He glanced at Marianne with a smile. With her grass-stained skirts and mane of rich brown hair, she looked something of a hellion herself. “You’re not really sorry you accepted me and not Desborough, are you?”
“Life would be quieter with him,” she said with a straight face, but humor lit her blue eyes to sapphire.
“Peter would say a quiet life, like a perfect child, is boring.”
She laughed and came readily to his hand as he swept his arm around her waist and swung her closer. “You look like you’ve got wicked plans afoot.”
“I can’t lie to my children.”
“Is that so?” She linked her hands behind his neck.
“Indeed. I promised to kiss you, so for honor’s sake, I must.”
“How noble,” she said faintly then melted against him as he pressed his lips to hers. It was a long time before either spoke.
He raised his head and regarded her with the adoration that had only increased over seven years of marriage. “My God, I do love you.”
She looked as smug as Selina. The years had made many changes, including lending her a self-confidence that he found sinfully arousing. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“Just glad?”
She trailed one hand down the side of his face. “All right. Very glad.”
“Wench,” he said fondly, tightening his grip on her hips.
She glanced around. “The children are occupied elsewhere and we are quite alone, my lord.”
Heat surged through him at the prospect of enjoying his wife in this hidden corner of the garden, but as he shifted to bring her closer, the letter in his pocket crackled. “First, I really do want to talk to you.” He caught her hand and drew her to a stone bench with moss-covered lion’s feet. “Your father’s solicitor has written.”
Marianne frowned and the laughter faded from her face. “Is my father well?”
Elias settled her beside him on the seat and passed her the letter. “See for yourself.”
Marianne’s hands were unsteady as she unfolded the thick sheet of cream paper. Again, Elias cursed that old trout Baildon for his intransigence.
She’d held her head up through the scandal surrounding their marriage, although when the truth of Tranter’s sins emerged, the gossip lost much of its sting. Hardly anyone now remembered the brouhaha at Ferney seven years ago. Hardly anyone, except his wife’s bull-headed father.
Although over the last two years, there had been signs of rapprochement.
Lord Baildon had eventually insisted upon seeing his grandchildren, even if in London, never at Elias and Marianne’s home. And six months ago, Elias’s burgeoning prosperity had sparked a grudging request for financial assistance with a failing shipping line.
Elias would happily let the dolt stew in his sour pride, but he knew Marianne regretted the estrangement. And when all was said and done, Lord Baildon was his children’s sole living grandparent, however cantankerous.
Dazed, Marianne looked up at Elias, the letter resting on her knee. “I’m back in his will. He’s restoring my dowry.”
“Yes.”
“It means he’s forgiven me.” Emotion made her voice crack.
“I think he’s been edging toward that for a while now. Especially since he met Selina.” Even Elias had found Lord Baildon’s complete surrender to his rambunctious granddaughter touching. He was utterly besotted with the tiny terror. Baildon loved the boys, but he’d cut off his right arm if Selina asked.
“And when you stepped in and saved that trading venture, he stopped saying you wed me to get your hands on my fortune.”
Elias was now richer than his father-in-law, thanks to investments in innovative transport and manufacturing. He occasionally teased Marianne that she’d married him for his prospects. She always laughed and enlisted his support for another of her schools. His wife had become quite the advocate for female education.
Elias took her hand. It was trembling. He knew what this message from her father meant to her. “I don’t want his money, but the decision is yours.”
“It’s so like him to tell us like this. He’ll never admit he was wrong about you.” She gave him a watery smile. “We could set up a trust for Michael and Selina. Or I could use the money for my charity work. Would you mind?”