The journey was both never-ending and all too swiftly completed. Beth huddled within the confines of the coach, her body bruised by the continual bumping and bouncing as they clattered along rutted country roads. She felt a peculiar combination of boredom and terror as if suspended in a dark, jostling purgatory.
Allie tried to help. She patted her mistress’ hand and Beth focused on her maid’s fingers and the roughened calluses dotting the girl’s palm. Allie also described the landscape as best she could. She spoke of low stone walls and green fields dotted with sheep and cows.
‘And the cows don’t look any different than ours at home, my lady.’
‘That is a relief. I feared that the cows near London had two heads.’
‘Are there such things?’
‘No.’ She laughed.
Perhaps the best remedy for her nerves was her maid’s excitement. It permeated the carriage. Allie, although chatty, was usually of a practical nature and seldom allowed herself to be swayed by emotion. But now Beth could feel the girl’s excitement as she wriggled, bouncing on the cushioning, as though a child once more.
‘We must be getting close, my lady,’ she said. ‘I can see more houses and the fields are not half so big.’
‘I imagine we will find London filled with houses and nary a field in sight,’ Beth said.
They continued for several more minutes, before Allie again twisted towards the window. ‘We must be ever so close now. And I’ve never seen so many people, my lady. Nor so many houses. Lud, but they’re squished so tight. Not enough room to swing a cat, as my sainted mother would say. And there are people of all types. Urchins and rough men and women. And garbage and other muck, too.’
‘The latter does not sound entirely enticing.’
‘Oh, no, my lady. But it is ever so interesting. I wish you could see it.’
‘Me, too.’
Eventually, the carriage slowed. From outside, Beth heard shouts, the singsong calls of newsboys, the rattle of other vehicles and the clatter of hooves upon pavement.
‘The houses are looking ever so fancy now, my lady,’ Allie continued. ‘And bigger and the people look smarter, too. And the streets are wider. Ooh—and such a fancy carriage just passed us. His lordship must live in a big house.’
Beth shivered at the reminder of her purpose. That was the moment when the journey seemed too quickly over. Briefly, she wished that, despite the physical discomfort, it would continue.
How would Ren react to her presence? And how would she react to him? She’d spent the majority of her marriage reconciling herself that they could not even be friends.
And then he’d kissed her.
And that one kiss had started a flood of emotions like spring run-off. Now her fears ran the gamut. She worried that he would try to kiss her again.
And that he wouldn’t.
‘We’re here, my lady,’ Allie said as the coach lurched to a stop.
Beth jerked upright. She felt an eager, nervous jumpiness which might be apprehension or anticipation. It was all ludicrous—one kiss did not change an entire relationship. They had been friends. The friendship had dwindled into mere acquaintance until his heroic gesture of this marriage.
Now her duty was clear. She needed to convince him to accept this new role, to be the new Lord Graham, to save the tenants and possibly himself. She would not let her mind dwell on the fact that, by doing so, she made the need for an annulment even greater. She would not allow herself to wish for some other impossible, happy ending—
‘Gracious, my lady, it is three storeys high,’ said Allie. ‘And it has a wrought-iron gate and ever such a fancy entranceway with a brass knocker that looks like a lion.’
Beth smiled at the awe rippling through her maid’s voice. She shifted forward on hearing the movement of the carriage door, the creak of its hinges and the whisper of wind. As Arnold helped her out, she stepped on to the pavement, inhaling the damp London air for the first time. It felt moister here than in the country and there was a fascinating layering of smells: an earthy scent, a mix of garbage, sewage and spring growth.
Allie stood beside her and, placing her hand on her maid’s arm, Beth walked to the front door. Behind her she could hear the horses’ movement, the jangle of reins and the stamp of impatient hooves as Arnold led them away.
The door opened. ‘Miss?’ a masculine voice said.
‘Lady Graham,’ she corrected, trying to keep her voice firm.
There was a pause, as though the man was trying to make sense of this new information.
‘Of course, my lady,’ he said.
