The Marriage Bargain

by Diane Perkins

  “One part of our bargain,” she repeated, giving him a hard look. “And what of the other part of our bargain?”

  His eyes darkened and his expression filled her with memories of their lovemaking. “Let us return to Kellworth,” he said. “I will give you a child.”

  She swung away, her heart pounding. No! No! she screamed inside. Could she bear filling Kellworth with more memories of him? Pretending at marital bliss? She had never dreamed he would return with her.

  She shook her head. “If I allow you to take me back to Kellworth, how can I know you will not simply leave me there and run off to your pyramids or some such place?”

  He looked stunned. “What else would you suggest?”

  “We stay here,” she declared, surprising herself as much as she did him. “In London.”

  She ignored the change in his countenance, to that soft expression she used to revel in across the pillows. “Emma, I could leave you in London, too, if I wished.”

  She straightened. “But if you do leave me in London, there are other men who might be willing to bed me.” She glared at him. “I can find another man to father a child. I do not need you. Now that we have cohabited, the baby can be passed off as yours.”

  He strode over to her and put his hand on her arms, but his voice was gentle. “You cannot mean this, Emma.”

  Of course she did not. The mere thought of sharing with another man the intimacies she’d shared with him made bile rise in her throat.

  He continued, speaking gently. “Perhaps you are with child now—”

  She pulled away. “Then you would be free to leave, but I assure you I am not.” Her voice betrayed too much emotion. She spilled her words in a rush to disguise the trembling of her chin. “Stay in London until it is certain I am increasing. Then I do not care where you go. Go anywhere but Kellworth!”

  His face lost all expression, but he still spoke quietly. “As you wish, Emma. My uncle offers to vacate the townhouse. I would desire to give him one or two days to settle himself elsewhere.”

  She’d pushed her anger to the fore and felt a grim satisfaction that he had acceded to her wishes—what she thought were her wishes. “He can remain in the house. I do not intend to stay there long.”

  He peered at her uncertainly. “Are you certain you wish him to stay there?”

  “I do not care one way or the other.” Pretending to feel strong was almost making her believe she could do anything. “Let him do as he wishes.” She narrowed her eyes. “Or is it you who wish a delay? Perhaps so you can plan an escape?”

  He shook his head and leveled a gaze at her that almost shook her newly won courage. “I’ll not leave you, Emma.”

  “Then I will move in tomorrow.” She could not believe she was speaking this way.

  “Tomorrow,” he agreed. “I will call for you at noon.”

  “Very well.”

  He bowed. “Until tomorrow, then.”

  When he opened the drawing-room door and walked into the hall, Emma heard the voices of her mother and Lady Vellamy, and it occurred to her that they may have been trying to listen. She marched out to see what the ladies were doing.

  “Oh, how delightful to see you,” her mother chirped to Spence. “We were hoping to catch you before you left.”

  The older ladies had each grasped hold of his arms and were walking him to the door.

  Lady Vellamy said, “We wanted to insist you come with us to the musicale this evening at Lady Bolton’s. Everyone will be there. We simply cannot allow our Emma to miss it.”

  He looked over his shoulder and saw Emma watching. “Emma?” he said. “Do you wish me to escort you?”

  She had no more wish to attend the musicale than she had the ball, but at least she would know he was not on some boat to the Americas or something. “Yes,” she said firmly. “Come with us to the musicale.”

  After he left, her mother and Lady Vellamy skipped up to her, demanding all the details. At least that assured Emma they had not heard the true course of the conversation.

  “I am to take up residence with him at the Kellworth townhouse tomorrow,” she said.

  “Just think, at last you will be mistress of that grand townhouse,” her mother cried.

  “I am more in the nature of a temporary guest,” Emma insisted. “I intend to return to Kellworth before long.” As soon as I’ve conceived, she added silently.

  “Oh, but first you must wrap the earl around your little finger.” Her mother laughed. “And I will wager you will enjoy London’s delights. Why, the Season is almost over and the biggest event is passed. The wedding of Princess Charlotte to her Leopold!”

