The Convenient Felstone Marriage

by Jenni Fletcher

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. ‘Are you certain?’

  She took a deep breath, forcing the fear away. ‘Of course. A walk sounds very pleasant.’

  ‘Good.’ The tension in his face seemed to ease slightly. ‘How are you, Ianthe?’

  ‘I’m well.’ She swallowed, trying to think of something else to say. ‘I thought you weren’t due back until Saturday?’

  ‘My business didn’t take as long as I expected.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Silence.

  ‘Have you settled in?’

  ‘Yes. Mrs Baxter showed me around.’ She gestured towards the household keys hanging in a loop from her belt. ‘I still might need a map, though. I can’t remember where any of these go.’

  ‘Ah.’ He didn’t return her smile. ‘I was going to give you a tour, wasn’t I?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I think she enjoyed it.’

  ‘Probably.’ He paced around the room, still keeping the desk between them. ‘How’s Matthew doing?’

  ‘I think we’re starting to make progress.’

  ‘Let me know if he isn’t paying attention.’

  ‘He’s a good boy.’ She picked up a small blackboard. ‘Here’s his work from this morning if you’d like to check.’

  Robert’s brow creased. ‘I’m not here to inspect you, Ianthe.’

  ‘Oh.’ She let her hand fall again. ‘My old employer always wanted to look.’

  ‘I’m not your employer. I just wondered if there was anything you might need?’

  ‘Not that I can think of—but thank you.’

  He gave a curt nod, hesitating for a moment before speaking again. ‘We may not have a conventional marriage, but I’d like for us to be friends.’

  ‘Friends?’ Her voice sounded strangely high pitched.

  ‘Since we’re married... Unless you’d prefer that I leave you alone?’

  ‘No!’ She shook her head quickly. ‘That sounds...good.’

  ‘Good.’ His lips twitched slightly as he echoed the word. ‘Then I’ll meet you in the hall in five minutes.’

  Ianthe nodded mutely, waiting until he’d gone before putting her hands over her face with mortification. What was the matter with her? Good? As if she couldn’t think of anything more intelligent to say! The shock of seeing him again seemed to have scattered her wits along with her senses.

  Not that she had much time to recover. Now that she’d tacitly agreed to go down to the pier, she had to hurry and get ready. On top of everything else, she didn’t want to be late, too!

  Quickly, she ran along to her room, donning her most respectable-looking woollen cloak and a plain poke bonnet, regarding herself in the mirror with satisfaction. Surely it would be impossible to look any more respectable. Percy would be horrified.

  ‘It’s not cold.’ Matthew gave her an inquisitorial look as she descended the stairs. ‘You’ll be too hot in that.’

  ‘Matthew,’ Robert admonished the boy with a stern look, coming to meet her as she reached the last step. ‘Though he might be right. It’s quite warm today.’

  He himself was dressed lightly, she noticed, having discarded his formal waistcoat and cravat in favour of a simple white shirt and black jacket. If he was right about the temperature, then it would make sense for her to go and change, too, but she was reluctant to put aside her respectable attire so soon. A three-quarter-length cloak was what a respectable woman would wear.

  ‘I’m not used to a sea climate.’ She smiled indifferently, wrapping the cloak tightly around her shoulders. ‘There might be a breeze.’

  ‘There’s no wind.’

  ‘Matthew!’

  ‘But there isn’t!’ the boy protested. ‘And it’s a long way down to the harbour. You’ll need sensible boots.’

  ‘For pity’s sake, boy...’

  ‘I always wear sensible boots.’ She laughed as Robert ground his teeth in frustration. ‘It was one of the first things your guardian noticed about me, wasn’t it, Robert?’

  ‘One of them.’ He gave a bemused smile, gesturing towards the front door. ‘Shall we?’

  She took a few steps forward, hoping that her movements didn’t look as unsteady as they felt, pausing on the threshold with a feeling of trepidation. The wide expanse of the crescent seemed to make the outside world look even more intimidating. The last thing she wanted to do was go out there, but if she turned back now, she didn’t know when she’d have the nerve to try again. She had to go through with it, had to conquer the fear for her own sake. Besides, what would Robert think if she ran away again? She could feel his eyes watching her, probably wondering why she was hesitating.

  She took a deep breath and stepped outside, keeping her head down and her gaze fixed on the ground as they followed the curve of the pavement, before crossing the road that led to the promenade.

  ‘Matthew’s right about the distance.’ Robert’s tone was solicitous. ‘I can call for a carriage if you wish.’

  ‘There’s no need.’ She shook her head obstinately. ‘I’m perfectly capable of walking.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  She glanced towards him, suddenly regretting her brusqueness. After all, he was only trying to help.

  ‘I’m looking forward to seeing the view,’ she offered.

  ‘You haven’t been out at all, then?’

  He sounded surprised, and she could have bitten her own tongue out. ‘No. I thought I’d learn my way around the house first. Mrs Baxter had a lot to tell me.’

  That was true, she told herself, if not entirely convincing. Mrs Baxter had been exhaustive in her description of how to manage the household. It had felt like two days at any rate.

  ‘Have you been into town?’

