by Cheryl Bolen
She just wants to see Lord Sedgewick, Sally mused. Where Sally's adoration of him had always been hidden, Miss Johnson's had always been overt.
When they reached the town house, Sally turned to say farewell, but Miss Johnson would not be denied a chance to see Lord Sedgewick.
"I believe I'll just come on in with you, then we can walk together to Blankenship House," Miss Johnson said.
They returned the children to the nursery. With great sadness, Sally kissed them good-bye. Would this be her last visit with them? She could be summoned to Miss Worth's any day now. She squeezed the children a bit tighter than usual. "Be good, little darlings," she said as she left the room, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye.
She and Miss Johnson quietly descended the stairs. When they reached the bottom, Sally heard the closing of an upstairs door and glanced up and into the sullen face of Lord Sedgewick, who had not seen her. His haggard looks fairly took her breath away. He had not shaved, and dark shadows hung under his eyes. He looked wretched. No doubt Miss Johnson had mistaken him for a servant for she was already out the door.
Not wanting him to know she saw him, Sally quickly turned away and left the house, her heart heavier than ever.
Chapter 5
Good lord, but he had behaved abominably at the Assembly Rooms the night before. George winced as he drew open the velvet library draperies and came to sit in front of his desk. His plan was to look over the ever increasing stack of tradesmen's bills, but the tumult raging within him pulled his thoughts elsewhere.
As much as he hated to admit it, the sanctimonious spinster had been right. Being three sheets to the wind before the clock struck nine was appallingly bad form for a man of his years.
'Twas one thing to get bosky when one was with one's fun-loving friends. 'Twas quite another to drink oneself into oblivion in the middle of the afternoon in the privacy of one's own library. But that is just what he had done. And his wretched head was paying dearly today.
As satisfying as it had been to take the children to Sydney Gardens the day before, it had also painfully reminded him of how much his children had missed by not having a mother. They clearly adored Sally Spenser, and, more importantly, they needed the genteel young woman.
If being reminded of his—and his children's—unbearable loss wasn't enough to send him to the liquor cabinet, the discovery that the nurse he had long trusted so implicitly was nothing more than an unfeeling, dogmatic dragon inundated him with feelings of guilt. So, like a cad still at Oxford, he had drowned himself in drink.
A lot of good that would do his children. He thought of his sweet little Georgette, and his heart physically ached for love of her. She deserved a better father.
She especially deserved Miss Spenser. He could search the kingdom high and low and never find a lady better qualified than Miss Spenser. Not only was she of impeccable lineage, but she was possessed of a keen mind, too. Most importantly, she truly loved Georgette—and the boy, too.
Now George had gone and offended Miss Spenser. No sooner had he told her he would do whatever it took to secure her for his children than he had told her what a bloody bad idea it was. A fine lout he must have appeared. Was he so weak a man that he was threatened by the well-meaning mouth of spinster of but two and twenty years?
There was nothing to do but to swallow his diminishing pride and beg the lady's forgiveness. He should be prepared to do whatever it took to secure her for his children.
At the very least, he should be able to tolerate her didactic ways. After all, she only spouted off so because of her affection for the children. And for him, he admitted reluctantly. He knew she was truthful when she told him she had always held him in great affection. Why else would she beg that he change his wayward ways? A simpleton could see that he was doing his best to follow Diana into the grave. And what would that do to his children? He ought to admire Miss Spenser for caring at all for him. Truth be told, he could not understand why she—or anyone—would.
For the sake of his motherless children, he would have to swallow humble pie.
He reached across the oak desk and took up his plume in order to enumerate a list of concessions he would grant Miss Spenser. He had to leave no consideration unaddressed. The lady must be given to understand how desperately he needed her and how important it was to him and the children that she come to live with them.
