Page 69 of Felicity Cabot Sells Her Soul
“Concerns?” The word was spoken lightly, inquisitively. But her hands had fallen into her lap, where her fingers twisted themselves into knots.
“In that contract and upon our marriage license, you are Felicity Cabot,” he said. “But in point of fact, thereisno Felicity Cabot.”
“It’s not against the law to change one’s name.”
“No,” he said. “But it does throw our marriage into a—we’ll sayquestionablelight. I assume there was nothing done in the changing of your name which might lend it legitimacy? No deed poll, no notice in any papers?”
“No, I—I didn’t know any of that was necessary.”
Strictly speaking, it wasn’t. It was perfectly legal for an ordinary person to informally change their name for any reason, provided they weren’t doing so to evade justice or to hide from creditors. For an ordinary person, simply going by a new name would be sufficient.
“It’s not,” he said. “But Graves advised another ceremony regardless. For safety’s sake. I have quite a lot of money, and likely will have quite a lot more still when I reach the end of my life. The very last thing I’d want is schemers crawling out of the woodwork, looking for reasons to cast doubt upon our marriage.” With every chance that they’d find them, upon thorough inspection, and leave open the possibility to strip from her those things to which she would be entitled as his widow. To cast doubt upon the legitimacy of any children they might have. “The best way to refute such claims is tomake certain that everything is legitimate down to the smallest detail.”
She gave a restless little wiggle. “Ian,” she said. “What are you suggesting?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m telling you that if you please, you may consider our marriage null and void, any and all conditions upon it satisfied in full, and go on with your life. Now, if you like.” There was mockery in those flickering flames, now, little licks and curls of fire that looked like laughter. When it had killed him to speak the words that would put paid to their time together.
“I see,” she said as she rose to her feet. “And will Nellie get her school back?”
“No,” he said. “I’m not convinced she wouldn’t be fleeced of it again somehow, and I don’t want you dependent upon someone else—anyone else—for your security. I will make you a gift of it, instead.” And whatever money was required to keep it running smoothly in perpetuity, whether or not it ever again turned a profit.
The firelight glowed across her skin as she turned, limning her in gold light. “And what are we to tell those people who already know us to be married?”
“There’s few enough that know.” It had only been a month and a half or so. “My staff will not speak out of turn. Neither will your family. Graves knows better, now, than to speak of anything he knows.”
“Mr. Jennings and Louisa?” she asked. “The reverend?”
“Jennings will hold his tongue provided I make it contingent upon investing in his railway venture,” Ian said. “His daughter liked you too much to slander you. Besides, they both owe you a debt for salvaging Dorothea’s reputation before it could be thoroughly besmirched. And the reverend, as it happens, owes his plumb position in Brighton to me. He enjoys the comforts of the city too much to risk speaking out, when it would mean a sternly-worded letter to the bishop, which could result in his removal from his present parish. He’ll remove any evidence of our marriage from the register if I ask it of him.”
She paced in contemplation; he could practically see the thoughts racing through her brain. “The school,” she said. “The students. They’ve been calling me Mrs. Carlisle for well over a month, now. They know I’ve not been residing at the school.”
Ian waved a dismissive hand. “We’ll come up with some sort of excuse as to why the pretense of marriage was necessary. It will likely involve yourbrother-in-law, the duke. People tend to ask fewer questions when dukes are involved.”
“But if therearequestions?” she asked, with a quick about-face that would have done a military man proud.
“We’ll say that such subterfuge was necessary to protect you and your reputation while we waited upon the duke’s arrival—and that my staff will attest to the fact that you were never unchaperoned. The duke’s presence in my house ought to be enough to quell any rumors which might circulate, but I wouldn’t expect them to do so. If you can manage to act as though you have got nothing to hide, people will naturally assume that you don’t.”
“You’ve put rather a lot of thought into this.”
He’d had to. He’d made such a damned muddle of her life that it would hardly have been fair to turn her loose to weather the consequences on her own. “I thought it best to be prepared for any eventuality,” he said as he stared into the fire. “I can’t fix everything.” Though not for lack of trying. “But I can, at least, give you what you want of me.” Which was her freedom. And he owed it to her.
For a long moment she was silent, and there was only the faint crackle of the fire, the whisk of the bitter winter wind outside the windows. And then at last she asked, “What do you want?”
“Hm?” He lifted his head, the spell the flames had entranced him with briefly broken.
“What do you want?” she asked again. “Is it—this?” she said with a subtle lift of her wrist to indicate the pile of ashes smoldering still in the fireplace.
“God, no. I want you to stay.” The words tore themselves from his lungs with a force of their own, as if they’d wrenched themselves up from his very soul. “I want you towantto stay. And with that contract, I could never be certain of that.”Shecould never be certain of that.
“No,” she said. “I suppose not.”
He’d polluted love with compulsion. So desperate to be close to her for even a few moments that he’d stopped caring how it had been achieved. And even if they had managed to cobble together some sort of burgeoning new relationship despite that, it couldn’t be trusted. It had been built upon a house of cards of his own construction, the foundation as flimsy as the conditions he’d demanded.
So it had had to go. Even if it would kill his heart to let her go along with it. It hadn’t been of much use to him these last ten years, anyway. A small sacrifice to make, when it would ensure her happiness.
“I told you once,” he said, “that I love you enough for both of us. But as it turns out—as it turns out, I love you so much more than that. I love you enough to let you go.”
Her hands flexed at her sides, almost as if she could already feel her freedom set within her grasp. “And what will you do?” she asked, straying toward the windows, the gilding of the firelight fading to the silvering of the cold winter sunshine. “When I’ve gone, what will you do?”
