Beth found time hanging heavily. She hated being in a strange environment. She hated having to tap out her movements and bang clumsily into furniture. She hated standing in a corridor and not knowing which way to turn or hearing a clock tick, but being uncertain as to where it came from or how it might guide her.
It all served to prove that her independence rested largely on a string of numbers, of steps and dimensions for Allington and Graham Hill. Wrenched from those environs, she was stumbling and uncertain.
And the memory of those chaotic moments still circled in her mind, that panicked, confused feeling of danger, mixed with the paralysis of not knowing how to react or which way to jump.
That paralysis—the knowledge of danger, but the absence of any insight into how to avoid that danger—that was the worst.
She shivered, pulling her wrap more closely about her. Last night she had thrown caution aside, but this morning she wanted to pull it about her like a blanket and hide, as a child might in a winter storm.
I should have looked after you better.
Those had been Ren’s words. They had also been her father’s words after her mother’s accident. Of course, it had not been her father’s fault. His horse had cleared the jump. Her mother’s had not. But he had felt burdened by guilt.
Beth did not want to be the burden her mother had been. Her mother had always thought that worry had led to her husband’s gambling. Beth wanted a union where she was a strength and helpmate. And, as that was not possible, she would remain alone.
The doorbell sounded. Beth paid it little heed. Ren would not ring his own bell and she knew no one in London—except Mirabelle’s aunt. She hoped it wasn’t her. As she recalled, Lady Mortley had a vast interest in Egyptian relics which, while fascinating, became somewhat tiring as the sole topic of conversation.
‘My lady?’ Robbins said, entering the library.
‘Yes?’ Bother, it must be Lady Mortley after all.
‘It is the Dowager Lady Graham,’ he said.
‘Her ladyship?’ That would likely be worse than Egyptian relics. ‘Did she want to see his lordship? Did you tell her that he is not about?’
‘She asked for you, my lady, most specifically.’
‘She did?’ Beth sighed. ‘I suppose you must show her in.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
Her mother-in-law’s arrival was heralded with the usual swish of skirts, and that unmistakable floral perfume which Beth always felt was more a cloying taste than a scent.
‘My lady, it is kind of you to visit,’ she said.
‘Yes, dear. Roberts, do bring up tea,’ her ladyship directed.
‘Robbins,’ Beth corrected, irritation flickered. If her mother-in-law was going to order about the servants she could at least remember their names. ‘I hope you enjoyed the ballet?’
‘Yes, yes, delightful, although some dialogue would make it so much more comprehensible. But that is beside the point. I saw Ren.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Beth said. ‘I was there.’
‘No, I mean, I saw him today. In town.’
‘I believe he is doing errands,’ Beth said, cautiously.
‘He has some ludicrous, revolutionary concept of giving the land to the tenants.’
Beth felt her lips curve into a happy smile. If Ren had told his mother, he must have decided to do it.
‘And you may smile, but I do not think it is anything to rejoice about. He will be ostracised, you know,’ her mother-in-law said.
‘He said he already was.’
‘Nonsense. Perhaps by a few fussy mamas and dowagers because he drinks and gambles and has any number of mistresses.’
For some reason, the words hurt. Of course Beth knew he had mistresses—but any number sounded so...so numerous.
‘You didn’t know?’ her mother-in-law was asking, honing in on the weakness.
‘I knew,’ Beth said, schooling her features.
‘I am not saying that he has them all at the same time. It is Celeste Lapointe right now. Former opera singer, I believe. Limited talent. You might have seen her last night?’
‘I didn’t,’ Beth said. ‘One benefit of being blind is that one does not see one’s husband’s mistresses.’
It hurt, all the same, to have a name to roll around her thoughts.
‘Anyway, the ton forgives that sort of behaviour from gentlemen. Particularly if the gentleman is rich and with an estate and title, but giving away of land to tenants—that is quite another thing entirely.’
‘It is acceptable to lose an estate at cards but not to give it to people who have worked on the land for generations?’
She heard her mother-in-law make a slight ‘tsk,’ moving as if shifting or straightening in her chair.
‘Darling, you are an idealist. The world is not meant for idealists. Besides, Ren should not be giving it to anyone, he should be keeping it. He should be Lord Graham with all its inherent honour and responsibility and I intend to convince him of it.’
‘I believe that was my point when I came to see you earlier and you said there was little you could do,’ Beth said.
‘That was prior to this ludicrous suggestion that he give the land to a bunch of peasants.’
‘Farmers. You would prefer he give it to the Duke?’
Her ladyship leaned forward, her perfume becoming even stronger with her movement. ‘Yes. It would be better than an idea which is tantamount to revolution. Besides, I have come up with another suggestion which I think will serve.’ She paused as though to build suspense.
‘Yes?’ Beth asked.
‘Darling, you know I am uncommonly fond of you and I do not say this to hurt you in any way.’
Beth swallowed. She felt a flicker of something; pain or fear, perhaps. She rubbed her palms against the fabric of her skirt. ‘I imagine that statement is a precursor to something quite hurtful.’
‘We all know that Ren married you out of—’ Lady Graham paused. Beth could almost hear the word ‘pity’ echoing about the room. ‘Kindness.’
Beth made no response and after a moment Lady Graham continued. ‘But the need has passed. I hear that your father’s unfortunate debts are paid and Allington is prosperous, at least sufficient for your needs. And, darling, really you are not suited to be his wife. I say this not to hurt you, only for your own good. A man like Ren needs someone to keep him entertained so that he does not stray, or at least not so much.’
