The Marriage Bargain (27 page)

“Oh, but you must!” cried her mother. “At least have an at-home or a dinner party.”

The idea made her head hurt all over again, but she chose not to argue the point. Her nerves were not fluttering at the idea of giving parties. They were fluttering in anticipation of seeing Spence, and she was angry at herself for feeling like a besotted schoolgirl when all she wanted was to be enraged at him.

The clock on the mantel showed ten minutes past noon. Not enough time to panic, but enough to prick the worry that he would not come at all.

It would be like him to seduce her with promises and then vanish. She told herself not to be surprised if he never came. She worked herself into a fine lather in anticipation of it. Better anger than that vulnerable, fluttery feeling.

She glanced again at the clock, and watched the hand count off another minute until finally the butler announced, “Lord Kellworth.”

Her mother tittered excitedly as Spence entered the room. Emma’s emotions reeled and she placed her hand on her chest in a vain attempt to quiet them and summon her wrathful demeanor. Unable to breathe, she watched him cross the room.

Something was wrong. His gait was stiff, careful, exactly as it had been after his injury.

“Good morning, ladies.” He bowed to Lady Vellamy and Lady Holgrove. He turned to Emma. “Emma.”

“I am ready,” she said, but a line of worry creased her brow.

Her mother bid her good-bye with a flurry of tears and hugs, as if she might expire from missing a daughter she so rarely thought about and would likely forget again when Emma was no longer in sight. Lady Vellamy assured Emma they would call upon her soon and would see her at the various entertainments to which she and Spence were sure to be invited.

Emma kissed both their cheeks and thanked them. She was truly grateful to them for giving her the little launch into society that had put her in Spence’s path. And grateful that they had dressed her so she need not be embarrassed to be seen.

Spence offered his arm and escorted her out the door. She managed a careful look at him. “What is wrong?”

“Wrong?” He looked puzzled.

“You are limping.”

A corner of his mouth turned up. “Am I?”

A carriage bearing the Kellworth crest waited. He helped her into it and climbed in after her, wincing as he did so.

As soon as he was seated next to her and the carriage on its way, she pushed the brim of his hat back from his forehead to reveal a bruise on his temple.

“What happened to you?”

He repositioned his hat. “Nothing so extraordinary. A brush with a couple of footpads.”

“Footpads!”

“Last night after I left you. I am a bit sore, and my shoulder pains me, but I was not injured.” He leaned back in the seat.

Worrying over his health had become something of a reflex. “Was your wound reopened?”

He shook his head. “Merely made sore.”

Even a return to the familiarity of discussing his health was not enough to keep her nerves quiet. It took no time at all for the carriage to travel the few blocks to Charles Street, to the Kellworth townhouse. Emma’s heart raced as Spence took her hand to help her out and gave her his arm as they walked up to the door and were admitted.

Reuben greeted them. “My father sends his apologies, but he will be all day in Commons. He instructed me to welcome you.” He spoke in a formal voice. “The house is, of course, yours. He bade me tell you that your wishes must prevail here. He willingly cedes to your precedence.”

Emma had no wish to displease Zachary Keenan and no intention of changing a thing. This stay would only last as long as it would take to conceive a baby.

The Kellworth servants in pristine livery lined up to be presented. Following Spence down the line, Emma greeted the butler, two footmen, three housemaids, two kitchen maids, Cook, housekeeper, Mr. Keenan’s valet, her new lady’s maid, and Spence’s new valet. She wondered they all did not bump into each other. She had managed a large country house with fewer servants than this. Her new maid, Tippet, assured her that her trunk had arrived and her dresses had already been unpacked.

“Your rooms are ready for you,” the housekeeper said. “And Mr. Keenan took the liberty of planning this night’s menu, but, my lady, he said to defer to your wishes after today.”

“My father will not be dining with us tonight, however,” interjected Reuben. “He is engaged to dine at the club.”

“Let me show you your rooms,” the housekeeper said. “You may inform me if they are satisfactory.”

