The Marriage Bargain

by Diane Perkins

  She blew out a breath followed by a long intake of air. “Very well. The decrease in funds has meant that priorities have had to be made, but we have managed, my lord.”

  “Decrease in funds?” Spence struggled to remember the accountings he had read so carelessly. He leaned forward, feeling the agitation of long-delayed guilt. “Decrease in funds?”

  His breathing accelerated and his head spun as if he’d been whirled around.

  She dampened a cloth and patted his face. Her voice became softer. “There is nothing you need worry about today. I promise.”

  He wanted to believe her. He wanted to sleep, to avoid further speech, and, more so, to avoid whatever was wrong here at Kellworth. He closed his eyes.

  “Allow them to ask questions, Emma.” His voice sounded as weary as he felt. “They are my friends.”

  “As you wish, my lord,” she said stiffly.

  Her hand continued to bathe his face with the cool cloth until his breathing slowed and he felt himself sinking into sleep. As if from a great distance he heard the rustle of her skirt and her light footstep as she crossed the carpet. He heard the bedchamber door open and shut again, and he knew she had gone.

  Emma left Spence’s bedchamber furious at those gentlemen he called his friends. She went in search of them, eventually finding them in the courtyard at the rear of the house, Mr. Wolfe pacing and pointing to where weeds grew between the flagstone. He would probably not remark upon the flourishing herb garden, would he? Emma could tend to the herb garden herself, but weeds between flagstone were not high in importance to survival.

  “Gentlemen.” She crossed the yard. They both watched her, Wolfe with hands curled into fists. “The earl wishes for you to speak with Mr. Larkin on his behalf. I will instruct Mr. Larkin and Mr. Hale that everyone on the estate must answer any questions you wish to ask.”

  Wolfe gave a triumphant smile.

  Emma glared at him. “I have only one stipulation.”

  He immediately looked ready to attack. “Which is?”

  She met his eye with a steady gaze. “You do not discuss any estate matters with the earl until I say he is strong enough.” She leaned forward for emphasis. “Until I say so, Mr. Wolfe.”

  Blakewell stepped forward. “That sounds like a very sensible plan, does it not? We do thank you, Lady Kellworth, for allowing us to tend to Spence’s interests.”

  She wanted to smack Blakewell’s conciliatory smile right off his face. “You may thank the earl when he is stronger. You may visit him as you have done, but I will have no repeat of taxing him with matters he is too ill to attend to.”

  “Quite fair.” Blakewell nodded. “Is that not so, Wolfe?”

  Wolfe averted his eyes. “It will be as you wish, my lady.”

  “Good,” she said. “If you will pardon me, I shall speak with Mr. Larkin and Mr. Hale.”

  “One moment, Lady Kellworth,” Wolfe said. “There are questions I would like to ask you.”

  Emma straightened. “Ask anything you wish of the others, Mr. Wolfe, but I will answer only to Lord Kellworth. I consider this a private matter and none of your affair.”

  She turned on her heel and strode off, not waiting for comment or looking back.

  Before dinner Mr. Larkin asked to speak to Emma.

  She met him in the library.

  “Those young gentlemen grilled me, my lady,” he reported. “I told them how the estate funds were cut and how you used your allowance to keep Kellworth going. Mr. Hale told them the same thing.”

  “You have done what the earl requested.” Emma still bristled at the intrusion, but she would not let Mr. Larkin see that.

  “Tomorrow they insist upon inspecting the property,” he added.

  She expelled a resigned breath. “Show them whatever they wish to see, Mr. Larkin.”

  Later over the dinner table Emma endured Wolfe’s glowering glances.

  Reuben came to dinner again this night and as usual had no difficulty making unremitting conversation. Emma was grateful. Without him, the dining room would have been as silent as a tomb.

  She shuddered and took a quick sip of her wine. Perhaps a tomb was not the best simile, considering Spence’s narrow escape.

  Blakewell, apparently as facile in conversation as Reuben, engaged the vicar in a lively debate about some obscure point of theology. Emma did not trouble herself to follow the lively discussion. In a way she and Wolfe were kindred spirits. Neither pretended there was no tension in the room.

