Chapter 26
26
Luna and Marcus returned to the house after her foolish attempt to flee and walked back up the stairs together in silence. She could think of no words to say, afraid that speaking out loud would break the spell. He was still holding tightly on to her hand, like she might scamper off into the woods at any moment. And now the affection that they’d shown the outside world in their efforts to convince everyone, perhaps even themselves, that they were man and wife, had been established as real. He had kissed her and she had reciprocated.
Bran had been content when he realised she was no longer about to flee the Greybourne lands, and he flew off in the direction of the woods – the place he had been born to protect.
‘Thank you for not leaving,’ Marcus said as they stood in the dark corridor outside her room. ‘My life and my health have improved so dramatically since April. I now wake every morning with a light heart and an eager anticipation to discover what the day holds. I should have made it clearer that you were the reason for this, and not given you cause to run.’
He paused and she wondered what would happen now. They weren’t married in any legal or moral sense of the word, despite the constant pretence that they were. There was genuine affection between them, and their kisses had established this was no platonic friendship, but she didn’t know whether he would act on this and take their feelings further. Could he see the fear in her eyes? Could he feel the slight tremble in her hand?
‘I shall see you at breakfast.’ He planted a soft kiss on the top of her head and let her fingers slide from his, before retreating down the hall. Had she been expecting him to follow her into the bedroom? And was she disappointed or relieved that he hadn’t?
It took her a long time to fall asleep that night, such were her muddled emotions. So, she was to stay and he did care for her, as she cared for him. But she still couldn’t shake the feeling that their time together was running out.
Love was a far simpler thing than she’d imagined. She could not understand why it had perplexed so many scholars and poets over the centuries. It was merely allowing yourself to be cared for, whilst you cared for someone in return. You did not have to declare your feelings with flowery or elegant words, nor did you have to undertake romantic gestures or let that person consume you. It was comfortable and calming, supportive and empowering. As long as they were by your side, nothing else mattered.
Luna and Marcus continued their fraudulent marriage, but they’d been playing husband and wife for so long now that the recent shift in their relationship came naturally. She had called him darling and looked at him with adoration long before their genuine affection had been established, because she believed any loving wife would have done so. Now, however, she meant every endearment and there was real love behind every adoring gaze .
The subtle change was apparent to the shrewd housekeeper. She walked into the dining room with a breakfast tray the next morning, just as her master was kissing Luna goodbye. He was off to Manbury for the day but might as well have been about to set sail for Ceylon, such was the passionate nature of their parting.
After he’d left for the ferry, Mrs Webber returned to clear the table and smiled at her mistress.
‘Ah, today of all days, that you should find such happiness with each other…’ Luna frowned, wondering what she meant. ‘It’s ten years to the day since they wed. I only know the date because she would wear black and go about the house wailing, marking it as a day to mourn, rather than celebrate.’
‘Surely, the start of the marriage was happy?’ Luna asked. ‘Before her… my health really deteriorated?’
The housekeeper shrugged and lowered her voice.
‘It weren’t ever love. Lust, maybe, but the previous cook told me the woman weren’t ever right. Sometimes, she appeared fine, sitting peacefully at the front of the house and watching the river. Other days she would head into the woods, screaming and crying, as brambles tore at her arms and twigs cut her feet, not even aware of her pain. A stream of doctors came and went, but nothing eased her restless mind, and she began tormenting others. Younger girls who worked at the house were scratched and clawed at when her mood were dark, and she was spiteful to the animals – whipping the horses, killing the master’s dogs and drowning the feral cats from the barn. The staff gradually left and visitors stopped coming to the house.’
Marcus hadn’t said anything about the day marking ten years of marriage, but then he probably didn’t want to be reminded of his folly. Poor man, marrying in haste. He’d had all that time to repent at his leisure, as the old saying went.
‘Please do try to remember that I am Mrs Greybourne,’ Luna said, wary of being overheard. ‘I don’t want Hattie or Oscar thinking otherwise.’
Mrs Webber dipped her head in apology.
‘It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that you really care for each other,’ the older woman said, picking up the tray from the table. ‘I ain’t seen love like this in a marriage for a long time. It certainly never existed in mine,’ she added, forlornly.
‘Why did you and Mr Webber marry?’ It was an intrusive question but their relationship was closer than mistress and servant. She’d never felt superior to this hard-working lady and, besides, she was curious.
‘It’s what you do.’ Mrs Webber shrugged. ‘If you ain’t married by twenty, there’s something wrong with you. Jed had a good job at the time, before he started spending most of his wages at The Red Lion and looking to pastures new to have his fun. He was kinder to me back then, but we didn’t have a lot in common, apart from our lustful yearnings. We’re all driven by them, but most of us know that it ain’t right, unless we’ve got a ring on our finger. And by the time I realised I’d picked the wrong one, and no kiddies were gonna come along, it was too late.’
This most intimate of acts was the one thing missing from Luna’s marriage. Every night Marcus left her at the bedroom door like the gentleman that he was, but it was something she thought about more and more. His touch electrified her. To be honest, even a look could ignite tiny fires of desire in places that made her knees tremble. And she knew, because men could not hide the physical effect that a woman was having on them, that his reactions to her were just as powerful. But they weren’t married and such an act would be wrong in the eyes of God, and He already had just cause to condemn her.
