But he had no wish to create a child, no wish to be responsible for bringing a child into a world only to die again, as Stephen had died. Besides, a child would tie him to Kellworth and the old memories that lived in every corner. Spence craved new experiences, new lands, new people.
When they were schoolboys, Spence, Blake, and Wolfe made a pact to circle the globe like Sir Francis Drake, but even at that tender age, he knew his friends would renege. Blake and Wolfe needed to marry. Blake for fortune. Wolfe for status. Spence had been the only one who had no such need. He’d never planned to marry at all.
Until he met Emma.
He dared another glance at her. She glared back at him like a French cuirassier ready for battle. How different this Emma was from that doe-eyed girl he’d first seen in the London drawing room, who flinched under his uncle’s frank admiration. How foolish he’d been, thinking he could rescue her and make her happy. Emma had been much too young to imagine a woman’s desire to have children. And he had created the youthful illusion he could rescue her and leave her and still make her happy.
Instead she had rescued him.
They started back down the path past the copse, its elms thick with new green foliage.
“This is all I ask of you, Spence. A child and the financial means to rear him.”
“Emma—” he began, but something zinged past his ear and the crack of a musket firing broke the air.
“Down!” He pushed her to the ground.
Daring to raise his head, he spied the shadowy figure of a man retreating through the trees.
Spence scrambled to his feet to chase the shooter, forgetting his cane and the need to use it. He managed no more than thirty feet before his legs gave out and he dropped to his knees.
Emma ran over to him. “Are you injured?”
“No strength,” he panted, shaking his head. He looked in the direction the man had disappeared, and sat on the ground to catch his breath.
Emma sat down beside him. “He was after game, Spence. Gandy has turned a blind eye to poachers. No one abuses the privilege and only take what they need.” She placed her hands against her cheeks. “I never sent word that the poaching should stop.”
“He was a poacher?”
“He must have been. These years have been difficult. Some families were near starving. You cannot blame a man for hunting food.”
No, Spence could not blame a man for hunting food, but Gandy had always taught him that the fowl and hares and deer must be protected or there would be no game left for future generations. Had the gamekeeper gone soft or had matters been that desperate?
Whichever it was, a poacher’s shot could kill a passerby as effectively as it could kill a pheasant or hare, and this ball missed them by inches.
“I’ll speak to Gandy.” He struggled to his feet and extended his hand to help her rise.
Her delicate, gloved hand clasped his with surprising strength. “You might ask him if he wishes to be pensioned. He is very old.”
Thinking of the strong, rugged Gandy, who always smelled of woods and earth, as an old pensioner depressed Spence, but he said, “I will.”
He pulled her up, but she stumbled and almost collided with him. She regained her balance and stepped away.
They descended to the house and the subject of a child was lost for the moment, to Spence’s relief. Still, he could not erase the picture of a little boy—his son—sitting alone in a huge dark room, as he had done when his parents were gone.
The house loomed more majestic with each step they took, making Spence feel small by comparison. Like it or not, he was responsible for this house, this land, and all the people who depended upon it. It had become his responsibility the moment he held his brother’s limp body in his arms.
He suddenly felt as if he were a little boy again and the darkness closed in on him. He gulped for air, and his step faltered. Emma shot him a worried look, letting him lean on her while he concentrated on breathing in and out, repeating in his mind the word Arjun had given him.
They continued walking to the back entrance of the house. Emma did not call for Mr. Hale or Tolley, or one of the new footmen to attend them, but brushed off their clothes herself and cleaned their shoes. Her ministrations felt pleasant, soothing him as she’d once soothed his feverish panic.
But she did not dispel the feeling of being trapped by the walls of Kellworth.
Emma went through the motions of the day, swinging from rage to desolation, with no backbreaking, mind-numbing toil to distract her. The desire for a child, now voiced, grew inside her like a wild vine. Spence had not precisely said no, but his unwillingness to respond to her request was tantamount to a refusal.
They had breakfasted together after returning from church. She did not bring up the subject of a child during the meal, when a footman or Mr. Hale might at any moment enter the room. But in between their stilted, sparse attempts at conversation, she pondered her impulsive request, its truth more and more apparent. She needed a child. She needed someone to be hers, someone she could love wholeheartedly, someone who wouldn’t leave her.
After breakfast she wandered into the library. Spence sat there reading the newspapers from London. She grabbed a book and retreated to her room, but the day was too fine to remain indoors. She gathered up her kittens and took them into the walled garden. Like the unused rooms in the house, it had been neglected and allowed to become overgrown. Now the space had been weeded and clipped and trimmed. She sat on the grass and teased the kittens into play with a flower she’d plucked. They lost interest quickly when a yellow butterfly fluttered nearby, jumping over each other in an effort to catch it.
The gate opened and Spence appeared. “I could not stay inside.” His countenance was as gray as her mood.
He joined her on the grass, placing the black kitten in his lap. The little fur ball just as quickly jumped off and ran after the white one, who’d found a tiny toad to pounce upon. As the toad hopped away, both kittens scrambled in pursuit. The lines of stress in Spence’s face eased as he laughed softly at their antics.