First, he had to assure Miss Spenser of his sincerity in wanting her. He began to write. Miss Spenser's opinions would always be solicited. She would have to be assured she would never be treated as a servant but as a treasured member of the family. She would not be given the title of governess because that is not what he wished her to be. She would be a companion to his children, a mother figure, so to speak. She would be given her own chamber in the family wing. She would, he paused as he wrote, take her meals with the master of the family.
With regards to the children . . . Miss Spenser would have complete authority over them. That authority would extend to the hiring and dismissing of any employees who would interface with his children. A nurse. A future governess. Even a drawing master.
What of financial compensation? He set down his pen as he thought. Miss Spenser would be expected to dress as the well-connected lady she was, and would be at liberty to make purchases to assure that she dressed as a member of a viscount's family. The bills for her wardrobe, of course, would be sent to him. In addition, he was prepared to settle her with one hundred fifty pounds a year. He swallowed hard as he took up the pen and continued to write. An exorbitant sum, to be sure—as much as all his servants put together got and then some.
Then an idea struck him, and he put down his plume, a frown on his face. He got up from his desk and began to pace the library's Turkey rug, shaking his head. What a bloody idiot he had been! Indeed, even his usually wise sisters had been exceptionally foolish to encourage him to engage Miss Spenser for his children.
Miss Spenser could not be allowed to live under his roof! Think of what the gossips would say. She was an unmarried lady. The niece of an earl. And he, the Viscount Sedgewick, was an unmarried man. No proper lady would ever give consideration to a position of such perceptible intimacy. Especially in light of the reputation he had earned in his bachelor days before his marriage to Diana. Indeed, he thought with shame, even in his grief, he had not been without the physical comforts offered by women of loose morals.
He shook his head ruefully. No respectable lady would ever consent to his proposal.
What was he to do? Except for Diana's hand in marriage, he had never wanted anything more than he wanted Miss Spenser. For his children. It was imperative that he secure her. If his children could not have their own mother, then Miss Spenser was the next best thing.
A sobering thought struck him like a slap in the face. There was something he could do! Of course, he had no guarantees that Miss Spenser would look favorably upon this new, bizarre proposal. The girl, after all, ran rather contrary to what was expected of a young lady. The fact was, there was nothing she could do that would surprise him.
His heart beating erratically, he settled on this novel scheme. It was, after all, the only logical thing to do to secure Miss Spenser for his children for the rest of their lives.
He would simply have to marry her!
As distasteful as was the idea of anyone replacing Diana, George was willing to go through with it. After all, there was no hope for another love match for him, for he would never again meet the likes of Diana. No matter what the cost to himself, he owed it to his children to secure Miss Spenser for their mother.
Surely the chit would look favorably upon the prospect of becoming Lady Sedgewick. A woman of neither beauty nor fortune could never hope for a better offer.
And it wasn't as if he would be robbing her of a love match. It was doubtful any man would ever desire the outspoken, opinionated Miss Spenser for a wife. He would actually be rescuing her from spinsterhood.
Of course, he would have to mak
e it clear to her that it wouldn't be a real marriage. Diana was the wife of his heart, and no woman could ever supplant her. Then, too, the prospect of bedding Miss Spenser held no allure whatsoever. In every other way, though, Miss Spenser would be treated with the honor and respect due his wife and due a woman of Miss Spenser's station.
Quite satisfied with himself, George decided to visit Blankenship House that very afternoon and present his proposal to Miss Spenser.
* * *
When he arrived at his sister's house, it was assumed he was calling for Blanks.
"No," George said to his sister, "it's Miss Spenser whom I should wish to see."
Glee glanced from him, past that dreadful young woman whose father was a sausage merchant or some such, to Sally Spenser. Miss Spenser, who was not as pretty as the sausage merchant's daughter but infinitely more gracious, stepped forward.
"Would you do me the goodness of accompanying me to the Pump Room?" he asked. No sooner were the words out of his mouth when he realized the impropriety of being unescorted with an unmarried lady. He had been away from the Marriage Mart for so long his brain had turned to porridge.
