A Wife Worth Investing In

by Marguerite Kaye

  His words stirred her compassion. ‘Is that why you’ve shut yourself away from the world, because you believe you won’t get any better?’

  ‘I did not make a conscious decision to shut myself away. I have a world of my own now, this one, right here, and I’m perfectly content with that.’

  ‘Forgive me, but you don’t look very happy.’

  ‘I am not unhappy,’ he responded testily. ‘I have simply accepted that this is how I am and how I will be. Which is why my proposal requires you to be my wife in name only.’

  ‘Good grief!’ Phoebe exclaimed. ‘My aunt’s marriage is just such an arrangement. My sister Eloise’s marriage was also intended to be another such. It seems to run in the family.’

  ‘And are they happy, your aunt and your sister?’

  ‘Yes, though Eloise fell in love with her husband after they married. Their marriage has turned out very differently from the one they intended.’

  ‘But they were happy to sign up to the original agreement?’ Owen persisted.

  She pursed her lips, recalling the weeks before Eloise was married and the excitement with which she had embraced her changed circumstances. ‘Yes, even if they had not subsequently fallen in love—yes, I believe it would still have been a successful match.’

  ‘So are you willing to consider my offer?’

  ‘I still don’t understand what it is you are offering and why.’

  ‘But you’ll listen? And you’ll consider what I have to say? I am, as I said, deadly serious.’

  Phoebe hesitated. His words sounded sincere but his demeanour was strangely unemotional, almost detached. His accident had changed him radically, that much was certain, and their entire acquaintance consisted of two brief encounters more than two years apart. But it surely couldn’t have changed the essence of him. He was still the honourable man who had come to her rescue at the Procope. A man she could trust. A man now under extreme duress. What on earth had she to lose by listening to him? In fact she’d be a fool not to.

  ‘I remember,’ she said, ‘when my sister Eloise was considering her now husband’s proposal, we talked about it endlessly. We felt, all of us, including Aunt Kate—and she ought to know—that it was extremely important that Eloise went into the marriage with her eyes wide open.’

  ‘You mean you want to know exactly what you’d be getting yourself into?’

  ‘And why. Why do think you would be destroying Miss Braidwood’s life if you did marry her? Why must you marry someone else in order to avoid marrying her? And why me?’

  ‘These are big questions.’

  ‘It’s a very big decision.’

  ‘It’s an outrageous idea, I know, but it is—I truly believe that it could be the answer to both our problems.’ Owen shifted on his chair, wincing as he moved his injured leg from the footstool to the floor. ‘My accident occurred a little over two years ago,’ he said. ‘In Marseilles. Not long after we met in Paris, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Just when you were setting out on your travels! Oh, Owen, how awful. What happened?’

  He went quite rigid, staring down at his gloves. ‘There was a fire. That’s all I know. I remember almost nothing of it and don’t want to either. My hands were badly burned. Something heavy, a beam I think, fell on top of me. My hip was shattered. I was unconscious for some weeks afterwards. It was three months before I was well enough to face the journey back to London. Six months before I could walk again.’

  Though she could see from the way he held himself, completely still, that saying even this much was an immense effort, his tone was oddly cold, as if he was recounting something that had happened to someone else. Phoebe yearned to comfort him, but she couldn’t hug him, and in any case, it was clear the last thing he wanted was sympathy.

  ‘But you can walk now. You must have worked extremely hard,’ she said, cringing inwardly at the mundanity of her words. She couldn’t imagine how it must have been for him, or how it was even now, to be one moment at the peak of his physical powers, a man who took his athletic prowess for granted, if what he’d told her in Paris of his derring-do was true, and then the next, to be like a baby, learning to walk. But he could walk now. So why did he no longer leave his house? And why, more pertinently, was he so certain that he would make his fiancée miserable? ‘Does Miss Braidwood...?’ Phoebe stopped, floundering. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand how your accident should affect your betrothal.’