  Blakewell and Reuben both paused at the same time, Blakewell to sip wine, Reuben to stuff another forkful of pigeon pie into his mouth.

  Wolfe seemed to seize the opportunity. “Reverend Keenan, what do you know about what has been happening on the estate?”

  Emma gasped.

  Blakewell nearly choked on his wine. “Wolfe!”

  “I want to know.” He gave his friend a defiant shrug. He turned to Emma. “Do you have any prohibition against my questioning Mr. Keenan?”

  She returned a narrow-eyed glare.

  “Emma?” Reuben looked to her for direction.

  “You may speak as you will.” She certainly did not owe any explanation to friends who attended duels and left the loser for dead, but she would not be accused of imposing silence on anyone else.

  Wolfe repeated, “Tell me. What do you know about what has been happening here on the estate?”

  “I do beg your pardon.” Reuben blinked. “What do you mean ‘happening on the estate’?”

  Blakewell avoided looking at Emma but seemed as interested in Reuben’s answers as Wolfe.

  Wolfe went on, “I mean, the place is in disrepair. It is virtually closed up. There are few servants, and Lady Kellworth appears each morning in very shabby dresses.”

  Reuben blushed, darting a glance to Emma. “I . . . I believe there are economies the good Lady Kellworth engages in. Money has been quite tight for some time.”

  “But, why, sir?” Wolfe persisted. “Why the need for economies?”

  Reuben reached for his glass and downed the remainder of its contents. “Well . . . it . . . um . . . We have been given to believe my cousin gambles.”

  “Fustian!” shouted Wolfe. “Who says such a thing?”

  “Talk from London.” Reuben wore a guileless expression. “My father told me of it.”

  “It is not true!” Wolfe nearly jumped out of his seat.

  Blake lost his smile. “Spence gambles no more than other gentlemen. We have never seen him drop large sums.”

  “I do not have an explanation, then.” Reuben fussed with the edge of the tablecloth. “I do know that Lady Kellworth has done well in these difficult circumstances. I have helped her out on occasion, but there is not much I can do.”

  Emma peered from one man to the other. Spence’s friends did not know of his gambling? That surprised her. On the other hand, they seemed to have known little of her as well. Maybe Spence hid his vice from them. Or maybe they merely lied to protect him. He’d fought a duel over a card game, had he not?

  She wished she had not set up this prohibition against taxing Spence’s strength. He had as many questions to answer as he could possibly think to ask.

  Chapter SIX

  The next day Blakewell and Wolfe toured the estate with Mr. Larkin, searching, Emma was certain, for some evidence to blame her for Kellworth’s deterioration. Let them search, she thought. She could not be faulted for making the crops a priority. They were the estate’s main source of income. The only action for which she had the slightest guilt was disposing of bits of Kellworth plate and porcelain, small items she had no right to sell. The proceeds had enabled her to purchase livestock—her precious breeding pigs among them. Did not food have more value than a small Worcester bowl or a pair of Derby figurines or Sheffield candlesticks? She hoped Spence would think as much.

  She intended to tell her husband everything she had been forced to do to keep his estate and its people afloat. She could hardly wait to do so. She’
d waited three years for the opportunity to let him know in no uncertain terms what suffering he’d caused. With the privilege of his title came responsibility, and he had shirked it.

  Wolfe’s valet arrived at Kellworth while the two gentlemen were still on their tour. To Emma’s surprise, he was an India man, or at least she thought so. His dark complexion and features resembled engravings she had seen of natives from that part of the world; however, his clothing was as English as the best gentleman’s gentleman, a well-tailored, plain black coat and black breeches. She was surprised as well to see him arrive in a splendid carriage. It seemed Mr. Wolfe must be a man of means. Perhaps he would leave generous vails for her servants, if he ever left Kellworth. Perhaps he might even be prevailed upon to pay for the keeping of his team of matched roans.

  As Tolley hurried out to attend to the valet’s arrival, Emma waited with Mr. Hale by the servants’ entrance.

  “He appears a grand valet, does he not?” she said to Mr. Hale.

