Reuben gave Spence a sheepish look. “Not for that, I assure you. I quite traveled there on your account.”
“Mine?”
“I thought it best to directly explain these recent events to Father. Knowing him, he would get wind of it soon enough and would be very displeased if he had not heard of it first.” Reuben took a sip of wine.
Spence’s uncle, a Member of Parliament, was a politician of increasing influence in the House of Commons. He disliked being in the dark about any matter.
“Good of you,” said Spence.
Reuben nodded approvingly of the wine. “I must say, Father did not seem unduly surprised. Perhaps he knew something of the matter already, although he denied it.”
Reuben was distracted by two workmen passing by the window with a long ladder.
“I say, Spence, there is a grand amount of activity here! I am astonished! You have hired a score of workers.”
“There is a great deal to be done.” Spence sipped his wine.
“Quite. Little problems become big ones if not tended right away.” Reuben covered this subtle gibe by rising from the chair and going to look out the window. “You must have had a run of very good luck. It is good of you to spend it on Kellworth.”
“There was no run of luck,” Spence snapped. “What is this talk of my gambling?”
His cousin turned back to him. “I do not get your meaning.”
“You told Emma I gambled away the Kellworth fortune. I have done no such thing.”
Reuben walked back to the chair and sat. He leaned toward Spence. “Do you mean it is not true?”
“Of course it is not true!” Spence shot back. “I do not gamble overmuch. Certainly no more than the next man. Why the devil has it been bandied about that I do?”
Reuben’s brows knit. “But your debts have created much difficulty here, Cousin. I do not like to speak so plainly, but you have caused Emma . . . er . . . Lady Kellworth much suffering. If not for gambling, why did you cut the funds?”
Spence came to his feet, though he needed the cane to steady himself. “I did not cut the funds. I knew nothing of cutting the funds. Tell me what you know about it.”
Reuben’s eyes widened as he looked up at Spence. “Why, I know nothing about it, except what Emma . . . Lady Kellworth . . . told me. And Larkin. I did become concerned enough to speak to Larkin about it.”
“Emma said you heard this rubbish about my gambling from your father.”
Reuben nodded. “So I did. I had forgotten that. I sought Father’s advice. I thought he might be . . . be of assistance to Kellworth, but he, as you might understand, was disinclined to help. He told me then that you were gambling heavily and drawing from Kellworth’s assets to pay your debts.”
“I had no debts. Why would my uncle say I did?” Spence sat down again.
Reuben rubbed his chin. “I had the impression someone had told him. He would not have invented such a tale, would he?”
Spence gave him a direct look. “Did none of you consider that I was soldiering? I had more to do than wager my fortune away, I assure you.”
Reuben blinked. “Father told me about your debts. I certainly had no reason to doubt him. He has the ear of many in London, you know.”
“Why did you not ask me, Reuben?” Spence challenged. “You could have sent word to me.”
“I did!” exclaimed his cousin. “I wrote you many a letter.”
More mail Spence did not receive. It was inconceivable that so many letters failed to get through to him. Spence had received Ruddock’s correspondence well enough and an obligatory letter or two from his uncle. “Where the devil did you send your letters?” he asked. “I received nothing from you.”
“Why, I sent the letters through Father, of course!” Reuben sputtered. “He could frank them, you know. And it did not cost me.”
Spence leaned forward. “Did you send Emma’s letters that way as well?”
“Some of them,” admitted his cousin defensively. “But others she wanted sent to Ruddock’s firm. Why do you ask?”
“I received no letters from you or from Emma.”
“My God!” Reuben, struck speechless, leaned back in the chair. After a moment he said, “What could this mean?”
Spence stared into his cousin’s face. “It means there are still funds aplenty for Kellworth. It means I shall make certain this never happens again. But how and why this happened, I do not know. I promise you, I intend to discover the cause. What else can you tell me?”
Reuben shook his head. “Nothing.”
