Beneath Spring's Rain (Ashton Brides Book 1)

by Rebecca J. Greenwood

  “But my father didn’t manage the estate well, Daniel.”

  “And does your cousin?”

  “I hardly know. But they’ve had it for six years and are still paying off the debts my father left. That they made abundantly clear to me.” She had to stop herself from flinching at the unexpectedly bitter edge her words held. Daniel’s frown deepened, and a pained look entered his eyes.

  “It can be arranged to be paid in installments.” His voice had become gentler. “This is what is meant by encumbrances on an estate—monies required by settlement to be paid out. My brother pays to several from our father’s generation—aunts that have annuities, old servants with pensions. These are all a normal part of estate ownership.”

  “Why can you not just leave it be?” She turned to him, a foul, twisting emotion welling in her. Her face was hot. “I don’t want their money. I don’t want anything from them. Nothing more!”

  “Eliza, be reasonable.” He wrinkled his forehead. “This is for us, our family. Our children. To provide for them.”

  “See, I told you!” Her breath was rapid, her blood raced through her veins. She drew herself up with outrage. “You resent me! You resent me for making us poor!”

  “I don’t—” He bit back further words. He twisted his mouth. “It is not you I resent.”

  “So you do harbor resentment.” She raised her brows and thrust her chin forward with accusation.

  “I begin to, yes.” Daniel straightened, his eyes narrowed.

  “If not me, then who? Your uncle?”

  He snorted. “No.” His eyes hardened. “Your cousins.”

  Her stomach jumped. She swung away from him. “You just don’t want to stay in the army!” she spat out.

  “I don’t. You know I don’t.”

  She paced away from him, hot, wild energy running through her.

  His voice followed her, excessively calm, ridiculously calm. “If I never have one of my valiant horses shot out from under me again, or never have to face another blood-drenched battlefield, I will thank God daily. If I need to keep my commission, I will. But, no, it is not my wish to remain.”

  “You’d rather be a gentleman.” Her words felt caustic on her tongue. “No need to work, only living on your income, racking up debts because the income and interest are never enough. Not for gentlemen. Just debts and more debts.” She paced faster and faster, her words coming in an overspill of bitterness. “Then you’ll gamble to get more, and rake up debts that way, as my father did. Spend money on a mistress while your wife and children suffer . . .”

  Daniel stepped in front of her. She halted, wrapped her arms around herself, and wouldn’t look at him. Her lips drew down in a scowl, and she widened her eyes to keep back tears.

  “Never, Eliza. I am not that person.”

  Her breath hitched. “But you will do this when it is not my wish?”

  “Eliza, why do you not want your due? It is your legal right. Why are you protecting them?”

  “They already hate me, Daniel. They are my family, and they hate me.” The words dragged out of her, her voice hoarse with tension. The only family that had welcomed her in after all her closest relations were dead. Dead and gone, leaving her desolate. Tears pressed against her eyes, a sob caught in her throat.

  To be so hated, so disregarded, to be such a burden that they lied, they lied . . .

  “It’s humiliating.” Shame, embarrassment, and bitter resentment, dark and destructive, curdled inside her. “They can keep their money! I’d rather go without than sue for my portion at the law!”

  She felt exposed, prickles of shameful nakedness and dependency lifting the hairs at the back of her neck, her arms, her ribs. She curled into herself. “I don’t need them. I don’t want anything from them! Nothing!”

  “Oh, my darling.” He reached out, tried to pull her into him. She pushed him away, gave two sobbing inhalations, then regained control of herself.

  “I just—I do not wish to be held at this time, Daniel. I—I will walk.”

  “It’s raining.”

  Her face twisted. The rain outside was not a comfortable drizzle, but a full spring storm hitting the windows. Thunder rolled in the distance.

  “Then I will pace.”

  She pivoted and strode away from him with long, swinging steps and proper posture. She walked out the door, into the hallway, and up the stairs.

  * * *

  As Daniel heard her footfalls on the stairs, he let his shoulders curl in, and sat down in a slovenly position on the settee. He followed the sound of her progress across the upper floor hallway.

  She was being completely unreasonable. It was unusual for her to be so swayed by emotion. They needed that money.

  Daniel grimaced. Her words had been bitter and biting.

  Oh, my sweet love. How ill did they treat you?

  Half an hour later, she paced into the drawing room again, her eyes fierce. He stood hastily.

  “What about you?” she demanded. “Do you not have a portion that is to settle on you?

  He couldn’t keep eye contact with her. “Mine was less defined. But yes. I’ve avoided asking for it.”

  “Ha!” Her voice had outraged triumph in it.

  “Yes.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I see how hypocritical that is. I will speak to my brother. Perhaps we can request them all to be paid in installments, and lessen the burden on our respective families. But my brother emphasizes that with installments, we do not benefit from the interest.”

  “Or, you drop the suit against my cousins, and I will not press for your portion from your brother. Just leave both be.”

  “But both are legally ours, Eliza.”

  “No. Legally yours, because none of it will ever be mine.” There was snarling bitterness on her face.

  “It will be, if I set up the settlements for our marriage with this information. Upon my death, the money from your dowry will go back to you as your widow’s portion. The first debt paid.”

