Married to the Viscount (31 page)

Suggestions for the Stoic Servant

S
pencer’s eyes narrowed when he saw Abby head toward him looking so determined. No telling what she was planning. Thanks to his idiotic actions a week ago, her artless expression no longer showed when she was up to mischief.

He sighed. She wouldn’t be up to mischief anyway, would she? Not the refined faux Englishwoman she’d become. He hated this new Abby. He hated her distant air and her quiet sophistication, her refusal to say what she thought. Most of all, he hated that she no longer hung on his every word or regarded him with transparent adoration.

Never mind that he had only himself to blame for driving her to treat him so distantly. Like a querulous child wanting what he couldn’t have, Spencer wanted the old Abby back. He missed her pert opinions. He missed her teasing, her flirting, her smiles.

She smiled now, too, but without warmth. It was killing him. He’d always thought himself in hell to have her so sweet and tempting beneath his very nose and be unable to act on his need. But that had merely been purgatory. Hell was being
deprived of the real Abby, being doomed never again to bask in the light of her attention.

“There you are,” Abby said as she approached, wearing her remote smile, the one he loathed. She tucked her gloved hand beneath his arm. “I was just wondering where you’d gone off to, my dear.”

The meaningless endearment sliced through him. Ignoring the savage pain, he turned to his companions. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I don’t believe you’ve met my wife.”

She inclined her head toward them with perfect self-assurance. “It’s so good to meet you. My husband has told me much about you both.”

“I only hope he didn’t make us sound too stuffy,” Sir Robert retorted with a wink.

Spencer gritted his teeth. Sir Robert’s gallantry toward the fairer sex had never bothered him before, but it bloody well bothered him now.

But Abby warmed to it like a cat stretching in the sun. “Don’t worry—Spencer speaks highly of all his fellow statesmen.”

“And how are you enjoying our fair city, madam?” Lord Liverpool asked, all supercilious condescension. “I’ll wager it’s quite different from your colonial towns.”

Her smile grew a bit forced, but she didn’t rise to the bait. “Having seen so little of London, I honestly don’t know. My husband promised to show me the sights, you see, but he hasn’t yet had the chance.”

“I would imagine not.” Sir Robert flashed her a faintly lascivious glance that made Spencer want to throttle him. “Newlyweds generally prefer to engage in more interesting activities at home.”

“Oh, yes, we read quite a lot,” she said as blithely as an innocent, though her faint blush showed that she knew exactly what the bastard meant. “But I was referring to how hard
Spencer works. He spends so many hours at the Home Office that he hardly has any time for leisure.”

“The business of government must go on, Lady Ravenswood,” Liverpool said in stern reproof. “Even new husbands cannot thrust their duties aside to engage in frivolity.”

Spencer half hoped to see Abby chide the pompous toad the way she’d always chided Spencer for his seriousness.

But she’d grown much too elegant for that. “You’re quite right, Lord Liverpool. The weight of the country is on the shoulders of you all, so England must come first.”

Liverpool nodded, a little mollified. “Exactly what I’m saying.”

“And are you married?” she asked in a conversational tone.

“I was indeed, until my wife died. And I intend to marry again. It’s important for a man in my position to project an air of stability to the country.”

“Ah. So English statesmen do consider having wives and families important to their careers. I’d been led to believe otherwise.”

Her pointed words weren’t lost on Spencer, who scowled.

“Of course they’re important,” Liverpool went on, oblivious to the tension between husband and wife. “As long as a statesman’s wife understands her place, that is.”

That arrested Abby’s attention. “Her ‘place,’ my lord?”

“As a support and helpmeet to him, of course,” Liverpool intoned. “The statesman’s wife should put no demands on her husband. His activities in the public sphere place enough on him as it is. She must accept that she will only receive those few attentions he can spare. She must concentrate on easing his way whenever possible.”

Sir Robert shot Spencer a glance meant to prod him into stopping Liverpool’s idiotic opinions. But Spencer was waiting with bated breath for Abby’s response.

She didn’t disappoint him. “And if she does make de
mands on her husband?” Her smile was deceptively sweet. “What then? Should he deny her what she wants?”

