A Convenient Bride

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  Brenna listened to his old bones pop and crackle as he walked away. She worried about him on the stairs but soon heard him whistling below.

  “Mister Crane is a nice man,” Brenna said. “Though we are still missing a ghost.”

  Richard nodded absently and took her arm. “My stomach is rumbling. Shall we eat?”

  He led her down to the ground floor, taking care on the stairs. He left her waiting inside the building while he retrieved the basket. After spreading the blanket out on the grass and laying out the contents of the basket, they were soon eating the delicious fare.

  “I do love dining outside,” Brenna said, and looked around her at the stone walls. “Of course, this isn’t exactly outside.”

  Richard nodded. “The missing roof does lend to the feeling of being out in nature.”

  The polite conversation left her wanting to both shake and kiss him, anything to rid them of the wall that had gone up between them as a result of a few innocent words spoken by an elderly caretaker. She knew he was trying to be a good husband, but she did not want him feeling resignation over what he could not change. She wanted him to be happy in their marriage.

  Taking him to bed seemed to be the only time she saw true emotion in his eyes.

  Still, she could not force his affection. It had to grow naturally. For now, she’d do whatever it took to shake some emotion from him, even if it meant taking the risk of him closing off to her.

  So she drew in a deep breath and braced herself. “Tell me about Millicent.”

  His eyes snapped up. He frowned. “No.”

  Brenna crossed her arms and matched his frown. “I am competing with a woman I know nothing about. I think I am entitled to know her.”

  Richard stood. “You are entitled to nothing. She is dead.”

  Scrambling to her feet, Brenna wasn’t about to give in so easily. “I live in her house, I sleep in her bed, and I am married to her husband. She haunts everything you do. I see her in your eyes every time you look at me.”

  Richard bent to shove the remnants of their picnic into the basket and snapped the lid closed. “Leave this alone, Brenna.”

  She stepped back off the blanket. He jerked it up, gave it a hard shake, and shoved it under his arm.

  “I will not.” She set her jaw. “I cannot.”

  He was angry. It was something. “The subject is closed.” He turned on his heel and stalked away.

  It took an effort to catch up with his long, angry strides. “You need to bury her, Richard. You cannot live with her haunting you.” He dropped the basket and blanket into the curricle. “I know you were hurt—”

  “You know nothing,” he snapped. His glare was cold on her.

  “Then tell me,” she pleaded.

  “You want to know why I cannot forget her or forgive myself for her death?” At her weak nod, he leaned down and met her eyes. “Because I killed her.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Stunned into silence, Brenna allowed him to help her into the curricle. She winced as the small conveyance swayed under the weight of his body as he climbed aboard and took up the reins.

  He killed Millicent? That couldn’t be!

  Shivering, she clutched her hands against her body. Though the rational part of her mind knew that if he’d committed murder, he’d have been hanged. Still, she could not bring herself to ask why he believed his wife’s death was his fault. Hadn’t she died in childbirth? She wasn’t certain she wanted to know the details. Would it make her think differently about him?

  She needed time to collect her thoughts.

  The short ride back to Beckwith Hall took an eternity. She could feel the tension in him and knew she’d pushed too hard.

  Worse, the confession shook her to her soul.

  When they reached the hall, she murmured her thanks when he helped her down, then hurried inside. She went to her room, passing Bethany on the stairs. She barely gave her notice. Her emotions were scrambled, and she needed time alone.

  Two hours later, Lucy joined her. The former courtesan sat beside her on the bed. “Am I to assume the picnic did not go well? You have been locked up here since your return.”

  Brenna sighed. “Oh, Lucy. What have I gotten myself into?” She pushed up and leaned against the headboard. “I thought if I wished it hard enough, and used a bit of seduction, then all would be well between Richard and me. I was very wrong.”

  Lucy waited patiently for her to continue.

  “I knew Richard felt guilty over the deaths of his wife and son.” She worried her thumbnail between her teeth. “Lucy, he thinks he killed them!”