  “We married in haste; there were no settlements drawn up beforehand.”

  “They can be done afterward. And I will, to ensure your wellbeing.” He approached her with caution. “This is how it works. The portion stipulated in the entailment is how your forefathers tried to ensure each generation had what it needed to live.” He looked down at the obstinate, tense face of his wife. “Your cousins lied to you about it, Eliza.”

  Her lips tightened, a stubborn refusal of his statement.

  He softened his tone. “If they lied about it, then it was because they wanted you, and everyone, to think there were no such stipulation in the settlement. They wanted to not have to pay your portion. But, Eliza, they have the estate, it is theirs, and it does bring in income every year. They are paying out debts through it, and yours will just be another.”

  She gave an angry breath, and her mouth twisted. He stood close to her. He wanted to gather her in his arms but held himself back.

  “Eliza, did . . . did you have other suitors? This Season in London, were other men interested in you? Or before?”

  She gave him a sharp look. “Perhaps,” she admitted. “Though none that showed as much interest as . . .” She trailed off, turned her eyes from him.

  “As the Earl of Crewkerne.”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm.” He watched her, not wanting to speak aloud what his reason was leading him to.

  A ripple of anger crossed her face, twisting it.

  “No. I will not hear this.” Her shoulders tensed. “I will not listen to this further.” She turned and fled the room.

  Chapter 38

  Eliza shifted irritably in the seat. Her maid Betsey snoozed beside her and kept falling into Eliza at every bump in the road.

  Daniel sat facing them, his tall hat beside him on the leather seat, his eyes on the passing scenery.

  She stifled a sigh.

  They were going back to London. Her stomach tightened with nerves. She didn’t want to. She had been temp
ted to insist she stay at Bredon Wold, just to spite them all, but she didn’t want them suing her cousins without her there to at least keep an eye on the proceedings. To have it happen while she was miles away would be worse.

  How awful this entire thing was! They had had another row about it. Harsh words, resentment, mostly from her side. Why could he not just leave it be?

  But he wouldn’t. And so she was forced to go with him. She just wanted to be free from the Broughtons and all they possibly did or did not do. She wished to be beholden to no one.

  But she was beholden. So indebted, so dependent. She wanted to be free of it all.

  She never would be. Always she would be dependent on Daniel.

  She dreaded facing her cousins. If it had just been a misunderstanding, and they hadn’t lied—just the thought of them having lied to her! It made her want to curl up and never venture outside again.

  But if they were innocent and merely misunderstood the entailment articles . . . their vitriol against her now, even if unreasonable, would be doubly heightened.

  She was taking money from their children.

  How many times did she hear Mrs. Broughton bemoan the state Eliza’s father had left the estate? How badly mismanaged it had been? An oft-repeated refrain, to the point that Eliza had stopped burning from the shame of those remarks about her spendthrift father, and had begun to let it wash over her, to choose to not let them affect her. It had not been her actions that had indebted the estate.

  But this, well, it would be all on her. And she would receive their snide remarks, their sharp, narrowed glances. The shame of it washed over her, hot and burning. It was indignity. Abasement. Mortification.

  She wanted to just forget it, never mention the subject again, let anything of that nature go.

  But it wasn’t up to her. It was up to her husband. It was his money for marrying her.

  Still, the scorn would be pointed at her.

  She felt Daniel’s gaze but refused to look at him.

  He had sat down with her the last evening, and gone over their monetary situation with his log books. He had explained what they could expect in the future if he stayed a half-pay officer, went back to full pay, or if he sold out and received the money back of a captaincy.

  Even with the addition of his portion from his brother, they would have to scrimp and practice economy the rest of their lives in order to live on what Daniel was expecting.

  Her dowry, if it truly was legally required to be paid, would allow them to be easy.

  Marrying her had ruined Daniel’s inheritance from his uncle. What right did she have to keep him from the marriage portion that was legally his by their marriage?

  He had known what her dowry had been noised about as being on her come-out. Was that why he’d married her? Was it on that expectation? Her muscles tightened at the thought.

  No, the inheritance that his uncle had promised him, the inheritance Daniel gave up to marry her, was much more than her supposed portion. And he had given it all up with an ease that still shocked her.

  If that was so easy, why could he not just leave this alone?

  The hot humiliation of it washed through her again.

  Had her cousins truly lied? No, no, they could not be so heartless. They must have been mistaken, or misled, or . . .

  But what if they had lied? Mrs. Broughton’s face when her son was dying rose in Eliza’s mind, the coldness with which Eliza had been treated since his death . . . how being brought to London had the additional effect of pulling her away from their neighbor, Sir Richard Bentley, who had started to show interest in her . . .

  And the worst thought, the idea that curdled her stomach . . . how, somehow, no one thought to tell her Lord Crewkerne was married. And that he was a rake. She had thought, though later pushed it from her mind, that Mrs. Broughton had noticed his interest in her. She had even seemed approving. That is what Eliza had thought at the time, or she never would have encouraged him as she did.

  It burned her, now, how she had enjoyed his attentions. They had been flattering, that she, so drab, ill-dressed, and overlooked, got attention from a handsome lord.

