Married to the Viscount (42 page)

Nat blinked, then stared at him, stunned. “Evelina? She’s…she’s—”

“With child. Congratulations.”

“My God,” Nat said hoarsely, “I’m having a baby.”

For the first time in his life, those words didn’t strike envy into Spencer’s heart. “I believe
she
is the one having the baby.” He leveled a stern glance on his brother. “And she is the one who will suffer society’s disapprobation if you don’t marry her at once.”

Nat’s pleasure turned to alarm just that quick. “Is she all right?”

“She will be, once you’re there. But the only way to preserve her reputation is if the two of you elope immediately, making people think you simply couldn’t wait for a wedding. That way her mother—who’s not the brightest candle in the sconce and is liable to cause trouble if you tell her the truth—won’t be involved.”

“Yes, whatever you say,” Nat murmured, still looking dazed.

“Then you’ll have to take her to Essex once she’s close to her time and keep her there for a while so people won’t speculate about her exceedingly early baby.”

“Right.” Nat glanced up. “Essex. You mean the estate?”

Spencer eyed him askance. “Unless you own a house in Essex that I don’t know about.”

“You would…let me go back there even after—”

“It’s your home and you’re my brother,” he said evenly. “Of course I would let you go back there.”

“My God, Spence, I don’t know what to say.” Then his face hardened. “Oh, of course you would let us go there. Can’t risk a scandal.” He gave a bitter laugh. “That’s why my plan to keep you married to Abby worked. I can always count on you to fix my mistakes, not because you give a damn about me, but because you have to maintain a certain image. That’s why the lofty Ravenswood can’t tell his brother he’s sterile, except when he’s too drunk to know what he’s saying. Can’t have people thinking he’s weak, you know.”

A deep sadness settled into Spencer’s chest. He’d known that his relationship to Nat had deteriorated through the years, but he’d always blamed Nat for that. Or Dora and his father. Perhaps it was time he acknowledge his own part in it and try to make amends.

“I want you at the estate because Abby and I will be there once Parliament is no longer in session.” If Abby forgave him, that is. If she didn’t—No, he wouldn’t think about that. “If you truly wish to make a go of this business, you and Abby will have to develop a plan for it. She’s already selling the Mead in London as a perfume, so you might want to consider pursuing that avenue.”

Nat gaped at him as if he’d gone mad. “You would let me…and Abby—”

“Let you? Good God, man, you’re twenty-nine and an expectant father. If you’re not ready to choose your own path in life by now, you never will be.”

With a surge of excitement, Nat leaned forward to grab Spencer’s hands, squeezing them fiercely. “You won’t regret this, Spence, I swear. I’ll make the best of this chance. I’ll make you proud of me.”

“There will be conditions, of course,” Spencer said gruffly, unused to such effusive emotion from his brother.

Releasing Spencer’s hands, Nat settled back into his seat. “Whatever you want.”

Spencer stifled a smile at his brother’s enthusiasm. “Your firstborn child?”

Shock filled Nat’s face.

“I’m joking,” Spencer said hastily. “For God’s sake, I’m joking.”

Nat eyed him suspiciously. “You never joke.”

“Then it’s about time I start, don’t you think?”

A slow smile lit Nat’s face. “Yes.” He started nodding. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

They’d reached Bristol proper now, and a thought occurred to Spencer. “Do you need to stop at the inn to gather your belongings?”

“I can always send for them from London.” Nat flicked his gaze over Spencer. “But you look pretty haggard. Why don’t
you take my room in the inn tonight, and let me go on in a mail coach?”

“I can’t. I promised Abby I’d be back in time for the Throckmortons’ May Day fête tomorrow night. I’m supposed to introduce her to the king, and I know she’s nervous. That’s why I posted through the night to get here, and why I intend to post through the night to get back.”

Nat stared at him. “Despite having such an important political engagement tomorrow, you came all the way to Bristol after me just because Evelina asked?”

Spencer sighed. “I know I’ve been something of an ass from time to time, Nat. But I have always wanted only the best for you.”

Nat ventured a smile. “You probably find this hard to believe, but I did the same for you.” He glanced down at his hands. “You are…I mean…Abby does make you happy, doesn’t she?”

