Chapter 16
16
The news that Mrs Greybourne had been unfaithful was disturbing, upsetting Luna more than it should have done. Poor Marcus. She knew she was getting sucked deeper into the lives of those at Ravenswood, despite her intention to leave as soon as her fake husband returned.
As if summoned by her thoughts, she came across the man himself, striding up the path where they had first met, as she walked back from Mr Findlay’s delightful little cottage. It took her by surprise as they had known he was due to return mid-May, but had not had word of a date. This time, however, their encounter was infinitely less fraught. Despite Mr Findlay’s warnings, she was pleased to see him and no longer thought of him as a stranger. He looked smart in a new knee-length frock coat, with neatly clipped hair and more colour in his previously pale cheeks. His head jolted backwards as he spotted her approach and he dropped the carpet bag that he was carrying. It took him a moment to recover from his shock.
‘The dress,’ he said. ‘I thought you were… I thought, oh, it doesn’t matter what I thought. ’
‘I altered some garments that Mrs Webber found in the attics,’ she hastily explained, belatedly realising that she was wearing one of the few salvageable items of Luna’s. With her fair hair, she was similar enough in appearance to the woman she’d replaced for the sight of her to be uncomfortable for him.
She wondered if he was cross with her. Was it time to end their charade? Would he expect her to pack her bag and be gone by nightfall? She should have left before his return, as going would be more awkward now. But then again, he had announced to the constable that she was his wife, he had corresponded with her as though they were a married couple, and so she would continue in this role until he requested otherwise.
‘You must have new clothes,’ Marcus said, rather sharply. ‘I will pay for an entirely fresh wardrobe, especially now the warmer weather is upon us.’ He bent down to retrieve the bag. ‘You caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting to see you looking so well… or, indeed, out and about. Surely that ankle can’t have mended already?’
Not wanting to reveal she was returning from Mr Findlay’s, or that the cunning man was the reason for her injury healing so rapidly, she was careful with the truth. ‘Mrs Webber has worked wonders,’ she said.
‘As has her somewhat dubious cooking, by the looks of you.’ He took the time to study her properly and she felt unduly scrutinised. ‘There is such a healthy glow about your cheeks. You look content, relaxed and…’ he paused, ‘…really quite beautiful.’
Any colour she might have already had deepened further as he paid her this unexpected compliment.
Finally, their eyes locked.
‘You stayed.’ It wasn’t a question.
She smiled. ‘And you have returned. We’ve missed you.’ She tried to behave as any good wife might when greeting her husband after a lengthy spell away but, as she said the words, she realised she meant them. He was back now and, although she had done her best in his absence, every troubled ship needed a captain to steer it true.
‘There is so much to show you,’ she continued, as he swept up his luggage and she looped her arm through his.
They walked up the path together and he continued to glance in her direction, saying nothing as she wittered on about the new wallpapers in the hall, that the garden was coming along nicely, and how most of the furniture had been returned to its appropriate rooms. A tentative smile danced across his lips. She looked up at him to reassure herself that she was absolutely not gazing into the eyes of a killer.
‘We have replaced some of the broken crockery and glassware, but please don’t think I have been a spendthrift with the money you sent. There is still plenty left, and you might like to use it for new furniture…’
The slowly sinking sun cast a shadow, low and long, before them on the ground. They were as one, she reflected, looking at the shape that started at their feet and stretched up the path ahead. There was not a single patch of sunlight between them. A white butterfly fluttered past their faces, and they watched it settle on the fragrant flowers of the honeysuckle which had woven its creeping stems along the hedgerow. He turned his head to hers, with the same look of wonderment across his face as when he’d regarded her properly only moments before.
‘I have missed my beloved house, and the peace and quiet of my woods. It would seem I was right to trust you with their care in my absence. Honestly,’ he said, sliding his arm about her waist, and leading her up to the wooden gate, ‘this is the first time in years where I can say that I am genuinely pleased to be home.’