Mrs Cridge sat at her window next morning.
‘Lovely to see you, dear,’ she said. ‘And now would you be liking a cup of tea?’
‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘I would not be liking a cup of tea. I would be liking my wife’s address.’
‘Yes,’ she greed. ‘Apparently, she is staying at Rosefield Cottage.’
‘Rosefield? That is halfway between here and London. I remember going there as a child with my mother. Who owns it?’
‘Mrs Holmes, an elderly, rather distant relative of the late Lord Graham.’
‘But why? How does she even know this Mrs Holmes?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Really. Something you are not cognisant about. You are certain it is her?’
‘Absolutely, I heard it from Miss Marks, who has just returned from Lichfield which is close to Rosefield Cottage. Anyhow, the servants there had to open up Rosefield Cottage and she heard tell that her ladyship was coming to the neighbourhood.’
‘How did she know it was her?’
‘I find that there aren’t as many blind, beautiful, blonde young women around as you would think.’
He gave a sharp bark of laughter and then nodded, turning to leave.
But with his hand on the doorknob, he looked back at the small, wizened woman. ‘You never do anything without good reason. Why didn’t you tell me last night? It is close enough that I could have made it by nightfall.’
She smiled, her wrinkled cheeks bunching with an almost mischievous look. Then she took one gnarled forefinger and again touched the side of her nose, winking.
* * *
Ren chose not to take the carriage to Rosefield Cottage, but rode. Tallon was well rested and they would make good time. He worried that if he delayed she would have left again and he would be forever trailing after the woman.
Of course, the irony was that Beth had spent her entire life within a five-mile radius of her home and had now taken to traversing the countryside. It might have made more sense to simply wait for her return, but he could not.
He needed to find Beth. He needed to talk to her. He needed to determine why she had left and to explain his plans for the estate. Most importantly, he needed to tell her that he did not want to marry the Duke’s relative or anyone else’s relative, for that matter.
As he rode, he found himself taking in more details about the land than he had previously. He saw fields lying fallow which might well support turnips. He saw fences requiring repair and bogs in low-lying areas which should be drained.
His mind filled with ideas. For the first time since childhood, he did not feel the imposter. He had no right through birth, but he could and would earn a right through good management.
And Beth? All things felt possible now. He would convince her that he loved her. Yes, he was illegitimate. He gambled. He drank and, yes, he’d had mistresses. He could not change the past, but he could promise her fidelity in the future. He might not be worthy of her love, but he could be, he would be.
Shifting his body forward, Ren urged Tallon to a faster pace. He felt a growing eagerness as they cut across the green pastures. The animal’s hooves drummed on the grass, earth flying up behind. They moved effortlessly, man and horse, and it struck Ren that for once he was riding in pursuit of something as opposed to riding away.
He slowed by the woods, carefully guiding Tallon along the uneven path. Rosefield Cottage was in a sheltered place, nestled beside a lake and backed by a small cluster of trees. As he approached, he saw the sun glimmering on the lake’s rippled surface, its beams shining between puffy clouds—the type he used to describe to Beth as cotton batting.
It seemed that the very air felt different, energised and brighter. The sun was warmer, the hedgerows were a deeper green and the wildflowers had a more vibrant hue. Indeed, even a cow within the small enclosure by the house appeared more animated.
He grinned. Heavens, if he if he was mooning over animated cows, he was in a sad state.
The cottage was of Tudor origin, with stone and white plaster sandwiched between thick, dark beams. It had a steeply pitched roof and tall chimney.
He swung off his horse. A fir tree grew in front of the structure and the ground felt spongy and dense with needles. The stable yard seemed empty, except for a filled water trough. He called out, briefly wondering if he was on a fool’s errand.
At that moment, Arnold strolled from the small stable, his round country face breaking into a grin. ‘I thought you’d be here, my lord,’ he said with the satisfaction of a skilled fortune teller. ‘She’s inside. Shall I look after your horse?’
‘Thank you.’ He handed the animal to him and then strode to the cottage door. Beth’s little maid opened it almost immediately, ushering Ren into the interior. The ceiling was low and lined with heavy dark beams, making it seem even lower. Stooping, Ren stepped inside.