  “Grand indeed, my lady,” the butler agreed.

  “I suppose I ought not greet him here.” She gave a wan smile. “He might mistake me for the housekeeper.”

  Mr. Hale retained his dignified stance, but his eyes twinkled. “I think no one would mistake you for a housekeeper, my lady. Mrs. Cobbett, by the way, is readying a room for this fine man. One look at the carriage, and she said she must change his accommodations.”

  Emma sighed. “Did you ever before have to worry about Kellworth not being grand enough for a valet?”

  He straightened his arthritic spine as best he could. “The grandeur of Kellworth has always rested in its family, ma’am.”

  Emma touched his arm. “And in the excellent staff who care for them.”

  Tolley peeked in the door, holding his cheek with one hand. “There are three trunks to come in. The earl’s and the other gentlemen’s.”

  Three trunks. She suspected they intended to stay until Spence was well enough to leave.

  “Tolley, what is wrong with your face?” Emma asked.

  “Toothache, my lady.” He ducked back out the door.

  Emma turned once more to the butler. “Mr. Hale, when it is convenient, please bring the valet to be presented. I shall wait in the library.”

  “Very good, my lady.” Mr. Hale bowed.

  A few minutes later Emma sat at the desk amidst shelves of leather-bound books. The windows of the library leaked and she worried the damp might eventually damage the books.

  She shook her head. A master glazier would be needed to reseal the windows, and the services of such a craftsman would be an extravagance. She must think of another way to preserve the books, perhaps move them to a drier room. She made a mental note to speak to Mr. Hale about it.

  She opened a drawer and removed the record book in which she tallied her accounts. Flipping through its pages, Emma wondered if perhaps Spence could beg money from the wealthy Mr. Wolfe, enough to repair the leaking window, replenish the wine stores, and replace her precious pig. A man’s friends helped him out in such ways, did they not?

  She was still frowning over her figures when Mr. Hale entered the library, followed by the valet. “This is Arjun, my lady. Mr. Wolfe’s gentleman,” he announced.

  Emma rose and nodded cordially. “How do you do, Mr. Arjun. You must inform Mr. Hale or Mrs. Cobbett if there is anything you require. We wish you to be comfortable.”

  The man’s near-black eyes met hers for a fleeting second before he lowered them in deference. “Merely Arjun, my lady. Your servants have been most hospitable.”

  She expected an exotic accent to go with his dark appearance, but there were only the cultured tones of an educated man. “Thank you for bringing the gentlemen’s belongings.”

  “I am at their service.” He bowed.

  After Arjun left with Mr. Hale, Emma figured the day was too far advanced for her to return to the garden. Tolley had been busy and now would have to deal with Arjun’s trunks. He would not have time to tend to Spence. Mr. Hale had enough to do and she certainly could not send in one of the maids. She had no choice but to look in on Spence herself.

  Carrying a pitcher of fresh water in one hand, she knocked lightly on the bedchamber door. Hearing no sound within, she crept in quietly.

  Placing the pitcher on the table beside the bed, she paused a moment to make certain Spence was resting well. He lay against the pillows, eyes closed. His complexion had neither the sweat-gilded flush of fever nor the sickly pallor of the previous day. If such a thing were possible, Spence looked more handsome than he had the first time she had seen him walk into his uncle’s drawing room. Three years had etched tiny lines at the corner of his eyes, and the planes of his face were more sharply masculine. His lips had more definition, the top lip perfectly bow-shaped and just a tad thinner than the bottom one. The corners of his mouth naturally turned up, as if he smiled even in repose.

  Emma experienced that flash of awareness she remembered when he was first presented to her, that flare of excitement that had marked every brief hour she’d spent with him back then.

  His eyes opened, and she stepped back. It took a moment for him to focus.

  “Emma,” he murmured, blinking sleep away.

  She’d hoped he would have remained asleep. “I am sorry to disturb you. Tolley is busy, so I must check on you and bring you fresh water.”

  With his one good arm, he pushed himself more upright on the bed. “You do not disturb me, Emma. How do you go on today?”