  ‘Not yet.’ She shrugged, trying to make it seem as if there were nothing odd about such reclusive behaviour. ‘I’m glad to be out now, though.’

  He stopped all of a sudden and swept an arm out, gesturing over the edge of the cliff. ‘In that case, this is Whitby.’

  Ianthe caught her breath, rendered momentarily speechless by the view of the immense harbour below. The shimmering water was dotted with at least fifty different ships—fishing boats, schooners, merchant vessels, barques, even a couple of naval frigates—while the harbour walls were a throng of activity, too, with fishermen, merchants and sailors intermingling with tourists promenading along the pier.

  ‘It’s quite impressive the first time you see it.’ Robert’s voice held a hint of pride.

  ‘I think it must be impressive at any time.’ She felt mesmerised by the sight. ‘How do we get down?’

  He gestured towards a narrow flight of steps. ‘Don’t say we didn’t warn you. It’s still not too late for a carriage.’

  Ianthe lifted her chin rebelliously, starting down the long, winding steps as Matthew scampered on ahead. The boy had been right, the temperature was far warmer than she’d expected and getting hotter every moment. The extra exertion was making her heavy clothes feel itchy as well, though at least it distracted her mind from its fear of the outdoors. How many steps could there possibly be? She must have counted a hundred already.

  ‘Can I play on the beach?’ Matthew was already at the bottom, hopping from foot to foot impatiently.

  ‘Stay where we can see you.’ Robert took her arm as they finally reached the pavement. ‘And no swimming!’

  Ianthe averted her face as they walked along the harbourside, trying to hide her flaming cheeks. She was so hot she felt faint. If only she could take off her cloak, but that wouldn’t be respectable...

  ‘He’s not my son.’

  ‘What?’ She spun towards him in surprise, temperature suddenly forgotten. ‘I didn’t say...’

  ‘But you thought it.’

  ‘Ye-es.’ She had a feeling
he’d know if she was lying. ‘You’re just so alike.’

  ‘I know, but he’s not mine. You should know that.’

  They stepped on to the pier, and she glanced towards the beach on the west side of the harbour wall, to where Matthew was already playing with a group of other boys. He was throwing stones into the sea, his black hair gleaming with blue lights in the sunshine. Even from a distance the resemblance was almost uncanny. Surely Robert knew how obvious their relation was? Still, if he wanted her to believe it, who was she to argue? She had her own pretence to maintain after all.

  ‘All right.’

  ‘I should have explained the other night, but I find certain subjects difficult to talk about.’

  ‘I understand. It’s none of my business.’

  ‘It is. You’re my wife. You have a right to know some things. Matthew isn’t my son, but I’m raising him as one. I’ve given him a home and my name. It was his mother’s last request and I intend to honour it. That’s all I can tell you.’

  ‘Oh.’ She didn’t know how else to answer. He seemed genuine, but surely he knew how far-fetched his denial sounded. Why didn’t he just admit the truth? It wasn’t as if it would bother her. Or did he think she was too respectable to hear it?

  ‘As for my mother...’ He sounded tense again. ‘We weren’t close, but I wouldn’t want you to think ill of her.’

  ‘Why would I think ill of her?’ She looked up at him in surprise.

  ‘Because the other night you seemed upset by what I told you. Given the circumstances, I’d understand if you were bothered by the connection, though I would have preferred it if you’d mentioned it sooner.’

  ‘I thought no such thing!’ She wrenched her arm out of his indignantly.

  ‘You left in a hurry.’

  ‘Not because of that!’

  His severe expression seemed to ease slightly. ‘Then I’m sorry. I’ve been told before that my past makes me a less-than-desirable match. Perhaps I misinterpreted your behaviour.’

  ‘If you thought that, then, yes, you did! If I was upset it was because I was sorry for bringing the subject up. Sorry for your mother, too. It must have very hard for her.’ Despite her anger, she found herself regarding him sympathetically. ‘For both of you.’

  ‘It was. Most people only insulted her behind her back, but there were others who spread gossip openly.’

  ‘Some people don’t understand how much words can hurt.’

  ‘Most don’t care.’

  She took his arm again, trying to lighten the mood as they headed towards the eighty-foot lighthouse at the far end of the pier. ‘Why stay here, then? If what people say bothers you, why not start again somewhere else?’

  ‘Because I’m not ashamed of my mother. If I left it would be like admitting everyone was right about her. And because the truth has a way of catching up with people. When I was a boy we were always moving, running from town to town, trying to escape the rumours. They always found us. Eventually my mother got tired of running. She was from Whitby and wanted to come back. Once we arrived, she told me she’d never run away again, no matter what.’ Pale eyes flashed defiantly. ‘I won’t run away either, Ianthe, but I will prove everyone wrong. They said I wouldn’t amount to anything and I have. They said I’d never be respectable...’

  ‘So you married me.’

  She stared out to sea, clasping the metal railings that ran along the edge of the pier for support. The truth has a way of catching up with people. But that wasn’t always true...was it?

  ‘Besides...’ he leaned over the railing beside her, looking out to where Matthew was playing on the sand ‘...this is my home. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.’