  Eyes widening, Lucy rubbed her temple. “That certainly explains why his behavior became so destructive afterward. Did he tell you why he thinks so?”

  “He did not,” Brenna replied. “And I was afraid to ask.”

  There were so many questions. “The deeper I delve into my husband’s past, the more complicated it becomes. With each passing day, I feel I am taking a few steps forward and many steps back. By the time the babe is born, we could be bitter strangers living under the same roof.”

  “I do hope not.”

  “What can I do?” Brenna continued. She was desperate to help him, but her inexperience with men and marriage left her without a solution.

  “Your husband needs healing.” Lucy nodded. “I do not know if there is anything you can do, save being patient.”

  “And here I thought you would impart some wisdom that would instantly make everything better.” Brenna’s thoughts drifted to Richard’s tortured expression during the confession. “Instead, you suggest patience. I have never been good at waiting.”

  Lucy touched her foot and met her eyes. “I see the way he looks at you, the way he seems to listen for your footsteps when you aren’t in the room. I think you are the solution that will cast out his demons. However, it will take time.”

  “Time is what I do not have.”

  For the next week, Richard avoided her except at meals and did not come to her bed. According to Lucy, the entire household felt the tension, none more so than Bethany. Brenna hated her knowing smirk, which she made little attempt to hide.

  “I do hate to see you and Richard so unhappy,” Bethany said one afternoon, when she found Brenna alone in the library. “Perhaps I can assist. I know Richard’s moods quite well.”

  “Thank you, but no.” Brenna took a book off the shelf. “My marriage is my concern.”

  “Come, Brenna. Richard is a complicated man.” Bethany walked across the room. Clad in sunny yellow, she was lovely. It was unfortunate that her disposition did not match her deceptively sweet face. “Certainly I can answer any questions you may have.”

  Brenna did not trust her in the least. Though the other woman seemed to accept her place as mistress of the hall, Brenna did not believe for a moment that she wasn’t plotting ways to ruin the marriage.

  “There is something I am curious about.” Brenna tucked the book under her arm. “I suspect that both you and Miriam hoped to marry Richard. Now that I am his wife, why are you still here?”

  If she expected to pique Bethany’s temper, she failed. The woman laughed. “You are a delight, my dear.”

  The woman closed the distance between them. She gave Brenna a thorough look over, perhaps calculating her qualities as a rival.

  “I suspect Richard married you out of duty or guilt, or under the threat of death,” Bethany said. “It matters not why, only that he did not willingly agree to your marriage.”

  Brenna winced, the truth cutting deeply. She quickly tried to mask her hurt, but it was too late.

  Smiling knowingly, Bethany pounced. “Ah, it is true!” She placed her hands on her hips. “Your pretty face will only keep him interested for so long. His heart belongs to Millicent. Soon you will tire of always living under her gloomy shadow and run back to London, where you belong.”

  Beneath her corset, Brenna’s stomach recoiled, yet she managed to keep her eyes locked on Bethany’s.
“Once I am gone, what do you expect to get from him that you could not achieve over the last two years?”

  Her brown eyes darkened, but her smile held. “Did Richard tell you that he kissed me? I know that once you’ve gone, and the marriage is annulled, I will seduce him into making me his next, and last, wife.”

  Hatred burned hot in Brenna’s bones. “You have this all planned out, do you?” A slow smug smile curled her mouth up. “There is only one problem with your plot.”

  “And that is?”

  Brenna placed a hand over her stomach. “Richard will never leave the woman who is carrying his child.”

  Bethany looked down, and her face went white. “You are pregnant?”

  She did not need to answer. The satisfied smile was all it took to convince Bethany that her words rang true. “I suggest you look elsewhere for a husband. You cannot have mine.”

  And with as much confidence as she could manage, Brenna glided from the room.

