Surrender To Ruin (Sinclair Sisters Book 3)

by Carolyn Jewel

  “But, Bracebridge, is she safe from you?”

  Her hard question sent his heart pounding. He did not want to quarrel with Anne. “I hope you do not intend to insult me.”

  “No, never.” Anne softened, and he was relieved. “You know what I mean.”

  “Have no fear on her account. I intend to see that she is.” His next words were as astonishing to him as they were true. “I promised her that much and more when I married her. I mean to see this through.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Emily headed down the stairs as quickly as she could, Frieda with her. With her sister in the house, she needed to be as far away as possible. She wanted fresh air, the sky overhead, and her legs moving so fast she could hardly catch her breath. Then, perhaps, she might wrest her thoughts away from Bracebridge falling even more hopelessly in love with her sister.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Frieda danced toward the door with Emily hurrying after. Escape was a mere ten feet away. Then the front door opened.

  Cynssyr entered, hat in his hand, greatcoat buttoned. Frieda was ecstatic at the opportunity to meet a new friend and began her wriggling, enthusiastic greeting. Emily plastered on a smile while the duke hunkered down to greet the dog. He kept his face out of range of overeager kisses. Her brother-in-law was as impossibly handsome as always. “Who is this?” he asked.

  “Frieda. She is my dog.” She paused in the hope the lump in her throat would go away. Her hopes were dashed.

  “Good day, Frieda.” He glanced at her, his green eyes piercing and far too kind. She did not want his pity. “If I’m not mistaken, she is a relation of Roger’s. Sit.” She could not disagree. Roger was her sister Lucy’s dog, a mongrel like Frieda, but with obvious wolfhound heritage. The duke pressed a hand to Frieda’s haunches. At least the dog dipped her bottom toward the floor. Unfortunately, she then immediately pressed herself against his legs.

  “She’s young yet.” There. Emily had managed to speak without bursting into tears. She and Cynssyr almost never spoke when only the two of them were about. She didn’t care about him as a former suitor. She did care whether he made Anne happy. So far, the answer was yes.

  “Emily,” he said when Frieda settled down. She resigned herself to a lecture from him. “Are you well?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” When all was said and done, he was Anne’s husband, and his rank meant everything he said and did carried more weight. One did not contradict a duke.

  “None of that,” he said with a quick frown. “Not at a time like this.” He held out a hand, but she avoided the contact by holding Frieda’s leash with both hands.

  “It would be more efficient if you and Anne spoke to me at the same time,” she said. “Then I’ve only one lecture to endure.”

  His eyes softened, and she very much distrusted that. “Your sister and I have agreed to disagree on the subject of lectures.”

  “Very well. Two lectures then.” She smiled as if she thought that a lovely prospect. “Please commence. I’d like to get this over with.”

  “I am the last person to lecture anyone in such a case as this.” He fingered the brim of his beaver hat. “No lecture from me.” He was not judging her; at least there was that. Kindness and warmth might be worse, though, for the lump in her throat returned.

  She didn’t know which was worse, Cynssyr pretending to celebrate her marriage or him only leading up to a discussion of all that might go wrong. “Anne may have other ideas,” he said. “However, I am here to ask you how I may be of assistance.”

  Tears welled up again, unwanted and resented. She longed for him to mean those words but feared they were mere platitudes to soothe a situation that was wrecked beyond repair. Her husband did not love her, because he was in love with Anne. Everyone knew that. Only now did she realize how badly she wanted someone, anyone, to believe she hadn’t made a complete hash of her life and, by implication, of Bracebridge’s, too.

  To have anyone, even Cynssyr, extend the slightest kindness to her personally, as if she mattered, broke her resolve that none of this would touch her. To her dismay, when she opened her mouth to thank him, she burst into tears.

  The duke’s eyes widened, but then he made everything worse, for he extended both arms, and she, still crying, walked into them. He held her close and rested his chin on the top of her head. “There, there, my dear. Cry until you needn’t,” he said. He gave over his handkerchief, and she took it.

