Virginia And The Wolf

by Lynne Connolly

  “Do I?”

  He had the temerity to laugh. “I have plenty of my own. More than enough. You have a section of what was never an expansive estate. You are rich by some people’s reckoning, but not by mine.” His mouth flattened, the lines either side deepening. “I meant what I said at the inn. I do not wish for your property, and you are free to manage it any way you choose. Continue with your orphanages, if you wish.”

  Except, the minute they married, it would pass out of her hands forever. Surely he wouldn’t want her if she had nothing. Her parents’ cruel treatment of her returned now, the constant repetition of “nobody wants you, nobody cares about you” hammering through her mind.

  She had to tell him, but she did not know how. The humiliating terms of Ralph’s will would become known, since there would no longer be a way to conceal it. She would have nothing, worse than when she’d left her parents’ house.

  Was there a way out of this mess?

  An idea struck her. Perhaps there was a way out of this after all.

  “Francis, I cannot marry you.”

  * * * *

  Dropped into the silence, her words caught and held. The information sank under his skin like needles.

  “Virginia, Sir Bertram Dean knows we traveled as man and wife. His wife knows. So do his children. By the time we reach Combe Manor, the whole county will know, even if Sir Bertram tries to deny it. London will know. There. Is. No. Escaping. This.” He emphasized every word of the final sentence, just in case she had missed his point.

  There wasn’t a scrap of color left on her face.

  Exasperation forced him to punch into his open palm, because if he hadn’t used that futile gesture he might have put his fist through the carriage window. “For God’s sake, talk to me, Virginia.”

  Tell him what he knew already, what he wasn’t supposed to know. If she did not, he couldn’t counter it.

  She bit her lip, and tears sprang to her eyes. One trickled down the side of her face. Although he longed to sweep her into his arms and offer all the comfort he could, Francis held back. She needed to do this herself.

  “Very well.” She sighed, her shoulders slumping.

  That single tear shamed him. He should not make free with his temper, however maddening she became. But hell, he couldn’t deny it. He seized her hands, clasped his own around them, and lifted them to form a joint balled fist between them.

  “I am going nowhere, Virginia. And I will continue asking you until you tell me the truth. If you still refuse to marry me, if you want to slip into the solitary existence of the social outcast, I will come with you. Ruin yourself, and you take me along with you.”

  She gave a heavy, shaky sigh. “You won’t accept my decision not to marry you?”

  “No.” He wanted marriage.

  Although they hadn’t spoken of it, what they had done could have circumstances beyond their control. Any child of his would be born in the sanctity of marriage. And he desperately wanted the right to protect and cherish Virginia.

  “I swear I will not seek to control you in any way. I will not voice your opinions for you or decide on your social calendar.”

  A small, wavering smile touched her lips. “You noticed Ralph doing that?”

  “I noticed. Everyone did. We thought you’d agreed to it.”

  She swallowed, staring at a spot above his head rather than meeting his eyes. “I promised.”

  Francis hated the tiny voice, the fear in every word, but he had to make her tell him. Again. And he was so afraid of a repeat of what they’d done before when she’d sent him away. He clasped her hands firmly, drawing them up between them. “If you tell me, I swear I will keep your confidence, whatever it costs me. Virginia, you will find such relief in telling someone.”

  He glanced out of the window. The road followed the coast. They would arrive at Newton Abbott soon, and then she could well slam this door shut again. “Tell me now and lance this poison.”

  Her sigh came from the bottom of her heart. “Yes.”

  He felt the fight go from her, and he was sorry for it. He regretted bringing her to this, but whatever was forcing her to make impossible demands needed to come to light, if only between them.

  “My inheritance is bound up with the orphanages. The project was dear to Ralph’s heart, but he died before he could fulfill his plans. They were most detailed.”

  Ah, a general and his plans. “I see,” he said carefully, although he didn’t. Why would orphanages prevent them from marrying? This part was new to him.

  “He left me a list of the houses he wanted to make into orphanages.”

  “And Combe Manor is one of them.”

  She nodded. “That is why I can’t sell it to you. He was most specific. He left provision for each orphanage, and what I needed to invest in the trusts attached to each. I could sell some properties to fund that. What is left is mine to keep and will be signed over to me ten years after his death.”

  In six years.

  She glanced up at him, then down at her hands. “I have ten years after his death to fulfill his legacy. If I remarry before the ten years are up, then the property passes to Jamie, with the same provisions for the orphanages. If I die before the ten years are up, the same thing happens.”

  He put his hand over hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze. She had told him. He could deal with this. “I swear I will tell nobody. Whatever happens next, your secret is safe with me.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I will marry you with your dowry, which is probably modest. I don’t care, Virginia.”

  She shook her head. “The forfeiture is severe. I lose everything. My inheritance from Ralph, my own portion, my settlement—everything.”

  Shock arced through him. He hadn’t known that part. No wonder she was so concerned. That was unconscionable.

  “Surely that can be avoided?”

  She shook her head. “If I tell anyone, or if I marry anyone else before the ten years are up, I lose everything. Everything, Francis. My home, my possessions, even the clothes on my back. And my dowry.” Her voice lifted in pitch, her distress obvious.