The housekeeper led them up the staircase to the bedchambers intended for the earl and his countess. Not as spacious as those at Kellworth, they felt oddly familiar. They also had a connecting door.

As soon as she could, Emma dismissed the housekeeper and sat upon her new bed, removing her bonnet. Closing her eyes, she wished herself back at Kellworth, wished for the days when life had been a simple case of scraping enough money to pay the workers or purchase food, when she felt nothing but anger toward Spence.

“Is everything to your liking, Emma?”

Her eyes flew open. Spence stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb.

“It will do,” she snapped, then took a breath. She ought to be more cordial. “It feels a bit like Kellworth.”

He stepped inside the room and looked around. “It does, doesn’t it? I don’t believe this room has changed since my mother was alive. Or your bedchamber in Kellworth, come to think of it. You did not change that room, did you?”

She drew her brows together, trying to remember one single other time he had spoken of his mother. “I saw no need.”

In the early days at Kellworth she’d liked thinking that Spence as a little boy had bounced into that identical room, perhaps to receive a motherly hug. Later the money was too tight for frivolous changes. In any event, now the room was so familiar she had no desire for changes.

She wished she were back there. “This room is only temporary.”

He strolled over to the window that looked out on the street. “Do you have any plans today?”

She laughed dryly. “I have not been in London long enough to have plans.”

He returned a half smile. “Within three days you have attended a ball, a musicale, and taken over as hostess of a London townhouse. I would deem that quite impressive.”

Her brow furrowed. “I have no intention of taking over this house.”

“Like it or not, it is yours,” he said quietly.

Emma had great difficulty thinking of herself as a London hostess, a role that had terrified her when her mother all but arranged the marriage to Mr. Keenan.

She brought the subject back to schedules. “Do not feel compelled to change your schedule because of me.”

“I am here to do as you wish, Emma.”

The expression on his face was so soft and gentle that she turned away and rearranged the items on her dressing table. “Don’t gentlemen go to their clubs or Tattersall’s or something?”

He chuckled. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

His laugh was as affecting as his eyes. She wished he would not play this part with her.

Emma kept her back to him. “You know I am not. Not until our bargain is fulfilled.”

He fell silent and still for so long, her hand started to shake. She heard him move toward the window and she dared look over at him. He was leaning on the back of a chair as if needing it to hold him up.

“Are you in pain?”

He tilted his head. “It is of no consequence.”

They fell silent again. Emma picked up her bonnet and worried the ribbon until it was in wrinkles.

With a mild groan Spence released his grip on the chair. “I suppose we ought to go downstairs. Reuben will be waiting to entertain us.” He took a stiff step toward the door.

Emma did not move.

He paused and turned back to her. “Forgive me, Emma. I did not mean to say what you must do. Remain here, if you like.”

She stood and straightened her skirt. “I will accompany you.” What else was she to do?

They walked together to the drawing room, the same room where she had first made his acquaintance three years earlier. Reuben sat in the room, staring into space.

When he saw them, he jumped to his feet, and his typically agreeable expression returned. “There you are.”

The afternoon produced such excruciating boredom, Emma wished she’d arranged to accompany her mother and Lady Vellamy on their morning calls, a task she’d once dreaded. She looked out the window, tinkled notes on the pianoforte, searched the library, which contained no book to interest a lady.

Spence spent his time pacing, even though it looked painful for him. Pacing, then sitting and drumming his fingers against the arm of the chair. Reuben buried his nose in the newspaper, then announced he would work on an idea for a sermon, so even his conversation was no diversion.

Nearing four o’clock, Spence vaulted from his chair and asked Reuben, “Are you in need of your curricle?”

Reuben looked up in surprise. “Why, no.”

“May I have use of it?”

“If you like.” Reuben returned to his writing.

Spence walked over to Emma. “Come ride with me in the park.”

She did not relish sitting so close to him, or being alone with him when they had nothing to say to each other—or too much to say—but she would have gone with the very devil himself for relief of this tedium.

“Give me a moment to change.”

