To Make a Marriage

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  “No! I will look!” Only by sheer dint of will, and pushing and shoving, did Victoria manage to overcome Hornsby’s hold on her and look around his considerable bulk. Not more than ten feet away were two men, kneeling on the ground, their backs to her. One was Edward, Spencer’s cousin. The other one was her father’s man, a big blond man whose name she didn’t know. They knelt on either side of a third man, who was down on the ground. Victoria blinked but could make no connections. Then, it hit her. This was what Hornsby didn’t want her to see. This was what all the shouting was about.

  Spencer lay on his back on the muddy and rutted ground of the well-traveled alleyway … and blood stained the front of his white shirt.

  * * *

  “Here, Victoria, drink this.” Edward Sparrow, the Right Honorable the Earl of Roxley, handed her a small glass filled with an amber liquid. “This should restore you.”

  Numb, obedient, Victoria took it and put it to her lips, tipping it up. She swallowed, immediately gagged, and shoved the glass back into his hand. Choking, coughing, she helplessly leaned forward and covered her mouth with her hands.

  “There’s the girl, now. Effective medicine, isn’t it, my dear?” The earl soundly patted her back, which did nothing to help.

  Her breath would not come and tears seeped from the corners of her eyes. Since her pregnancy, liquor of any kind, even a taste of it, made her instantly ill, as did cigar smoke. But, finally, her symptoms eased and she thought she might live.

  Inhaling deeply, she sat up as Edward squatted down in front of her. Silently, she watched him down the remainder of the whisky he’d first offered her. “There. Much better.” He smacked his lips in satisfaction as he admiringly eyed the empty glass. Then he caught her staring at him. “Fine stuff, this.” He hefted the shot glass by way of definition. “Found it across the way in the bar service. And you? How are you doing?”

  Victoria started to reply and found she could produce nothing more than a raspy croak of sound.

  “Easy now. Don’t try to talk. Just give yourself a moment. You’ve had a bit of a shock.”

  A bit of a shock? She thought about this, but nothing came to mind. Still, she had to admit a shock would explain her feeling so … empty, so unaware. But what sort of shock? Frowning, she rubbed her hand under her nose as she stared at Edward. An objective and working part of her brain remarked on her hair being all undone and clinging to her damp face. She brushed it away and over her shoulders. As she did, she examined her surroundings, trying to get her bearings.

  She and Edward were in a small but stately library, one that smelled pleasantly of furniture polish and books and a warm, richly scented breeze. The light draperies, hanging from several tall, narrow, open windows around the room, fluttered playfully with each breath of the wind. And yet, this room meant nothing to her. She’d never seen it before. What had happened to her? How had she come to be in here? She wanted to voice these concerns, but only one frustrating word could she manage. “What…?”

  Like a sympathetic doctor with a patient who’s just come around, Edward smiled and rose effortlessly to his feet. “Good. Your color’s coming back. I expect you’ll live.”

  Well, of course she would. She watched Edward cross the room to an ornately carved table and deposit the glass on a silver tray. She frowned, forcing herself to think … but all too soon wished she hadn’t. Sudden and painful memory rushed back, dragging her emotions along with it. Her eyes widened; she inhaled a ragged breath. This was her father’s house in Savannah. His library. She’d been in the garden, sitting there. And then Spencer—

  “Spencer!” Gasping, she tried to jump up, but Edward rushed over to her and held her in place with a hand on her shoulder.

  “No, my dear duchess, don’t try to stand just yet. You gave us all quite the scare, fainting like that. While I and your father’s man—nice chap, name of Giddens—managed Spencer, Hornsby carried you in here. Thought he’d have a heart attack with the effort. Not that you’re heavy, I’m sure. But this is as far as he could get you. And he is an older man—”

  “For God’s sake, Edward,” Victoria cried, hating how thin and crackly her voice sounded. However, it proved to be sufficient enough to have the startled young earl removing his hand from her shoulder and stepping back. Victoria cleared her throat and coughed. “Spencer, Edward. Where is Spencer?”

