The Marriage Bargain (23 page)

Spence closed his eyes for a moment, feeling guilt for leaving her pale and bedridden.

“She is.” He hoped this was true. He hoped she woke this morning with no ill effects from the accident, as Mr. Price had promised.

His uncle stared down at the table, and uncomfortable silence descended.

Lifting his head, his uncle gave Spence a penetrating stare. “What is this tale your cousin told me?”

“That I was thought dead?”

“That you fought a duel.” Keenan leaned closer and spoke in a fierce whisper. “What kind of stupidity was that?”

“An affair of honor.” Spence spoke with sarcasm. “I am afraid you missed your opportunity to inherit. How unfortunate for you.”

“It was indeed,” Keenan answered in kind. “If your shot met its mark, I might also have had the pleasure of seeing you hanged for it.”

Spence took a sip of coffee, regarding his uncle over the rim of the cup. Matters between them were as tense as always. He was struck anew at the depth of his uncle’s anger toward him.

“Did you hear of Ruddock?” Spence asked, changing the subject, eager to skirt close to the topic of embezzlement.

“That he drowned?” His uncle nodded. “You can be grateful he managed that feat while you put in an appearance at your estate. Think of the difficulties of having no one in control of your affairs.”

Spence looked carefully for signs that Uncle Keenan knew more than he let on, but he suspected his uncle was well practiced in deception after his many years in politics.

“Oh, I expect his brother would have taken over,” Spence responded.

They fell into silence again. All Spence could sense was the same tension that had been between them for years, that had worsened since he’d married Emma.

His uncle broke the silence. “Where do you stay?”

Spence was caught off-guard. “Stephen’s Hotel.”

“I ought to have known. An army favorite, is it not?”

His uncle resided in the Kellworth London townhouse, had done so from the time Spence’s parents died. No one else ever had need of the place.

There was another long, awkward pause.

Finally Keenan stood. “I must leave.”

Without another word he walked swiftly away, not pausing to speak to anyone else, heading directly for the door.

By the afternoon it no longer felt to Emma that a hammer and anvil were pounding in her head. Not so her heart. Her heart was still broken and she did not think she would ever see it mended.

She asked for Mr. Hale and grilled him about what he knew of Spence’s leaving. Reluctantly he handed her the note written before Spence’s flight.

Mrs. Cobbett stood at her bedside looking worried as Emma broke the letter’s seal.

She read:

Forgive me, Emma. I cannot stay here. I will put things to rights, I
promise
. Yours, etc. SK.

The word “promise” was underlined.

She flung the paper aside. This was no explanation. Did she not deserve some sort of explanation? What of her wish to have a child? Putting that part of their bargain “to rights” would be a neat trick, all the way from London.

She picked up the paper and read it again, with disgust. What made him think she could put faith in this latest promise?

She ought to have known not to trust him. Ought to have known she meant so little to him he would not bother with her convalescence. She had sat at
his
sickbed night after night, but he would not wait even one night beside hers.

She hated him. Hated him.

“My lady?” Mrs. Cobbett said uncertainly.

Emma had forgotten she and Mr. Hale were there. “It is nothing, Mrs. Cobbett,” she replied in a dull voice. “Nothing at all. Thank you, Mr. Hale.”

She reached over and finished the last drops of the tea Mrs. Cobbett had brought her. “You may remove the tray now. You may go, too, Mr. Hale.”

Dorrie entered, carrying the two kittens. “I thought they might cheer you.”

The maid put them on Emma’s bed and they bounded over for a petting.

“Thank you, Dorrie.” She picked up Tom and cuddled him against her cheek. “You may leave now. I do not need company.”

“My lady, we do not think—” Mrs. Cobbett began.

Emma cut her off sharply. “I wish to be alone.”

“Yes, my lady.” Mrs. Cobbett wrung her hands worriedly.

She, Mr. Hale, and Dorrie left the room, but Emma could hear them whispering to each other as they walked out the door.