Emma found herself feeling sorry for him, which only made her more furious, this time at herself.
He sat so close his scent filled her nose and each rustle of his coat sounded in her ears. She remembered how he’d placed his lips so gently on her skin and how he’d held her in his arms, like some valued possession.
She knew little of men’s desires. All those years ago, when she’d known instinctively that Spence’s uncle had wanted to couple with her, it had frightened and repelled her. But it had never troubled her to think that Spence might want her in the same way. In his absence and neglect she’d given up such foolish notions, but perhaps now he was present, she could make him want her.
Growing up in a country house gave her some vague knowledge of how animals copulated, though she had always been scooted away before totally figuring it out. She used to listen to the maids giggling about what men and women did in bed, but she’d been too shy to ask them directly.
She looked at Spence again while he played a game of fisticuffs with furry little Tom, sparring fingers to paws. The shadow of his beard was visible on his jaw. One eyebrow danced as he laughed at the kitten. As when he kissed her, her body seemed to reveal its every nerve and come from dormancy to life.
She wanted to retain that giddy intensity for as long as she could.
She took a quick breath and turned her gaze from him, pretending to search for Puss, who had not wandered far. It was a child she wanted, not this visceral reaction. She’d brave it, though. She’d brave anything to make him want to copulate with her. Could she act the part of a seductress? She must, if she wanted what only he could give her.
His child.
When they finally walked back into the house, it was time to dress for dinner. Emma wore her new rose dinner dress and daringly fussed with the bodice and her corset so that the dress came as low as possible. From the entailed family jewelry, she chose a long ruby pendant
, which dangled between her breasts, drawing the eye’s attention to that tantalizing location. Dorrie, the fresh-faced, eager girl Mrs. Cobbett had recommended to be her new lady’s maid, fashioned her hair so that her curls framed her face and cascaded to caress her neck. She draped her paisley shawl gracefully over her arms.
“By Jove, you look splendid, Emma, my dear!” Reuben said as she entered the drawing room. Spence eyed her, but did not speak.
Reuben repeated the compliment when they seated themselves at the dining-room table. She felt guilty for wishing the vicar to perdition—or rather to anywhere but here, when she wanted to be alone with Spence.
“The food is delicious,” Reuben gushed as energetically as he’d admired Emma’s appearance. He placed another slice of veal next to the broiled salmon on his plate.
Emma picked at her asparagus.
After an initial silence Spence played the gracious host, engaging his cousin to talk about old neighbors and families who lived in the village. Emma, who knew more about those people than the man who was responsible for their spiritual needs, chimed in here and there.
Spence watched her during the meal. It made her pulse quicken to feel his gaze upon her. It made her long for night to fall.
After dinner they retired to the drawing room, where the gentlemen drank their port. Emma barely refrained from pacing the room.
Finally the sky began to darken, and Reuben rose to leave. “Best I get back while I still have the light.” It was what he always said upon leaving.
Emma walked him to the door, and Mr. Hale handed him his hat and coat. As he went out the door, he turned around, giving Emma one long but silent look.
Embarrassed, Emma glanced at the butler to see if he’d noticed Reuben’s admiring gaze.
Mr. Hale looked so fatigued, she was surprised he could remain standing. “You look weary, Mr. Hale.”
“I confess, I am a bit, my lady.”
So wrapped up in herself, she had neglected to think of Mr. Hale, one of the people who had helped her through the most difficult times. “With all these young footmen, why have you not retired for the night?”
He gave her a wan smile. “Habit, I guess, my lady. I did not think to ask them.”
She extended her hand to touch his arm, but caught herself. The very correct and proper servant would not appreciate such familiarity. “Has the earl spoken to you of a pension? You deserve some rest after all your years of service.”
“I told him it would be best if I first saw to the new footmen.” Mr. Hale straightened his normally curved spine. “There is much training to be done.”
Emma worried that such a task would be too much for him, but she did not speak of it. “I do not know what I should have done without you, Mr. Hale.”
His eyes darted uncomfortably, but she was still glad she had spoken.
She cleared her throat and spoke more like a countess. “We shall have no more need of you this evening, Mr. Hale.”
He bowed. “Very good, my lady.”
She started back to the drawing room, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Mr. Hale left the hall to seek his own rooms. She hesitated outside the door of the drawing room, knowing she and Spence would be alone.
When she gathered enough resolve to walk in, Spence stood by the window, fingering the keys of the pianoforte.
He looked up. “Do you play, Emma?”
“I used to play passably well.”
In fact, for a while the pianoforte had filled many empty hours at Kellworth, the music nourishing her like rain on a rose.
“No longer?” he asked.
“It is broken.” She walked over to the instrument and pressed down on middle C. It made no sound. “See?”
“That too,” he said in dismal tones. He was so close to her she could smell the scent of his soap and could see where he’d been nicked shaving for dinner.
“We shall have to send to Maidstone for someone to repair it.” His voice vibrated inside her like the instrument’s bass keys.
They stared at each other. Emma felt the warmth of his body, heard each intake of breath.
