To Make a Marriage

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  Edward scratched absently at his clean-shaven cheek and frowned. “I suppose you’re right. This didn’t happen to me. It happened to Spencer. His wishes should prevail.”

  Intense relief coursed through Victoria. She felt certain Spencer would tell his cousin he did not want reporters or police snooping into his reasons for being here … or Victoria’s. Smiling, exhaling, forcing herself to be a good actress, she said, “Excellent thinking, Edward.”

  He nodded his agreement. “Yes. Even so, it frightens one to think how differently it could have turned out. It’s a good thing the windows were open to catch the breeze, or we inside the house might not have heard a thing and come running so quickly when the gun was fired.”

  His words recalled the awful memory to her, and Victoria pointed at him. “The gun! You swore to me Spencer wasn’t wounded.”

  His expression earnest, Edward took her by her arms and looked into her eyes. “He wasn’t, I swear it.”

  “Then who was? Whose blood was all over him?”

  “I’ll tell you. But for you to understand, I’ll have to start at the beginning, Victoria. Bear with me.” He let go of her and settled on the balls of his feet, resting his forearms atop his knees. “Spencer said he was engaged in a serious bout of fisticuffs when one of the ruffians stepped back, pulled a weapon, and aimed it at him.”

  Victoria clamped a hand over her mouth, feeling queasy. This attack had been meant as a warning to her. But who knew she had left River’s End and was back in Savannah proper? Who knew who could so quickly use that knowledge to hire those awful men and send them around? A face popped into her mind, robbing Victoria of her will. Dear God. Jefferson. My own brother.

  No. She refused to believe it. She couldn’t. Victoria suddenly realized that Edward was asking her something. She blinked, forcing herself to listen to him. “Does this sort of thing happen often in your fair city of Savannah?”

  She shook her head. “Not in this part. Perhaps a little more northeast, toward Pirates House or the docks, but not here.”

  Edward’s mouth worked as he apparently digested something she’d said. “Pirates House … intriguing name. What is that?”

  “A tavern and a meeting house, among other things. A very rough one at times.”

  “Really?” Edward brightened. “I must go see it for myself.”

  “I’m certain you will.” She waited, her eyebrows raised expectantly.

  “Oh, yes. Spencer and the ruffians. I was saying that one of the scofflaws pulled a gun. Spencer says he saw this and quickly grabbed the other fellow, a rather portly gentleman, apparently, and tugged him in front of him. In the end, the blackguard shot his own man.”

  Victoria shook her head. “Oh, my word, Edward.”

  He nodded. “So much for honor amongst thieves and all that. But, continuing on. Luckily, since Spencer was right behind the wounded fellow, the bullet did not pass all the way through him. Or if it did, it was at an angle that did not include your husband.”

  Her husband. Victoria could only stare. Spencer had come within inches of being killed. What had she done by coming here but put their lives, and her unborn child’s, in mortal danger?

  “It gets a bit murky here,” Edward went on, “but the portly wounded ruffian jerked and spun and ended up toppling face-first onto Spencer, who couldn’t support his weight and they fell together to the ground. That explains the blood on Spencer. The impact, though, knocked Spencer’s breath out of him. Apparently, too, a rather large rock lay embedded in the muddy lane and Spencer managed to hit his head on that. He was a bit dazed—quite understandable, really—but remembers the armed chap struggling to pull his wounded friend off him. Once he’d done that, the blackguard punched Spencer. He has the bruised and swollen jaw and foul humor to prove it, too. But that’s the last he remembers before he lost consciousness.”

  Victoria pressed her hands to her too-hot cheeks. “My word, Edward, he’s lucky to be alive. And though I shudder even to think the words, I have to wonder what kept them from shooting him at that point and putting an end to him.”

  “I’ve wondered the same thing. Of course, like you, I’m glad they didn’t finish him off.” He arched an eyebrow, sending her a speculative look. “Victoria, I still find it curious that you believe you are somehow responsible for this attack.”