That odious sausage-maker's daughter, whatever her name was, came to stand beside Miss Spenser. "What a very good plan, my lord," she said.
A frown on his face, he realized he had to settle for escorting both women. Then Blanks decreed that he and his wife would accompany them. Therefore, five of them set off for the Pump Room, which was just blocks from Queen Square. George found himself in the ridiculous position of having a spinster on each arm. He also found himself being gushingly addressed by that upstart gel, Miss Johnson, he believed her name was.
"I had the pleasure of seeing your beautiful children not one hour past," the gel told him.
"Where, may I ask, did this meeting take place?" he asked.
"Miss Spenser was taking them for a walk to the Royal Crescent, and I had the good fortune to run into her."
He cast a grateful glance at Miss Spenser. He was touched that, despite his own abominable behavior the night before, she had still sought out his children and indulged them. How fortunate they were to have her. He smiled smugly. Thanks to him, his children would be indulged by Miss Spenser for the rest of their days. For surely she would accept his suit. "How kind of you, Miss Spenser, to offer the children another treat so soon after yesterday's trip to Sydney Gardens."
"They did so enjoy playing at Crescent Fields," Miss Johnson said. "They are such absolute darlings! And what a handsome fellow your little son is. I declare, you must have looked exactly the same when you were a lad of his age."
"So I've been told," George said, a look of distaste on his face. He had always been disappointed the boy did not favor his mother more. Like Georgette. Just thinking of his daughter warmed George's heart.
"I was just remarking to Miss Spenser," Miss Johnson said, "that it was time you married again, my lord."
"My feelings exactly," he answered.
A smile spread across Miss Johnson's fair face.
He cast a quick glance at Miss Spenser, and it seemed her usually tanned face had gone white. How very odd.
George hoped that when they reached the Pump Room his friends, Appleton and the twins, would be there. He would persuade one of them to relieve him of the Johnson chit so he could speak privately with Miss Spenser. More likely than not, though, they would not be there. They were far more comfortable with bloods than with young ladies. A most unsociable lot, to be sure. He tried to think of what amusements would compete for their attention today. No boxing matches. No cockfights. No horse racing. Perhaps in their boredom the threesome would be at the Pump Room.
"My Papa will arrive in Bath next week," Miss Johnson was babbling. Babbling to him, George realized. Why did the young lady suffer under the delusion he was remotely interested in anything she had to say? "He has expressed a profound interest in renewing his acquaintance with you, my lord," the sausage- maker's daughter continued.
So nervous was he over his impending interview with Miss Spenser, he could scarcely attend to Miss Johnson's words. As she spoke uninterrupted, he slid a glance at Miss Spenser. Her hair was curled today, and he thought she looked almost pretty. There was a grace about her that made her outshine a woman like Miss Johnson. And when he smiled at Miss Spenser, she favored him with a soft smile that revealed her deep dimples. When she smiled like that, she really was pretty.
Once they arrived at the Pump Room, his sister ordered her husband to escort her on a turn about the room. That left George with one woman too many. A quick glance around the lofty chamber confirmed that his bachelor friends were not there. Which assured George of being stuck with the obnoxious Miss Johnson. "Ladies, allow me to fetch you the water," he said.
He left them and went to the attendant to procure the cups of the nasty-tasting water. From the corner of his eye, he saw Appleton and the twins stroll into the room. This was even better! Taking the cups from the attendant and balancing them, George went straight to his friends and spoke to Appleton. "Do me the goodness of relieving me of Miss Johnson."
Appleton glanced toward the two ladies. "You are referring to the pretty blonde standing with the plain Miss Spenser?"
If he did not have these cups of water in his hand, George might have sent a fist into Appleton's face. How dare he call Miss Spenser plain! How could anyone with such delectable dimples be plain? And how could one actually prefer Miss Johnson over Miss Spenser? "I am," George said curtly.
