Married to the Viscount (29 page)

“To the north.”

“Exactly. And Derby is on the way to York.”

Spencer rubbed his chin as he stared into the fire. Captains of industry. Could Nat have taken the dowry to use in building up Dr. Mercer’s company? But why? If that had been the purpose, he’d have been better off asking Spencer just to invest the money. Spencer had already agreed to that, and without being entangled in marriage.

Which meant Nat probably wasn’t using the funds for any legitimate enterprise, damn his hide. The idiot might as well bet the money on a hand of cards.

Spencer was going to kill him.
When
he found him.

“I would suggest,” the runner went on, “that men be sent to the estates of all three gentlemen. Someone might have seen him thereabouts, and we might pick up the trail.”

“Excellent idea. Follow it out. And keep me informed. I want to hear the second he is located, understood?”

“Certainly, my lord.” The runner rose, obviously aware he
was being dismissed. “It won’t be much longer, I warrant.”

It better not be, Spencer thought as he ushered the man out. Because if Abby remained in his house much longer, he would go stark raving mad.

Chapter 17

Loyal English servants can only pray that the present fascination with French culture will eventually wane.

Suggestions for the Stoic Servant

A
week and a day after her disastrous encounter with Spencer in his study, Abby paced Lady Tyndale’s drawing room with a very unladylike impatience. But she couldn’t help it. Mr. McFee had said to pick up Lady Tyndale and Evelina at ten
A.M
., and it was already half past. Abby refused to be late to Lady Brumley’s breakfast, not with her ladyship presenting Heaven’s Scent to all her friends.

When Abby’s stomach growled, she ignored it. Though she’d been awake since eight, she’d had so much to do to prepare that she hadn’t even munched some toast. But there’d be food at the breakfast.

Lady Tyndale breezed in, followed closely by Evelina. “Ah, there you are, my dear. It’s so good of you to include us in your party while our carriage is being repaired.”

Abby stifled a smile. Apparently the mythical Tyndale carriage had been in repair so long it could have been remade thrice over. Which was probably why Spencer offered the use of his whenever possible. “We’d best go. We don’t have much time.”

Though Lady Tyndale and Evelina looked perplexed, they dutifully followed Abby out to the carriage. Before climbing in, Lady Tyndale spoke privately to the coachman, no doubt giving him her usual cautions about not driving too fast.

Once they were all inside, Lady Tyndale asked, “Where’s his lordship?”

“We have to pick him up at the Home Office.” Abby ordered the driver to go on. “Can you believe he’s working on a Saturday?”

Evelina laughed. “I suspect he merely wanted to avoid accompanying Mama and me on our errands before the breakfast this morning.”

“Errands?” Abby asked.

“Since we had two urgent errands to run regarding the wedding, his lordship said we could use the carriage. He did tell you, didn’t he?”

“Yes, of course.” Abby wasn’t about to reveal that Spencer avoided talking to her whenever possible these days. “As long as we’re not late to the breakfast—”

“There’s plenty of time,” Lady Tyndale put in. “It doesn’t even start until two.”

Abby blinked. “What? Are you sure?”

Evelina pulled something from her reticule and handed it to Abby. “It says so here on the invitation.”

Abby stared at the gilded card. She hadn’t actually seen the invitation. Spencer had received it long before she’d even arrived in London, but when she’d been told to pick up the ladies at ten, she’d assumed…

“You did know, didn’t you?” With an obnoxious titter, Lady Tyndale nudged her daughter. “The poor child probably thought we were going right there. As if anybody would have a breakfast at eleven. Who would come?”

Abby hated that titter of Lady Tyndale’s. She hated being called “the poor child.” Most of all, she hated that despite her
efforts, Lady Tyndale still regarded her as a vulgar foreigner. Abby refused to suffer any more of the woman’s condescending remarks.

“Don’t be silly.” Abby adopted the cool viscountess tone she’d been using on Spencer. “I knew it was this afternoon. I just wasn’t certain of the time.”

Evelina, always more perceptive than her mother, looked unconvinced. “You did eat something before you left, didn’t you?”

“Of course. Who would wait to eat until so late?”
A vulgar foreigner, that’s who
.