  Only after she was safely away from that witch did the tears come. Richard had kissed Bethany. He clearly found the woman attractive. That shattered her confidence.

  No matter what he felt for her, what she’d said to Bethany about him not leaving her was correct. He had too much honor to cast out the mother of his child. But he could take a mistress. Nothing would stop him if he wanted Bethany.

  Their marriage vows were just words. Men of his ilk took mistresses without qualms or concerns for their wives.

  And Richard did not love her.

  In a few months, she’d be well rounded, not the seductive wife he married. Could she trust him not to look elsewhere?

  Brushing away the tears with her sleeve, she headed for the back of the house and out into the garden.

  The sun was hidden beneath blanketing clouds as she found the path to the pond. Once there, she sat on the stone bench and looked out over the water. A pair of ducks dove for fish, their antics drawing a smile.

  “When did my life become such a muddle?” she said softly, and placed her hands over her stomach. “How do I fix this?”

  “Can I join you, or is this a private conversation?” Brenna startled, and turned to find George walking up behind her. “I would hate to intrude.”

  Brenna slid her skirt aside to make room on the bench. “I was just pondering the meaning of my existence,” she said, in half jest. He took a seat beside her. “I am troubled with what I see.”

  George looked into her face and rubbed his chin. “I think most of your troubles begin with that grim man you wed.”

  “Partially,” she admitted. “And there are other forces at work to darken my mood.”

  “My sister,” George said, without hesitation. “She is desperately jealous of you. She wanted to be Lady Ashwood. She would have tromped over anyone to make that happen. Unfortunately for her, Richard was not of a similar mind.”

  “She seems to think she was very close to seeing that come to fruition,” Brenna said. She looked back at the ducks. “Her confidence concerns me.”

  “Hmm.” George rubbed at his cuff. A spot of dirt marked the lace. “Bethany holds herself in high regard. There is nothing she wants that she cannot have. Except Ashwood. I do not know what you did to hook him, but you have succeeded where my sister, and many other women, have failed.”

  This was turning into a very interesting conversation. “Are you including Miriam in that group? I suspect she was also hoping for a proposal.”

  George snorted. “Miriam is a mouse. Bethany would have pushed her under a coach before she’d allow a wedding between them to happen. It was Miriam’s mother who hoped for that match.”

  Brenna stared. “I thought Bethany and Miriam were friends?”

  “Bethany has no friends,” George said, snickering. “Miriam’s mother and our mother are friends. Bethany found out about Richard, and Mrs. Prindle’s hope that Miriam would one day be Lady Ashwood, and manipulated an invitation to the hall. She only tolerates Miriam to keep her place here.”

  Interesting. She wanted to delve further into the relationships but felt she’d snooped enough already.

  “And what of you?” she asked. “What do you gain from living here at the hall?”

  A bright grin split his face. “Balls, soirees, and all the women I can charm.” He chuckled. “Richard may prefer his own company to the social whirl, but living here affords me invitations to events for which I would otherwise be overlooked. And I do enjoy a good party.”

  “And yet you remain unmarried?” she pressed. He probably had mothers all over the park hoping to gain his favor for their daughters. “There must be women who’ve captured your interest?”

  “Alas, I have difficulty settling for one,” he admitted. “Though if you decide to leave that cranky husband of yours, I would gladly give up my bachelorhood for a cottage in the country and a passel of sniveling children with you as my bride.”

  Brenna laughed. “You make it sound so charming.”

  He made a face and shuddered dramatically. “It does sound horrid, does it not? Perhaps I shall remain a bachelor after all. Your marriage is safe from me.”

  “For that, I am thankful,” Brenna teased.

  They chatted for a time, until the hour grew late. Brenna excused herself to change for supper. The afternoon had taken an upward turn. George certainly amused.

  The maid had just finished fastening her gown when she heard Richard moving around next door. She decided to take the opportunity to speak to him privately. She walked through the sitting room and knocked.