  Edward’s response was a chuckle. Disconcerted, Victoria sat back against the maroon velvet-tufted divan on which she found herself. “Why are you laughing?” Her voice sounded so low and hollow. “He’s your cousin. I thought you cared for him.”

  “Oh, but I do. Tremendously. And to answer your question, he is upstairs at the moment.”

  “At the moment?” She again tried to get up, only to have Edward again force her to remain. “Stop that, Edward. I must go to him.”

  “No, no, no. Not yet. Hornsby will need more time with him.” With that, Edward cheerfully went to pour himself another drink.

  Victoria sat there, staring, her gaze blankly following Edward’s every move as she puzzled over what he’d told her. Then, it came to her: Spencer’s valet would be the one to … lay the body out. She blinked against the mental image that wanted to form in her mind of Spencer … dead. No. A witch’s brew of sickening emotion assailed Victoria. She pressed her fingertips to her temples and shook her head against the dawning realization. No, he couldn’t be dead. She wouldn’t allow it. But she knew what she’d seen in the alley. The evidence spoke for itself.

  And now, so did her heart, accusing her of having cared more, so much more, for Spencer than she had realized or would admit. Why else did she think she’d wanted his respect? Why did she think she’d wanted him to care … to just care? Because his indifference was the opposite of love. Indifference was not caring. It had nearly crushed her, and she knew why: Because she cared—and deeply—for him. If she hadn’t, then his behavior toward her wouldn’t have mattered. And now? It was too late.

  A sudden bone-deep weakness leached the strength from Victoria’s bones. Dear God! Her husband. Her late husband. Only now did she realize that she could not imagine a life, a world, without Spencer in it. This then was her punishment … the knowing, too late, in her mind what her heart had known all along. Victoria swallowed and gritted her teeth as hard as she could, until her jaw ached. I will not fall apart. I will not. She inhaled deeply and willed strength into her bones and her heart. What remained for her to do now was to show respect for Spencer and his memory.

  Edward, having downed a quick shot at the bar, came toward her. Victoria inhaled a ragged breath and spoke quietly but with authority to the earl. “I wish to go up and help Hornsby with him. It’s the least I can do.”

  Edward shouted a guffawing laugh that startled Victoria terribly. “Oh, I daresay the shock of your doing so would put Hornsby in his grave. No, no, my dear, instead give the old man a few more moments to get your husband bathed and tenderly laid up in bed,” Edward blithely, madly, continued. “You can see him then. In the meantime, you and I can have a nice chat in here.”

  Edward was quite insane, and she had to get out of this library. Making every effort to appear not to be doing so, Victoria cut her gaze around the room. Any sharp or heavy object with which to defend herself would do. Until she found one and had it in her grasp, though, she should humor the man. “All right, Edward,” she said, speaking in a placating tone, “I’ll wait here with you. Can you … can you tell me how he died?”

  Edward frowned. “How who died? Oh, of course, you mean—Well, he was shot. Right in the chest. Terrible thing, that. But no more than he deserved.”

  This was too much, insane or not. “Edward, for God’s sake, what are you saying—‘no more than he deserved’? How can you say such a thing? How?”

  The earl’s expression pinched with obvious confusion. “How can I not is a better question. The man did try to kill my cousin—your husband, madam—after all. I say he got exactly what he deserved.”

&
nbsp; The man? “Edward, what man? Are you saying it wasn’t Spencer who was—”

  “Good God, no! No, of course it wasn’t. Oh, I say, Victoria—”

  “Edward, please! Is Spencer alive?”

  “Well, of course he is. Do you think I’d be standing here if—”

  Victoria burst into relieved tears and covered her face with her hands. Almost immediately she felt strong and comforting arms going around her. Her intellect told her Edward had squatted in front of her on the floor. Hot, sick, relieved, embarrassed, she sobbed and sobbed.

  After a bit, when the emotional storm abated, she became aware of Edward’s cooing and comforting sounds as he smoothed her hair away from her face and patted her back. “You poor thing. I am so sorry, Victoria. No, no, no. Spencer is fine. Why, I’d bet Hornsby’s had to tie him to the bed to keep him from coming down here to see about you. And knowing my cousin as I do, he is still roundly cursing whatever ruffian it was who socked him in the jaw and knocked him out.”