She put Tom back on the bed and leaned against her pillows. She ceased trying to reconcile the passionate and considerate lover with the man who could so abruptly abandon her. Instead, she focused on her rage. She could see it all happening again. He would forget about her and about Kellworth and the funds would stop again. He would be off exploring pyramids in Cairo or some such place and she would be tearing her hair out trying to contrive a way to feed everyone.

“I will not stand for it,” she said aloud.

The two kittens cocked their heads.

“He made a bargain and he will keep it!”

She flung off the covers, and Tom and Puss scrambled away in fright. They peeked out from under the chair as she padded over to the basin and poured water into it. She pulled her nightdress over her head, washed herself, and tended to her feminine needs. Years of practice with the elderly Susan as her maid had taught her how to don her corset and manage the laces of her dress. She sat at her mirror to brush her hair, and the kittens poked their heads out and dared come sit at her feet.

She scooped them up. “We have work to do,” she said, kissing them until they squirmed to escape.

By the dinner hour her plans were well in place. She sat in the drawing room thinking of what she was about to do, when Reuben walked in.

He rushed to her side. “Emma, my dear, I came to inquire of your health. Mr. Hale said you were here in the drawing room. Ought you not still be on your sickbed?”

Convenient that Reuben’s godly good works of visiting the sick came at the dinner hour.

“I am well enough, Reuben.” Without irony she added, “Would you care to stay for dinner?”

“I would be honored. If it is not an imposition.”

“Not at all.” In fact, she’d just as soon have the distraction.

He poured himself a glass of burgundy from the crystal decanter on the table. “I called upon you yesterday as soon as news reached me.”

“That was good of you.” She was certain a meal had been served during that visit as well.

He sat in a nearby chair and leaned toward her with a look of concern. “I know my cousin has left you.”

The words were like jabbing spears. “Yes,” she managed.

“I am so sorry, my dear. He has gone to London, has he?”

“Yes, London.” She paused. Reuben’s faithful friendship, annoying as it had been from time to time, entitled him to hear the news from her own lips. “I go to London as well. Tomorrow.”

He spilled wine on his trousers and dabbed at the stain with his handkerchief. “Has Spencer sent for you?”

She laughed. “No, but he shall discover soon enough I am there.”

Reuben grabbed her hand. “My dear lady, you must not go chasing after him. For one thing you cannot be enough recovered. I simply will not hear of this.”

“You have no say in the matter, Reuben.”

“You cannot go to the Kellworth townhouse,” he said. “My father resides there.”

“I sent word to my mother. She will be in London for the Season, of that you can depend. I daresay she will not be thrilled to have me as a guest, but how can she refuse?”

He took a deep breath before trying a different tactic. “The Kellworth carriage has not been used for years. After this terrible mishap of the curricle, you dare not ride in it until it is thoroughly checked.”

“I have hired a post-chaise.”

He sputtered. “You cannot go to London alone in a post-chaise.”

She did not want him to know this part of her plan did frighten her, but she was not about to let fear stop her. “I shall have a groom accompany me.”

He looked aghast. “You need a gentleman’s protection.”

She needed many things from a gentleman, but the gentleman in question had seen fit to abandon her. She was on her own. “I will manage.”

Reuben stewed about the matter throughout the dinner, the pudding, and while they sat together with tea in the drawing room. No matter what he said, Emma would not be persuaded to change her mind. She was bound for London and would confront her husband. Somehow she would force him to fulfill his bargain to her. Get her with child and she would be done with him. Refuse and she would dog him to Land’s End, if need be. Cairo, even.

“Very well,” Reuben said in a defeated voice. “There is nothing for it, but I must accompany you. It is an easy drive over good roads. I will take you in my curricle.”

“Your curricle,” she repeated. Her heart raced at the prospect of riding in the same sort of vehicle that had so nearly taken her life.

“I assure you,
I
will not tip you over in it.” He made her look at him. “Let me drive you, Emma.”

Because she was more frightened of riding alone in a post-chaise all the way to London than climbing into a curricle again, Emma said, “Very well. You may drive me to London.”

The next day Reuben arrived promptly, and they had an early start to the trip. Emma’s small trunk containing her newest dresses was strapped to the back of the curricle next to Reuben’s portmanteau. She was further relieved to see he had brought a groom with him, a new man he had hired, who would ride in the back as well.