  Despite the warmth of the day, he went so cold that he shivered. How could anyone do that to her? He’d thought Ralph had loved her, but nobody would do this to a loved one.

  He would take her with nothing. His task now was to persuade her of that.

  She lowered her chin. “It is my fault. We had an argument not long after we married. You know what it was about.”

  His inability to perform in bed, of course.

  She went on. “I told him I did not want to marry anyone ever again. So he wrote that into his will. And he wanted me to concentrate on his project. The orphanages meant a great deal to him.”

  Oh no, that was not the reason at all. A suspicion took hold in his mind and grew into an unhealthy plant. He knew he was right. Ralph had never cared for orphanages or destitute children. Only about Virginia.

  A streak of sunlight shone through the carriage windows, lighting glints of red in her hair, skimming across her fair skin like a lover. Then it was gone.

  When Ralph had married Virginia, he’d sported her around town like a prize, something he’d won, a possession. He’d dressed her in fine clothes, repeatedly asked people if they did not think she was lovely, boasted about his prowess with his new bride. Although Francis had not been there for her first season as a married woman, he’d heard about it. And when he returned, Ralph was still doing it.

  All false, all rotten. When Ralph had realized he was impotent, had the seeds of his revenge sprouted then? Had he made up his mind that if he could not have her, then nobody would? In six years, Virginia would be well past the age of marriage and childbearing, at least in the eyes of society.

  Instead of a philanthropic gesture, Ralph’s last task had turned Virginia’s work int
o drudgery.

  Damn her parents for not cherishing the treasure they’d had in Virginia, for destroying her confidence in herself. Damn her late husband for cherishing her to the point of possession.

  Francis loved her. Of course he did. At first he had put it down to her beauty, to his desire for her, but that was foolish. She was the only woman for him.

  “Francis, if you wait until the ten years are up, I will gladly marry you.”

  “In six years?” He shook his head. They had gone this far. He must press the point. Giving her time meant six months, not six years. “No. Ralph will not keep you as his wife in death. We will marry. Reconcile yourself to that. But I will force nothing else on you.”

  He lifted their hands and kissed her knuckles. “You will be free in our marriage, sweetheart. You will have enough to live independently of me, if you wish it. I will give you everything you stand to lose and more. But I cannot let you walk away from this. From us. Let Jamie have it all. Everything but you.”

  She was trembling, and Francis had to force himself to keep his voice low, to treat her gently. She deserved none of his temper. Her late husband had earned it all. If he were still alive, Francis would have tracked him down and beaten him to a bloody pulp. The wickedness of the scheme appalled him, using charity and good works to cover up a selfish, craven-dog-in-the-manger act.

  He reached out and, before she could snatch it away, took her hand in his. “I’ll settle on you whatever you want, whatever makes you feel safe.”

  When she was strong enough, he’d tell her his final secret: that he loved her. But not yet. He would show her instead.

  Ralph had told her he loved her. Frequently and in public. In her mind that must be part of the possession, the need. Yes, he, Francis, loved her, but that did not stop him seeing the woman. And she would only be his if she said she was.

  She swallowed.

  “Can we not defer it for a while?”

  Not now they couldn’t. “And what if you get with child? What then?”

  She closed her eyes. “Let me think, Francis. Please.”

  He had to tell her what the man had said. Not to do so would be cruel. And dangerous if she ever found out he’d kept it from her. “Sir Bertram offered to keep our secret. He said he suspected we were lovers and not married at all.”

  “Which is the truth.”

  He nodded. “It is.”

  She opened her eyes and met his gaze. “Thank you for telling me. I will tell you before we reach Combe Manor, I promise.”

  That was the best he could expect. Any more and she’d break.

  Chapter 17

  They reached Exeter that evening. In many ways the center of the West Country, the seat of the bishop, the place people gathered for social occasions and to shop, there was more chance of Francis and Virginia meeting their peers here than anywhere they had stopped before. But their reasons for speed and secrecy had effectively gone. According to the world, they were married.

  They traveled in near silence, Francis only telling Virginia what he had planned. “We’ll go to the George. I want you to sleep in comfort. But I need to make another call. I should visit my godfather, the Bishop of Exeter. He’d take it amiss if I did not call on him. I would take you, but I fear you would not enjoy it. He can be somewhat—severe.”

  “Will you tell him?”

  He nodded. “If he asks, I have to. I can’t lie to a man of the cloth.”

  Virginia, whose mood was the lowest it had ever been on this trip, watched the familiar streets pass by, barely seeing the sights. They had so nearly reached their objective, and yet they’d failed. And she was painfully aware that she only had herself to blame. Too many chances, too much excitement.

  She could have employed a companion, or insisted that Mrs. Dauntry came back to town, but no, she was so sure she could live on her own. But she had taken too many risks, and here she was.

  If she married Francis, she could bring him nothing. How could she bear the humiliation? Once she’d broken the terms of the will, she could give him nothing. Be his pensioner, dependent on him for everything. Belonging to him.