  ‘It is a long-standing arrangement made by our respective fathers when we were young. My father and Olivia’s father were boyhood friends, so I suppose you could say I’ve known her all my life,’ Owen said. ‘The intention was always that we would marry when she reached her twenty-first birthday, which is in January next year. I’m not in love with her, never have been, any more than she is with me, though I had, as she had, always taken it for granted that we would marry when the time came. But I wanted more than that, Phoebe, more from my life than becoming a husband and possibly a father. When you and I first met, I had been living from day to day, enjoying every moment, thinking that the future would take care of itself. It finally dawned on me that I was in danger of frittering my life away. So I decided to go to Europe.’

  ‘And what did you say to Miss Braidwood of your plans?’

  Owen shrugged. ‘As far as she was concerned, my life was my own until we married, and at that point, our marriage was more than two years away.’

  ‘And then your accident changed everything at a stroke,’ Phoebe said, her heart aching with the poignancy of this.

  ‘When I returned to England,’ Owen said flatly, ‘I told Olivia that she must consider herself free of any obligation. I had all but given up on any hope of walking, but she refused point blank to abandon me in my pitiful state.’

  ‘Well, and so I should hope,’ Phoebe said indignantly. ‘She would be a shallow person indeed, to do so.’

  ‘Which is almost exactly what she said, and so I suppose you could say, she inspired my recovery, for I determined to walk again.’

  ‘And you did.’

  ‘And Olivia still refused to abandon me.’

  Phoebe’s nascent smile faltered. ‘You learned to walk in order to...’

  ‘Make it easier for Olivia to end our engagement. It is not as ridiculous an idea as it sounds. Everyone knows we have an understanding. She couldn’t possibly jilt me when I was confined to my bed, but when I regained the use of my legs...’

  ‘But that makes even less sense,’ Phoebe exclaimed, wondering if Owen was, despite appearances, just a little deranged. ‘She had always intended to marry you, and you had always intended to marry her. You didn’t wish to tie her to you when you couldn’t walk, but now you can—what is to stop you doing what both of you had always expected to do?’

  ‘I can walk, Phoebe, but I lost more than the use of my legs. I am not the man I once was.’

  ‘Oh.’ She could feel her cheeks burning as she realised what he must be implying. ‘I am so sorry.’

  ‘I don’t want your pity. I don’t want anyone’s pity. You said you wished me to be candid with you, then I will be as plain as I can be. I am not physically incapacitated beyond what you see, but I am—I am much changed by the experience. I have no desire, no passion for anything.’

  Such heart-wrenching words, yet they were spoken in that same odd tone, as if he were referring to someone else. ‘Nothing?’ Phoebe said, struggling to understand.

  ‘And no one. You could say I have lost my appetite for life. Mostly, I’m indifferent.’

  ‘Is it an illness? Did it happen as a result of your accident? Did you—I don’t know, did you hit your head?’

  ‘I don’t know how it happened. I didn’t wake up one morning and think, “I don’t give a damn about the world”, it just settled over me and I cannot shift it.’

  ‘So you detached yourself from the world?�
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  ‘But I have signally failed to detach myself from Olivia. The more reclusive I’ve become, the more determined she has become not to be seen by that world as a callous jilt. But she can see I am changed for the worse. The privileged and exciting life she imagined for herself as my wife and the dutiful penance of a life she would have to endure if she married me now could not be more different. I’m a stranger to her these days, I can see her looking at me and wondering who I am. But she can’t contemplate not going through with it, because she is at heart a deeply conventional and dutiful young woman who would do anything to avoid the scandalous label of jilt, even if it means being trapped in a miserable marriage.’

  ‘So you intend to take the decision out of her hands by marrying someone else?’

  ‘Then she can be the wronged party and free, with a clear conscience, to get on with her life.’

  ‘That is a very noble thing to do.’