Somehow in the midst of Clara’s instructions on the habits of polite society, she’d neglected to mention that breakfast affairs took place mid-afternoon. Pray heaven these wedding errands included visiting bakeries about a cake.

No such luck. First they called on the vicar to discuss the ceremony. He offered them tea and nothing else. After all, who would need to eat so early? Then they went to the dressmaker—conveniently located nowhere near a pastry shop—for the fitting of Evelina’s gown.

After the first hour, her hunger grew unpleasant. After the second, it became annoying. By the end of the third, it was downright overwhelming. Only Lady Tyndale’s patronizing smiles kept her from begging them to accost a strawberry vendor.

By the time the three of them climbed into the carriage outside the dressmaker’s, Abby wondered just how long a person could go without food, anyway.

“Thank heavens that’s done,” Evelina said as they settled into their seats. “We can head for Lady Brumley’s now.”

“It’s too early,” her mother protested. “It’s just half-past one. We might have time to visit the milliner about your veil. Not a soul will be at the breakfast before three.”

Three! “But we still have to pick up Spencer,” Abby said hastily, “so we might as well go on.” Which would take them another half an hour. Heavenly day.

Thankfully Lady Tyndale gave in. Unfortunately, it was now Spencer’s turn to delay them. They waited on him half an hour before he finally hurried down the steps to the carriage.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” he said as he got in. Ordering the coachman on, he took his seat beside Abby. “Sorry to keep you waiting, but I didn’t expect you so early.”

“Your wife was concerned we might be late to the breakfast,” Lady Tyndale complained before Abby could answer. “I told her no one shows up at these things on time, but she insisted that we come on.”

Abby forced a smile for Spencer’s benefit. “I merely didn’t want to insult Lady Brumley.” Or starve. But she’d crawl on her knees over hot coals before she’d admit her error to
him
. It had taken her a week to achieve her air of serene sophistication—she wasn’t about to ruin it now.

Lady Tyndale snorted. “The marchioness would not be insulted, I assure you, my dear. Really, you Americans have such strange ideas.”

As Abby flashed Lady Tyndale a cool smile and searched for the perfect “elegant” phrase to change the subject, Evelina said quickly, “Lord Ravenswood, were you able to get much work done?”

He seized on the topic with apparent relief. “Yes. Quite a bit actually. When no one is there, I get more done than usual.”

“Poor man, you work far too hard.” Lady Tyndale smiled thinly at Abby. “I swear your husband is always hastening off to the office or the House of Lords or something.”

Her unspoken criticism was readily apparent. Newly married gentlemen weren’t supposed to work so hard. Wives were supposed to make their homes so cozy that they felt no need to rush off on weekends.

“I enjoy working,” Spencer said tightly. “There’s much to do before Parliament is out of session.”

That effectively ended Lady Tyndale’s attempts to condescend to Abby in front of her husband. An uncomfortable silence fell over the carriage.

Restlessly, Spencer shifted his position on the seat beside her. When he settled again, one of his knees was thrust up against hers. She shot him a veiled glance.

He wore the same brooding scowl he’d worn increasingly in the past week, but otherwise, he looked good enough to eat. Literally. That ruby cravat pin could be a cherry floating in a sea of whipped cream…sweetened whipped cream that frothed above an expanse of white marzipan studded with peeled almonds…

Not almonds. Buttons, for heaven’s sake, they were inedible
buttons
on his white marcella waistcoat. She jerked her gaze away. If she didn’t eat soon, she might devour them anyway, just to feel something go down her throat other than saliva.

Of course, then he’d have no buttons and his waistcoat would pop open to reveal the thin shirt beneath, a coating of white icing that she could lick off his broad chest…

Dear heaven, hunger was making her delirious. And now Evelina was staring at her undoubtedly flushed cheeks.

The young woman smiled. “Doesn’t your wife look lovely today?” she asked Spencer.

He cast Abby a cursory glance. “Yes. She does indeed.”

Annoyance flickered in Evelina’s eyes. “I think that turban looks so elegant on you,” she told Abby. “Is that a new purchase?”

Abby nodded, grateful for the distraction from her gnawing starvation. “Lady Brumley helped me pick it out, actually.” She patted the white satin. “Since my hair doesn’t take a curl well, I thought this would be a good compromise.”

“It’s exquisite. Indeed, your whole ensemble is very fashionable.”