Luna hadn’t thought much about not wearing a wedding ring until Mrs Webber’s comments, so it was quite the coincidence that Marcus should resolve this issue when he returned that very afternoon.
‘I picked something up in Manbury for you,’ he said, placing himself on the sofa next to her. ‘I think it’s appropriate to pass it over today. We can’t have strangers thinking you are unmarried and available, when you have a husband who cares for you very much.’ He slipped a small circular leather box from his pocket and flipped open the hinged lid to reveal a simple gold band.
She took the ring from its cushioning. She needed, and had asked for, very little since arriving at the house – only her safety. They rarely had visitors, and she naturally wore gloves when they’d walked to the village, but if she was to win over the sceptical, then he was right: not having a wedding ring would look odd.
‘I hope it fits,’ he said, his eyes darting between her face and the box. ‘Obviously, it’s not as ornate as the previous one but I hope it will suffice. I was more financially secure back then.’ She moved to slip it on but his hand halted hers.
‘No, God witnessed me place this on my wife’s finger ten years ago, and I must do so now.’
He took it from her and made sure her eyes were focused on his.
‘I do,’ he said.
‘I do,’ she repeated, as they both paused to appreciate the significance of the moment.
The sash window dropped with an almighty bang but Luna chose not to let it distract her. If this was the ghost of his wife displaying her displeasure – and it was a big if – then it was only because she knew she had been successfully replaced. Marcus loved her. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in the way his hand was lingering on hers.
‘It’s perfect. Thank you.’ It was a tight fit but it would have to be cut from her finger, as far as she was concerned, because from that moment, she had no intention of ever removing it voluntarily. Whatever was coming for them, and she had no doubt something would, either from his past or hers, they would face it together. Man and wife.
She lifted her legs from the floor and curled them beneath her, leaning into his broad shoulder, delighting in the way he pulled her closer and rested his head against hers. They didn’t need to fill the silence with words. They were now familiar enough with each other to enjoy the still moments, and she happily concentrated on the sensation of his warmth seeping into her skin, the familiar musky scent of him, and the steady rhythm of his breathing. In its own way, this acknowledgement of how he affected her senses was a conversation of sorts.
After a while, Luna looked up to Marcus and realised that he had fallen asleep. He’d been working so hard on the house and gardens over recent days, that she wasn’t surprised that he was exhausted. Mrs Webber entered to collect the tea tray. Before she had the chance to speak, Luna nodded at the sleeping man and put a finger to her lips, and then held out her hand to the housekeeper to show off the ring. The older woman’s toothless smile became even broader as she reached for Luna’s hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze, before scooping up the tray and returning to the kitchens.
A distant rumble of thunder and a darkening sky persuaded her to slip from Marcus’s arms and walk to the window to investigate, opening it up again to allow the air to circulate. The rain came suddenly: heavy drops relentlessly pummelling the earth and bashing down the tall grasses and delicate blooms, but the smells that drifted in from the small crack of open window were heavenly. It was still a wonder to her that their chance collision on the path by the river had led to all this. The meadow was hers to wander through, and she could gather any flowers she chose to decorate this large country house that she was now mistress of. She could call on her housekeeper to prepare a specific menu, her maid to draw a bath or light a fire. But the sleeping man on the sofa… Could she ask things of him too?
‘What a shame about the weather,’ Marcus said, making her jump as he came up behind her and slid his arms about her waist. The storm had woken him. ‘I don’t much like the rain.’
‘I don’t mind it. It washes the grime away, and everything smells so fresh when it’s moved on.’
They stood together like that for some time, watching as the storm slunk closer, until it was overhead, lighting up the sky with dramatic white electric slashes and simultaneously rumbling in discontent.
Later, they walked up the stairs together, as they did every night, and he kissed her on the head, as was their routine. He hesitated for longer than usual, and she wondered if the giving of a ring had changed anything between them – somehow legitimised their sham marriage. She looked at him, her heart accelerating and every intimate part of her coming alive with anticipation, and tried to convey the deep longing she felt, but she would not speak the words aloud; she would not beg him to come to her. He took half a step forward and she felt her breath catch in her throat, before he froze.
‘Happy anniversary,’ he said, and then spun about and retreated to his room. In the end, she decided that as a God-fearing man, who knelt in the Greybourne family pews every Sunday morning and made promises to live a sinless and honest life, if he had not come to her that night, then he probably never would.
Alone in her bed, disappointed that Marcus still felt he had no right to her body, she knew the ghost of his wife, dead or not, was haunting them both. She scanned the room for signs that Luna was present – there to mock her for her failure to bed Marcus – but there was nothing.
‘He’s mine,’ she whispered into the air. ‘You had him for all those years and failed to appreciate what you had. I love him like you never did and I will treasure him. It’s you who needs to leave.’
She waited nervously for a drop in temperature, a scampering shadow or any inexplicable and disturbing reflections in the windowpanes, but there was nothing. Was this their moment of contented calm before the storm?
And then the wardrobe door swung open to remind her of the carved and jagged words within.
She is coming.
She will replace me.
She must die…