Reuben stared vacantly into the contents of his glass. Spence rose from his chair and turned away, frustrated that he could not mount his horse and ride straight to London to confront his uncle. The interview must wait until his health was fully restored, and then it promised to be difficult, an interview he could not cede to Blake and Wolfe. He and Uncle Keenan had barely spoken to each other since Spence married Emma. Their rare correspondence had been equally as terse.
Frowning, Spence returned to his seat and took a quelling sip of wine. “Emma told me you sold some things for her.”
Reuben’s head shot up. “I . . . I did not precisely sell them. I confess to telling her I sold them, but it was an untruth.”
“Reuben, cease the roundaboutation.”
Reuben tilted his head back and forth. “The pieces are at the vicarage. I gave her the money, but I never sold them.”
“You kept them?”
“Oh, not for myself!” Reuben looked alarmed. “I always planned to return them to the estate. I will return them directly, I promise. It . . . it was a means to give her money. She would not accept money from me any other way.”
Spence frowned, taking a sip of his wine. Here was another example of how he’d failed Emma, putting both her and Reuben in an uncomfortable position. “I will pay you back, of course.”
“Yes. Yes. No need, really. I will return the items forthwith.”
“Not yet.” Matters were so tender with Emma, Spence had no wish to upset her further by showing how Reuben had deceived her. “Keep them until I ask for them.”
“As you wish, Spence,” replied Reuben.
There was a rap on the door and Emma entered. Both men stood.
“Will you join us, Emma?” Spence asked.
She hesitated, but shook her head. “I merely wanted to see if Reuben intended to dine with us this evening.”
“I would be delighted, my dear.” Reuben beamed. “I shall take my leave now and return properly dressed at the usual hour.” He took a step or two toward the door, then halted. “That is, with your permission, Cousin.”
“Of course,” Spence said, although not eager for more of Reuben’s company at dinner. Or rather, not happy to share Emma’s. “Until dinner, then.”
Reuben joined them for many dinners that week, and when Sunday arrived, Spence declared himself able to accompany Emma to church. The dressmaker had delivered her dresses and she wore a lovely sage muslin dress and a spencer trimmed in dark green ribbon. The dressmaker included a hat in the exact shade, trimmed with a dark green bow, and the shoemaker made a new pair of shoes as well. Emma felt self-conscious in the finery, so used to wearing her much-mended brown dress to which the villagers and neighbors were so accustomed.
Reuben gave a ponderous sermon on the Prodigal Son, ending it by exhorting everyone to give thanks that the Earl of Kellworth, who was present at the service, had returned to kill the fatted calf. The analogy was a backward one, but then Reuben’s sermons often made little sense.
After the service the vicar was ebullient in greeting his cousin, the earl, and made a show of giving Spence and Emma the precedence to which Spence’s position entitled them. After Reuben, the other members of the congregation gathered to greet Emma and Spence warmly. Emma wondered how they might have greeted Spence had he not already infused the village with new prosperity.
One of the tenant farmers stopped Spence to have a word with him. The man’s wi
fe spoke to Emma. “Lady Kellworth, I am sure you will be happy to know that my daughter gave birth to a fine baby boy not a fortnight ago.” The woman beamed with pleasure.
“How lovely, Mrs. Oates.” Emma had not seen the young expectant mother for over a month and had forgotten it was her time. “How is Mary faring? Did she have any difficulty?”
Mrs. Oates grinned. “Not a bit. She’s a sturdy girl, my Mary. And the babe is a robust one, let me tell you.”
“I am very glad to hear it. I shall send a basket for her.” Emma squeezed the woman’s hand.
“That is too good of you,” exclaimed Mrs. Oates. “Now the earl is home, there is so much activity it takes my breath away. And you’ve fairly bought out the shops!”
The spending was as big a boon to everyone as Kellworth’s poverty had been the cause of suffering. It relieved Emma that she no longer had to worry about the well-being of the whole valley—at least for the time being. “Yes, there is plenty now.”