  ‘No, it’s not. I don’t want to marry a woman who feels obliged to stand by me. And her parents,’ Owen said, his lip curling, ‘are doing their damnedest to ensure that the poor girl does just that. I am a very rich man, and the marriage settlement my father agreed is extremely generous. Olivia doesn’t consider it material, but her parents most certainly do, and apply their own particular pressure on her to strengthen her resolve any time it might seem that I have weakened it.’

  ‘Are her family poor?’

  ‘Not at all. Merely avaricious.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say. I can’t imagine how you must feel.’

  ‘Desperate,’ Owen said. ‘But determined. Olivia deserves a man who cares for her, who will give her the family she wants. I can’t provide that, but I can give her the freedom to find someone who can. That aspect of my life is over, I am reconciled to that. All I ask of you is that you go through with the ceremony. Once I have made it impossible for Olivia to marry me, she will be free of all obligation towards me. In return, I will provide you with the funds to make your dream a reality, and in addition put my business acumen at your disposal.’

  ‘I am not sure what to say,’ Phoebe said, her head whirling.

  ‘Then say yes.’

  ‘It’s an outrageous idea.’

  ‘That should be no barrier. You are not exactly convention personified, are you?’

  ‘No, but—do you really think Miss Braidwood will think she’s had a lucky escape?’

  ‘I am absolutely certain of the fact, and society’s sympathy will be entirely with her too.’

  ‘I am not a respectable woman, Owen. If the details of my life in Paris were ever discovered, it would cause a huge scandal for you.’

  ‘I personally don’t give a damn about that. Aside from the fact that my own former reputation was colourful to say the least, I no longer go out in society.’

  ‘But if I launch my restaurant, I’ll need society to sit at my tables, to eat my food.’

  ‘Phoebe, in my experience notoriety whets the appetite.’

  ‘But what about your family—I know your parents are both dead, but do you have any brothers or sisters?’

  ‘No, I don’t. But you do. What will they say if you marry me?’

  ‘That with my reputation—or lack of it—I am fortunate to find any man to marry me.’ Phoebe wrinkled her nose. ‘No, that’s not fair. I don’t know. If they felt I had done so out of desperation rather than going to one of them with my tail between my legs, they would be very upset.’

  ‘I don’t want you to marry me because you’re desperate. I want you to marry me only because you think it’s an excellent idea.’

  ‘A excellent idea!’ She laughed nervously. ‘It is the most preposterous notion, though no more preposterous than my own, to open a restaurant when I have absolutely no idea how to go about such a thing, I suppose.’

  ‘You know all about food. I have the business sense. We will make an excellent team.’

  ‘Dare we? No, no, it’s impossible.’

  ‘We have both already lost everything. We quite literally have nothing more to lose.’

  ‘When you put it like that! I can’t believe this—are you sure you’re not teasing me?’

  ‘I would not be so cruel.’

  ‘No, no, of course you wouldn’t.’ She stared at him, quite dazed. ‘You are offering me my dream. Yet you are asking so little in return.’

  ‘You’re mistaken. By setting Olivia free, you’ll be giving me a peace of mind that I’ve not had in a very long time. One thing I’m not asking of you, Phoebe. It’s a delicate matter, but you wanted to know precisely what you’d be letting yourself in for, so I’m obliged to mention it. With regard to your private life.’

  She blushed violently. ‘I have not—I would not—’

  ‘My interest in such things is over,’ he interrupted her, ‘but you are a beautiful, and sensual young woman. You were badly hurt by Solignac, but you’ll get over that and when you do, all I ask is that you are discreet. It has always seemed to me one of the great hypocrisies of so-called respectable society, that an unattached woman is expected to remain chaste and you will, in that sense at least, be unattached.’

  ‘Owen, my only and overriding attachment would be to my restaurant, my only desire to repay your faith in me by making a success of it.’

  ‘At present, but time, they say is a great healer. As I said, all I ask of you is discretion.’

  ‘You don’t think time will heal you?’

  ‘If I can be the catalyst to your success, then there will have been a positive outcome, after all, to our encounter at the Procope. Then I might feel better.’

