Page 55 of Fair as a Star

“Because, my dear, all I’ve ever wanted was for you and your sister to be favorably settled. To be safe and secure, with husbands who will take care of you after I die.”

“Mama—” Beryl protested.

“No, no. It’s a fact of life. I won’t be here forever. And when I’m gone, you and Winnie will be left to shift for yourselves, with precious little of my money remaining to see you through the years ahead. You’ll need a man’s protection. Sir Henry is stern and humorless, I realize, but he seemed as wise a choice for you as any. I believe you thought so too at one time.”

“I did.” It was a decision Beryl had made with her head instead of her heart. One born of pragmatism, not love. “I know myself a little better now.”

“Will you be happier without him?” Mama asked.

“I believe I shall. But it wasn’t only marrying Henry that made me unhappy. I’ve always had moments of sadness. You know that. I expect I always will.”

“Your father was just the same.”

Beryl looked at her mother with a start. “Was he? I don’t remember that.”

“Oh yes. There were times he was quite low. He would take to his bookroom for hours on end. It was all I could do to induce a laugh from him.” Her mouth curved in a regretful smile. “It isn’t what I wanted for you. You were meant for better things. A better life than I’ve given you.”

“Oh, Mama.”

“You and your sister both. My two beautiful girls.” She sighed. “If only the pair of you weren’t plagued by such turmoil. I never know what might happen from one moment to the next.”

Winnifred chose that moment to make her disheveled appearance. Her riding habit was covered in horse hair. Broken bits of straw clung to her silver-blond tresses. “Beryl!” She came toward them from the direction of the stables, a small parcel clutched in her hands. “A footman just brought this from Rivenhall Park.”

Slipping her arm free of her mother’s, Beryl went to meet her sister. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t opened it yet.” Winnifred extended it to her. “It’s meant for you.”

Mama joined them, her brow creased with apprehension. “Pray it isn’t a legal document of some sort. Your aunt claims that Sir Henry would be within his rights to sue for breach of promise.”

“He wouldn’t dare,” Winnifred said. “Imagine the scandal.”

“Winnie’s right. Henry would never do such a thing.” Beryl tore open the parcel. Inside were several sheets of paper wrapped around a thick stack of bank notes. Her brows knit with confusion. “It’s the money I gave him.”

Winnifred pressed closer. “What does the letter say? He hasn’t refused to sell Vesper, has he?”

Beryl’s gaze moved swiftly over Henry’s familiar script. “He says that he’s enclosed my five hundred pounds. That he’s returning it to me, along with Vesper’s papers, and that I may consider…” The words died on her lips.

Winnifred took the note from Beryl’s hand. “‘I am returning it to you, along with papers of ownership for the hunter stallion known as Vesper. He is yours to do with as you will. Consider him a—’” She broke off in bewilderment. “‘A wedding gift’? But I thought you’d called things off?”

“I have,” Beryl said.

Mama’s face clouded with growing alarm. “Then who is it exactly that he thinks you’re marrying?”

“As to that…” Beryl gave her mother and sister an apologetic look. “I suspect he’s referencing his brother.”

Mark sat on a fallen tree trunk in the small wilderness garden outside the vicarage, his head resting in his hands. Since returning from the Grange yesterday afternoon, he hadn’t had a moment’s peace. In addition to paperwork, and other regular parish duties, he’d had countless demands on his time. He’d had to arrange for someone to help Mrs. Priddy with her laundry business. There had been a dispute to resolve between two of the ladies on the committee for the summer fete. And then, in the early evening, Mr. Venable’s health had taken a turn for the worse.

Dr. Black had been summoned immediately. “He may have a difficult night,” he’d said. “I advise you to sit with him.”

Mark had done that, and more. He’d sponged the old vicar’s brow and fed him sips of weak tea. Venable was much recovered this morning. Bundled in front of a blazing fire, he was presently engaged in reading his favorite passages from Fordyce’s Sermons to Young Men.

Sunlight glinted through the leaves. The whisper of a breeze, and the sound of birds singing softly settled Mark’s agitated spirits.

Good lord. Had he really told Beryl that he loved her?

It had been stupid. Foolish. A worthless confession, achieving nothing save to make them both uncomfortable in each other’s company.

But he couldn’t permit himself to dwell on it. Couldn’t let himself sink into a despondency. Beryl had had the right of it. Such emotions were better left unspoken.