  Her stomach fluttered when he opened the door. It took a moment to regain her composure. She lifted her chin.

  “I came to speak to you about a matter of great importance,” she said, hoping he’d not refuse her. “It cannot wait until later.”

  He sighed and stepped back. “Then do come in.” Brenna passed him, keeping her hands to herself. She wanted desperately to drag him down on his bed and forget their quarrel, everything but finding pleasure in each other.

  Instead, she knitted her fingers together and turned. “I owe you an apology. I should not have insisted you tell me about your wife. It was not my place.”

  He tugged at his cravat. “Some memories should be left buried.”

  “Oh, I do not think so,” she said. “I am only sorry I pushed you, not that I felt I should not know. I just want you to tell me on your own.”

  He released the cravat and scowled. “This is an apology?”

  Brenna shrugged. “I grow weary of your silence. I am with child. As I understand from Mrs. Beal, I should keep my emotions even. Otherwise, I will have a temperamental child.”

  “Your mother must have suffered much trauma when she was carrying you,” he said gruffly.

  Laughter bubbled up. “I suspect you are correct.” She did not wait for a reply. She walked over and took his arm. “Come, let us eat before the baby starves.”

  The evening meal passed along the same light vein as the afternoon in the garden, when George told story after story, his supply of humorous adventures seemingly endless. Even Richard smiled now and again when something amusing was said.

  Brenna watched Richard, uncertain of his thoughts but hoping their talk helped to ease the strain between them.

  Occasionally she caught him looking at her with a heated gaze that he quickly masked. This gave her hope that he might join her in bed that evening. She eagerly anticipated the moment. However, and without explanation, he left her with a kiss on the forehead before moving on to his solitary bed.

  Disappointed and frustrated, she followed him through the sitting room and placed herself in the doorway before he could close the panel.

  “I thought we had settled our differences,” she said, puzzled at his abrupt dismissal.

  “We have. For the moment.” He tugged at his cravat. “This last week has given me time to conclude that you and I are very different. And it goes beyond the obvious. You enjoy parties and shopping and attention. I enjoy quiet and coun
try and…sheep.”

  He gave her a funny look. She flushed. Somehow he must have overheard her jest about him preferring the company of the woolly creatures over people.

  “You make me sound frivolous, like I possess only fluff in my head,” she said, annoyed. “I do maintain some intelligence, meager though it may be.”

  “You are very intelligent, Brenna,” he said. “My point was that we both know you will never be happy living this life here. You will miss the gaiety of London and the social whirl, your friends, your family, everything I cannot give you at Beckwith Hall.”

  Wanting to deny this, she opened her mouth to speak, then snapped it closed just as quickly. Was she entirely certain he was incorrect? She was currently focused on giving him a healthy child and trying to find some common ground between them on which to build a marriage.

  What about after the babe was born? Would she be satisfied to spend the rest of her days in this lovely but somewhat isolated manor house?

  He continued. “I loved once, Brenna, and you know how that ended. I cannot give you the love you deserve. Will you be happy to share my bed and carry my children without love?” He paused. “I know not wanting a loveless marriage was one of the reasons you offered the bargain to the highwayman. Now you are in one.”

  Deep inside her, she knew he was right. He’d never lied to her or promised anything. And in spite of his moods and ill humors, she was already half in love with him. Loving a man who did not return that love was a hopeless prospect indeed.

  “I assume from your silence that I have struck a cord in you.” He came to her and touched the side of her face. “I think it best if we return to our marriage of convenience and accept what we cannot change.”

  She wanted to deny everything, to convince him she was fully devoted to her marriage. But she was not entirely convinced herself. Success in bed did not a perfect marriage make.

  Thankfully, she was no longer the moony-eyed innocent she was after the first night they’d spent together, thinking she was in love with a stranger, hoping her prince had finally come to rescue her. As a grown woman, she had to accept her fate. Everything she’d fought her father against had come to fruition. How she went forward with her life depended on her.