Liverpool didn’t even see the trap closing in. “Certainly, if her demands interfere with his aims. He must use a firm hand, cut her off before she grows too willful.”

“I see,” she said noncommittally. But there was no mistaking the mischief creeping over her face.

Hope leaped in Spencer’s heart.

“Then you needn’t fear for me,” she went on. “My husband never hesitates to use a firm hand. Why, only the other day he threatened to have me chained up if I didn’t behave.”

Spencer nearly crowed aloud. Ah, there it was—the old Abby. Thank God for Liverpool and his crackbrained ideas. Rampant pomposity always brought out the devil in her. “What could I do?” Spencer said, inciting her to further deviltry. “You were being so troublesome.”

“Well, it was certainly an effective way to remind me of my ‘place.’”

Liverpool blinked, first at her, then at Spencer, clearly unsure whether to believe them or not.

But Sir Robert threw himself eagerly into the spirit of things. “And where were you planning to chain your recalcitrant wife, Ravenswood? Have you a dungeon beneath your town house that none of us know about?”

“I figured I’d put her in the Tower. I’m sure His Majesty wouldn’t mind lending me a cell, given the trouble he had with his own wife. What do you think, Liverpool?”

The reference to the late Queen Caroline stymied Liverpool even further, since he’d been one of the men to advocate strict measures regarding her behavior. “Er…I…I would not advocate chaining, of course, but—”

“Why, the whole lot of you could chain your wives in the Tower when they misbehave.” Abby’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “I understand it’s large enough for it. And that
could prove advantageous to me, if I manage to stay out of it myself. Because if enough statesmen chain their wives in the Tower, leaving you gentlemen free to come and go as you please, you might not have to work so hard.” She grinned. “And Spencer could finally take me on a tour of the city.”

“Lady Ravenswood, I would not condone—” Liverpool began.

Sir Robert erupted into laughter. “She’s pulling your leg, old chap. Chaining wives in the Tower indeed. Can’t you tell when a woman’s joking?”

Thoroughly delighted with his wife, Spencer joined Sir Robert in his laughter.

But Liverpool didn’t find the conversation nearly so entertaining. Since he apparently couldn’t decide whom to glower at the most fiercely, he settled for glowering at them all.

Belatedly, Spencer attempted to soothe the man’s ruffled feathers. “Please excuse my wife, Liverpool. She has a tendency to tease. I did threaten to chain her in the Tower if she didn’t behave, but she knows perfectly well I didn’t mean it.”

“What?” Abby exclaimed in mock disbelief. “I thought sure you were serious. You are always serious. Everybody knows that.”

When she graced Spencer with one of her old teasing smiles, he exulted in it. Impulsively, he caught her hand beneath his and squeezed, thrilled by the pretty blush that stained her cheeks. He hadn’t made her blush in a week.

“A serious nature is much to be preferred over an impertinent one,” Lord Liverpool pronounced, his face as dour as an executioner’s.

“Don’t be so stodgy,” Sir Robert said gamely. “The woman’s an American, and everyone knows American women speak their minds.”

“Only when Englishmen threaten to put them in their places, sir,” Abby quipped.

“You married an English husband,” Lord Liverpool cut in. “It might behoove you to remember it the next time you speak so idly, madam.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, man—” Sir Robert began.

“And you, sir,” Liverpool went on, fixing a disapproving gaze on Spencer. “A pity you didn’t heed your father’s mistake when you chose your own wife.”

The insult to Abby cast an instant chill over the conversation. As Spencer watched mortification banish Abby’s mischievous smile, an ungovernable anger possessed him.

“My father’s mistake was in marrying a woman half his age,” he growled, staring Liverpool down. “And as I am not yet in my dotage and my wife is not fresh out of the schoolroom, I fail to see any similarity between his marriage and mine.”

Liverpool’s frigid smile held his usual contempt. “Ah, yes, I forgot. You went off to school after your father married Lady Dorothea—no doubt you missed hearing about your stepmother’s wild escapades, impudent manner, and utterly frivolous character.”

“I heard. I also heard that you offered for her before my father did, and she turned you down. Apparently, you only found her character to be frivolous after she proved to be uninterested in
you
.”