A laugh swelled in Spencer’s throat that he barely managed to check. “You have just presented me with quite a dilemma. On the one hand, I don’t want to encourage this deplorable habit you’ve developed of behaving like your older brother.”

Nat’s head shot up, his eyes narrowing. “And on the other hand?”

“She makes me insanely happy.” As Nat broke into a grin, he added severely, “However, I have not made
her
terribly happy. And I’m not sure if she’ll be able to forgive me for that.” He added, his throat tight, “Before I left London, she said that she was leaving me as soon as I could take her back to America.”

“Why, for God’s sake? You must have done something, said something…Wait, please say you didn’t tell Abby you’re sterile.”

“Of course I told her. She had the right to know.”

“But you’re not even certain that you are.”

Spencer frowned. “I’m a bit hazy about what I said to you
in America—but surely I mentioned that I’ve never used any methods to prevent children with my mistresses. And none of them have ever borne me a by-blow.”

“How do you know
they
didn’t use something? Light-skirts sometimes use methods a man can’t detect, like sponges or pessaries.”

“I suppose that’s possible. But there was Genevieve, who knew the truth, so she had no need to use anything. I told her that my mettle lacked mettle.”

Nat laughed. “And of course she took you at your word. Never mind that you were a spymaster and a lying dog. When you said she needn’t prevent children, she listened.”

Spencer could only stare at him.

“Didn’t think of that, did you?” Nat asked, eyes twinkling. “Of course not. The great Ravenswood expects it to be so, and it is. Well, not everybody heeds your pronouncements, dear brother. They simply don’t tell you they’re ignoring you.”

Spencer hardly knew what to think. Nat was right—it had never occurred to him that Genevieve might not believe him. Was it possible he might actually be able to—

He squelched the thought before he could hope. “No,” he said firmly. “Genevieve would never have hidden such a thing from me. And we were together for three years.”

“Suit yourself, you know the chit better than I do. But even if you’re right and you can’t sire children, you can always take in foundlings.”

“That’s what Abby said. That’s partly why she’s…leaving me. I told her I would never do it.”

“Why not?”

“It seems silly now, but at the time I was thinking of how Dora left us.”

“Dora? You let our stepmother and her disastrous marriage to Father stop you?”

Nat sounded so incredulous that Spencer got defensive. “Well, yes. She wanted children, and Father wouldn’t give
them to her. And clearly we weren’t enough for her, so she ran off.”

“For a man who used to be a spymaster,” Nat said, shaking his head, “you can sometimes be damned oblivious.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Our not being ‘enough for her’ wasn’t why she left. Granted, I know she wanted children, but that wasn’t the main trouble. What made her grow to hate Father was his refusal to share her bed. For years, apparently.”

“What? How do you know?”

Nat crossed his arms smugly over his chest. “If you’ll recall, dear brother, I was at home for most of their marriage while you were at school. And I wasn’t averse to spying on the servants. I was rather sneaky about it—that way I heard the juiciest gossip. And they gossiped. A lot.”

“About Father’s marriage bed?” Spencer said, outraged.

“Among other things. I heard from Father’s valet that he’d only married her to give us a mother. Then I heard from Dora’s maid all about how disillusioned Dora became when she realized he didn’t love her. That same maid also said that Father had banished Dora from his bed when she started plaguing him about children. I guess he was afraid she would trick him one night into…well…you know, completing the dirty deed, so he stopped taking her to his bed. That was years before she left.”

For the second time in an hour, Spencer stared at his brother in dumb disbelief.

“I didn’t blame her a bit for running off,” Nat went on. “I’d run off, too, if my choice was between an old grouch who wouldn’t touch me and a young and virile Italian.”

Spencer shook his head. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“I figured you knew. The rest of us did, even Theo. Besides, you were never home, remember? You went straight from school to the war, and when you returned, you’d become this serious and scary patriarch who was always order
ing everyone about. I wasn’t going to tell you anything that might spark your temper.”

A mad laugh escaped Spencer’s lips, then another and another. When his brother eyed him warily, Spencer said, “I’ve been even more of an idiot than I dreamed.”