  ‘I can see why. It’s beautiful.’

  ‘Even more so at sunset. You know the harbour mouth faces north. This is one of the few places in England where you can see the sun rise and set directly over the sea.’

  ‘I’d like to see that. It seems to have been raining ever since I got here.’

  ‘The sun’s shining now.’

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘Maybe tonight then.’

  He looked at her seriously. ‘Not feeling homesick, then?’

  ‘No.’ She felt oddly touched by the question. ‘I don’t have a home in London any more. It was never the same after my parents died and at least here I’m close to my aunt.’

  ‘You should invite her to stay.’

  ‘Aunt Sophoria?’ She tilted her head in surprise.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because...’ She hesitated, wondering how to be tactful. ‘She’s a little eccentric.’

  ‘So I’ve noticed.’ A black eyebrow quirked upwards ironically. ‘I might not want her to dress you again, Ianthe, but I enjoy her company.’

  She felt the corners of her mouth twitch before bursting into a peal of laughter. ‘I did look ridiculous that first morning, didn’t I?’

  ‘And yet I still proposed.’ He laughed too. ‘Speaking of clothes, didn’t you buy any new gowns? I see that you’re still wearing grey.’

  ‘I thought you liked me in grey.’ She glanced down self-consciously.

  ‘You can wear whatever colour you like, but it would make me happy to buy you a few new dresses. Perhaps something a bit cooler for the summer.’

  ‘But I thought this was...’

  ‘If you say respectable one more time, I’ll throw that cloak into the harbour myself.’

  ‘All right.’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘Then I thought you wanted me to dress a certain way?’

  ‘I do, but I’d prefer you not to collapse from heatstroke while doing it. I don’t think respectable means wearing wool on a hot day.’ He looked at her indignant stance and grinned. ‘Half an hour at the harbour and she turns into a fishwife. Here.’

  He caught hold of the corners of her cloak suddenly, tugging her towards him as he unwrapped it gently from around her shoulders.

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Better,’ she admitted, voice quavering slightly. When he’d pulled her towards him, she’d had the brief, startling impression that he’d been about to kiss her again. ‘But what if one of your acquaintances sees me?’

  ‘You’re wearing a morning gown, Ianthe, not a petticoat.’ He tugged at the bow beneath her chin, letting the ribbon unravel before lifting her bonnet carefully away from her head.

  ‘Besides...’ he leant down, bringing his lips close to her ear ‘...if I see anyone coming, I can always stand in front of you.’

  She threw him a scathing look and turned her face towards the sea, letting the air cool her cheeks. That was better, even if she felt more confused now than ever. He was the one who’d said he wanted her to be respectable and yet now he seemed to find the whole idea amusing, half-undressing her in broad daylight! He seemed a tangle of contradictions. A man who craved respectability and yet stayed in the one place he could never achieve it—who gave his name and a home to a boy he refused to acknowledge as his son! She couldn’t make sense of him at all, but at least the tension between them seemed to have passed. He seemed altogether mellower now, the way he’d been at the ball. She felt as though she were getting to know him again.

  ‘So...friends?’ His shoulder brushed against hers as he stood beside her.

  She took a deep breath and exhaled. In his company, her fear of the outdoors seemed to have receded somewhat, at least for the moment. For the first time since the ball, she was aware of her old self again; that buried self she’d almost forgotten—happy, relaxed and carefree. That wasn’t the Ianthe Robert wanted, but she didn’t want him to push her away again, not just yet. She wanted to enjoy the view, the moment, the start of her new life...

  She tilted her face up towards him, unable to hide a sudden burst of happiness.

  ‘Friends.’
>
  * * *

  Robert regarded his wife in amazement. He’d returned to Whitby that morning with a heavy heart, braced for another argument, and yet now arguing was the very last thing on his mind.

  What was on his mind was something he ought not to think about, but it was impossible not to. The way she was looking at him—smiling as if she were genuinely happy—made him wish that theirs wasn’t such a straightforward business arrangement after all. The urge to kiss her was almost overpowering.

  Clearly, he must be losing his senses along with his sanity, he decided. He’d just invited her aunt to visit and offered to take her shopping! If he wasn’t careful he’d be propositioning her next.

  ‘Which one is yours?’

  ‘Hmm?’ He cleared his throat huskily.

  ‘Which one is your shipyard?’ She leaned back against the railings, facing into the harbour. ‘Can we see it from here?’

  ‘No.’ He brought his face alongside hers, checking the angle. ‘See where the River Esk curves out of sight? It’s just around the bend, on the west bank next to the mudflats.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her voice sounded breathless suddenly. ‘How many yards are there altogether?’

  ‘Now? Only about a dozen, though there used to be a lot more. A hundred years ago, we were the second-biggest shipbuilding town in the country. Two of Captain Cook’s ships, the Endeavour and the Resolution, were built here. Back then we made twenty full-size ships a years. Now we’re lucky if we make half that number.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘London and Newcastle expanded, started building in iron, too. That’s what we need to do. In a few years, no one will be building wooden ships any more, but some of my colleagues don’t want to accept that.’

  ‘Including Mr Harper?’