  “What about your shirt?” she said through sobs.

  “I’ve dozens of clean shirts. Tell me everything. Is he unkind to you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Yet here you are in tears.”

  Frieda pushed her nose between them and licked Emily’s hand when she reached to pet her. “I don’t mean to upset anyone,” she said between sniffles. “It’s been . . . difficult recently.” Too late, she realized Cynssyr would misinterpret that. “Not because of anything he’s said or done. It’s everything else. Papa, and, and . . .”

  “I understand.”

  She looked at him through tear-filled eyes and saw that he did understand. An unexpected, scandalous marriage had also thrown his life into disarray. The reasons may have been different, but the immediate result had been shock and gossip. “Did you feel this awful when it was you and Anne?”

  The duke hugged her once. “Shall we walk with this fine young dog of yours?”

  “Yes.” She sniffled again and covered her nose with the handkerchief until she was confident her tears were safely at bay. “I should like a breath of fresh air.”

  “I as well.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, and they walked outside. They headed around the side of the house toward the iron gate that opened onto a groomed path that led toward one of the many groves of trees on the property. The stable block was behind them and to their right. “Shall I drive you and Frieda to Hinderhead?” he asked. “Let’s have tea and visit the confectioner’s, if that is agreeable. We might visit the butcher, too.”

  She blew her nose as discreetly as possible. “I’ve had enough of driving, if you don’t mind.”

  “Ah, yes, of course. Scotland. Then we shall stroll about this beautiful property of your husband’s.” They walked in silence for several minutes, not heading any particular direction, until he pointed at a thick stand of pines. “There’s a spectacular view through there. Shall we?”

  Frieda went ahead until the leash stretched to its fullest, forcing Emily to either pull back or walk faster. She darted forward and caught up long enough to release the tension on the leash. Cynssyr easily kept up. “She’s trying very hard to be a good dog.”

  “I can see that she is.”

  Silence fell between them again, but ten feet from the trees, she summoned the nerve to ask, “Why are you being so kind?” Cynssyr stopped walking and took the leash from her. “Be careful, Your Grace. She does not know the property.”

  “Understood. I’ll not let go of the leash, on my honor.” They resumed their stroll. Once they reached the shade of the pines, her brother-in-law said, “It’s no small matter when a young lady of good family elopes. Surely you understand this.”

  Her stomach somersaulted, then tied itself into a knot. “Others might dispute that the Sinclairs are good family.”

  “None of that, Emily,” he said. “Even if you were not my sister-in-law, there is no dispute on that subject. I shan’t tolerate such talk from you or anyone else.” He swung around to face her and shake his finger in her face. “Your sister is my duchess. You Sinclairs are of the best stock, so not another word of deprecation from you, my lady.”

  For a long moment, she wondered at his ironic use of my lady, and then she realized he’d used the honorific with full respect. She summoned the smile she used to assure everyone all was right with her. They continued through the trees. “Yes, Your Grace. My apologies.”

  He set a hand to her shoulder, and they stopped just short of the clearing at the edge of the trees. Frieda sat at C
ynssyr’s feet. “I meant what I said earlier. What may I do for you?”

  She sighed. “Buy me a castle in the sky?” Tell me how to make Bracebridge love me the way you love Anne.

  “Something more practical, perhaps.” He removed his hand from her shoulder and stooped to pet Frieda. “I don’t mean to shock you,” he said as he did this, “but have you considered the possibility of divorce or annulment?”

  “No!”

  “Perhaps you should.” He straightened. Heavens, he was serious.

  “Is such a thing even possible?”

  “Given sufficient resources and connections, time, and a willingness to accept the consequences, most anything is.”

  “Husbands divorce their wives, Your Grace.” A return to her old life was impossible. She knew that. But was there hope for a future in which she and Bracebridge were not trapped in what she now realized was a certain disaster of a marriage? “Where would I go?” she asked. “How would I live? Papa would never have me back.”