  After her father and Ralph, she had sworn she would never put herself in that position again. And yet here she was.

  One chance remained. “Before we leave tomorrow, I will visit my Exeter lawyer. Tell him what I plan, see if anything can be salvaged from the will.”

  “An excellent idea,” he said warmly. “I will call on mine, too. And collect more funds.”

  If her lawyer could find a way to break the will, even to help her to keep her dowry, then she would have something. But she would have to give up that precious independence she had enjoyed so much. Was it enough?

  What kind of husband would Francis make? Oh, he was an attentive lover, but would he abandon her for other entertainments once he had her safe?

  Oh, why had she rushed into intimacy?

  * * * *

  The brief delay in order to visit their respective lawyers had been a good idea.

  Butler had purchased another gown for Virginia, one somewhat less worn than the one she’d been wearing since Blackwater. Instead of petticoat and jacket, Virginia could dress properly in a decent gown over a small hooped petticoat, and even a single ruffle of Nottingham lace at her elbows. A new hat, too, a crisp, tightly woven straw with a jaunty green ribbon around the crown.

  For a finishing touch, she had the SSL pin and the gold coin pin placed on either side of her bodice. Not bad at all.

  Mr. Henderson’s office was situated in a narrow street near to the river, a respectable area containing businesses and some private houses, all crammed close together in an old-fashioned style. Virginia got out of the hackney she had hired, Hurst close behind her, and glanced at the highly polished brass plaque by the door, proclaiming Henderson’s business. She stepped inside.

  She had sent word to expect her the previous day and received a gracious request to visit at eleven in return, just as if she were the plaintiff and he the master.

  The clerk showed her into the office her solicitor occupied. She spared barely a glance for the familiar surroundings of bookcases and a large partner’s desk. The furnishings, solid but elegant, proclaimed the owner of the office a man of substance in this part of the world.

  Henderson rose as she swept into the room and bowed punctiliously. He was a man of medium height and build. He wore an excellent suit of clothes of deep red velvet, coat, breeches, and waistcoat all the same. A show of wealth.

  “My lady,” he said, “I trust you are well?”

  Virginia murmured the expected response, although a sick feeling churned in her stomach.

  A tray of tea things stood on a side table. While Henderson poured them a dish each, Virginia took stock of his smug, controlling attitude. His smile was supercilious, his pose that of her master. Why had she never noticed that before?

  This man knew the contents of the will and the conditions like he knew his own hand. To a great extent he had dictated how she lived, what she did, and he was empowered to check her work whenever he wished. He had been in many ways her master.

  He behaved like it now, shooting her sharp glances as he poured the tea and brought it over to the desk. She clasped her hands, resting them on the desk. He took his seat behind it, and he had two stacks of papers before him. He perched a pair of gold-framed spectacles on his nose. “How may I help you today, my lady?”

  “What would happen if I remarried?” she demanded.

  He regarded her in silence for half a minute. “Are you?”

  “Not yet.” Surely he would keep her counsel if word got out about her tryst with Francis.

  “Yet? My lady, I must strongly advise you not to take such a reckless step. If you remarry, you will lose everything.”

  “What about my dowry?” She had brought that to the marriage; surely
, despite Ralph’s threats, that could not be withheld. If she had that, she could go to Francis with, if not a clear conscience, then with something to contribute.

  “That is now part of the estate. If you can find a man to take you with nothing but the clothes you stand up in, then you are a lucky woman indeed.” He swept his gaze over her, once, twice, as if her modest garb was all she would have.

  “What about the orphanages?” After all, small children were part of this bargain. How could she abandon them?

  “Lord Dulverton would have to take over the project as a condition of his inheritance.”

  She had planned to tell him about the danger they were both in, but abruptly she changed her mind.

  What if this man were part of the attempts? She couldn’t trust anybody outside her small party, not even this man.

  One detail had always irked her. She might as well ask now. “Do you have the names of the members of the trust which administers the estate?”

  Being a woman, she couldn’t be trusted to handle her own monetary affairs, she thought bitterly. At least, that was what the law thought.

  Henderson’s pale gaze showed nothing but contempt. “I cannot, my lady. Mine is the only name you need to know.”

  Removing his spectacles, he tapped them on his palm. “If that is all, my lady?”

  Fuming, she left his office.

  Butler, standing outside, followed her silently.

  * * * *

  Francis’s visit to his godfather had been successful. He had the bishop’s license safe in his coat pocket. On visiting his lawyer, he made his instructions clear. He wanted to make more than ample provision for his wife-to-be, however matters turned out. He left instructions for a complex trust, which would leave the settlement he intended to make on her completely separate from the main estate. He would leave her in control of it.

  His lawyer thought he was mad, and was not shy in saying so, but Francis rode over his objections and insisted on the settlement being drawn up exactly as he’d promised Virginia.

  And he’d learned more. Combe Manor was run-down, isolated, and possibly dangerous, much closer to the cliff than he’d assumed. Too isolated for his liking. Despite the impropriety, if it became known, he wouldn’t stay at Newton Abbott and allow her to go forward to the manor on her own.