  In spite of herself, she felt like that green girl of long ago, so thrilled that the young soldier showed an interest in her. It angered her to be so affected by him.

  “I am as always, sir,” she responded in clipped tones.

  His eyes crinkled at the corners and his voice deepened. “I wish you would tell me what is wrong, Emma.”

  She curled her hands into fists, not to curtail her anger, but to suppress the long-dormant yearnings his voice threatened to loose.

  She met his eyes. “We will speak of this when you are stronger.”

  His gaze did not waver.

  She turned away to fill his glass with water before he could respond to her.

  He took the glass from her hand and sipped. “Thank you.” He glanced at her again, but without the same intensity. “Would there be any ale, Emma? I’ve a great thirst for ale.”

  Ale? She supposed the servants had some ale to drink with their meals, but it would be as carefully rationed as the wine had been.

  “I shall see to it, my lord.”

  There was a knock on the door, and Tolley entered with a trunk on his shoulder. His usually affable face was all contorted. “Your trunk from London, my lord.” He winced as he spoke.

  “That is excellent.” Spence peered at the footman. “Are you unwell, Tolley?”

  The footman set the trunk down in the corner of the room. As soon as he’d done so, he clapped his hand against his cheek. “Toothache, m’lord.”

  “Is it very bad?” Emma asked, wondering how she could afford to send him to the village to have it pulled.

  Tolley winced again. “I’ll manage, ma’am.”

  “Do you need him, Emma? Perhaps he could have a day to rest.” Spence reached over to the bedside table. “You are welcome to the laudanum, Tolley. I’ll not be using it.”

  Spence’s offer showed the sort of consideration Emma once believed typical of him—before he showed that thoughtfulness was easily forgotten. Out of sight was indeed out of mind for the Earl of Kellworth.

  Tolley took the vial from Spence’s hand. “Thank you, m’lord.”

  Emma added, “You are excused from your duties, Tolley. You may tell Mr. Hale the earl has ordered it.”

  “Yes, m’lady.” Tolley bowed and left the room.

  “I believe I have just shot myself in the foot,” Spence said.

  Emma swung round to him, alarmed. “What did you do?”

  He chuckled. “Figuratively, I meant. I was looking forward to getting
out of these nightclothes. Now I have no one to assist me.” He gazed over at the trunk. “Perhaps if Arjun packed a banyan for me, I could manage it myself. Would you mind looking, Emma?”

  All she wished to do was flee the room, but she walked over to the trunk and unlatched it. Inside were neat stacks of white shirts and neckcloths, and underneath fine new coats and other clothing. Everything appeared to be new. Of course. After leaving the army, he would have needed new clothes.

  She pressed her lips together, trying to guess how much this finery must have cost, how much food she might have purchased with such a sum, how many repairs might have been accomplished. How it might have felt to have even one new dress for herself.

  “Do you see a banyan in there?” He leaned forward as if he would be able to see it.

  She carefully lifted out the fine white linen shirts and two coats of superfine before she found the blue-patterned chintz robe.

  “You cannot do this yourself,” she said, carrying the garment over to the bed.

  “I shall give it a go.” His smile was uncertain.

  Emma sighed. She had seen him fully naked, and had bathed his feverish body more than once. “I will assist you.”

  The gaze of his piercing blue eyes did not waver. He covered himself to the waist with the bed linens and pulled at the hem of his nightshirt so that he no longer sat upon it. As efficiently as if she were removing dustcovers from the furniture in the unused rooms, Emma pulled the nightshirt over his head.

  Except for his bandage, he was bare to the waist, exposing the muscles of his chest, peppered with dark hair. Her breath caught. He continued to watch her.

  “Your wound is healing well,” she said, dropping her eyes to his bandage. Tolley had done a clumsy job of it, and it had shifted, exposing the wound. The skin around the wound was no longer an angry red, but a much healthier pink. “It must be rebandaged.”

  She leaned close to him, feeling his gaze still upon her as she carefully unwound the cloth. She made the mistake of glancing up to meet those intense blue eyes, which were now only inches away. His breathing accelerated. She quickly turned away, reaching for a clean cloth and the bottle of lavender water.