The door creaked as it swung wider. She took her cane from Allie, tapping carefully. The flooring sounded like marble. There was a sharp tone unlike the softer, muffled sound of wood and it echoed as though in a big space with high ceilings.
‘Do you require assistance, my lady?’ the butler asked.
‘I would like to see my husband.’ No point beating about the proverbial bush.
‘He is out, my lady.’
‘Do you know when he might return?’
‘No, my lady.’
‘Very well. Could you find me a suitable room where I might take tea and await my husband’s return? Perhaps the cook could provide a simple dinner later.’
‘Will you be staying the night, my lady?’
‘No, I have made alternate arrangements.’
She almost wanted to giggle. She sounded so fustian and quite unlike herself. It was as though she had put on a mantle of sophistication and was play acting. Still, her tone apparently worked and the butler led her into a comfortable room with a crackling fire.
‘Tea will be served directly. Would you like us to send word of your arrival to his lordship?’
A nervous shiver slid, like moth’s wings, down her spine.
‘It might serve to expedite his return,’ she said.
Although whether she wanted this or not she did not know.
* * *
It was, Ren thought, the unexpectedness of her appearance which undid him. When Robbins had said ‘Lady Graham,’ he had assumed his mother waited for him and not his wife.
Therefore, he was in no way prepared for the sight of Beth with her hair shining like spun gold and her face illuminated by the flicker of flames so that he was again struck by that other-worldly aspect of her beauty.
In that moment, he felt a quick, unexpected, unprecedented flash of joy. The sentiment was all the more dramatic by virtue of the fact that he never felt joy. Indeed, he could not remember the last time he had felt anything akin to that emotion.
Then, chasing after that initial reaction, came the memory of the kiss with its complex mix of confusion, guilt, irritation and desire. He admired self-control above all things. It had, quite literally, been beaten into him at school. One did not show emotion, vulnerability or sentiment. It had been difficult at first, but now it was second nature. Besides, he seldom experienced emotion, at least not one strong enough to cause an impulsivity of action.
So how could Beth, his childhood friend, have caused such a slip? How could he have felt such a flare of anger and desire? How could he have so forgotten himself as to kiss her? And it had been no chaste kiss or romantic gesture. It had been fuelled by something primitive, primal almost.
But she had changed, too, he thought. She was not the little blind girl of childhood memory or even the scared, lost, grieving young woman attempting to avoid marriage to a cruel man while looking after her brother and paying off her father’s debts. There was a difference, a sophistication and an aura of capability mixed with that pale, fragile, ephemeral beauty.
‘I know perfectly well you are there. And I know you are studying me like you used to before church on Sunday. So, do I pass muster or have I a smudge on my face?’ She turned, a slight smile touching her lips.
‘How do you always know?’
‘I heard your footsteps and they are in no way as deferential as those of your butler. Besides being considerably swifter.’
‘Thank goodness, since Robbins is forty years my senior. You should have told me you were coming.’
‘The last time I did so you dissuaded me from the enterprise.’
That was true enough—Mirabelle had suggested the visit shortly after their wedding.
‘So, you decided to act first and seek permission later?’ Which was, he thought, entirely typical.
‘I seldom seek permission either early or late.’
That was also true, although few of his acquaintances would have been so bold. Indeed, few of his acquaintances sought to challenge him at all. He frowned, admiration and irritation flickering.
The latter won out. ‘So is anything wrong? Jamie is well?’ he asked curtly.
‘Yes.’
‘Is there some problem with the estate?’
‘Only if you have already given it to the Duke.’
So that was it. Likely she still hoped to dissuade him. The bloody woman was like a dog with a bone.
His frown deepened. He stepped to the fireplace, drumming his fingers on the mantel. ‘I haven’t,’ he said. ‘But you won’t deter me. I am seldom deterred once a decision is made. In fact, it was foolish to undertake the journey.’
‘Only the weak will not change their minds when faced with a logical alternative and I do not see why I should not travel. People do so all the time.’