"Then it shall be my pleasure," Appleton said as he walked directly to Miss Johnson and begged to be allowed to escort her around the perimeter of the chamber. George held his breath as he watched her set a hand on Appleton's forearm, then he came up to Miss Spenser and offered her the cup of water. "I seem to have an extra," he said, offering it one of the twins, who declined it.
"Didn't know Miss Johnson was in town," Melvin said.
"She arrived only last night," Miss Spenser answered.
The other twin, Elvin, was following Blanks and Glee with his eyes. "Pix must be delighted to have Blanks at the ready today," he said.
"Pix?" George asked.
"Your sister. We call her Pix 'cause she's so little."
"Oh, so you do," George conceded. He knew Blanks detested the familiar practice.
Although it was impolite to leave the twins, George looked into Miss Spenser's chocolate-colored eyes and said, "May I have the pleasure of walking with you, Miss Spenser?" as he offered her his crooked arm.
He sighed when she finally set a gentle hand on his forearm. The two of them began to stroll the chamber. With every step he took, his heartbeat accelerated. Good lord, what if the chit laughed at him! Or refused him? He reminded himself that he was prepared to shed his pride for the sake of his children's happiness. He had only to think of the bitter Hortense, knowing his children deserved better, to resolve anew to offer for Miss Spenser.
"It was most considerate of you to seek out my children today," he began.
"I did not seek them out to be considerate. I sought them because they bring me joy."
It was the same with him! At least with his precious Georgette. Every time he laid eyes on his sweet daughter, it brought him happiness. Oh yes, he had made an excellent decision. There was no better woman than Miss Spenser to be stepmother to his children. He rather swelled with pride when he thought of making her the new viscountess. His children had suffered long enough. "I am gratified that you feel as you do."
They walked in silence for a moment when he said, "Miss Spenser, I wish to apologize for my appalling behavior last night. I've come to realize the wisdom of your words when you chided me. In fact, I deserved a better tongue-lashing than I received."
Her slim hand tightened upon his arm, and she turned to gaze upon him with those great brown eyes of hers. "I care too deeply for you to receive any gratification from your words, my lord."
His stomach vaulted. She made him extremely uncomfortable. Why did it hurt her
when he showed poor judgment as he had last night? It would be so much easier for him if she did not care for him, yet he had to admit she would make a fine wife. A loyal wife, too, he'd wager.
Whether she realized it or not, she did care for him as one would for a brother. And, come to think of it, he cared for her in the same way he cared for Felicity and Glee.
"I am flattered, my lord, that you are most likely speaking so prettily to me in order to secure me for your children."
His pulse accelerated, and he swallowed hard. He placed a firm hand on top of hers. "Yes, I do want you, Miss Spenser. But I want you for my wife."
Chapter 6
Her heart leapt in her chest and pounded in her ears. At first she had thought that in her love for George she had imagined that he said he wanted her for his wife. She could not trust her ears. Lord George Sedgewick would never wish to make her his wife.
She was aware that he was looking down upon her, but she could not bring herself to make eye contact with him, nor was she able to speak. She was too embarrassed to speak, actually. For to respond to him was to admit she was deserving of being the Viscountess Sedgewick. She, Sally Spenser, who was on the threshold of becoming a schoolmistress at Miss Worth's School for Young Ladies.
Just as she was about to ask him to repeat himself, she realized that the Viscount Sedgewick had indeed asked for her hand in marriage. And she completely understood why.
Quite simply put, he wanted her for his children's stepmother. With his simple declaration, Sally held him in higher regard than she had in the twelve years she had known him. She had been previously unaware of the depths of his love for his children. For his children, he was willing to sacrifice himself on the altar. It was the noblest thing he had ever done.
Her first inclination was to emphatically turn him down. She had always vowed to die a spinster rather than marry where there was no love. But just because Lord Sedgewick did not love her did not mean there was no love. She possessed enough for both of them.