  “Nor should you return to your father. That is out of the question. Now, it’s true either option, divorce or annulment, would displease anyone who loves you.” Cynssyr leaned against the trunk of a massive pine. “But if your situation is intolerable, as I suspect it is, I cannot allow you to continue in it. Not if there is something I can do.”

  “But, Your Grace,” she said on a breath that trembled along with her heart.

  “Marriage is not a state to set aside lightly.” He plucked a twig from overhead and slowly stripped off the needles, heedless of the damage to his gloves.

  “You did not divorce Anne.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  He looked skyward for a moment. “The circumstances of my marriage to your sister were materially different than yours. I was at fault for what happened, and I had political and social ambitions I wished not to be ended. So.” He held her gaze. “For me, there was no question of ending the marriage. None.” With a self-deprecating smile, he said, “There may well have been times when Anne felt otherwise.”

  “I’m sure not.”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “To the best of my knowledge, Bracebridge has no political ambitions. His interests lie elsewhere.”

  “But the scandal,” she said, barely above a whisper. “The scandal is not to be borne. Anne would never forgive you, and she would know your role in the matter. You know she’d guess.”

  “Do not think me incapable of taking a position with which others, including my wife, would disagree. You are family and, therefore, my responsibility. Your future happiness and security matter to me. I have no wish to see you miserable or in harm’s way. The question to be settled is what you wish to do.”

  “You think Bracebridge and I are doomed to be unhappy.”

  “I did not say that.”

  She wilted inside because it was true. Cynssyr’s solemn mood solidified for her the depths of her mistake in following her heart instead of her head. “Everyone says we do not suit each other, and if you, of all people, think that, then there is no hope. None.” Her intentions of finding a way for them to get on dissolved. “Even you believe there is no hope.”

  “Nor did I say that.”

  “You are one of Bracebridge’s closest friends. You know when he’s done something he ought not to have.” She loved Bracebridge to the point where she’d glossed over all the obstacles facing them and hadn’t thought what it meant for him to be married to her. Whatever joy he took from his revenge on her father would not last. “You feel it. Suppose I said yes?” she said, tearful again. “What then?”

  He tossed aside the twig and pressed her hand. “Bracebridge is not alone in his ability to remain informed,” he said dryly. “You have not married in the Church of England, is that correct?”

  She nodded. “He has a certificate, and the priest filled out his log.”

  “There’s no question the marriage is legal, but if there is to be a solution, we may well find it in the fact that your marriage is not Church of England. It’s a pity this happened after you reached your majority. But here we are.”

  She looked around. “Here, where I should never have been.”

  “Parliament, the courts, and the church alike may well compel you to remain in the union. You understand that, I hope.”

  “You must believe that I do.”

  Frieda had found a stick and was now happily chewing it to bits.

  “Multiple grounds possibly offer a path forward, particularly if he cooperates with the effort.”

  Nor had this occurred to her: that Bracebridge would have come to the same conclusion she had and cooperate with this. Why, he might even decide to sue for divorce himself.

  “Are there grounds for an annulment?” His matter-of-fact question shook her. He made the possibility sound inconsequential, yet she knew that was not so.

  She shook her head without meeting his eyes.

  “Has he been cruel or violent with you?”

  “No, he hasn’t. He hasn’t. He never!”

  “Have you?”

  She wanted more than anything to sit down, for Cynssyr had just turned the ground beneath her into a quagmire. “Have I what?”

  “Have you given him grounds to divorce you? As in infidelity or a refusal of his marital rights?”

  “No, Your Grace,” she whispered. “I haven’t. I haven’t. I never would.”

  “Gathering crim con may well be required—yours, his, or both depending upon the tack we choose. If we proceed, you must be prepared to hear disagreeable conclusions about his character and conduct, as well as yours.”

