brought her over this morning. Which means she’s ours now, doesn’t it?”

  “She’s Sir William’s. Or Jonah’s.” Maybe Laurie’s. Not Irene’s. “Why did the man bring her back?”

  Laurie shrugged. “He said she wasn’t happy. She didn’t eat, and she didn’t sleep, and she only looked out the window.”

  Irene blinked. That was basically how she’d spent the last day. “So…he brought her back? Did Sir William pay him?”

  “No, he said he had four other deerhounds from the same litter, and he didn’t need her.”

  “Ah.” Not such a fine parallel, then.

  “And he thought she was lost after she ran away, which was why he was looking for her, but he realized that when she found us, she wasn’t lost anymore.” Idly, Laurie straightened the picture over Irene’s bed. “Or something like that.”

  “You remember it well,” Irene said faintly.

  “I remember lots of things.” He paced the room, fidgeting. Sitting, standing again, opening the library book, setting it down. Something was clearly on his mind, and he wasn’t speaking it.

  “Laurie,” Irene finally said, less kindly than she probably should have. “What. Is. Wrong?”

  “Father paid my tuition,” he blurted. “He got the money yesterday, so now I’m going to Harton. Did you know?”

  “I did know that he got the money yesterday. He ran Jonah’s horse in a race before he was healed, and now he might have to be put down.” Oh, she was angry about that. She was still so angry.

  From his seat on Irene’s bed, Laurie scuffed his feet on the floor and nodded.

  “But that’s not why you told me,” she realized. “Sorry. Is that…all you know? Is there any other news?”

  She prodded cautiously, wondering if Victor had said anything to Susanna or Laurie about the bigamous marriage. Would Laurie still get a spot at Harton if he was known to be illegitimate? The secret was a loaded gun, and she didn’t know where to put it so it wouldn’t discharge. There was no telling how many people it would hurt, or how badly.

  “Only that he says he’s going to leave London,” Laurie burst out. “Because you don’t trust him! You never really give him a chance.”

  “And so his reaction is to leave, so I can’t give him a chance?” God, she needed a headache powder. “Laurie, I’ve given him many chances. He doesn’t keep his promises.”

  “He paid for my school!”

  “With a horse that wasn’t his, who might not survive his injuries.”

  Skreeeee. The leather sole of his shoe squeaked against the wooden floor. He was unmistakably digging in his heels. “Just because you don’t trust him doesn’t mean I’m wrong to trust him.”

  Irene pushed back her chair, settled beside her young brother. “You’re right.”

  His head snapped up. “I am?”

  “Of course you are. You’re a different person from me. He treats you differently from me. And…my experiences have been different over the years.” Maybe if Laurie had to dig the family out of a financial hole time and again, he’d stop idolizing Victor Baird.

  Or maybe he wouldn’t. It wasn’t for Irene to decide. She’d spoken her piece.

  “If you want to pass the time with Father, that’s your right. If you want to spend the time with me here instead, you’ll always be welcome.”

  He looked undecided. Troubled. Doubting. “But aren’t you leaving the academy to go to Newmark
et?”

  “I don’t think so.” She hesitated, wondering if she ought to say something more. But what else was there to say?

  Idly, she turned over the packet Laurie had placed beside himself on the bed. “From Mama, hm? What are these papers she wanted me to have?” More of Susanna’s collection? More rubbish she couldn’t fit into her own life?

  “She said they were important, and you should read them, but I shouldn’t read them. And I didn’t.” He bounced to his feet. “Can—may I visit the library before I leave?”

  “Go on, then.” Irene picked up the packet, curious. As Laurie let himself out of the room, she unfastened the paper that was sealed around the papers within. Letters spilled out—old letters, folded letters, creased and worn and soft with age and rereading. A half dozen or more in a handwriting Irene didn’t recognize.

  On the inside of the covering sheet, Susanna had written a brief message in her neat, flowing script.

  Now that Laurie’s tuition is paid, I can entrust these to you, my dear Irene. These are your inheritance, written by your true father. I knew him long before I met Victor Baird—but Victor wed me when I was in a moment of desperate need.

  You might have such a moment someday. If you do, these letters might save you.

  Your loving mother

  What the devil? Her true father? A marriage in a moment of desperate need?

  A marriage that she, Irene, knew was false. A sacrifice that had counted for nothing.

  She had to read the brief note several times before she understood it, and even then, the curls and loops of script broke apart into nonsense before her watery eyes.

  Another damned secret. Trouble and heartbreak in a packet. Didn’t that seem about right?

  But what else did she have to do at the moment except learn the truth?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  In the middle of the afternoon, Sir William awaited Anne before the confectioner’s shop in Gloucester Street. It was a comfortable street, busy and unpretentious. Buildings of dun-colored brick or creamy stone stretched three or even four stories above the ground floor that held shops of all sorts.