The Convenient Felstone Marriage (Whitby Weddings 1)

They’d passed the painfully slow journey back to Whitby in silence. He’d taken a seat beside her in the cart for form’s sake, though they hadn’t exchanged so much as a word, keeping their bodies studiously apart as they’d bumped their way back over the cliff tops.

He’d jumped down the moment they’d reached the outskirts of town, unable to bear the feeling of being so close and yet so far from her at the same time. He’d made the excuse of going to the shipyard, though in truth the thought of walking back into the house at her side had been too painful to contemplate. He preferred to get straight back to work instead. If he did that, he reasoned, then perhaps he could get back to a sense of normalcy, too. If only...

‘Should I order some roof tiles then, sir?’

‘What? Oh.’ He ran a hand wearily over his face. ‘Yes. I’ll leave the repairs in your hands. Engage whomever we need.’

‘You’re going?’ His foreman could hardly have looked any more surprised.

‘I need a drink.’

‘It’s ten o’clock in the morning, sir.’

‘Well, it feels later.’ He gave a terse smile. ‘Time for whisky, I think.’

He strode back towards the yard, glancing across at Harper’s as he went. If everything went well tonight, he’d own both by tomorrow. He’d have what he’d always wanted—a position of standing with wealth, respectability and influence. One where no one could tell him he wasn’t good enough, where people like Louisa Allendon and Charles Lester couldn’t call him an upstart without looking up to him as well. Except that he didn’t give a damn about any of it any more. He couldn’t even bring himself to be interested in his own repairs.

He dragged a hand through his hair as a wave of desolation swept over him. Last night, he’d felt as though he’d finally overcome the painful legacy of his past, but now the old feelings were back, more powerful and destructive than ever. He felt as though he’d been fighting them his whole life, trying to pretend they weren’t there by filling his life with other accomplishments instead. Now it was too late: he could see all his ambitions, all his achievements, for what they were—futile attempts to stave off the emptiness inside.

Deep down, he’d always suspected that his parents had been right and that there was something wrong, something fundamentally unlovable about him, as if he weren’t worthy of love or affection, and now his own wife had proved it, turning everything he’d accomplished to rubble in a few short minutes. Only this time, the feeling of rejection had been even worse because he’d thought, hoped, believed that she’d loved him back. But she didn’t. Their night together hadn’t meant anything to her.

She preferred a business deal, saying that nothing between them had changed.

He stopped mid-stride. How could she say that? Since they’d first met everything about her had changed! The longer he’d known her, the more he’d come to realise that she was nothing at all like the uptight and severe woman he’d met on the train. Until that morning, he’d almost forgotten that she’d ever existed.

And she had the nerve to tell him to go back to the original terms of the agreement! She was the one who’d altered the terms, forcing him to see the emptiness he’d spent so long trying to avoid. He’d wanted a sensible, respectable wife, one to help him build his business, not one who lured him away and then simply discarded him.

He threw a savage look up the road towards the crescent, wondering whether he ought to go and confront her, but what was there left to say? Nothing that would make him feel any better.

As for what would make him feel better... He glanced speculatively towards a tavern on the harbourside. He ought to go home and get some rest before the dinner party that evening. That was what Mr Felstone, respectable shipyard owner and husband, would do. But at that moment, all he really wanted was a drink.

* * *

Ianthe descended the stairs nervously, stomach fluttering with butterflies so huge they felt like bats. This was it. The moment to prove herself, the evening when Mr Harper would judge and hopefully not find her wanting, when he would finally sign the deed of sale.

She reached the hall and smoothed her hands over her sober, mauve evening gown, one of her own rather than one of Robert’s choices, making sure there were no wrinkles, before patting her hair to make sure the pins were still neatly in place. Then she walked across to the dining room and peered around the door, sighing with a deep sense of satisfaction. Everything was ready—the settings laid, the cutlery polished, the crystal glasses sparkling under the low-hanging chandelier. She’d spent the whole day working alongside Mrs Baxter, ignoring the housekeeper’s insistence that she take a rest, knowing that sleep would be impossible and preferring to keep busy rather than allow herself any time to think.

If she did stop to think, she had the unsettling conviction that she might simply collapse in a heap on the floor and start crying. Once she started to think, she might remember the look on Robert’s face when she’d told him that their night together had been a mistake, the look of hurt that had tugged on her heartstrings so painfully that she’d almost changed her mind and flung herself into his arms right there and then. The look that suggested he’d meant what he said—that he loved her. Even despite the way she’d behaved, the wanton abandon she’d shown in his arms—he loved her.

Not that it mattered. She hardened her heart against the memory. Once she told him about her past, that look would be gone for ever. She’d pushed him away despite the pain it had cost her, knowing that she was acting for the best. She had to remember that now, had to stay strong for one more night so that when she told him about her elopement with Albert, she could still look him in the eye and say that at least she’d fulfilled her side of their bargain. Once Mr Harper signed the deed of sale she would have met the basic terms of the agreement. No matter how angry he might be at her deceit, he couldn’t say she’d failed in that.

She pushed diffidently on the drawing room door, surprised to find the room inside empty. She’d assumed that Robert had come home at some point when she’d been busy in the kitchens, that she’d simply missed him going upstairs to bathe and change. She’d expected to find him there waiting when she came down, but there was no sign of anyone. The whole house seemed unnaturally quiet and empty, as if it were taking a deep breath, bracing itself for another big storm.

She shook her head to dispel the thought. It was drizzling outside, but there were no storm clouds tonight. She was simply being paranoid, jumping at shadows, letting her anxiety about the evening ahead get the better of her. There was no need to be worried. Robert might not have come down yet, but he wanted Harper’s yard too much to do anything that might hinder the sale. He wouldn’t let anyone else see there was anything amiss between them, she was sure of it. Once the evening got started, everything would be all right. It had to be.

‘Mrs Felstone?’

‘Oh!’ She put a hand to her chest, startled and yet relieved to see another person. ‘Sorry, Hannah. Is Mr Felstone in his office? I can’t seem to find him.’

‘No, ma’am. He’s not here.’

‘What?’

‘He hasn’t come home yet.’

‘Not at all?’ She felt a momentary disquiet. Robert had told her once that he was never late for an appointment. Why would he start now with one that was so important?

‘Mrs Baxter sent someone to the yard an hour ago to remind him about dinner, but they said he wasn’t there.’