A few minutes later they were pulling into the park behind a line of other curricles, carriages, and phaetons. There was much to look at and little conversation required. Emma occupied herself with an examination of the ladies’ fashions, deciding her mother’s borrowed clothes compared nicely, even if her mother thought they were “hopelessly outmoded.”

Out of the blue, Spence said, “What you are wearing looks very well on you, Emma.”

She glanced down at the light brown pelisse and pale yellow dress. “It is my mother’s.”

His eyes flicked over her, feeling like a gentle touch she did not want. “It becomes you.”

She averted her gaze.

Inside the park they passed other carriages and were greeted by people Emma remembered meeting at the ball and musicale. At age seventeen she had been intimidated by such people. Now she noticed that they smiled at her and at Spence as if happy to see them. In an odd way they reminded her of Kellworth’s villagers. When she and Spence had ventured to the village, the villagers had greeted them with similar good cheer.

But she dared not think of those times when she had been so happy to be at his side, when they talked so easily together. Those times had been illusions, and she would make every effort to keep clearheaded from now on.

Late that night Spence dutifully sat with his uncle and Reuben, sharing brandy. Emma had retired early. Spence had intended to follow her, but his cousin kept so constant a stream of conversation, he could not find an easy escape. Then his uncle arrived home. Spence wanted Uncle Keenan to believe he wished to be on good terms, so he drank another glass of brandy with him.

Spence had been surprised when Emma had not accepted Uncle Keenan’s offer to vacate the house. She had been so frightened of him years ago. But, then, she had gained much courage since those days. Leaving her sickbed and pursuing him to London had been very brave of her. He could admire her tenacity even while lamenting that his actions had driven her to it.

Spence glanced at his uncle, who was gazing into the fireplace. Uncle Keenan had always been a man who stopped at nothing to get what he wanted—and he had wanted Emma. Spence remembered the look in Uncle Keenan’s eyes when he had gazed upon Emma—like a hungry lion stalking a deer. Spence thought Emma—as she was now—could have dealt with the pressure to marry his uncle, without any need for Spence’s youthful brand of chivalry. As it was, Uncle Keenan had never forgiven Spence for stealing Emma from him. He’d barely been able to tolerate speaking to Spence since.

But how did these old events play into the embezzlement? It still made no sense that Uncle Keenan would embezzle money. Money had never been important to him.

Had all this been about Emma?

Spence needed to have a more pointed conversation with his uncle about this very soon, but he was much too weary and sore to keep his wits about him at this moment. He detected something disturbing beneath his uncle’s distracted demeanor this evening. Spence would not tarry in settling this matter, once and for all. In the meantime he would make certain not to leave Emma alone with his uncle. Just to be safe.

Spence rose from his chair. “I believe I shall retire, Uncle. I bid you good night. To you as well, Reuben.”

Reuben merely muttered, “Mmmmm.” His uncle nodded.

Spence left the room and climbed the stairs. His muscles and shoulder were so painfully stiff, he felt like an old man.

Emma probably thought he’d plotted to avoid a liaison this night by retiring so late. Would she be abed at this moment, believing he had disappointed her once more?

Worse than the pain in his legs and shoulder was the gut-wrenching pain of knowing he had made it so impossible for Emma to believe he wanted to be with her. He longed to tell her he loved her, had discovered the truth of loving her at the same moment panic drove him from her.

She would never believe him. He must be patient. He must show her.

Spence entered his bedchamber, where his new valet stood like a soldier at attention. Quickly and efficiently the gentleman’s gentleman assisted Spence out of his clothes, making the process less painful than had he undressed himself. Blake had talked him into hiring a man for himself, and now Spence was glad of it. Blake somehow knew where to find a valet on short notice, although how he knew was anyone’s guess.

The valet bowed himself out of the room, and Spence swung around to the connecting door.

Spence gladly would defer making love to Emma until he’d proven himself to her. He had made a bargain with her, however, one that now convinced her she must force what ought to be natural between them. He could not imagine making love to her while she despised him.

At the same time he could barely look upon her without feeling aroused. He longed to reexperience the ecstasy they had shared, longed to see her flushed with passion, to hear her cries of pleasure.