  Had Mrs. Broughton failed to object on purpose?

  It was almost unthinkable.

  Eliza’s stomach roiled. A miserable itching pricked all over her body at the horrid thought.

  She looked over to Daniel across the seat from her, so far away. The presence of Betsey kept Eliza from daring to reach over and touch him.

  Touching him would ease this riled misery from her, distract her from it, calm her, she knew. She needed his comfort.

  It was her own fault he was not beside her now, holding her hand, stroking her palm, driving her to distraction, and comforting her. She had avoided his touch all yesterday as they packed in a hurry, and that evening, she had left him on the other side of her door.

  She’d instructed Betsey to sit beside her and had caught the quickly suppressed tightening of Daniel’s jaw, and the passing disappointment in his eyes when he saw her maid beside her.

  She had turned her face away and tilted her chin up. She was angry at him. Unhappy.

  To accept comfort from him would be to forgive him for pursuing this in court. She must stay angry, else be swallowed by the humiliation of it. He wouldn’t stop if she didn’t keep her offense clear and in front of him. Have it cut up his peace as it cut up hers. She must hold onto the emotion.

  She must block the horrid, traitorous thoughts this was giving rise to about the family that had taken her in after her mother’s death, that she had lived with and had cared for for three years.

  Before they threw her out.

  At the inn that night, Daniel helped Eliza down, and spoke low into her ear, his evening stubble rough against her cheek. A shiver raced through her body at his close touch and the passing of his breath over her skin.

  “Do you wish for me to request a room with a trundle bed again, Eliza?”

  She brought in a breath too quickly. “No, don’t be ridiculous.”

  He backed away and looked at her with controlled intensity, his head cocked to the side.

  She walked into the inn without him, her head high.

  After a stilted dinner, Eliza lay awake in the inn’s best room, her nightcap over her head, her long hair in its braid.

  Daniel came in, a wary look in his eyes.

  She sat up in the bed and fearlessly returned his gaze. She watched him, not looking away as he readied himself for sleep.

  He kept silent.

  He came over to the other side of the bed and paused, watching her. “I can sleep on top of the sheet, Eliza, if you desire.”

  She lifted a brow and tossed back the bed coverings beside her, inviting him into the bed with a challenging look.

  He gave her a worried lift of his brows but climbed into the bed.

  When she pulled him into her and kissed him fiercely, he widened his eyes and kissed her back with fervor and a sound of relief.

  Her anxiety eased as she reveled in the intensity of his touch.

  * * *

  The next morning, she gave up the silliness of keeping him across from her when she could have him beside her.

  “Betsey, would you sit in the backward-facing seat?”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  She had the pleasure of his eyes lighting as he saw the seat next to her free for him.

  “Have you forgiven me?” He leaned close to ask.

  “Not entirely.”

  He frowned.

  “But I prefer you beside me, even though.”

  He kissed her gloved hand and kept hold of it as they traveled.

  Chapter 39

  The streets of London were damp with recent rain, but the sun shone overhead. The green foliage of spring grew lush in the flower boxes and gardens of Mayfair.

  Eliza exited the carriage in front of the Ashton’s townhouse on Curzon Street with relief, exhausted after two days of travel. She wanted to walk, to move her lim
bs, but they had arrived during the fashionable promenade hour. Finely dressed ladies and gentlemen were on the street, in carriages heading to Hyde Park, and strolling with parasols above the ladies’ heads. She could feel eyes on her in her travel-creased, less-than-fashionable clothing.

  As they entered Ashton House, Florentia greeted them with bouncing joy and happy chatter. The dowager marchioness welcomed them, but Eliza caught the tightness around the marchioness’s eyes and mouth. It had not been long enough since they’d left for the rumors to die down. With the lawsuit, gossip would blaze afresh.

  Eliza’s stomach roiled.

  She would stay in the house as much as possible. No social events or going to the theater.

  Perhaps she would focus on her wardrobe. Daniel had given her pin money and designated an amount for her to better outfit herself. Lady Daniel must have the clothes to not shame her husband’s courtesy title.

  She could sew, turn an old gown, when given enough time and materials. She could stretch a few pence quite far. She knew the feeling of being purse-pinched after these last few years.

  Maintaining their wardrobes to the state that a Lord and Lady Daniel should be expected to would likely be the focus of her efforts for the foreseeable future.

  Then, when children began to come, it would switch to stretching their limited funds even further to cover their clothing and schooling.

  How lovely it would be to not be purse-pinched. How tempting.

  But to become so would be at the expense of her cousins.

  * * *

  “My lord, I desire to see the entailment documents.” Eliza stood before the cold and solemn marquess and kept her chin high.

  His only reaction was a slight lift of one brow. “Of course, if you so desire. I have a copy of them in my study. I do warn you, they are not the easiest to comprehend for those not trained in law.”

  “I understand. Nonetheless, I would like to see them.”

  With the official copies laid out before her, the language she knew of: strict settlement, tenant-for-life, and “fee tail male”—male heirs—joined with the more difficult language of “preserve the contingent remainder.” She studied the pages, trying to worry out the meaning of convoluted passages.