Spencer chuckled. “Yes. And it has taken you two days to ask me, Edward.”
The earl crimped his lips together. “I occasionally suffer from a singular lack of curiosity. One of my many faults. Now, are you going to enlighten me or not?”
“Certainly. We travel to Wetherington’s Point at the request of my overseer.”
Edward squinted and frowned. “Your overseer requested my presence at your country house? I find that hard to believe.”
“Of course he didn’t, dolt. He asked me to come. Actions and decisions only I can make in person, that sort of thing.”
“Oh, lovely,” Edward groaned. “Nothing to do with a peasant uprising involving pitchforks and torches, I hope?”
Spencer shrugged. “Not so far. But they are in a tiff over some boundaries and fences and escaping cattle. Threats have been made.”
“And what exactly am I supposed to do? Help you fight them off?”
“Hardly. You’re along, my dear fellow, to get you away from the gaming tables.”
“But I was winning.”
Spencer shrugged. “For once, but not by very much.”
“By enough.” Edward leaned forward to tap Spencer on the knee. “You just want to see her, don’t you?”
“I do not, and stop saying that.”
Undaunted, a smug grin riding his features, Edward sat back. “You want to see her.”
“If you say that one more time,” Spencer warned, “I will be forced to throttle you.” When his cousin only laughed, Spencer added: “You think every man feels the way you do because you do not have a wife of your own and so you look forward to seeing every other man’s wife.”
His brown eyes widening with clearly feigned shock, Edward clamped a hand to his chest, over his heart, and slumped on the narrow leather seat across from Spencer’s. “I am wounded, sir, and the various ladies are insulted.” He immediately abandoned his pose and sat up, his expression prim. “And I do not look forward to seeing all the wives, mind you. Only the young, pretty, and ignored ones.”
Forcing from his mind an image of his own wife, who fit all three categories, Spencer said: “You’ll be shot dead by a jealous husband one day.”
Edward wrinkled his nose and tossed away Spencer’s judgment with a flick of his wrist. “He’ll have to catch me first.”
“And he will.” Though he had remarked in a dry, teasing vein, surprising Spencer was how quickly jealousy and possessiveness had swelled in his heart at simply hearing another man, even his cousin, remark on his wife. He supposed his reaction was only natural, though. No matter her transgressions, Victoria was the Duchess of Moreland. Her title, if nothing else, deserved a show of respect and should not be sullied by scandal. Further scandal.
Dismissing, with effort, thoughts of his wife, Spencer focused on his cousin, a man five years his junior and the oldest son of Spencer’s mother’s younger brother. Infuriatingly enough, Edward was a man who found all of life to be good and everyone in it wonderful. An awful attitude for a twenty-eight-year-old peer of the realm to have. “How is it, Edward, that your mother has not long since married you off and seen you happily siring her grandchildren?”
Edward ducked his chin and arched an eyebrow. “How do you know for a fact that I have not done so already?”
“You’re not going to tell me you’ve fallen in love?”
“But I have. Every day and every time I see a pretty woman—”
“That is not love. It is lust, dear fellow.”
Edward feigned confusion. “Oh. I suppose it is. But to what I was referring earlier was not love and marriage, but the siring of children. My question was: How do you know I have not been off and happily doing just that?”
“No doubt you have.” Spencer once again peered out the window to his left. This conversation was damned close to his very real situation with his wife. What had he been thinking to drag Edward along with him to Wetherington’s Point? Why was he even—
“Tell me if I’m out of line, Spence, but are you and your new wife estranged?”
With the sound of the horses’ jingling tack and their hooves pounding the dusty road serving as a backdrop, Spencer turned to look into his cousin’s for-once sincere and concerned eyes. “You are out of line.”
Edward sighed. “Then I’m right; you are estranged.”
“What we are, or are not, is none of your business, Edward.”
“But it is.” Edward’s expression was deadly serious—and affectionate. “We share a close kinship, Spencer. You’re like a brother to me, so it wounds me to hear the gossip among the ton.”
Spencer sat up rigidly. “What are they saying?”
