Page 11 of The Farmer Has a Wife

Eleanor left the farmhouse in a hurry, half-convinced that she’d fallen into some sort of strange fever dream. She got safely into her car and drove it, battered as it was, away from the farm before pulling into a lay-by and pulling out her phone.

She dialed Elizabeth’s number. Her best friend and, quite conveniently, also the family solicitor. The friendship part had come first, obviously. The two had endured several years of boarding school together.

She answered on the second ring. “I swear to God, Nor, if you’ve found another loophole to exploit, I—”

“Hypothetically,” Eleanor cut in, because she really didn’t have time for this, “if one were to marry only to satisfy a legal requirement… how binding is that?”

Elizabeth went silent for a moment. Then, in a deeply suspicious tone, she said, “Eleanor, what are you thinking?”

Eleanor drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “Just answer the question.”

Elizabeth sighed. “In terms of the actual marriage, it would be binding until you got a divorce, just like any other marriage would be. Though the divorce laws have simplified remarkably in recent years. All divorce is now no-fault, and you simply have to be married for twelve months before filing on-line for divorce.You don’t even need a lawyer if things are amicable.”

“Not exactly what I was asking,” Eleanor said.

Another sigh. “I know what you’re asking, Nor. I’ve been through that trust paperwork a million times. Fine. Technically, you are only required to marry. There are no other conditions. The contract doesn’t specify a loving, romantic union. In fact, you wouldn’t even have to live together.”

Eleanor inhaled slowly. “Right. Good.”

“Oh God, you are thinking something,” Elizabeth groaned.

“I’m merely considering all my options,” Eleanor said.

“Your options should not include mail-order brides, proposing to random people in the village pub, or, God forbid, simply kidnapping a stranger off the street and forcing them into marriage. There are far more complicated laws about forced marriages.”

“She’s not random,” Eleanor said, still thinking about Danni.

Elizabeth paused. “She?”

Eleanor pinched the bridge of her nose. “Not important. I need to go.”

“Eleanor—”

Eleanor hung up before Elizabeth could talk her out of doing anything she considered stupid.

Because it wasn’t stupid.

It was still ridiculous, absolutely absurd.

But no more absurd than insisting that a woman be married before claiming property. And it definitely wasn’t stupid. Not if both parties could profit from the arrangement.

In fact, she was already getting used to the idea.

Chapter Six

The Fox and Hounds had seen its fair share of odd conversations. Heated debates about cricket were practically par for the course. There had been scandalous gossip about the vicar and an assortment of village widows, as well as chatter about whose garden gnome had mysteriously appeared in the village fountain one night. A man had once tried to order a flat white, and had been thrown out on principal. But even for this pub, a negotiation over a marriage contract was a new one.

Eleanor arrived first, naturally. She had never been late to anything in her life and wasn’t about to start now, even if the meeting she was about to have was odd beyond all reasonable standards. Punctuality was a sign of good breeding. She selected the cleanest table she could see, though clean was a relative term in an establishment where the furniture had seen better centuries, and sat down, posture ramrod straight. She smoothed her blazer, trying not to dwell on the fact that she was about to orchestrate a marriage of convenience over a pint.

In fact, she was the one that had chosen the pub. Neutral ground had seemed wise, though she was dubious about the decision just at the moment. And she was going to order beer. When in an unfamiliar place, one did what one could to blend in, and in a pub that meant drinking beer. A tiny piece of her was excited at the thought of it.

But by the time Danni strolled in, precisely ten minutes late, no waitress had appeared to take Eleanor’s order. Danni looked like she hadn’t a care in the world, particularly not when it came to scheduling, and was in muddy boots, jeans with a suspicious-looking stain on the knee, and a flannel shirt with sleeves rolled up. She looked as though she’d just finished wrestling an unruly cow. Which, as far as Eleanor knew, might be the truth.

She sauntered over and flopped into the chair across from Eleanor, grinning.

“You’re late,” Eleanor said.

Danni stretched her legs out, looking entirely too comfortable. “I’m on farmer time. It’s flexible.”

---