She glanced away and nervously pecked out a melody until hitting another key that did not sound. She did not wish to be so affected by him. She had no desire to be like the naive girl she’d once been. It was a child she wanted. A child, that was all. A baby in her arms would be enough to fill her heart. She did not need him to intrude there.
Spence stepped up behind her and she thought for a moment he would touch her, kiss her as he’d done in his bedchamber, but he did not. “It shall be repaired, Emma.”
He pressed down on the broken key. “Pigs, poachers, and now the pianoforte.”
She turned to face him and his hand left the keyboard and rose.
He withdrew it. “Here is another sacrifice you made in my absence. Shall I discover more each day I remain?”
She froze. Each day I remain, he’d said.
He expelled a long breath and stepped away. “I believe I shall say good night, Emma.”
She glanced at the window. There would be light at least another hour.
“Good night,” she said stiffly.
He walked to the door but stopped. With one hand bracing himself on the doorjamb, he looked back at her, eyes boring into her with an intensity that made her breath catch. His dark hair looked mussed as if he’d run his fingers through it. She waited for him to speak.
He said nothing. He turned away and walked out.
Emma picked up his glass and almost flung it behind him. She waited a few minutes to try to calm herself. She had no idea how to compel him to stay with her, touch her, kiss her.
Novels were replete with men whose passion for ladies defied control. Even Spence’s uncle averred a passion for her, but she never knew exactly what she’d done to elicit such emotions. She wished she could figure it out.
She hurried to the library and pulled from the shelves Evelina and one volume of Fielding’s Tom Jones she’d hidden behind Marmion. Carrying the leather-bound volumes back to the drawing room, she sat by the window and leafed through them. It was no use. She could not decipher what Evelina did to attract her suitors, nor what attracted Jones to his Sophia. Her eyes started to strain with the reading.
She slammed the book shut and rested her chin on her hand. She must try in any event. She returned the books to the library, her pulse beating excitedly. Halfway up the stairs to the bedchamber, she froze. What if he turned her away? Could she bear it?
If she truly wanted his child, she should brave anything.
Except that this involved her heart, a heart once shattered and now held together by mere determination and anger. She clenched her fingers into a fist and walked the rest of the way to her bedchamber.
When she entered, her new maid, Dorrie, was busy rearranging her chest of drawers.
The girl bobbed a curtsy. “Oh, my lady. Beg pardon but I do not have your nightdress laid out. I did not expect you so early.”
Emma felt her face grow hot. “I . . . I decided to retire early tonight.” She suddenly thought everyone in the house knew what she was about to do. That was absurd, but the servants would know quick enough if she slept with Spence. Servants knew everything in a household.
Dorrie smiled, showing deep dimples that reminded Emma of Blakewell. “It’ll take me no time a’tall to pull out your nightdress.”
Emma started to reach behind her back to try to undo the mother-of-pearl buttons of her dress. The two kittens came out from under the bed, stretching and licking their paws. They quickly decided to play around the hem of Emma’s dress.
“Shoo, rascals!” the maid said. “Those two have more liveliness than is good for them.” She shooed them away with her foot. “They mustn’t claw the hem.”
Emma stepped out of her dress, and the maid quickly lifted the garment up high so the kittens could not reach it.
“Those rascals will not spoil this dress. Why, it is as grand as Lady Pullerton bought from
London, it is.”
Dorrie, who had been one of the upstairs maids at Kellworth three years earlier, had gone to work in Lord Pullerton’s house near Tenterden, when Emma cut back on servants. She’d attended Lady Pullerton’s daughters, who were all nearly of an age to make their come-out. A clever girl, she had learned quickly about fashions and hairstyles and ladies’ accessories.
Still chattering about some of the dresses she’d seen, Dorrie helped Emma out of her corset, and busied herself elsewhere in the room while Emma poured water in the bowl and washed herself with a bar of lavender-scented soap, a rare luxury she’d made for herself last winter. After she dried herself off, Dorrie helped her into her white muslin nightdress. Soon she was removing pins from Emma’s hair and brushing out the tangles before putting it in a plait down Emma’s back. The kittens scampered away off to some new game.
“Will there be anything else, my lady?” Dorrie asked.
“No, that will be all.”
Dorrie did a quick straightening up of the room, then left. Emma glanced in the mirror. Her eyes and lips were really too big for her too-round face. She looked like an owl. She fussed with the neckline of her nightdress, but there was no way to make it lower.
She held her breath and closed her eyes. She must think pragmatically, not like a besotted fool. This was not romance, but a calculated means to a goal.
She released her breath, rose from her chair, and walked toward the door connecting her room to Spence’s. She put her ear to the door to see if she could hear Tolley still inside.
There was quiet. Trembling, she turned the knob and opened the door.
Spence was standing near the window, dressed in his banyan. “Emma,” he said in some surprise.
She gave a nervous laugh, suddenly having no thought of how to entice him. “I . . . I figured you were not yet sleeping.” She looked over to the table by the window where a decanter stood. “May I have some brandy?”
He stared at her, as if he’d not immediately understood her words, then he said, “Yes, yes, of course.”
The Marriage Bargain Page 14