by Kelly Boyce
“Send them in.” Bowen had been polite enough to leave without incident, but Nick was just as likely to pound down his door until it broke off its hinges. He lacked the refinement of Bowen. And even Spencer, his mood notwithstanding, knew better than to turn away his grandfather.
Unfortunately, Alfred did not get the chance to deliver the message. Nick barged into the room like a storm and grabbed Spencer by the lapels, pulling him out of his chair.
“You bastard!”
He shoved at Nick’s broad chest and dislodged his hold then ducked quickly as his friend’s deadly right hook swung toward his head. Nick had the advantage of greater height and weight, but Spence had always had better reflexes.
“Enough!”
Grandfather’s voice echoed through the room with enough force to stop Nick’s assault, at least for the moment, though Spence did not plan on taking his eyes off his friend.
“Would someone care to tell me to what I owe the pleasure of this visit?” He glared at Nick and pulled at his sleeves to set his jacket back to rights. It did little good. The garment had been set askew to start with, since he’d been living in it since his arrival three days ago. Or perhaps four. He’d lost track.
His grandfather leaned on his walking stick while Bowen entered quietly behind him, his gaze skimming the room before it came to rest on Spence.
“You look awful.” Grandfather made this statement with the same matter-of-factness he would use had he been pointing out that the sky was blue. Except that it wasn’t blue. The sky was, in fact, a dull, depressing gray. It fit his mood perfectly.
“Thank you.” He had no quick quip at the ready. His thoughts had turned sluggish. Perhaps he should not have consumed quite so much brandy. He waved at a chair. “Please, sit.”
His grandfather stepped further into the room. His walking stick echoed against the hardwood until the carpet muffled it. Unlike Nick’s footsteps which resonated through the room like gunshots as he paced back and forth fuming over…over what? What had Caelie told him?
He had suspected, after a day of ruminating, that she had likely fled to Sheridan Park. He had considered writing her a letter, expressing his thoughts, but they were so jumbled every time he tried to put pen to paper he ended up sounding like a royal ass. Balled up pieces of stationery from his failed attempts scattered the floor and table.
He was three times a fool to have let her escape, but he’d be an even bigger fool to chase her down and beg her to return when her actions made it clear she did not want him.
Grandfather stopped at the sofa without sitting down. Spence looked at the cushion and winced. Newspapers littered the surface. He’d thought to catch up on current events but found he had lost interest. Alfred had offered to take them away, along with the dirty dishes piled on the table, but Spence had brushed the suggestion off. He preferred the mess. The disorder matched the state of his mind much better than having everything neatly in its place.
Spence scooped the newspapers into his arms and looked around. He had nowhere to put them. Books on any number of subjects, none of which had caught his fancy, filled the other chair. The end table held his tray from breakfast which he had not touched, yet insisted to Alfred he would, thus it too was left behind. In fact, as he surveyed the room, he realized for the past several days he’d accumulated any number of piles of things that he had brought up, set down and then left.
“Perhaps we should sit at the table,” Bowen suggested. It still had half its surface showing. “I asked Alfred to bring us some tea. Or perhaps you would prefer something stronger?”
He did not miss the wry tone of Bowen’s voice. “Thank you, no. It is not yet even noon.”
His grandfather sighed. “It is half past four, Spencer.”
“Is it?” He looked out the window again as if the answers were to be found in the thick cloud suppressing the city. What did it matter? Minutes and hours ran together until one was the same as the other.
His grandfather walked past him to the table and, with nowhere else to put them, Spence dropped the newspapers back onto the sofa.
“Blackbourne, sit down,” Grandfather instructed. “You’re pacing is most distracting.”
Nick grunted and pulled out a seat at the table. He dropped into it with as much agitation as he’d paced the room with, his glare never leaving Spence. Those damn silvery eyes bored into him like a pair of bullets and if looks could kill, he would have been dead ten times over since his friend’s arrival. Spence’s stomach roiled.
Bowen took his seat, leaving the empty one across from Nick for Spence. By the time he seated himself, Alfred had arrived with a tea service and ginger biscuits.
Mrs. Faraday’s ginger biscuits to be exact. He glanced up at his grandfather, then thought better of it and turned to Bowen as the likely culprit.
Bowen shrugged. “Mrs. Faraday was concerned you may starve to death if you did not have a steady supply and requested I convey them to you with all due haste.”
Spence forced a smile at the thoughtful gesture. He would be sure to thank her, but in truth, he had no appetite. Not even for Mrs. Faraday’s ginger biscuits.
His grandfather poured out four cups of tea and sat back in his chair. Spence stared at the cup with its swirly pattern of multi-colored wildflowers. Caelie had smelled of wildflowers. Pain stabbed deep in his chest and he took in a quick breath and closed his eyes.
“How long do you plan on continuing on in this manner?”
“This manner?” Spence looked around the room. “Oh. Yes. Bit of a mess, isn’t it?”
His grandfather inclined his head. “Your grandmother is concerned. I do not like to see her upset.”