  Victoria pulled back in Edward’s embrace and stared at him. “But the blood, Edward,” she burbled. “I saw blood. There was … blood.”

  “Yes, there was quite a bit of blood, wasn’t there? Ghastly stuff. Here, my dear. Use this. Your nose…” Edward pulled a substantial-sized, clean handkerchief from a pocket and handed it to her.

  “Oh. Sorry. Thank you.” Victoria self-consciously dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose.

  Watching her sympathetically, Edward smiled, saying, “You’re welcome. Now, about the blood: None of it, happily, was Spencer’s.”

  Victoria eyed him suspiciously. “Are you telling me the truth?”

  “I am.”

  She folded his handkerchief, held on to it, and looked up at him. “Then Spencer is alive and upstairs and not wounded mortally? You swear it?”

  “I do, and he isn’t. Actually, he’s not wounded at all. Only bruised and knocked about a bit. He’ll be fine by tomorrow, I expect. And very, very sore.”

  “Oh, thank God.” Intense relief robbed Victoria of bone and muscle. Experiencing a sudden fainting feeling, she sank sideways onto the reclining couch, a hand tucked under her cheek.

  Edward tenderly smoothed her hair back from her face. “My dear, are you quite all right?”

  “Yes. I just suddenly felt weak. Oh, Edward, I thought he’d been killed, and it was all my fault—”

  “Your fault?” His voice sharp, Edward leaned over until he stared intently into her eyes. Under any other circumstances, his posture would have been comical. “How was any of this your fault?”

  Victoria froze, knowing she’d said too much. With Edward’s face mere inches from hers, she was forced to stare into his brown eyes. “I didn’t mean directly. I meant … Savannah is my city, and I feel awful that he was … welcomed here in such a manner.”

  “Welcomed? I say, my dear, that’s rather a rough welcome-to-town. You will understand, then, if I wish to remain unannounced?”

  It was there in the tilt of his head and his arched eyebrows, as he clearly waited for her to explain herself, that he didn’t quite believe her. But what could she say? Maybe if she knew more about what had actually happened out in the alley. She clutched at Edward’s sleeve. “Please. Tell me what happened. I need to know.”

  “Very well.” He righted himself, but remained squatted in front of her and balanced on the balls of his feet. “Spencer said he stepped out into the alley, stood there a moment, and then went off to his left. Apparently, two men of rough character were lying in wait around some barrels and other refuse behind the next house over.”

  “Oh, how awful. What were they—common thieves looking for any victim? Could that be it?” She sincerely hoped so.

  Edward shrugged. “Possibly. But they certainly had no need to accost him as they did if they meant only to rob him. After all, they were armed, and he wasn’t.” Edward paused, his expression troubled as he absently smoothed a hand over the divan’s soft edge. He appeared to be wrestling with the framing of something he felt reluctant to say. Victoria’s heart beat slowly, dully, with apprehension. Finally, the earl settled his gaze on her. “Victoria, I find I am very concerned, and I mean for you. Should I be?”

  Choosing to pretend she’d mistaken his meaning, Victoria slowly sat up, with the young earl’s steadying assistance. “You’re very kind to be concerned. But I’m feeling much better, Edward, thank you. It was just the shock of seeing Spencer … lying there. And the blood. And then thinking he was … dead.”

  Edward smiled sympathetically. “I understand. But we must get to the bottom of this. Perhaps if you told me what happened before Spencer stepped into the alley, we can start there.”

  She nodded. “I shall certainly try. It’s really quite straightforward, though. Spencer came outside and we conversed. As we were talking, his attention kept straying to the back gate. I asked him what the matter was, and he said he thought he’d seen something.”

  “I see.” A teasing smile transformed the earl’s rather plain features into a very attractive whole that explained his luck with the ladies. “He came outside specifically looking for you, my dear. He finds he has trouble keeping you located.”

