Marriage At A Distance. Sara CravenЧитать онлайн книгу.
it to be,’ he returned robustly. ‘I knew exactly what she was after and I didn’t like it, either as Lionel’s friend or his lawyer.’
Joanna sighed. ‘Lionel, as we both know, was too kind for his own good. Look how he’s always treated me.’
He frowned. ‘I hope you’re not equating your situation with your stepmother’s. It was perfectly natural for Lionel to offer you a home after your father died. Your mother was his favourite cousin, after all. But Cynthia had no claim on his generosity at all. Why, she and Jeremy had only been married a matter of months when the accident happened. She was a total stranger to him.’
He shook his head sternly. ‘She was a young, healthy woman. Still is, for that matter. There was nothing to prevent her finding another secretarial job—making a life for herself. But instead she moved herself in here—on your coat-tails, as it were.’ He snorted. ‘She should have been the one running the house all this time. I know that was Lionel’s intention.’
‘Oh, I never minded.’ Joanna tasted her drink, savouring the smoky warmth caressing her throat. ‘Besides, housekeeping has never been Cynthia’s forte.’
‘And what is?’ His tone was sceptical.
Joanna wrinkled her nose. ‘Being decorative, I suppose.’
Which I never was, she thought with a pang of pain, remembering her shrinking teen self waiting to be introduced to her father’s new wife, only to be devastated by a sweeping, dismissive look and a laughing, ‘Goodness, what a Plain Jane’.
‘Anyway, none of it will be for much longer,’ Joanna went on hurriedly. ‘I hope she hasn’t lost her secretarial skills, at least, because I can’t see Gabriel allowing her to become his pensioner.’ She paused. ‘Or myself, of course.’
Mr Fortescue shifted uncomfortably. ‘Joanna—Mrs Verne—you will naturally have certain rights…’
‘Alimony—things like that.’ She forced a smile. ‘I don’t want them. And please don’t call me Mrs Verne. I’m reverting to my maiden name as from now.’
‘Is that really necessary?’ He sounded troubled.
‘Yes,’ Joanna said calmly. ‘Oh, yes.’ She looked down at the amber liquid in her glass. ‘The main reason I asked you here this evening was to beg a favour. I want you to forward a letter from me to Gabriel. Obviously you’ll be in touch with him, and I—I’m not.’
She bit her lip. ‘While Lionel was here it was impossible to discuss divorce. You know how he felt about it. But everything’s different now.’
He looked at her gravely. ‘I know he always hoped that you and Gabriel would be reconciled. He blamed himself very much for the breakdown in your relationship. Felt he’d pushed you both into marriage before you were ready.’
Joanna sat up rather straighter. She said crisply, ‘Even if Gabriel and I had gone through a ten-year engagement with a cooling-off period, it would still have been a disaster. We were completely unsuited.’
She got to her feet and went over to the desk, picking up a sealed envelope. ‘I’m offering him a quick, clean-break divorce with no blame attached on either side.’ Her smile was small and wintry. ‘Considering his mileage in the gossip columns over the past two years, I call that generous.’
He said forcefully, ‘As a lawyer, I call it foolhardy.’
‘Ah, but you’re Gabriel’s lawyer now, not mine, remember.’ She handed him the envelope. ‘If you would forward it for me, I’d be glad. There’s no reason to delay any longer.’
He looked down at the letter, frowning a little. ‘Or you could always give it to him yourself.’ He paused, his gaze direct, almost compassionate. ‘You do realise that he’s coming back for the funeral.’
Joanna could feel the colour drain from her face. ‘I didn’t think he would. Not after that terrible quarrel before he left,’ she said at last. ‘Stupid of me.’
‘However bitter the feelings at the time, my dear, Gabriel would hardly absent himself at a time like this. Lionel was loved and respected by the local people, and any sign of disrespect, particularly from his heir, would cause a lot of resentment.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, of course.’ A small harsh laugh choked its way out of her. ‘I—I had no idea he cared so much for the conventions.’
‘He’s now the owner of Westroe Manor. He knows his obligations.’
She said icily, ‘That is not a word I associate with my former husband.’
She saw a shadow of disapproval on his face, and resumed her seat. ‘I’m sorry. I’m a bit thrown, that’s all. I just thought—I assumed that I’d be allowed a little time—some leeway—to make my own plans before his return.’
‘What are your plans?’ His voice was gentle.
‘I don’t know yet.’ Joanna shook her head. ‘I keep trying to think—to decide something. But my mind just goes round in circles.’
‘It’s early days.’
‘Ah, no,’ she said. ‘You’ve just proved to me that it’s later than I think. I shall really have to concentrate.’ She paused. ‘Do you know—have you heard when Gabriel is due?’
‘I believe,’ he said carefully, ‘that he will be here the day after tomorrow.’ He hesitated. ‘He has asked for the reading of the will to be delayed until after the funeral.’
‘How very traditional.’ Joanna gripped her hands together in her lap, aware that they were shaking. ‘He really does mean to play Lord of the Manor.’
‘I don’t think there was ever any doubt of that.’ Henry Fortescue finished his whisky and put the tumbler aside. ‘Do you still wish me to deliver your letter?’
‘Under the circumstances, it’s probably easier for me to do it myself,’ she acknowledged wearily. ‘I’m sorry for wasting your time.’
‘You never do that, Joanna. And I intended to call on you, anyway.’ He shook hands with her, gravely studying her pale face and shadowed eyes. ‘A word of advice,’ he added gently. ‘I wouldn’t be too hasty about dropping your husband’s name, at least until the funeral is over. Remember what I said about local opinion. The next few days are bound to be hard enough, without creating extra difficulties—resentments—for yourself.’
‘Yes,’ she said, almost inaudibly. ‘I’m sure you’re right. Thank you.’
‘I’ll see myself out.’ He patted her hand and went. Presently she heard him talking to Mrs Ashby, and then the sound of the front door closing.
She leaned back in the big chair. It wasn’t just her hands any more. Her whole body was trembling violently—uncontrollably.
The shock of Lionel’s sudden death had stunned her into overlooking its most direct consequence, she realised numbly.
Gabriel hadn’t been near Westroe Manor for two years, making the breach between them absolute, and she’d presumed he would take his time over his return, that he would be too busy being the Superman of the financial world all day and the playboy of the western world all night to concern himself with his old home. Especially a home that contained his unwanted and discarded wife.
Did he even know that she was still living there? she wondered. Or that she’d been managing the house and staff for his father?
But of course he did, she corrected herself derisively. Gabriel made it his business to know everything.
A sudden image of his thin, dark face, with those insolent, heavy-lidded eyes, tawny as a leopard’s, and that narrow-lipped, mocking mouth flared into her mind, and was instantly dismissed.
She did not want to remember Gabriel’s mouth, or his hands, or the lean, vibrant