Mr. Oates finished his conversation with Spence and gave his wife an impatient glance.
She waved in acknowledgment. “I must go, my lady, but please come and look upon my new grandson, if you are able.”
Emma might as well do so. She had nothing else to occupy her time. Mr. Larkin’s reports on the crops and livestock now went to Spence, who passed on to her the briefest of summaries. Her kitchen garden was tended by others, so tidy no weed would dare take root there. She even gave up her pigs, now that there were workers to tend them and no need to use them for profit. She had given Mr. Larkin permission to slaughter the last of the litter.
Emma had nothing but time on her hands. “I should love to call upon Mary,” she said to Mrs. Oates. “It will be a pleasure.”
Mrs. Oates bobbed a quick curtsy. She took a couple of steps toward her toe-tapping husband, but hurried back to Emma. “Perhaps now the earl is back, you shall be next.”
“Next?” Emma did not understand.
“You know,” called the woman as she bustled away. “The next to be increasing! To get a fine heir, that is it!”
Emma kept her smile in place. In the early days of her marriage she had spun happy visions of holding an infant in her arms, Spence leaning over, a look of pride on his face. It was one of those many foolish dreams she’d learned to bury deep in her heart.
She tossed a quick look at Spence, chatting with Squire Benson whose property bordered Kellworth. Spence appeared as fit as the day she’d first seen him, though he’d become a bit winded at the end of the walk to church and he still carried the cane. The repairs to the house and outbuildings were progressing at a rapid pace, and, for all Emma knew, Spence might leave one day soon.
Spence concluded his conversation and returned to Emma, offering his arm. “Shall we walk back?”
She looped her arm through his, and they exchanged greetings with other folks as they started down the lane. Children, now free of church pews and Reuben’s platitudinous sermon, ran and skipped ahead of their parents, shouting and chasing each other.
Children, Emma thought, an ache growing inside, one she had forgotten.
Spence’s pace was slow, and when they came to the fork in the lane leading to Kellworth, she said, “If we take the path across the field, it will be a shorter walk.”
He glanced at her feet. “You do not fear the ruin of your new shoes or to dirty your skirt?”
The truth was, she preferred to cross the field. One came upon Kellworth Hall from a high vantage point, and the grandeur of the house and grounds never failed to take her breath away. “The ground is dry enough.”
Soon they could see no more than the spire of the church as Kellworth land surrounded them. The field was green with new grass and fragrant with spring. Pink lady’s-smock, white clover, and wild pansies dotted the hillside. A flock of gray partridges darted into the hedgerows, while a lone sparrow hawk soared in a sky worthy of a Cozens landscape.
“I had forgotten.” Spence spoke so low Emma was uncertain he meant her to hear.
“Forgotten?”
“How beautiful it is.” He stopped and, leaning on his cane, seemed to drink in the sight of the verdant rolling field, the thick copse, the blue sky.
Emma sighed. “I think Kellworth the most beautiful place in the world.”
He turned to her with an amused expression.
She felt herself blush. “You must think me ridiculous. I have hardly been anywhere else.”
“I do not think you ridiculous.” His eyes met hers with the same look of appreciation with which he’d viewed the scenery around them.
Her face grew warmer.
They resumed walking. “Paris is very beautiful,” he went on conversationally. “Versailles, spectacular. There are views of the Alps that defy description, and in Spain, the villages that dot the Pyrenees look nothing like our villages here.” He seemed now to be gazing at a more distant landscape. “There is a whole world of beautiful places.” He turned to her. “Is there not some place in the world you pine to see, Emma?”
She shook her head.
He smiled and the faraway look in his eye returned. “I should like someday to visit the ancient ruins in Greece or Egypt. The Parthenon. The Pyramids. Would you not like to see such sights?”
Emma shuddered. It had taken a long time for Kellworth to become familiar to her. In the first days she would get turned around in the house and discover herself in the wrong corridor. When taking a walk, she took special care, lest she lose her way. Now that Kellworth felt as familiar as the land where she had grown up, she was loath to leave.