  His words and the memory of him, so full of vitality and hopes and dreams brought a lump to her throat. ‘My heart is telling me to say yes, but I followed my heart once before, and look where it got me.’

  ‘I, on the other hand, think only with my head. Being quite literally heartless,’ Owen said with a small, mocking smile, ‘has made me an excellent businessman. But I won’t push you. Take your time, think about it.’

  Phoebe thought about it for all of thirty seconds before her smile burst through. ‘Let’s do it,’ she said. ‘How quickly do you think we can get married?’

  Chapter Four

  One week later

  Phoebe looked on, slightly stunned, as Owen shook hands with the clergyman before he and Bremner, who had been pressed into service as one of the witnesses to their marriage, left the room to show him out. The other witness, Owen’s friend Jasper Forsythe, was in the process of opening a bottle of champagne. Black-haired and with striking hazel eyes, Mr Forsythe was immaculately turned out and rather haughtily handsome, but the warmth of his smile, the genuine pleasure he seemed to be taking from the occasion, had gone a long way towards putting Phoebe at her ease.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Forsythe, that’s most welcome,’ she said, accepting a brimming glass from him, ‘I confess I found that more nerve-racking than I had anticipated.’

  ‘May I be the first to offer my congratulations, Mrs Harrington. And please call me Jasper. I can’t tell you how delighted I was when Owen told me he was about to tie the knot. You may just be exactly what he needs.’

  ‘Thank you. I hope our union will prove to be mutually beneficial.’

  Jasper smiled. ‘He told me that you met in Paris just over two years ago, and he’d never forgotten you. He kept that one under his hat! Having made your acquaintance, I can understand why you made such an impression on him. I’ve not seen him so—so animated since he returned to England.’

  ‘You are his oldest friend, I gather.’

  ‘And the only one of our circle he remains in contact with,’ Jasper said, his smile fading slightly, ‘though I’m hoping that now you have entered his life, things will change.’

  ‘Oh, we have no plans to launch ourselves into society.’ Not in the manner you might expect, at any r
ate, Phoebe added to herself for Owen had not, she knew, confided their plans to Jasper.

  ‘That’s a shame. I had hoped—before his accident, Mrs Harrington, Owen was...’

  ‘Phoebe, please. Tell me what he was like in those days.’

  ‘Oh, brimming with life. He never stood still for more than five minutes. From the crack of dawn he’d be up and about. Most mornings we’d meet up to go riding, long before anyone else was around, you know, so that we could actually get some proper exercise, but sometimes we’d go running instead.’ Jasper grinned. ‘You should have seen the looks on the faces of anyone we did come across then, the pair of us dressed in just shirts and breeches, running full tilt around St James’s. We’d start at the park there, then into Green Park and round Hyde Park and back again—though some days Owen insisted we took in Regent’s Park too. “Clears the tubes, old man, sets one up for the day,” he used to say. I was in awe of his boundless energy.’

  ‘Do you still run, Mr—Jasper?’

  He shook his head. ‘I was never really that keen on the actual running, to be honest, though it certainly helped work off the effects of overindulgence the night before. It’s not the same without Owen. I still box and fence, but it’s all such a serious business with the younger set these days. That’s the thing I miss most about Owen—he never took anything seriously.’

  ‘You must see a very great change in him, then?’

  ‘I hardly recognise him, to be perfectly honest. He’s still in there somewhere, my old friend, but it’s as if—you’ll think me fanciful, as if there’s a glass wall between us. It’s the pain, I suppose. He doesn’t complain, but it must be constant. Has he told you what happened?’

  ‘Not in any detail.’

  ‘No, he never refers to it.’ Jasper gave himself a shake. ‘Anyway, enough of that. This is a fresh start for you both, and I’m honoured to have been able to witness the dawn of it.’

  He smiled as the door opened and Owen came back in. ‘Good timing, I was just about to raise a toast,’ he said, handing his friend a glass of champagne. ‘To my best friend and his lovely new wife. Wishing you good health and happiness. Cheers.’