His hand tightened at her words and the underlying belligerence of her tone, but he spoke calmly. ‘Unaccompanied females do not. Did Jamie come?’
‘No, but Allie and Arnold did.’
‘You came with only two servants. This journey will cause comment.’
‘I am married and live apart from my husband. Therefore, I am rather inured to comment,’ she retorted.
‘Spending time without one’s husband is seldom cause for comment. Women do it all the time. However, travelling pell-mell up to London only accompanied by servants is different.’
‘I doubt Arnold has ever driven anywhere pell-mell. And they are good company once you chat with them.’
‘I do not intend to chat...’ He paused, exhaling. ‘That is beside the point. I only ask that you behave in a way which does not make us the subject of comment. I do not like to invoke gossip.’
‘Really? Perhaps you should have thought of that before securing any number of mistresses, as well as a wife.’
Shame, anger and myriad other emotions flashed and flared through him. His shoulders knotted. Heat washed into his face and he felt his jaw clench.
‘What? Who told you this?’ he ground out, turning from the mantel. ‘You should not even know of such things.’
‘Fiddlesticks.’
‘Excuse me?’ He spoke jerkily, startled out of both his anger and sophistication. No one disagreed with him and certainly not with the word ‘fiddlesticks.’
She shrugged. ‘Your affairs are entirely your own concern, but it is foolish to think I should not know of such things, particularly as you apparently flaunt them openly enough when you are in town. According to Allie, they are frequently remarked upon in the servants’ hall at Graham Hill and Allington.’
‘I—You—Allie should not discuss such things.’
‘I fail to see why. It would seem to be pertinent given that I am married to you. Talking of which, I think we should clear the air about—about—well—the elephant.’
He stared at her. She appeared composed. The black silk suited her, a stark contrast to the blonde-gold of her hair. But her conversation struck him as odder than usual. ‘The elephant?’
‘My mother had a Russian nurse when she was little. This individual always called something that no one wished to discuss the elephant in the museum. I think it was based on a Russian folk story. In our case I was thinking of the kiss.’
The word dropped, loud as cannon fire at dawn. Its impact seemed all the greater mixed as it was with folk stories and museums.
His breath left him.
‘Likely,’ she continued airily, ‘you are feeling that I may have been shocked or discomfited and I wished to assure you that I am neither. Indeed, I am not likely to expire in a fit of vapours just because of a kiss.’
‘I—’ His smooth, glib words had left him. He felt his hand clench and consciously stretched out his fingers in response. Diverse, complex emotions flooded him. How could she so quickly dismiss a kiss which had somehow shifted his world?
In that moment, he realised that simple truth. A single kiss had in some indefinable way changed something... He was a man of debauched tastes and concubines. Celeste had draped herself all over the pillows last night and he had felt a bored indifference, his mind circling to this woman.
‘I have given the kiss little—th-thought,’ he said stiffly.
‘You’re lying.’
‘What?’
‘You always hesitate over the first consonant of a word when attempting to obscure a fact.’
‘I do not and I am not attempting to obscure anything. And you have gone bright pink, by the way,’ he added. ‘A suggestion that you also might be lying.’
‘And there I thought sophisticated London gentlemen did not make personal comments.’
‘I don’t—’ He stopped, realising that they were sounding more like adolescents trading insults than grown adults. ‘Look, we don’t need to discuss the kiss. It was an aberration. I only ask that you behave with decorum and not dash off to London on a whim and talk of elephants.’
‘Likely I can avoid discussing elephants, but I think it unfair that you should expect me to remain at Allington.’
‘But you like Allington. You said that was why you never wanted to marry. Your mother said it would be too hard for you to gain independence in a new environment. Must you argue about everything?’
‘My mother suggested that it was one of my abilities.’
‘And mine said it was one you should curb, if you hoped to succeed in society.’
‘Which I don’t.’ Beth grinned, giving one of her spontaneous giggles. ‘Besides, Father said I was likely gifted with great oratory to make up for my lack of sight. Indeed, as I recall, he said my tongue was hung in the middle and clacked at both ends.’
