Edmund said goodbye to his mother, who also promised to visit them in London soon.
It was with relief and a strange lightness that Edmund sat in the carriage as it pulled out of Penwick Park. His relationship with both his mother and brother was clearly strained, their conversations stilted, for they had been estranged for far too long. It was too much to expect that a week's stay at Penwick Hall would overcome all the resentments that had built up over a lifetime.
But something had changed. He closed his eyes and listened deep within himself. Something was definitely missing.
The sting was gone.
As the carriageleft his estate, a slim, white hand crawled into his and pressed it tight.
He stared down at it and felt himself tense up again.
Ellen.
What would he do with her?
She would leave him now that the marriage had served its purpose. He knew he was an idiot; it had been drilled into him all his life. But even he had to admit that this time his idiocy had gone beyond all bounds.
What had he been thinking?
He hadn't. That was the problem.
What would they do after they returned to London?
They had two options. The first was to end the charade, pay her the rest of the money, and let her go. Make sure she was safe somewhere. He'd promised her a house somewhere in the country, with an annuity that would keep her comfortable for the rest of her life. He could not bear the thought of Ellen alone, in that dreary little house, or with anyone else.
The thought almost made him physically ill.
How on earth had he ever been so cold-blooded as to consider this a viable option? He was worse than Robert Mattick. She would be ruined for life. First, he'd publicly defended her reputation, then he'd ruin it again. And what would he tell the world? His friends? He imagined saying to his mother and brother, or even Dobberham: "Oh, we decided we didn't get on after all, so we separated."
No one would believe them.
The other option was to accept that the marriage was real.
With his luck, it might even be legal. Both were of age, they weren't related in any way, both had given their consent, there had been witnesses, it had been performed by a recognised clergyman, and they had signed all the right papers.
He mentally ticked all the boxes for a legal marriage.
Divorce wasn't an option.
An annulment?
Unlikely.
He could very well find himself married to her for life.
The thought made his mouth dry, his heart pound and his palms sweat.
Ellen bent her head and asked with a frown, "Are you feeling well?"
For one second only, Edmund thought of replying, "I have only just discovered that I worship the ground you walk on, except you can never know that, and I had better get rid of you as soon as possible before you do, and my heart will surely break when you leave."
"Just tired," he replied, and closed his eyes.
She was beautiful. Sparkling, fiery, a goddess, good-hearted, kind, and intelligent. Her scent wafted into his nose and if his eyes hadn't already been closed, he would have done so, leaning back with a sigh. He took a deep breath.
Then he wanted to bang his head against the wall of the carriage in frustration.
It was clear as daylight: he could never be a true husband to her.
