Her Convenient Husband's Return

Ren stood. He could never stay still for long, unless he was painting. ‘Let’s forget about that creepy old place. We’ll not return, not for a hundred tigers. What should we do now—fishing, or should we see if Mrs Bridges has baked?’

Beth sniffed. ‘I think I can smell fresh scones.’

‘Your brother would say that is a scientific impossibility,’ Ren laughed.

‘And yours would say we should check it out anyway.’

He took her hand and she stood. Together they scrambled across the field towards Ren’s home. In the warm sunshine and with the promise of Mrs Bridges’s fresh baking, Beth forgot about the Duke and his butterflies.

Chapter One (#u5f252952-154a-55bd-a0d3-0e561d1f748d)

Ten years later

‘You should marry me.’

‘What? Why?’ Beth gripped the couch’s worn velvet arms as though to ground herself in a world gone mad. Or perhaps she had misheard Ren’s stark statement.

‘It is the best solution.’

‘To what exactly? That you’ve been suffering from unrequited love during the ten years of your absence?’

‘Of course not,’ Ren said, with typical bluntness.

Beth felt almost reassured. At least he had not entirely taken leave of his senses.

‘If it is because of Father’s death, you need not do so. Jamie and I will fare well enough.’

‘Not if you marry the Duke, you won’t,’ Ren said.

‘You heard?’ Beth felt her energy sap, her spine bending. Her breath was released in a muted exhalation.

‘Bad news travels fast.’

‘I have not... He asked me to marry him, but it would be the very last resort. If I could think of no other option.’

‘It would be a catastrophe.’

Did he think she did not know this? Even now, her stomach was a tight, hard knot of dread and too often she lay awake at night, clammy with sweat and fear.

‘It would be better than debtors’ prison,’ she said tartly. ‘Anyhow, I hope to merely sell him the land.’

‘I’d take prison. Besides, he’ll never buy the land. He wants the land and you.’

‘I cannot see why Ayrebourne would want to marry a woman like me.’

She heard Ren’s sharp intake of breath.

‘As always you underestimate yourself,’ he muttered. ‘The Duke is a collector. He likes beautiful things. You are exquisitely beautiful.’

‘I—’ She touched her hands to her face. People had always told her that she had an ephemeral, other-worldly beauty. Indeed, she had traced and retraced her features, pressing her fingers along her jawbone and the outline of her cheeks to find some difference between her own and the faces of others.

She dropped her hands. ‘How did you learn about this anyway?’

‘Jamie.’

‘Jamie? You have seen Jamie already?’

‘Not here. In London. Gambling.’ Ren spoke in a flat, even tone.

‘Jamie gambling?’ Her hand tightened, reflexively balling the cloth of her dress in her fist. ‘I mean—he can’t—he hardly even socialises.’

‘I found him at a gambling house. I removed him, of course, before much harm was done.’

‘He hates London. When was he even in London?’

‘Last weekend.’

‘He said he was going to sell two horses at Horbury Mews.’

‘Apparently, he took a less-than-direct route,’ Ren said.

Beth’s thoughts whirled, bouncing around her mind, quick and panicked. It did not make sense. Jamie was so...so entirely different than Father. Where Father had been glib, Jamie spoke either in monosyllables or else was mired in pedantic detail and scientific hypothesis.

‘But why? Why would he do that? He knows only too well the harm gambling can do.’

‘I presume he hopes his facility with numbers will enable him to be more successful than your father.’

‘Except his inability with people will make him more disastrous.’

For a moment she was silent. Then she stood, rousing herself with a conscious effort, keeping her hand on the back of her chair to orientate herself. This was not Ren’s problem. She had not seen him for years and he had no need to make some heroic sacrifice for her or her family.

‘Thank you for telling me about Jamie. I will speak to him,’ she said stiffly.

‘Logic seldom wins against desperation.’

‘He has no reason to be desperate.’

‘He loves you and he loves this land. He’d hate to see you married to the Duke and he’d hate to sell as much as a blade of grass. He was cataloguing seeds when he was three.’

‘Seven,’ she corrected. ‘He was cataloguing seeds when he was seven. But I will determine another solution.’

‘I have presented you with another solution.’

‘Marriage? To you?’

‘I am not the devil incarnate, only a close relative.’

She released the chair, taking the four steps to the window, as though physical distance might serve to clear her thoughts. She could feel his presence. Even without sight, she was aware of his height, the deep timbre of his voice, the smell of hay and soap, now tinged with tobacco. There was a disorienting mix of familiarity and new strangeness. He was both the boy she had once known and this stranger who had just now bounded back into her life.