Guilt filled him. He had not meant to neglect her. But he could not step foot inside his grandparents’ home without being assaulted by memories of Caelie. She had permeated every corner of the place, leaving him nowhere to turn to for escape. It was why he had left in the first place. That, and he preferred to lick his wounds in private.
“Blackbourne has revealed a rather disturbing bit of news.”
Spence eyed his friend. “He has, has he? And what news might that be?”
“You have compromised, Caelie,” Nick bit out, each word filled with anger and disgust.
The muscles around Spence’s jaw tightened. “Ah.”
Nick came out of his chair. His fists landed on the table and he leaned over breathing fire. “Is that all you have to say?”
Spence did not flinch from Nick’s wrath. He could deny it, but to what end? It was the truth. He had compromised her. “If it makes you feel any better, I did propose to her.”
“Did you? Because that’s not quite the version of events I’ve heard. Ellesmere indicated you proposed after Billingsworth spread his lies. That same night, Caelie left London. Ergo, whatever happened between the two of you must have happened before that. Would you care to explain?”
The version of events Nick had received was accurate, yet full of holes. He did not know Spence had proposed before Billingsworth’s attempt to ruin Caelie publically. Nor did he seem aware of the fact Caelie had turned him down cold. Nor had Grandfather apparently informed Nick that, despite his objections, Spence had every intention of convincing her to marry him the very morning she had disappeared.
“I know you have no interest in marriage. Likely you celebrated when she left London and you did not have to go through with it,” Nick said. “You have made it clear you do not wish to marry anyone.”
His friend’s estimation of his character hurt, but not enough to penetrate into the deep recesses where Caelie’s rejection resided. Besides, he could not argue Nick’s claim. He did not want to marry anyone.
He did, however, want to marry someone. He wanted to marry Caelie.
He had no idea how she had managed the grand feat of turning him around where the idea of marriage was concerned. He would not lie and claim the idea of marriage didn’t still terrify him though. What if he couldn’t make her happy? What if she f
ell out of love with him? Or worse, what if she never loved him in the first place?
Not that she had ever said she was in love with him. But he had thought, maybe…they had shared such an easy camaraderie after all. And she had kissed him, so she must have been attracted to him at some point. His attraction to her was absolute—not just to her outward beauty, though that did take his breath away on a regular basis. But the part that touched him the most was what he saw inside of her. Strength, caring, honor.
How could he not love her? Perhaps, if he did his best to emulate those qualities, she would love him too. And stay in love.
But he’d not been afforded that opportunity, had he? No. She had left without so much as a by your leave. As if he was forgettable. Inconsequential.
“Did you hear a word I said?” Nick had straightened and his fingers twitched at his sides as if he wanted to reach out and wrap them around Spence’s neck.
“No.” He couldn’t deny it. Nick shouldn’t look so put out. It wasn’t personal. A cannon ball could have come careening through the window and likely he would not have heard that either. His thoughts overtook everything until the extraneous world barely existed to him.
“I said you have much to atone for and I plan on seeing that you do. I don’t care if I have to drag you by the boots to the altar, you will marry Caelie. And do not look to your grandfather for help. After I made him aware of your transgression, he conceded marriage is the only option.”
“I see.” Spence rubbed at a spot on the tablecloth.
“Is that all you have to say?”
Spence forced himself to meet Nick’s piercing gaze. “No. I suppose not. And I would be only too pleased to marry her, contrary to what you seem to think. There is just one problem.”
“Which is?” Nick bit the words out.
“She does not wish to marry me. At all. A fact she has made abundantly clear when she turned down my original proposal and then again, most profoundly, when she ran off the morning after I announced our betrothal publically.”
The wind left Nick’s sails and he’d eased back into his chair.
“And I suspect she made clear to you, as well, her wishes where I am concerned, did she not?”
Nick’s mouth twisted to one side. “I didn’t exactly wait around to hear her thoughts on the matter.”
“Either way,” Grandfather said, the gravity of his tone weighing into Spence. “She must be convinced.”
Bowen reached over and squeezed Spence’s shoulder in support. “You should go to her. Talk to her.”
“She could be with child,” Nick pointed out.
Spence’s head shot up. “Is she?” Could they tell this early?
He threw his arms wide. “How would I know?”
“Of course,” Spence said. “You didn’t stick around to hear the whole story.”
“Enough,” his grandfather said. “Gentlemen, would you leave us? I wish to speak to my grandson alone.”
Spence watched his two closest friends file out of the room. Bowen glanced back to give him an encouraging smile. Nick did not. Nick stalked from the room with the same purpose he had come into it with, anger keeping his shoulders stiff and his fists clenched. The idea he had let his friend down sickened Spence. This was not what he’d intended. He’d wanted only to escape London. To find a place to breathe. A place where he could be himself.
He had found that place. But it hadn’t been a location. It had been a person.
It had been Caelie.
“What would you have me do,” he asked.
“Bathing would be a good start.”
It wasn’t exactly what he’d expected. “I’ll have you know I bathed just…” The words drifted off. In truth, he could not recall the last time he’d bathed. He looked down at his shirt and noted a dark stain against the white linen. He had spilled his tea the other day.