“What else? How you two seemed inseparable when she was introduced at court, but then suddenly she’s not been seen at all.” Edward leaned forward and spoke conspiratorially. “You can tell me, old man, but you haven’t killed her, have you?”
“Don’t be a fool. Of course I haven’t. But, damn it, Edward, I can’t spend every waking minute—”
“You spend no waking minutes with her, and you hide her away.” When Spencer narrowed his eyes in warning, Edward added: “I’m telling you only what I hear.”
“What else do you hear?”
“How you ignore your fabulously beautiful and wealthy American-heiress wife. Do I really have to tell you how it raises suspicions among those with nothing else to occupy their time except the ruination of others’ reputations? You know that set, Spencer. Victoria’s sudden absence, following her dazzling debut, and your now being alone in London, not even during the season, is wagging every tongue.”
Spencer hit his thigh with his fist. “Damn them. Is nothing sacred? Can a man have no privacy?”
“I’m afraid not—and it’s your fault, old man.”
Spencer frowned at Edward’s grinning expression. “Mine? How the bloody damned devil so?”
“You introduce your charming new wife around; let it be known she has royal Russian blood, causing increased interest in her; make a mad dash of all the balls and dinners; she charms the prince; and then … nothing. She disappears, evidently consigned to the country. What else is all of London supposed to think?”
“I don’t give a damn what London thinks.”
“And me? Do you care what I think?”
Spencer stared at his favorite cousin, wondering if or how much he should confide in him. Edward was a gadabout, true, but he was loyal and could keep a secret. He was also a good friend. Then Spencer realized that Edward would soon enough see for himself, once they arrived at his country estate, the truth of how strained Spencer’s relationship with his wife was.
“Well?” Edward prodded. “My feelings are beginning to be hurt.”
Spencer made up his mind and forced himself to speak as dispassionately as possible. “My wife and I are perhaps more than estranged.”
Looking instantly stricken, Edward said: “Then it’s true. Good heavens, Spencer, I really had no idea—”
“No need for sympathy. All I will tell you is I knew—or thought I knew—what I was getting into when I took Victoria to wife. But I found out it was much worse than I thought. Two weeks ago, the truth came out and we quarreled. I left, saying I would not be back until … well, any time soon.”
“How awful. May I ask what truth was revealed?”
“You may ask all you want, but I will not answer you.”
Edward was undaunted. “As bad as all that? I see. Well, then, I believe I can look forward to a good and bloody battle while at Wetherington’s Point. I have always loved a good and bloody battle, whether it be of words, wills, or swords.”
Spencer made a sound of self-deprecation. “I think I can promise you two out of three, then.”
“Care to say which two?”
Spencer smiled. “No.”
* * *
Several more miles on the long trip had passed in silence between the two men. Spencer gazed out over the familiar passing landscape … green and rolling hil
ls, thousands of forested acres, fertile farmland and quaint villages tucked around almost every turn in the road. Every acre of land, as far as the eye could see, belonged to him and gave him daily headaches. Speaking of headaches, he spared a thought for the occupants of the two less grand vehicles following his, which also belonged to him. The rear wagon held all the necessary baggage for this long trip from London. And the second carriage, the one just behind his coach, carried his valet and secretary, Hornsby and Mr. Milton, respectively. Spencer wondered if they’d killed each other yet.
Suddenly, with Spencer’s next breath, gone were thoughts of his bickering staff, because there it was, brought into magnificent view as the coach rounded a bend in the dusty road. Wetherington’s Point—the magnificent and stately countryseat of his family’s ancestral holdings in the Midlands. Though he loved this land, though it owned a part of his very soul, as did the manor house perched like a crown jewel between two green hills, today he took no joy in seeing its nearness. With disquiet marring his handsome features, Spencer stared out the window at the rapidly approaching manor house.