Although initially breathless with anxiety at each bump in the road, she soon relaxed. Reuben kept a sedate pace and drove competently. Even better, he behaved in a very gentlemanly manner, as a family relation ought. At the posting inns the groom saw to the change in horses and Reuben ordered their refreshment. She was grateful to be spared attending to these details.

They reached London during the fashionable hour. On the roads of Mayfair, curricles and other fine vehicles clogged the streets on their way to or from Hyde Park. Emma’s nerves grew raw, and the noise was enough to make her wish she could clamp her hands over her ears. Street hawkers called out their wares, horses’ hooves clopped on the streets. Carriages rattled. Hack drivers shouted for slow vehicles to get out of the way. Splendidly dressed gentlemen escorted fashionably gowned ladies. Emma looked down at her own dress and spencer and felt like a dowd.

The last time she had been in London, Spence’s uncle had driven her through the park. She remembered the other women of society seemed so sure of themselves, so practiced in flirtation, while she spent the whole time hoping Keenan would not touch her. He rarely missed an opportunity to do so. She imagined Spence atop one of the shiny vehicles, dressed in his finely tailored coat and buff pantaloons, his boots polished to a mirror finish. His strong gloved hands would expertly hold the ribbons while some expensively dressed woman simpered at his side. The mere thought of it made her vision turn red.

Had that been why he’d run to London? Engaging in dalliances was the way of men, her mother always said, although Emma never saw any sign of that in her father. She had carefully avoided thinking of Spence with other women during the years he left her alone. It had been too painful, and that was before she knew what it was like to make love to him. To think of his arms around another woman, his lips kissing her, his . . . Well, it drove her mad.

She did not truly believe Spence left her for another woman, but the idea helped fuel her anger. And it was anger that gave her the courage for this trip.

He would pay for trying to renege on the bargain he’d made with her. She would hold him to it no matter how noisy and busy and enormous London was.

She was determined.

Chapter
FIFTEEN

R
euben pulled his curricle up to the front of her mother’s townhouse on Hartford Street. While Reuben assisted Emma from the vehicle, the groom jumped off to sound the knocker. A footman admitted them and directed the groom to bring the trunk to the servant’s entrance.

When the footman left to announce their arrival, Emma turned to Reuben. “I am grateful to you for transporting me, but you do not have to stay.”

He looked wounded. “I must see you to your mother.”

“I wish you would not,” she said. “It is better for me to greet her alone.”

Emma could not predict her mother’s reaction to her presence. She might greet her with pleasure or become bored with her in an instant, but she certainly would ask some questions Emma did not wish to answer, especially in front of Reuben. Besides, if she were alone, her mother could not turn her away, another possibility.

The footman returned to say her mother would receive her. Emma gave Reuben a pleading look.

Finally he said, “Very well, but I shall call on you to make certain of your well-being. Tomorrow, if I may?”

“Yes. Thank you, Reuben.” She pressed her hand into his. “Thank you for everything.” She hurried to follow the footman.

In the sitting room on the first floor, her mother was lounging on a chaise. Another lady sat nearby.

The Baroness Holgrove remained seated but extended a hand to her daughter. “Emma, darling, what a surprise! I had no idea you were in town.”

“Did you not receive my note?”

“Your note?” Her mother twisted around and pointed toward a table with a silver tray upon it. “Go see if it is there.”

Emma crossed the room to the table, where several envelopes, notes, and invitations lay on the tray. Buried in the pile, its seal unbroken, was Emma’s message. How typical of her mother. She held it up.

“Tell me what it says,” commanded her mother.

Emma made no effort to open it. “It says I am to arrive today and beg to stay with you for a few days.”

Her mother sat up. “I would never have guessed.”

“May I, Mother?”

“May you what?”

“May I stay?” Emma’s pulse accelerated with anxiety.

“Of course, she must stay.” Lady Vellamy rose and extended her hand. “I suspect you do not recall me. I am Lady Vellamy.”

Emma tried to give a cordial smile. “My lady. Yes, I do remember you. My mother’s friend.”