It was exactly the sort of thing she might have said years earlier and the comment brought with it memories of childhood summers. His tension eased.
‘He also said you should learn decorum.’
‘Decorum is overrated. Remember how we used to steal the cream puffs from Mrs Bridges?’
‘And she always blamed me.’
‘Ah,’ she said, grinning with remembered smugness. ‘That is the thing with blindness or any disability. It makes people assume one’s innocence and good character.’
He gave a reluctant chuckle. ‘Indeed, as I recall, you put that to good use. Well, try to practise decorum here or you are quite likely to give some ancient dowager the vapours.’
‘I will attempt not to cause any medical incidents.’
There was a pause. He had forgotten how much he liked talking to her and missed her quick wit. He watched the movement of her thumb on the handle of her cane and the delicate sweep of her lashes, casting lacy shadows against her cheek.
‘You find travelling easier now? It used to upset you.’
‘It still does,’ she said somewhat ruefully.
She was pale, he realised.
‘Then it was brave of you to come.’
Impulsively, he sat in the seat opposite, reaching forward and touching her hand as it rested on the cane, stilling her nervous movement. He felt a jolt at the touch and was conscious of her smooth skin beneath his palm and of her quick exhalation as though she had felt it, too. He removed his hand with equal impulsivity.
‘Except it can do no good. I cannot change my mind, you know,’ he said.
‘But you can. You see, I have to tell you something. I have to tell you that Edmund would want you to keep the estate. That is why I came.’
‘You do not know what Edmund would want,’ he said, sharpening his tone.
‘I do,’ she said.
‘You are communicating with ghosts now?’
‘I spoke to Mrs Cridge. She says that Edmund knew about your birth and possible parentage and it didn’t matter to him.
‘What?’
He sat suddenly, the movement heavy, as though physically depleted of strength and energy. He swallowed, feeling young again as though he was that lad in school. ‘He said that?’
‘Yes, to Mrs Cridge. And if he had not wanted you to have the estate he would have made some form of legal change. I know he would. Edmund was thorough with paperwork. He would not have left for war without doing so, if that was his intent.’
‘You are sure of this?’
‘Yes. And I am sure he would not want a man such as the Duke to have the estate. He was working with Jamie to increase crop yields. Actually, Jamie is likely still hunting out those letters. He will give us a full scientific review of the experiment, no doubt, although really it doesn’t matter what they were investigating or their conclusions. It matters that Edmund was so involved. He wanted to ensure that the tenants had sufficient crops. He wanted to be a good farmer. And I know Edmund would have made some form of arrangement if he had not wanted you to inherit.’
Ren stood again, unable to remain still. He placed his hands against the flat ledge of the window sill, staring into the dull grey of the London street. ‘I wish he’d told me. I wish he’d told me that he knew that Lord Graham wasn’t my father. I always thought I should tell him that I was not his true brother. I felt like such a fraud.’
An act of cowardice, he supposed.
‘You didn’t want to hurt him. You didn’t want him to know that his mother was not faithful. It was an act of love.’
‘Or weakness.’
‘Love,’ she said, in that firm way of hers.
* * *
‘I’m sorry to interrupt, your lordship. There seems to have been a mishap.’ Robbins made this announcement from the doorway, pausing after the statement as though for dramatic effect.
‘Well,’ Ren said irritably, ‘will you tell us the details or is this to be a guessing game?’
‘It is her ladyship’s groom. He has hurt himself.’
‘What?’ Beth startled upright. ‘Arnold? Where is he? Can I help?’
‘He thought you might wish to do so, but assured me that there is nothing you can do. He has had a fall, but nothing is broken.’
‘Where did he fall?’
‘Down the stairs, my lady. He is currently resting within the servants’ quarters, but wondered if you might—er—remain here for the—er—night, at least?’
‘I—’
‘Of course she will stay here. She should be staying here anyway. Tell Mrs Crofton to get a room ready,’ Ren directed.