  Victoria stared into his accusing eyes and wished she could tell him what she feared and suspected about her brother. But she just couldn’t. It would be such a betrayal, and it might not be true at all. “Now, Edward,” she said, taking a humoring tack, “I told you I didn’t mean it literally. You can’t possibly believe I’d wish any harm to Spencer, or take any actions that would bring harm to him.”

  Edward’s smile was apologetic. “Actually, and I’m sorry to say it, Victoria, because I like you very much … but I can believe it of you. Forgive me, but you stand to benefit tremendously should Spencer die.”

  Victoria’s gasp of shock was genuine. “Edward! Do you actually believe I somehow masterminded this attack on Spencer?”

  “That’s what I’m asking you.” He spoke so sadly, as if it hurt him more to ask than it did for her to hear him say such a thing.

  And well he could ask, even without knowing about the baby. She was the duchess. She would be Spencer’s widow. Everything would be hers. But what Edward didn’t know—and Victoria hated herself for even thinking—was with Spencer dead, and no one to question her unborn child’s paternity, it would be declared the heir. Suddenly she realized she’d been quiet overlong. “When would I have arranged for such an awful thing, Edward?” She heard how drained of emotion her voice sounded. “You’re assuming I would know how to go about finding men like those two and dealing with them. I assure you I do not. And for another thing, I didn’t even know you were in Savannah until you both showed up at River’s End. Since then, I haven’t been out of your or Spencer’s sight.”

  Edward’s brown eyes warmed with sympathy and kindness, so at odds with what he was saying and with what he was accusing her. “But you were. You said yourself you weren’t where you told Spencer you would be. He had to hunt for you, and there you were outside. He, of course, followed you.”

  Stunned, Victoria could only shake her head. “I did not lure Spencer outside. I can see how it could look that way to you. But I never told him I saw something suspicious in the alley. I didn’t send him out there. He went himself. And I have already told you I wanted to go with him. You have only to ask him.” She rubbed at her forehead and fought tears. “I am so hurt by your accusations, Edward. You can’t believe I’d want Spencer dead. You simply can’t.”

  “I certainly do not want to, Victoria. I like you very much. But Spencer is my cousin, and I have to be sure. You must understand, too, that I, uh, know.”

  Her tears dried up. She pulled back and stared at Edward. It was there in his soft, brown eyes. He knew about her scandal and about the baby. What else could he mean?

  Shamed, Victoria lowered her gaze, settling it on her hands in her lap. Spencer had almost been killed. Nothing she did could keep him or Edward safe or uninvolved. She could no longer fight this thing alone. She needed help. So there was only one thing to do: confess. And then enlist their aid. What choice did she have? Just by being here, they were in danger, and they should be aware that they were.

  Her mind made up, Victoria said: “I think the attack was meant for me, Edward. If Spencer hadn’t come outside when he did, I would have been—”

  “Victoria!” Edward clutched her hands in his. “What are you saying? Why would someone wish to harm you?”

  Though he ducked his head down low, trying to get her to look at him, Victoria simply couldn’t. She swallowed past a painful lump in her throat. This was so terribly difficult. “How much do you know?”

  “About what exactly?”

  “About … me.” Shame burned her cheeks and kept her gaze on their joined hands. “And the circumstances of our marriage.”

  “I k
now what Spencer has told me.”

  His reply had Victoria wincing, yet she believed she’d heard a kind and sympathetic note in Edward’s voice. She raised her head and was relieved to see the kind slant in his brown eyes. “I see.”

  Edward shrugged. “Blame the long Atlantic crossing. All that enforced closeness and the ample liquor. If I cannot make someone talk, even if only in self-defense, then no one can.”

  Victoria’s laugh was shaky, emotional. “I’m beginning to see the truth in that.” She felt her chin quivering and her eyes filling with tears. “You must think me a wanton, Edward.”

  He smiled and released her hands. “You dear, sweet thing. I think no such thing. I think you’re the most beautiful and exciting woman I’ve ever met. With your sweet Southern drawl, I could listen to you talk all day. In fact, I will swear to you now that if my cousin isn’t smart enough to keep you by his side forever, I intend fully to sweep you off your feet and carry you and your baby away to my castle where we will live happily ever after.”