“I would prefer Kellworth,” she said firmly.
“How do you know until you have seen Cairo first?” he asked in a teasing tone.
She answered quite seriously. “I should detest Cairo.”
His smile faded and they began walking again. He barely used the cane over the uneven path.
Emma felt a sinking dismay. He was recovered. There was nothing to prevent him from traveling to Cairo, if that was what he wished. She would be alone again. The anger that burned within her during the three years of his absence sparked and rekindled.
They reached the crest of the hill, below which was Kellworth Hall. Its stone glowed golden in the sunlight. It looked timeless, as solid and secure as it had stood since the reign of Elizabeth.
Emma extended her hand toward the view. “Do you truly wish to leave all this?”
He put his hands on his hips. “Since I was a boy.”
Her anger flared. “How could you?”
“This is not new to you, Emma,” he countered. “We talked of this before our marriage. I have no wish to be a gentleman farmer. There is too much in the world to do and to see.”
Though she’d been only seventeen at the time, she had perceived this talk as a young man’s dreaming. Life was not so much about what one wished to do, but what one ought to do. And it was foolish to pine over what one could not have.
“That was three years ago,” she replied.
“I have not changed.” He looked back out to Kellworth Hall. “This was my brother’s destiny, not mine.”
Emma pursed her mouth. She could have argued that Kellworth had been his destiny. As it had been his brother’s destiny to die tragically, leaving Spence to be earl. But she was in no mood for a metaphysical discussion.
Not waiting for the offer of his arm, she started down the hill in a hurry to be back within the walls of Kellworth Hall.
He caught up with her and grabbed her by the arm. “We made a bargain, you and I. Do you not remember? You would have the security of Kellworth and I would have my freedom.”
She glared at him. “But Kellworth was not a place of security, was it? You broke your word to me.”
He had the grace to look chagrined.
She did not relent. “You have repeatedly said you owe your life to me and that you will do anything to make up for Kellworth’s neglect. But how can I believe anything you promise? You will leave. That will
be the end of promises, will it not?”
His eyes flashed. “I did not know my promise was not kept, did I? And I am making it right now. Everything is being done that can be done.”
“But you will leave again and forget us.”
“I never forgot you!” he protested.
She pulled from his grasp and proceeded on down the hillside path almost at a run, not caring that she could hear him breathing hard as he tried to gain on her.
“Stop, Emma.” His voice sounded strangled.
She turned. His hand clutched his side and he bent over. With effort she refrained from rushing over and lending him a supporting arm.
“I will not forget you,” he said again, wincing. “But I cannot stay here. I cannot breathe here.”
Nonsense, she thought. You do not wish to stay here.
“I want a new bargain.” She met his eye, ignoring his grimace of pain.
“What?” he panted.
“I want an arrangement that will guarantee Kellworth’s money will come to me in your absence, with permission to draw directly from the bank.”
He nodded. “I never wished otherwise—”
She held up her hand. “There is more.”
“Anything, Emma. I have told you I will give you anything you desire.”
She turned toward Kellworth Hall and then back to him, holding her head high. “Give me a child.”
Chapter ELEVEN
Achild? Spence felt as if fingers of panic were firmly clamped around his neck. “A child?”
Emma’s eyes shone as green as the field of grass. “A child. A baby. An heir. Or not. A daughter would be sufficient.”
A child. His vision turned dark, his mind’s eye seeing a lonely little boy, a boy like himself. “This was not in our bargain, Emma.”
“Not in our original bargain,” she countered. “But neither was all the hardship Kellworth endured.”
He swung away, forcing himself to take long, even breaths, willing the darkness to recede.
A child.
The idea of bedding her flashed through his mind, the act that would create a new life inside her. Her wish to indulge that desire made it burn more hotly.
The Marriage Bargain Page 13