  Nothing was real. None of this was real. Except she knew without doubt that Bracebridge did not want to be married to her. She fully believed they would reach a time and place when all their differences and grievances would become intolerable to them both.

  “A list of the inns you stayed at while you traveled to and from Gretna Green would be of great assistance.”

  She swallowed hard. “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “It is my understanding you did not have your maid with you.”

  “I did not.”

  “Were you at any time alone with a man other than Bracebridge?”

  She shook her head. But no, that was not so. “From time to time I may have been alone with a male servant.”

  “Make a list of each of those occasions too. Name and appearance, if you recall them.”

  She reared back. “I’ve done nothing. I would never!”

  “Hardly the point. We may find it to our benefit that you did not have a maid accompanying you. I daresay you were noticed at every stop. It will be simple enough to find witnesses whose recollections would be advantageous. Even with all that, we may be compelled to give undue emphasis to incidents that might cast you or your character in a poor enough light that he is persuaded to sue for divorce.”

  Her stomach tied itself in knots.

  “While you are here at Corth Abbey,” he went on, “please be aware you are surrounded by those who might speak of impropriety on your part. Make a note of who is reliable and loyal to Bracebridge and whether anyone is loyal to you.”

  “This is Corth Abbey. They are all Bracebridge’s servants.”

  “You underestimate yourself greatly if you think no one here will find you worthy of their loyalty.”

  That made her laugh. “I’ll keep a list of my enemies among the staff, for it’s they whom you’ll want. My God, Cynssyr, what are these words? Enemies among the staff, divorce?” She leaned her head against his upper arm, and when he folded her once again into his arms, she shook so hard she didn’t dare let go of him. Bracebridge would learn to hate her, and the thought devastated her. “He does not want me. We’ve not been wed even a week, and he wishes he were rid of me. What will it be like a month from now? Six months? A year?”

  “Best to understand one’s choices,” he said. He stroked her shoulder. “As well as what hurdles you might face if you wish to end the marr
iage. Or if Bracebridge elects to do so himself.”

  She pushed away from him and headed for the clearing. Cynssyr, still with Frieda, easily kept stride. They reached the path that led to the lake and headed down the gentle slope.

  “Bracebridge has been my friend for a very long time,” the duke said by-and-by. “I shan’t regale you with tales of my misdeeds before I married your sister, but he’s the reason I didn’t drink myself to death or get myself killed from sheer carelessness of my person.”

  She stopped walking and faced him, aghast to realize she had not understood that her foolhardiness affected him, too. And Aldreth. And Lord Thrale. All her sisters. Her nephews and nieces, too. “I have no desire to be the cause of a break in your friendship with him. I cannot do that. Not to him or you.”

  A breeze brought up a swirl of dead leaves. Several wrens flew out of the surrounding trees, made a circle, then settled down. “My dear,” he said. “I am aware you have long had feelings for him. Just as I am equally aware of his feelings for Anne.” He held up a hand. “I don’t mean to imply that you do not know these things. You do.” He fell silent a moment. “I did not love your sister when we married. Nor did she love me. Quite the opposite, as you know. But I came to love her, passionately and with all my soul. Anne made me a better man than I was.”

  “That was inevitable.”

  “I cannot disagree with you.” He smiled. “Your sister is a remarkable woman. However, my point is that it may not be impossible for Bracebridge to develop some degree of affection for you.”

  “What he did, marrying me, everything to do with the Cooperage, he did for Anne. Not me. He’ll oppose a dissolution or divorce because of her. Because he won’t have her hurt by the scandal.”

  “Perhaps.”

  She walked away from the duke, closer to the top of the hillock from which there was a sweeping view of Corth Abbey. Bracebridge was inside there, with Anne, being reminded of all the ways Emily was not like her sister. “He’d live a lifetime with a woman he cannot love in order to protect the one he does. I can do nothing to change that.” Tears welled up. Horrible tears of pity for the future she had created for herself and imposed on Bracebridge. “Nothing at all.”