Beth sat at the window in the drawing room. Her hair was coiled at the base of her neck and shone in a shaft of sunlight which angled through diamond panes.
‘Ren,’ she said, the word a half-gasp which was not typical of her.
‘My God, how do you do that?’
‘Your smell: horse, hay, tobacco and your own scent,’ she said.
‘Likely quite unpleasant given that I have been chasing you across the country. Why did you come here anyway?’
‘Your—I needed to break my journey and I needed time to think.’
‘You couldn’t do so at Allington?’
‘No,’ she said.
He sat in the chair opposite. His left side and his knees felt ludicrously high in the small chair. ‘People in this place must be tiny.’
‘I don’t know. It belongs to Mrs Holmes. She is in London now.’
Beth spoke in quick, clipped sentences as though nervous.
‘Yes, a friend of my mother’s. Indeed, my mother appears entirely too much involved in this flight of yours. Apparently, she has filled your head with all manner of nonsense. First and foremost, I do not want to marry any cousin of the Duke’s or anyone else. Secondly, no more mistresses. No more gambling and very moderate drinking. And I wish to stay married to you.’
* * *
Beth listened to his words. It felt as it did when he described something to her. She could see it. She could see herself living in Graham Hill. She could imagine evenings talking to Ren, laughing with Ren. And later, after the evenings by the fireside, she would spend her nights lying with Ren. She would feel that joy, that feeling which could not even be put into words.
Except—
‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘You know I never wanted to marry.’
‘You didn’t want to be forced into marriage like so many women are. Or forced to be dependent because of your sight, but, Beth, this is me.’
It is me.
She felt the smart of tears in her eyes. ‘I know.’
‘I’ve always wanted you to be independent. You know that,’ he said. ‘And I have determined that we can live at Graham Hill or Allington, whichever you would prefer. I mean, as long as Jamie doesn’t mind. We can make this work.’
‘Ren, I care for you but I don’t—I can’t—’
She could not finish the sentence. The lie stuck in her mouth.
‘Love me?’ He voice was husky.
She heard his anguish. It hurt her, a physical pain that seemed tight and vicelike, a squeezing, clenching pressure under her ribcage. He leaned closer to her. He placed his fingers against her face, framing her forehead as if to discern her thoughts.
She forced her expression to harden. ‘Yes,’ she said, pushing the word out.
There was a pause. She heard nothing, not even the clock’s tick, as if time had stilled.
‘You are certain?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the night we made love? What was that?’
She looked down. She balled her fists so tightly that her nails cut into her palms. ‘A mistake.’
The words hung huge, heavy, hurtful. The tightening under her ribcage was so great she could not breathe.
‘Yes,’ he said.
His hands dropped from her face. She heard him stand, the movement quick, violent. The chair banged back against the wall.
‘Ren—’
‘Take heart, all is not lost. I am not giving the land to the Duke. I will not, so perhaps that night served its purpose.’
‘What?’ She stood also, reaching out to him, but finding only air. ‘You can’t think that.’
‘No? It would be one explanation.’
She held on to the back of the chair, uncertain where to step in a house so unfamiliar to her. ‘I am glad that you are not selling the land but my...my sleeping with you was not about land.’
‘You once said that blindness does not ensure your good character.’
‘But I didn’t mean—You can’t think that!’ Her hand balled. She wanted to strike him or kiss him, but she couldn’t take a step from the chair. Tears spilled.
‘A nuisance being blind, isn’t it? You can’t even slap me!’ he said in that snide tone she hated.
‘Don’t! Don’t be like that. It makes you sound horrid.’
‘Indeed, that was established by most members of society years ago.’
‘Please, Ren. I don’t—I never meant—’
‘It would appear that an annulment would be suitable, given the circumstances. I will send you the necessary papers to sign. As for the tenants, I will do what I consider right by them. I am seldom influenced by a woman’s wiles. Believe me, individuals with more skills than you have tried.’
He turned. She heard his sharp footsteps. She heard the firm click of the door as it opened and closed and then the retreating, more distant sound of his steps in the passage outside. The front door slammed with such force that the noise reverberated through the structure.
Beth flopped, limp as a rag doll. Her legs trembled. Her throat hurt. Her eyes hurt. That space deep under her breast bone hurt. Everything hurt.