When Liverpool’s lips tightened and he looked as if he might speak again, Spencer went on, “Now if you’ll excuse us, gentlemen, my wife and I have friends to seek out.”

Settling his hand in the small of Abby’s back, he led her off toward the punch table, inwardly seething.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Abby whispered, “Spencer, I’m sorry. I should not have been so frank.”

“Nonsense. The man’s a pompous ass, always has been.”

“But I shouldn’t have teased him. It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

Liverpool’s comments were making her retreat into her
new cool manner, and the very thought drove Spencer mad. “You mustn’t let that humorless old fool’s words affect you. You couldn’t have known that he has no sense of humor. Or that the doddering idiot actually believes all that rot about a woman’s place.”

“I gather you don’t much like his lordship.”

He gazed down at her still ashen features. “I don’t like any man who insults you. If he’d been anyone else, I would have called him out for it.”

Her eyes went wide. “Don’t be silly—you would have done no such thing.”

“No man insults my wife with impunity.”

Shifting her gaze across the lawn, she said in a small voice, “So I suppose what he said was true. All that stuff about your stepmother being impudent and frivolous.”

Spencer stiffened. Devil take Liverpool for raising such questions in her head.

They’d reached the punch table. As Spencer took a cup and filled it, he glanced at the guests nearby, but they were all engrossed in conversations. Handing Abby the cup, he filled one for himself and lowered his voice. “For the most part it’s true. Then again, Lady Dorothea was only twenty when she married my father, and plenty of women are frivolous at that age.”

“Twenty?” she exclaimed. “How old was your father?”

“Forty-eight. He married her about two years after Mother died bearing Nat.”

“That’s why Lord Liverpool called the marriage a mistake?”

Spencer drew her away from the others. “Dora was…lively and youthful, probably too much so for Father. She wanted constant attention, and Father couldn’t give it to her.”

“That must have been very hard for her.”

“I suppose. She hid it well, at least at first. She tried to mother all of us and outrageously spoiled Nat, who was only
a baby. Even my older brother, Theo, who was still alive at that point and at school, got her lavish attention when he was home.”

“So you liked her?”

“Not at the beginning, but that wasn’t her fault.” He stared down into his punch glass. “I was at a difficult age. Ten-year-old boys aren’t very amenable to new mothers. I resented her, but she didn’t seem to mind. She used to laugh and call me ‘His Little Highness.’” He shot Abby a rueful smile. “I suppose I was overly serious even then.”

Abby didn’t smile. “You’d just lost your mother two years before, Spencer. Any child would be serious under such circumstances.”

Her sympathy crept inside to warm that aching spot in his heart reserved for memories of his stepmother. Leaning back against the tree, Spencer sipped his punch. “Anyway, I grew to love her almost as much as I had my own mother. The trouble was, she wanted her own babies, and Father refused to give them to her. He said he already had three sons. Apparently when he’d offered for her, it was under the condition that she relinquish any hope of having her own children with him. She must have married him with the intention of changing his mind later, for she pressed him about it through the years. He always steadfastly refused.”

“But they shared a bed?” Abby asked, clearly perplexed.

“Of course. I suppose he merely took precautions.” He stared off across the lawn, his face rigid. “Anyway, matters began to deteriorate. Toward the end, all they did was argue about her desire to have children. Fortunately, I wasn’t home much. I went off to school at twelve. When I returned home and England was heading off to fight Napoleon again, I begged Father to buy me a commission in the army so I could escape watching Dora and Father destroy each other. I wasn’t the heir at that point, so he readily agreed.”

“How old were you?”

“Eighteen. Two years later, once Nat started school and Theo was sowing his wild oats in London, Dora was left alone with Father.” He gave a ragged sigh. “I suppose she couldn’t take it anymore. She started running wild, behaving outrageously, flirting with other men. When none of that swayed Father, she ran off to Italy with some count.”

“Your father must have been devastated,” Abby said, her face rapt with pity.

“I don’t know. I was at war. But according to Nat, Father didn’t care. He cared more when Theo died in some idiotic brawl in a gaming hell a few years later. Nat finished school and followed in Theo’s reckless footsteps. And Father—” He sucked in a heavy breath. “Father took pneumonia and died a few months after Theo.”