“This cannot go on.”
This. Like it was a thing he could pack up and put away if he wished. “I don’t know what you expect of me, Grandfather. I would think you’d be happy. You did not want me to marry her to begin with.”
“Not to begin with, no. But soon after.”
Spence’s gaze shot to his grandfather. Obviously he had heard wrong. “What?”
Grandfather cut his hand through the air. “I went about it all wrong, as your grandmother has spared no expense in telling me.”
“You wanted me to marry her?” He vacillated between anger and disbelief. “Why didn’t you just say so?”
“For heaven’s sake, Spencer. Your whole life, when we have told you that you cannot have something or you cannot do something, what did you do?” He did not wait for an answer. “You went after it as if your very life depended on it. I had hoped you would continue this behavior with Lady Caelie.”
“But…when did you change your mind?”
“When it was obvious how you felt about her. My God, Spencer, you defended her so staunchly, you found fault with every candidate that showed an interest in her. Every time you spoke of her or to her your entire demeanor changed.”
“Changed how?”
His grandfather smiled, a wistful, gentle smile Spence hadn’t been expecting. “You were happy. She made you happy. But you seemed so blind to it at first I worried you would let your views on marriage keep you from recognizing it. So I decided to add an incentive. I thought if you fought me on it, it would prove my instincts correct, that you did love her, in which case I would not stand in your way.”
“But what about the scandal—”
“Do you think I would keep you from the woman you loved because of that?”
“You were always so adamant about it in the past.”
Grandfather shook his head. “Yes, so your grandmother pointed out as the grand flaw in my plan.”
“Then you do not oppose our marrying?”
“I do not. If she is the woman you love, then she is the woman you should be with. Embrace happiness, Spencer. You deserve nothing less. I promise you, if you give it the respect it deserves, it will not desert you.”
“Except that it has, Grandfather. She has deserted me. It is like my parents’ relationship all over again. Someone is in love and the other one is indifferent.”
“Are you so certain about that? Is Lady Caelie someone who would compromise herself and walk away from it as if it was nothing of consequence?”
Spence stood and walked to the window, staring out into the grey horizon. “I didn’t think so.”
“Then it is simple. You must marry her, Spencer.”
Simple. As if he could just arrive at her door and propose once again and this time she would readily accept.
He turned around, frustration rushing through him. “I have tried to convince her, Grandfather. She will not have me. What do you suggest? I drag her kicking and screaming to the altar? Force the words ‘I do’ out of her mouth? Would that I could! It would certainly fix my problem.”
“And what is your problem, Spencer?”
“She does not want me! That is my problem. She does not want me and she will not marry me and I can’t force her because she has a bloody mind of her own!”
“What is it you want, Spencer?”
“What?”
“What do you want?”
The answer was simple. He wanted Caelie.
He wanted her here, now. He wanted to wake up in the morning and see the sun shining upon her face, turning her hair into waves of fiery bronze. He wanted to see their children running about underfoot and have a house filled with laughter and love, the way he wished his own early childhood had been. He wanted to spend his nights with her wrapped in his arms, curled against him, her skin warming his. He wanted to bury himself deep inside of her and know what it was to be lost and found all in the same instant.
“I want what I can’t have.”
“Nonsense.”
“It is not nonsense,” Spence said. Why did no one listen to him when he said Caelie did not want him, as if he coul
d easily remedy the matter?
His grandfather rapped his knuckles on the table. “Of course it is. Now go clean yourself up,” he said, pushing himself to his feet with the aid of his walking stick. “It appears we are bound for Sheridan Park. There is a certain lady who needs to be convinced of the error of her ways.”
* * *
“You need to do something big. Extravagant,” Nick said from where he sat opposite Spence in the Blackbourne carriage. Nick had suggested Spence arrive under the Blackbourne crest, so as not to give advance warning he was coming and thereby allow Caelie an opportunity to hide or escape.
Spence didn’t know where Nick thought she would go, but either way, he was thankful the man had stopped glaring at him—at least for the time being. He had Bowen to thank for that, playing mediator as Spence explained he had tried to atone for his actions by proposing marriage but had been refused.
“Extravagant?”
Bowen cut Nick off before he could answer. “I think a more dignified approach would be suited. Subdued, but meaningful. Lady Caelie does not strike me as the type to go for overdone gestures.”
The carriage bumped over a rut and Bowen winced. Spence had tried to talk him out of making the trip, but he refused to listen. He claimed someone had to be the voice of reason in all of this mess, and given as Bowen was far more suited to the role than either he or Nick, Spence had agreed. Still, he was concerned the constant jostling would do his friend more harm than good.
His grandparents would follow later in the Ellesmere carriage. Grandmother had insisted on coming, asserting Spence could use all the reinforcements he could get. It did not bode well for what they thought of his chances in convincing Caelie to agree to his marriage proposal.
“I thought I might simply explain the situation to her and make it clear that going through with the marriage is the best possible outcome for all concerned,” Spence said.