‘I am cognisant of that. I plan to return to the country today or tomorrow.’
Lady Graham took Beth’s hand within her own. Her mother-in-law’s hand was soft and smooth, but distasteful somehow, and Beth had to fight the desire to pull her fingers free. ‘You see, my dear, the Duke has a relative. A cousin. Granted, she is not quite as close a relation to my late husband as the Duke, but there is kinship. Therefore, even if Rendell continues with this...his concerns about his own parentage, this marriage would allow him to feel that the estate was continuing within the Graham family and that his children have a right to the estate. Annabelle is also well versed in social etiquette and will be an asset to him. It is an admirable solution.’
‘Except that I am married to him,’ Beth said, pulling her hand free. ‘And England does not yet endorse polygamy.’
‘Darling, I was thinking of a nice, quiet annulment.’
Heat washed into Beth’s face. With an effort, she stiffened her spine, forcing herself to be coherent and practical.
‘Lady Graham, that was my wish at one time. Indeed, I have spoken to Ren about it, but I do not believe we would qualify...any more... I mean. I will suggest a divorce, although I fear that would bring its own scandal.’
Despite the hurt, Beth felt wry amusement at her own words. Qualify? Good gracious, she sounded as though she were seeking to enter a horse race or a baking contest at the village fête.
‘Darling, I suspected as much, but do not worry. There is another way to get your annulment. You were married when you had not yet reached the age of majority.’
Beth nodded. ‘But that shouldn’t matter. Young girls all over England are married while still under age.’
‘With their father’s consent,’ her ladyship said, smoothly.
‘He was dead. Jamie consented.’
‘And Jamie was not yet twenty-one. No one was able to give consent which is grounds for an annulment.’
For a moment, Beth could not speak. It was a practical solution. Really, it was a perfect answer, particularly when one threw in Annabelle, the newly discovered relative.
‘You must have been quite elated when you discovered that technicality,’ Beth said in clipped hard tones which sounded foreign to her. ‘As I recall, you have never liked me.’
There was a relief in saying the words.
‘Darling, it is not that I do not like you. Your character is admirable. But you lack practicality and have some shockingly revolutionary ideas. As well you are limited by your disability. Ren would have to escort you everywhere or you would be blundering into things. And really, the ton does not admire clumsiness. You are not the sort of woman that Ren needs. Men like Ren have a very low threshold for boredom. There may be a novelty about you right now, but that will wear off with remarkable rapidity. And being nursemaid to one woman would only make him seek others to an even greater extent.’
There was almost a relief to hear the words, a confirmation of what she knew already.
‘I know,’ Beth said. The anger lessened, filled now with a heavy, hopeless leaden feeling. ‘You are certain about the annulment.’
‘Yes. I visited my own solicitor after seeing Ren.’
‘You are thorough,’ Beth said.
She heard her mother-in-law’s movements. They almost sounded agitated and she reached her hands to the elder woman’s face to better read her expression. She startled slightly, but acquiesced to Beth’s touch.
‘You are worried?’ she said, fingering the slight furrows in the older woman’s face.
‘I—’ Beth heard her mother-in-law swallow and heard her quickened inhalation. ‘It might surprise you, but I love my son. I want him to be successful. I don’t want him ostracised. Ever since that day when his father—Lord Graham—sent him away, he has been searching for where he belongs. This could be his chance. I don’t want him to throw it away. I...’
Her mother-in-law did not finish the sentence, allowing her words to trail into silence, and Beth had the sense that there was something more, something left unsaid.
Beth dropped her hands and stood. ‘I will talk to Ren.’
‘Darling, one more thing—I really think it would be better if you were not to cohabit.’
‘I will return to Allington,’ Beth said dully.
‘It will be too late to get to Allington today.’
Beth stiffened. ‘But where else would I go?’
‘Somewhere you can reach today so you don’t need to spend another night here. Somewhere he cannot instantly find you. Men can be persuasive. I would suggest that you remove yourself. I know a place. It is not too far out of London and is on the way to Allington so will not necessitate additional travel which, as I recall, you do not like. It is quiet and small. You could arrange to go immediately.’
‘I must talk to Ren.’
‘You could,’ her ladyship said, doubt threading through her voice.
‘You don’t think I should?’
‘I do not wish to be indelicate.’
‘This entire conversation has hardly been delicate,’ Beth said wryly. ‘No reason to censor yourself now.’
‘Very well. As I said, men can be persuasive. And should you become with child, well, that—that would complicate the matter. As it is, I suppose we will have to wait a few weeks to be certain, but we do not wish to increase the likelihood.’
‘I—I see,’ Beth whispered.
Her ladyship’s point was valid. Were she to sleep with him again... And she could not risk having children. She could not risk tying him to her or bearing children equally as disadvantaged as herself. She touched her sightless eyes.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I will leave today. I will go to this place you have suggested. But I will talk to Ren first.’
‘Darling, I really think it would be better—’
‘No,’ Beth said. ‘On this my mind is decided. But be assured I recognise the need for an annulment, or a divorce if annulment is not possible, and I am not easily persuaded.’
There was a pause, then Beth heard movement as her mother-in-law rose. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I will give your servants the address of the place I have in mind and make the arrangements. I can find my way out.’
Beth listened to her mother-in-law’s retreating footsteps, the slight creak of hinges as she opened the door and then the muted voices within the hallway. Likely she was talking to Robbins or the groom. Finally, the outer door opened and closed.
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.’