  Victoria smiled gratefully. “You’re very kind. And I bet you say that to all the women.”

  “I do. But with you I mean it. So, lovely lady, can you tell me now what it was that brought you to America?” He mugged a droll expression. “And please don’t say a steamship brought you. It’s such an old joke.”

  To her surprise, Victoria found she could chuckle. “You are incorrigible, Edward. Actually, it was a letter.”

  “Ah, yes. I heard about it when I was with Spencer at Wetherington’s Point.”

  Victoria crinkled her expression into one of apology. “That could not have been pleasant. I am so sorry.”

  “And you should be. It was awful. I will say that Fredericks did his best for as long as he could not to tell what he knew or what you’d told him not to tell. He’s a very loyal old chap. But Spencer can be … persuasive.”

  “Yes, I know. I’ve had a taste of that myself.”

  Edward nodded. “My cousin is an imperious ass, isn’t he? And please do not tell him I said that.”

  Again, he’d wrung a laugh from her. “I won’t.” She inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled, knowing there was no turning back from this point. “The letter, then. I must tell you what it said.”

  Edward held a hand up to stop her talking. “And I want to hear every word, believe me. There’s been tremendous speculation in the past several weeks regarding the content of that letter and its sender. But, my dear sweet Victoria, and on second thought, it’s not me you need to tell your story to. It’s Spencer.”

  “I know. He asked me about it out in the garden. But … I’m afraid.”

  “Of Spencer? Nonsense. Imperious ass aside, the man’s your husband. And a pussycat where you’re concerned.”

  Victoria seriously doubted that, but Edward gave her no time to gainsay him as, with nimble grace, he came to his feet and held a hand out to her. “Well, Duchess? Do you feel up to seeing your husband now?”

  Though she placed her hand in Edward’s long-fingered and elegant one, she did not come to her feet. “I don’t think I have the strength. Really. I can’t face this now. There’s so much—”

  “There’s so much you need to talk about? I agree.” His expression sobered. “You must, Victoria. He was nearly killed today. He deserves to know why.”

  “But I don’t really know why.”

  “Of course you do. Come on, off you go. Believe me, I know how Spencer feels about you, even if the humorless jackanapes won’t show it. You have no reason to be afraid of him.”

  Though Edward’s revelation regarding Spencer’s feelings for her sparked a flare of … was it hope?… in Victoria’s heart, she refused to believe it. She couldn’t afford to do so. Too much stood in the way. “I think you overstate your case, Edward. But I do appreciate it—”

  “Overstate? Me? Nonsense. It’s very simple, really. Why do you think he came after you?”

  Victoria sat back. “I don’t know. Pride? The baby’s possibly being his heir?”

  “Certainly those. But he didn’t have to come himself, did he? He could have sent his agent. Or hired detectives. Or not have done a thing to find you. But what he did was quickly rearrange his entire life so he could come himself. Now, why would he do that?”

  “For the reasons I’ve already given. His pride. And the possibility this baby represents. Nothing more.”

  His eyes glinted with humor as Edward shook his head. “Stubborn girl. Why do you think I came along to America with Spencer? Let me tell you: to get the two of you back together.”

  Embarrassed, too afraid to be hopeful, Victoria demurred. “We are together. We’re even in the same house.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I do.” Now she squeezed Edward’s hand in an effort to impart her seriousness to him. “I want you to tell me about the Whitfield birthmark.”

  Confusion, whether genuine or contrived, Victoria could not tell, gathered up Edward’s features. “What Whitfield birthmark?”

  Victoria narrowed her eyes. “There isn’t one, is there?”

  Edward laughed out loud. “My dear lady, I assure you that you are in a much better position to find that answer than I am.”

  “And so I am.” With Edward’s assistance, Victoria stood. “I’m ready to see Spencer now.”