  Emma was taken aback. “You were invited to those festivities?”

  “How I wish!” Her mother sighed. “But there were many other lovely parties in her honor.”

  “Enough chitchat,” broke in Lady Vellamy. “We must get busy and devise a wardrobe for you.”

  “Oh yes,” agreed Emma’s mother. “Let us hurry and see what I have packed away that might do.”

  That evening, Spence appeared at the Holgrove townhouse, as commanded. He was admitted and asked to wait in the hall, since the ladies were ready to depart. A minute later Emma appeared in a gown of a fabric so light it seemed to float around her. She carried the paisley shawl.

  Lady Vellamy and Lady Holgrove were right behind her, but Spence could not take his eyes off Emma. He stepped forward to drape her shawl across her shoulders.

  “My carriage is waiting,” Lady Vellamy said. “Let us not tarry.”

  He played escort to all three ladies, freeing Lord Holgrove from the task. The musicale was the social event of the evening. Even his uncle and Reuben attended. The program included a piece by Cherubini for string quartet. Cherubini had come to London the year before to conduct his new symphony and had never left. Emma, declaring she had never heard his music before, listened with an expression of delight on her face.

  The night was over too quickly for Spence. Before he left Emma at her mother’s door, he kissed her hand.

  “Until tomorrow,” he murmured.

  When he stepped back to the pavement, Lady Vellamy leaned out of her carriage door. “Shall my coachman drop you off somewhere, Lord Kellworth?”

  The night was crisp and fine and he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. “Thank you, no, my lady. I will enjoy the walk.”

  “Good night.” She waved as the coach pulled away.

  He headed toward Bond Street, wondering if Emma would have that same expression of delight if he introduced her to the singing energy of the Spanish guitar, or the bagpipe-like drone of the French vielle à roue.

  But he reminded himself that there was much restitution to be done before he could propose even a minor adventure to her.

  He neared Henrietta Street and heard a sound behind him. He halted, but the sound had gone away.

  As he turned down Henrietta Street, he spied movement out of the corner of his eye. He whipped around, but the street was quiet and dark. He walked on, but now his soldier’s senses were on alert.

  All of a sudden two ruffians jumped out from the shadows. One man grabbed him from behind, his hat went flying, and beefy arms held him like a vise. Spence tried to twist from the man’s grasp. The other man came at him, wielding a club. Spence elbowed his captor hard in the ribs and managed to wrest himself away right as the other man swung. The club struck his companion and sent him flying. Spence rushed the attacker, grabbing the arm holding the club and forcing it backward until the man screamed in pain. The club clattered to the pavement.

  “Get the bugger!” shouted the other one, now rising to his feet.

  They both charged, but Spence ducked and rolled to the ground, groping for the club. His fingers closed around it and he jumped to his feet, swinging as he advanced.

  The two ruffians backed away.

  “Be gone, if you know what is good for you,” shouted Spence.

  “Let’s be out of here.” The one man pulled on
his companion’s coat.

  A door to a nearby house opened and someone called out, “What goes there?”

  Spence dropped the club as the ruffians fled.

  “Footpads,” Spence answered. “They are gone.”

  “In this neighborhood?” The man stood in the doorway shaking his head. “I’ve never heard of such. Are you injured, sir?”

  Spence dusted himself off and retrieved his hat. “No, I’m all in one piece. Good night, sir.” But his wound ached from the exertion. He realized how easy it must have been for Ruddock to wind up in the Thames.

  He started back toward Bond Street, limping slightly.

  Chapter SEVENTEEN

  Emma’s trunk, packed with her mother’s castaway gowns, was sent to the Kellworth townhouse. Lady Vellamy and her mother had seen to everything she would need, including an experienced lady’s maid to attend her in her new home and prevent her from making any fashion faux pas.

  Emma, her mother, and Lady Vellamy waited in the drawing room for Spence to arrive. The two ladies, full of advice, rattled on about how she ought to run the household, what invitations to accept, what sort of parties she might host.

  “I do not think I shall be entertaining,” Emma said.

  “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 c
hange 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.