“Have you?”

“It was Dora I kept thinking about whenever I refused to marry. It was my memories of Dora that made me say the most awful things to Abby and tell her a lot of nonsense about women and children not their own…That’s why she got angry at me. Because I wouldn’t trust her. Because I wanted everything my own way.”

Nat searched his face. “And now?”

He sighed. “Now I just want Abby. If she’ll take me.”

“Of course she will. Tell her you love her, that’s all. You do, don’t you?”

“Yes. And I already told her.” With a frown Spencer glanced out the window. “But I fear I’ll need something stronger than words to restore her faith in me after all I’ve put her through.”

They rode a while in silence, listening to the carriage creak as it strained up the hills, then rumbled furiously down. The three-quarter moon rose, casting a soft eerie light over the same hedge-divided fields of meadowsweet and betony Spencer had passed on his way from London. Thank God for fine weather and a dry road. If their luck held, they might make it in time for the Throckmortons’ fête. The first step in persuading Abby of his sincerity this time must be keeping his promises.

Suddenly a thought occurred to him. “What time is it, Nat?”

Nat turned up the carriage lamp, to look at his pocket watch. “After midnight.”

“The fête starts at seven
P.M
. tomorrow. Even with stopping to change horses and eat, we should make it, don’t you think?”

“Or be no more than an hour late. Why?”

“Because once we’re in London, I want to make a quick stop.”

“Where?”

“At the foundling hospital. To find out what they require. If I can tell Abby I set up an appointment for us to talk to them later, she’ll have to believe I mean what I say.”

“Before you go taking in a bunch of foundlings, perhaps you should first make sure you can’t have children of your own. Talk to one of your mistresses and see if they used any preventive methods.”

Spencer nodded. “Genevieve. If she didn’t use anything, it’s obvious I can’t sire children. She’s pregnant by her new husband scarcely a year after they married. But if she did use something…” If there was any possibility he could sire children of his own, he could at least offer Abby that hope.

“Two stops then,” Spencer went on. “Just drop me at Genevieve’s. I won’t be long. I’ll take a hack from there to the foundling hospital and then home to dress. I know you want to get to the fête and find Evelina as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, Spence.” Nat leaned forward and patted his brother’s knee. “It’ll be all right, you’ll see. Abby would be a fool to leave you.”

Spencer shook his head. “After what I’ve put her through, she’d be a fool to stay. But she came all the way to England to be with me because of the promises made by a scoundrel like you. So maybe she’ll stay because of promises made by a scoundrel like me.”

Chapter 25

If you should be so privileged as to work for an employer who consorts with royalty, take great care to learn the proper way to attend such lofty personages.

Suggestions for the Stoic Servant

“H
eaven’s Scent is a decided success,” Clara told Abby as they stood on the periphery of the crowd at the Throckmortons’ May Day fête. “Half the ladies here seem to be wearing it, and Mr. Jackson told me yesterday when I was at his shop that he’s placed orders for a hundred bottles since Saturday.”

“That’s nice,” Abby said absently.

“Nice? It’s wonderful. Only think of how well the business will do as word gets around.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” She ought to be thrilled by this chance to be financially secure without having to rely on her dowry. Given Nat’s unscrupulous behavior, there was no telling how much might be left of it. Even if a large portion remained, Spencer might withhold the money indefinitely in an attempt to keep her here longer. So she had to have the funds she would gain through Lady Brumley’s scheme.

Yet all she could think was the more money she got, the sooner she’d be able to leave Spencer. And leaving Spencer was going to kill her.

“Are you sure your husband is keeping an eye out for him?” Abby asked Clara.

Though Captain Blakely had been stationed near the ballroom entrance, Abby had glanced there, too, from time to time. Still no sign of Spencer.

Clara chuckled. “You really are worried about him, aren’t you? But you needn’t fret yourself—he’ll be here. He wouldn’t miss anything so important to you.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about. I don’t want Spencer to suffer if the king takes his absence as an insult.” Bad enough that her “estrangement” from Spencer would soon subject him to comment, no matter how carefully they handled it. She refused to also be responsible for damage to his career.