  * * *

  Unsteady on his feet, Spencer stood in the small, airless dressing room adjoining his second-floor bedroom and, with stiff, painful motions, stuffed his shirttail into his britches. His sour expression alone could have doused the same fire and brimstone of hell that more than one person in his life had told him awaited him at the end of his days. He refused to think how close he’d been, only a matter of hours ago, to finding out if they were right. And here he’d thought it sufficient for the day that he’d suffered the humiliation of being set upon by two bullies in an alley and soundly thrashed by them. But apparently he’d been wrong. The crowning moment had been when Edward brought Victoria up to him with no prior warning.

  How humiliating. He’d been in bed, dozing, no doubt snoring. And in a nightshirt. With pillows propped behind him. There he’d reclined: his jaw swollen and slack, his knuckles cut and scraped from connecting with teeth, and his entire body bruised and beaten. Spencer rubbed gingerly at his side. One of those bastards had kicked him in his ribs when he was down. So, all in all, what a heroic picture he must have made in bed. His wife had taken one look at him and burst into tears.

  After Edward led her to a chair and made her sit, that coward had beat a hasty retreat and closed the door behind him. And then, they’d been alone, he and Victoria. They had simply stared at each other. After enough of that, Spencer recalled, he’d … weakly … thrown his covers back and, under his own power, accepting no help or support, and telling her to stay put, he’d stalked … limped … into this very room where he now stood and was losing a battle royal with his own clothing.

  Sweating with his pain-producing efforts, Spencer silently cursed everything he could think of, whether it deserved cursing or not. At last, he cursed today and the weather. When would this blasted day be over? Did the sun never set here, was that it? Could it truly be that only this morning he’d rolled off a ship, suffered the long, humid ride out to River’s End, argued with his in-laws, retrieved his defiant wife, endured the long ride back to Savannah, and promptly had the hell beat out of him? All of that in one—he pressed his lips together to stop the word but to no avail; it got past him—fucking day?

  His teeth clenched together in pain, Spencer continued his silent tirade as he closed his pants. I feel as though I’d been run over by a train and then tossed into a pit of rabid dogs, where I was torn to shreds and finally put back together by a demented three-year-old who used me as his rag doll. However, Spencer assured himself, he would be damned if he’d have this or any conversation with his wife while in his nightshirt and under the covers of his bed—their bed. No, his bed. She’d made that very clear upon their arrival here by pro
mptly directing the placement of his traveling trunks in this bedroom and hers in another.

  Though he had been irate about that, he hadn’t felt he had much recourse, beyond an all-out pitched battle with her, but to allow it to happen. For him to raise a fuss about having been denied his wife’s bed would have terribly amused Edward and the servants, all of whom seemed to be milling about at that point. And so, under those circumstances, Spencer had wisely conceded her the moment.

  However, he would soon disavow her of any notion she might have regarding separate sleeping quarters for the two of them. She would, by damn, sleep with him tonight and every night because only with her in his bed could he be instantly alerted should she try to sneak away for whatever reason, if any, she may have. He suspected she had many. And, as he was damned tired already of chasing her across continents and oceans, her being in his bed was simply a matter of expediency.

  He was lying, and his conscience knew it. Closer to the truth, it howled, was he missed the feel of her warm, sweet body next to his at night.

  A scowl claimed Spencer’s features. Like bloody hell I do. The woman is nothing but trouble and up to something at every turn. With that, he pronounced himself as dressed as he intended to get. Defiantly barefooted, Spencer stalked … proceeded slowly … for the door that led into his bedroom. Poking his aching jaw out pugnaciously, he silently threatened that if Victoria knew what was good for her, she would be sitting exactly where he’d left her while he’d come in here to dress because if she wasn’t there, he—

  Spencer stopped in his tracks, looking around. He refused to believe this. Absolutely refused. And yet, there he stood in the doorway between the dressing room and his large and airy, very masculine bedroom … alone. He stared across the room at the closed bedroom door. He hadn’t heard it open and close. What had she done—wafted through the wood like a ghost? He focused now on the chair, an exquisite example of expert craftsmanship, which was empty of its occupant.