  Victoria smiled self-consciously. “I had told him I would be with Rosanna to supervise the unpacking of my trunks. But she had it well in hand, and clearly did not wish my instruction. So I came outside to catch a breath of fresh air.”

  “And that’s where he found you?”

  “Yes, as I’ve said.” Victoria made a show of rearranging her skirt’s folds as she also readjusted her opinion of Edward. She’d thought him nothing more than a dandy and a gadabout. But he seemed to know more than he was letting on and he asked very pointed questions, much like a detective would. Clearly, she had best guard her answers. Feeling his waiting stare, she finally asked her own question. “Edward, did Spencer, by chance, tell you what he saw out in the alley that made him think he should investigate?”

  “Yes, he told us … rather groggily … as we were bringing him inside. He said he thought he kept seeing—and it sounds comical, though it isn’t—heads bobbing up and down from the other side of the gate. As if they were trying to see over it without being seen themselves, though not very effectively, obviously.”

  Fright rushed through Victoria. This was no random attack. “Oh, Edward, I wish I had gone with him. I offered, but he wouldn’t allow me.”

  “Well, certainly he wouldn’t, my dear. Forgive me, but I hardly think you could have been much help against two men who got the best of Spencer. But did you hear the struggle? Hear anyone’s voice? Or shouting?”

  “Had I, don’t you think I would have raised an alarm myself?”

  Edward covered her hand with his. “I didn’t mean to insult you, Victoria. I’m merely looking for answers.”

  Answers she could not allow him to pursue. Victoria clasped his hand with hers, giving it a sincere squeeze. “I know, and no one more than I appreciates your efforts. But I think it makes more sense to look upon this as an awful but random incident, one not likely to recur, don’t you?”

  “Perhaps. But this deserves looking into as Spencer was very nearly killed. We should report these violent men to the authorities.”

  Victoria clasped the earl firmly by his shirtsleeves. “No, Edward, do not do that. We cannot bring in the authorities.”

  If whoever was having her watched saw the police here, they would know or suspect she was telling them the little she knew about the threats, the letters and all the rest—and someone would be killed. Someone she loved.

  Edward pulled back to stare at her with surprise-widened brown eyes. “I say, Victoria, what’s this? Spencer was very nearly killed! What possible reason could you have for not wanting this incident investigated and the brigands brought to justice?”

  Letting go of him, she sat back limply. She could only stare in damning silence at her husband’s cousin and keep her secrets and her fears to herself as she thought: What possible reason, i
ndeed?

  CHAPTER 9

  “I am afraid I cannot allow this to pass. You will have to explain yourself, Victoria.” Edward’s usually cheerful countenance was now sober, emphasizing how long and thin his face really was. “These men need to be found before they strike again at some other innocent person. And I would think you would realize that.”

  Forced into a corner, Victoria resorted to lies in an effort to keep them all safe. “I realize it only too well, Edward. But not the authorities, please. Think of the scandal an investigation would cause. The police will ask all sorts of questions. How embarrassing to have all of our personal business in The Morning News. Why, everyone who is anyone reads it. And then we’d have to stay here overly long for an investigation and then a trial. All of that could take weeks, months. Don’t you wish to return to England sometime soon? And even if you don’t, think of Spencer. Shouldn’t we ask him how he would feel about the unwanted attention of being in the press?”

  Edward stared at the carpet and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Yes, I see your point. He wouldn’t be amused. Perhaps I can conduct an investigation on my own, then, and get to the bottom of this.”

  Victoria again grabbed the eager earl by his arm. “Edward, no. For God’s sake, leave it be. Please. Talk to Spencer first. See what he wants you to do. I would hate for you to anger him over this.”

  Victoria’s very real fear was that Edward should start asking questions in the wrong places and of the wrong people. He could innocently but easily upset the delicate balance that so far existed because Victoria had responded to the letter’s dictates and returned immediately to Savannah without telling anyone why. What she needed now was time—unimpeded by Edward’s snooping—to see this situation to its end … without getting herself or anyone else killed.