Just then, the coaches pulled into the graveled drive and slowed, finally stopping smoothly at the impressive front doors of the estate. Footmen appeared to attend to the various duties of welcoming the master and his guest home. Welcome, indeed. Spencer knew one person here who would not be happy to see him. And he didn’t blame her one damned bit as he’d behaved abominably toward her when last he’d been here. Spencer contemplated making an apology. Should he? Dare he? After all, if the baby was not his …
He had no time to finish that thought as he and Edward stepped down from his coach and into the wonderfully warm sunshine. Suddenly, he realized something here was terribly wrong. He looked around. The estate seemed in perfect condition as he had expected. But there was something else. Spencer tensed, realizing that only a funereal quiet, coupled with the sliding gazes of his footmen, greeted him.
Just then, Fredericks, an elderly stick of a wispy-haired man and trusted family retainer for more than forty years, emerged from the house and approached Spencer, stopping in front of him. When he did, the footmen fled, leaving Spencer and Edward alone with Fredericks, who dispensed with the pleasantries and said: “I am afraid I have some rather bad news to impart to you, sir. News best taken with a shot of your finest whisky.”
Somehow, some way, Spencer knew it had to do with his wife. “I see. Then let’s go inside, shall we?”
Tight-lipped, with fierce emotions roiling just under his skin, Spencer pivoted on his heel and proceeded inside. There, he stalked through the manor, with Edward on his heels and the butler desperately trying to keep up. Spencer closeted them—him, Edward, and the butler—in the familiarity and seclusion of his well-appointed study. He poured himself and the young earl equal measures of whisky and sat down on his worn-leather chair behind his massive desk. Edward discreetly sat down on a chair nearer the fireplace and across the room.
“I assure you, Fredericks,” Spencer began, “that I am aware you are merely the messenger here. As such, I assign no blame to you. Now, that said, I want only to know one thing. Where is she?”
Fredericks, an ancient and revered relic whom Spencer had inherited upon his mother’s death, stood at rickety attention in front of the carved mahogany desk. But Spencer’s question had him abandoning his formal pose. Speaking on a wheezing exhalation, he said: “But how did you know it was regarding the duchess, Your Grace?”
“Oh, who else, Fredericks? She is the only one missing. Now, where is she? What has happened?” Though outwardly he sounded only perturbed at this news, inside Spencer’s heart damned near pounded out of his chest with fear. He imagined all sorts of tragedies. A riding accident. A carriage turned over on her. Murder. Drowning in the lake.
“The duchess is … no longer with us, Your Grace.”
Spencer’s eyes rounded; he met Edward’s gaze. His cousin shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, as if to say he had no clue, either. Spencer addressed his remarks to his butler. “We have established that, Fredericks. Are you trying not to tell me she died and was buried in my absence? I will find it extremely hard to believe that I was not notified in such a case.”
“Oh, no, sir. Not at all, sir. Good heavens, no. I never meant to give you that impression. Indeed, I pray daily that the duchess continues to enjoy splendid health, Your Grace.”
She will, but only until next I see her, was Spencer’s thought. “I did send word to Mr. Dover that I would be arriving today from London. Was that message received by him and did he relay it to you?”
“Yes, Your Grace, he did, indeed. Your overseer is very diligent.”
“Then…?”
Fredericks suddenly would not meet Spencer’s gaze. “I hope you find everything at Wetherington’s Point to your satisfaction?”
“Yes. Quite.” He knew the butler meant that the manor house had been thoroughly cleaned from top to bottom, the silver polished, the larder stocked, and the lawns groomed. Spencer cared not one jot for such preparations. “All very nice. Now, out with it, Fredericks. What are you keeping from me? I can tell you are withholding something.”
The longtime servant stood there, looking as morose as if he were facing his own beheading. “Perhaps you ought to have more of your whisky, sir.”
“I daresay, Spence, old man, this is probably the first time in your life that a man has tried to get you drunk.”
“Shut up, Edward.” Spencer narrowed his eyes in suspicion as he reached for his whisky and tipped it up. He peered over the cut-crystal glass’s rim at his butler. Though the man remained as dear and familiar as an old, comfortable shoe, Spencer felt a growing impatience with him. He lowered his glass. “There, I’ve drunk all up like a good little boy. Now it’s your turn, man. The question before you is a simple one. Where is the duchess?”