‘But I am staying with Mirabelle’s aunt. I wrote ahead.’
‘Nonsense. We are married. You will stay here. I will send a note to Mirabelle’s aunt, whoever that might be.’
‘Lady Mortley.’ Beth frowned, obviously not liking his tone.
‘It would cause comment not to stay here and it would be unkind to disturb your groom.’
‘He could remain and Allie could come with me.’
‘A ludicrous suggestion. Please make the necessary arrangements,’ he directed Robbins. ‘Oh, and best get in the doctor to ensure that this groom has not sustained a more serious injury.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ Robbins said and left.
‘You are both insulting and bossy,’ Beth told Ren the second the door closed.
He allowed himself a brief, somewhat mirthless laugh. ‘That is hardly news. Moreover, it seems somewhat hypocritical given that the entire purpose of your trip is to tell me what I should do with Graham Hill.’
‘Not at all,’ she said, her chin jutting characteristically upward, her ramrod-straight back at odds with that delicate, almost ephemeral quality. ‘I have helped to run the estate and have earned the right to an opinion. You have seen me twice in as many years and have no such right.’
‘The law might think otherwise.’
‘The law is a product of men and therefore equally fallible,’ she said.
‘You don’t mince words.’
‘I never have.’
It was almost refreshing after the platitudes of courtesans and servants.
‘You do realise that most of my acquaintance do not argue with me or answer back,’ he said.
‘Really? What very dull conversations you must have.’
He thought of Celeste, with her impeccable taste, her pleasant smiling countenance, her well-stocked wine cellar and soothing tones.
‘They are somewhat.’
‘It is either because they fear you or seek to flatter you. Neither of which are the attributes of true friends.’
‘I suppose not.’ He wondered if he even had true friends? People feared him. He had fought two duels. People respected him. His ability with cards, pistols, and even his fists at Jackson’s was never questioned. Some might even admire his daredevil ways, the curricle races and steeplechasing, but was that friendship?
‘By the way, I have already asked Robbins to prepare a light repast,’ she added, jolting him from his reverie.
‘You are certain? I can send you over in my carriage to see Mirabelle’s aunt if you really wish it,’ he offered.
‘She is having a dinner party,’ Beth said flatly.
He saw her hand again move nervously against her gown and he was reminded of the shy girl who had never enjoyed formal dining for fear she would knock something over and cause a mess.
‘Then I will enjoy your company,’ he said. ‘As long as we talk of the weather and not of Graham Hill.’
She smiled, really more a grin than a smile, and surprisingly infectious. ‘Very well. Although English weather is such a boring topic. Perhaps it might be more entertaining if we lived in a place with blizzards or tornados.’
‘We do get the occasional heavy fog, will that do?’
She laughed. ‘Much too damp. But you could tell me about London, the places to go and all that is exciting about it.’
‘Exciting?’ He raised a brow.
‘Yes, like Hyde Park or St James’s?’ She leaned forward, enthusiasm rippling through her voice.
His lips quirked. ‘I hadn’t actually thought of them as exciting. They are fine, I suppose.’
He could not remember the last time he had gone to either, although likely Celeste had dragged him there on some occasion.
‘Fine?’ Beth frowned as though not entirely liking his answer. ‘And the theatre?’
‘Pleasant enough.’
‘The ballet?’
‘Adequate.’
‘Good gracious, you are hardly a fount of information.’
‘I had not realised that an in-depth knowledge of London’s diversions would be required,’ he said.
‘But you must like something?’
He liked racing down Rotten Row. He liked the release in physical exhaustion and the joy in the wild tumultuous drumming of hooves. He liked going to Jackson’s. He enjoyed the skill of boxing, the weaving, the ducking and the quick hard strikes.
‘I will ask Robbins to procure a guidebook so I can endeavour to describe London’s many pleasurable pastimes prior to our repast,’ he said.
But despite his bland tones, he felt an usual humour and a warmth under his chest. He realised that, for the first time in years, he was almost looking forward to something.