“Thank you.” When out of the corner of her eye, she saw Spencer’s scowl deepen, she added, “Mr. McFee said I look quite the Englishwoman. What do you think, my lord?”

Shifting to stare out the window, he growled, “He’s right. You look, act, and sound ‘quite the Englishwoman.’”

His sharp-edged tone exasperated her. What did the wretched man want from her anyway? She’d done exactly as he’d asked this past week. She’d relinquished her hopes for any future with him and kept their association on a cordial plane. Yet that hadn’t seemed to please him—he’d been as surly as a goat these past two days.

Could her new refinement already be affecting him? Perhaps he began to regret his eagerness to rid himself of her. The idea appealed to her enormously.

Well, he’d seen nothing yet. Clara had fully prepared Abby for the rules, habits, and peculiar customs of fashionable society. Although Spencer had accompanied Abby to a few private dinners, he’d had no chance to see her behavior at a large social affair. She was determined to surprise him with her social prowess.

When they arrived at Lady Brumley’s, Abby steadied her nerves. This was it—the real test of what she’d learned. If she navigated this successfully, she could surely handle meeting the king at the May Day fête.

Now if only she could ignore her acute hunger a few moments longer. There was probably some horrible social protocol that prevented one from mowing down people on the way to filling one’s belly. But dear heaven, the smells of food wafting to her from Lady Brumley’s gardens where they were headed were positively delicious.

Thankfully, the moment they strode onto the lawns, Abby spotted Clara standing alone by a hawthorn bush. Good—she could be herself with Clara and confess to her starvation. She could finally
eat
. “Excuse me,” she told her companions. “I see my friend over there. I’ll just go say hello.”

Lady Tyndale and Evelina gave polite nods as she hurried off, but to her annoyance Spencer fell into step beside her. Why must he choose
now
to breach their cordial wall of distance?

“I truly am sorry I kept you waiting,” he said in a low rumble. “I didn’t think about the fact that you might want to be here on time.”

“Don’t be silly—it was no problem at all.” She had to get rid of him. She refused to let him see her attack the eatables like a ravenous dog. “You don’t have to squire me around, you know. I’ll be fine.”

Her less-than-subtle hint was completely lost on him. He scowled. “You must be really annoyed at me if you’re trying to run me off.”

“I’m not annoyed, Spencer.” “Annoyed” didn’t begin to describe how she felt at the moment. “Desperate” was closer. She fought to modulate her voice as Clara had taught her. “A lady is never annoyed. It’s not fashionable.”

Oh, how she hated that word.
Fashionable
. The very sound of it was vacuous. Especially since only a fear of being
un
fashionable was keeping her hungry just now.

Fortunately, Clara spotted them and came to meet them. But they’d barely exchanged greetings before Spencer grumbled, “Would you please tell Abby that Lady Brumley probably didn’t even notice that we’re late?”

Clara laughed. “Lateness is fashionable, Abby.”

There was that nasty word again. “I realize that.” Abby cast a longing look at the food tables. “It’s my husband who continues to harp on the subject.”

“You won’t even look at me, for God’s sake,” Spencer retorted. “I know you’re angry.”

“Why would I be angry?” Abby said sweetly.

“You know why, damn it.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Because I kept you waiting while I finished up at the Home Office. Well, I do have duties and responsibilities, Abby.”

“No one said you didn’t.”

“You went into the office on Saturday, Lord Ravenswood?” Clara put in. “Parliament doesn’t even have sessions on Saturday.”

Abby’s hold on her temper was slipping, especially since Spencer would not
go away
. “He wasn’t interested in working, I assure you. He simply wanted to avoid trundling about town with Lady Tyndale. He left that to me to do. Of course, he didn’t bother to warm me about it.”

His scowl deepened. “I know I must have said something—”

“You didn’t believe me. I would have remembered.”

When Clara burst into laughter, they turned twin glares on her.

Her eyes were twinkling. “What a convincing performance. No one will doubt for a second that you’re married. You both play the role to perfection.”

That effectively ended the discussion and brought Abby to her senses. Viscountesses did not publicly argue with their husbands. She couldn’t believe she’d allowed him to provoke her that far. She wouldn’t succumb again, no matter how hungry she got.