The frail butler slumped. “At this exact moment in time, Your Grace, I will have to say that I have no idea.”
A rude snort of amused disbelief came from Edward. Spencer’s hand tightened around his drink, though he would have preferred it were his cousin’s neck. “Fredericks, what the devil do you mean? There is something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”
Fredericks’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I am most sorry, Your Grace, but I find myself in quite the quandary.”
Spencer sat forward abruptly in his chair. “Well, by God, man, you are not alone in it, I will say that. Is there some mystery here? What did the duchess do—walk out into the mists and disappear, never to be seen again?”
“I’m afraid that’s not far from the truth, Your Grace.”
“Oh, this is jolly good entertainment.”
“Shut up, Edward. And you, Fredericks, explain your remark.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.” And yet, amazingly, he said nothing more.
Another snort from Edward, and Spencer snapped. “What I wish, Fredericks, is to know where my damned—” He clamped his jaws together so tightly his back teeth ached. Only when he felt more in control did he continue. “That is, the duchess’s whereabouts. And, preferably, I’d like to know before I am anywhere near your venerable age.”
“I understand, sir. Yet I fear you are not going to like what I have to say with regard to that matter.”
“Rest assured that I have yet, in the fifteen minutes or so that I’ve been home, to like anything at all that you’ve had to tell me … or not tell me, is more like it. So, proceed.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Fredericks pulled himself erect. “Her Grace the duchess”—he slid his gaze over to Edward and back to his employer, intoning his words as though he were announcing the death of royalty—“caused her belongings to be packed and left posthaste in a coach.”
The butler’s words struck Spencer like physical blows, but it was the oddest thing. He felt nothing. Nothing at all. Except cold. Very cold. He sat there, frowning, as he forced his mind around the meaning of his servant’s words. She had her belongin
gs packed and left in a coach?
Suddenly, the enormity of her actions sank in. She’d left when he’d specifically told her she was to remain here. An onslaught of outrage and insult overrode breeding and years of training in comportment and had Spencer exploding from his chair. The hapless piece of furniture scraped backward with a horrible shrieking sound across the polished wood flooring. He all but spat out his curse: “The very devil, you say! She has packed her belongings and left? When? When did this occur?”
“Easy on, Spencer,” Edward urged, who had suddenly appeared at his elbow. “Surely there’s a simple explanation.”
Spencer heard his cousin but had eyes only for Fredericks, who first addressed Edward. “I’m afraid there is not, Lord Roxley.”
The elderly retainer, dressed in a suit of black formal clothes too big for him—or perhaps he’d suddenly shrunk inside them—turned his sad gaze his employer’s way. “She left almost a week ago, Your Grace.”
“A week ago, man? A week?” Spencer didn’t know which stung more: the duchess’s fleeing or this glaring lack of loyalty to him on the part of Fredericks, a man who had known Spencer since he was a baby, a man for whom he bore a great deal of affection, and at whom he was now genuinely angry. “You didn’t think to do something as simple as dispatch a rider to me with this news?”
“Yes, of course we did, sir. Mrs. Kevins and I—”
“Who the devil is Mrs. Kevins?”
“The new housekeeper the duchess hired in your absence, Your Grace.”
Impatient now that he knew this to be an inconsequential domestic detail, Spencer waved it away. “Never mind. Go on.”
Accompanying his words with an abbreviated bow, Fredericks said, “Yes, Your Grace. Mrs. Kevins and I wanted very much to apprise you of this development, sir. But it is hardly our place to … tattle on the duchess.”
“Well, he’s got you there, Spence, old man.”
Spencer’s narrowed eyes ached with the intensity of the humiliation and the anger pressing against the backs of them as he stared at his cousin. “Yes, I can see that.” He then addressed Fredericks. “Just out of curiosity, Fredericks, how long would you have waited to notify me—if for no other reason than out of loyalty to me—had I not scheduled this trip at this time?”
To Make a Marriage Page 3