A Convenient Bride (21 page)

An outing did sound fun. Perhaps fresh air would settle her stomach. “I shall get my bonnet and pelisse.”

Minutes later, Richard helped Brenna into the curricle, and they were on their way. “The clouds are gathering,” she said. “I hope it doesn’t rain.”

“Hmm.” Richard looked up. “I think we will return before we get wet. I promised you a picnic, and I expect the weather to help me keep my word.”

“Where are we going?”

“There is an old ruin just down the road,” he said, taking a right at the end of the drive. “It used to be a small abbey but
was abandoned long ago, when a larger one was built closer to London. It is interesting architecturally, and I thought you might enjoy exploring the place.”

Brenna nodded eagerly. “I would, very much. Perhaps we might even see a ghost.”

He flicked his gaze to her. “There is an old cemetery on the grounds, kept up by a caretaker. I am convinced that there are ghosts aplenty inside those iron gates.”

The idea of a haunted abbey sent a trill of excitement through her. She rubbed her hands together and eagerly looked about for a first sight of the ruin.

“Do you think we could ask one to rattle a chain or moan dramatically?” Brenna asked, with mock seriousness. “I do adore chain-rattling ghosts.”

“We shall have to wait and see.” Richard made another turn, and soon the abbey came into view. It was three stories tall, with a large bell tower in the center that added another tall story. The rest was made up of lower wings, jutting out this way and that. The roof was gone, but the rest of the building seemed to have withstood the elements quite well. Though there were small cracks in several places in the stonework, the place appeared sound.

“This is the perfect place for a picnic,” Brenna said, in awe. “It is charming.”

Richard drew the horse to a stop and helped her down. “Would you like to explore first, or eat?”

“Explore.” She did not hesitate. She hurried toward the building, Richard on her heels. “I can’t wait to find the first ghost.”

The wood door to what she supposed was a foyer of sorts was nothing more than a few broken bits of ancient wood from the missing roof scattered in the grass. Brenna stepped over them and through the open doorway. The room went clear up the full three stories and opened up to the sky beyond.

Several crows took flight, soaring skyward without a roof to block their passage, their black bodies disappearing against the backdrop of gray clouds.

Instead of seeing the birds as a grim omen, Brenna clapped her hands. “Perfect. I am convinced a ghost is nearby.”

Richard shook his head. “Next you will be talking about
dead maids and murderers. Who knew you had such a dark imagination, my dear Brenna.”

She glanced up toward the second floor. “Is that a chain I hear rattling?” she said, and grinned. “We’d better hurry before the ghost gets away.” She lifted her skirts and hurried for the stone staircase, her laughter echoing off the walls.

Keeping close to the wall, as the crumbling stone railing appeared to be unsafe, she climbed the stairs and entered the first room to her right.

The space was sparse, as expected, and full of cobwebs. A brick and stone alter stood at one end, and Brenna wondered how many pairs of knees ached while kneeling for hours on the stone floor before it. Hundreds, she suspected.

Richard came in beside her, brushing a web away from his head. “You really must let me lead this exploration.” He held up his cane. “There could be rats or raccoons living in these rooms. I’d hate to see you bitten.”

Rats? Brenna shuddered and peered around for any sign of the furry critters. “If there is one thing I hate more than mice, it is rats. Perhaps I will let you lead.”

They explored the rooms for an hour or so, Richard scaring off two mice and startling a wren from its nest. As with the foyer, the third story was missing much of its roof. With rain threatening, they moved back down to the second floor.

There were no ghosts, though Brenna was certain that once darkness fell, there would be spirits aplenty.

“This is the last room,” Richard said. It was the largest, with a huge stone fireplace and the biggest collection of spider-webs. They fluttered in the breeze coming in through the chimney and missing window glass.

Brenna paused in the doorway, her ears picking up a noise. It sounded like shuffling feet. “Did you hear that?”

Richard went silent and listened. “Is it your ghost?”

She wasn’t certain what she heard, but she did hear something. It was coming from the staircase. “Perhaps it is.” She motioned with her hand, and Richard joined her in the hallway as her imagination took flight.

Clutching his arm, she waited for a ghost to appear. When he did, she bit back a gasp. The spirit was old and stooped and wheezing from the effort of climbing the stairs.

Wheezing? “Do ghosts wheeze?” she whispered, as the apparition paused, bending over to place his hands on his knees while struggling to reclaim his breath.

Richard chuckled. “I fear you have mistaken something earthbound for a ghost. Hello, Mister Crane!”

The elderly man righted himself and peered through the dim light. “Is that you, Lord Ashwood? I thought that was your curricle.”

“Mister Crane is the caretaker here,” Richard muttered, under his breath. Brenna hid her disappointment. She had really hoped for a ghost. “You have caught us trespassing,” he said, as the man approached. “I thought my wife would enjoy exploring the grounds. Lady Ashwood, this is Mister Crane.”

A pair of kind eyes scanned Brenna’s face. “I’d heard you’d married. A lovely one is this new Lady Ashwood.”

Brenna smiled. “Thank you, sir, though I am certain the dim light flatters me.”

“Nonsense,” he replied. “My eyes may be old and tired, but I can see His Lordship made a fine choice. And high time it was. I’d worried that boy would never bring home a new missus.”

Glancing at Richard, she saw him sober. Though they’d seldom missed a night of lovemaking, he held part of himself from her, and she always woke up alone in her bed. Now he was reminded that he hadn’t chosen her, not really. Her stomach knotted.

“I was waiting for my perfect viscountess,” Richard smiled tightly. “When I met Lady Harrington, I knew I had to make her my wife.”

The truth had been twisted to appear as if theirs was a love match. Brenna’s heart ached. Good breeding kept her smile in place. She’d not crumble in front of a stranger.

When Mister Crane grinned, she saw that his upper two front teeth were missing. “A fine choice, indeed.” He winked at Brenna. “I shall leave you two lovers to your exploring. I have some weeds that need my attention.”

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.”

S
tunned 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.”