“Why are you laughing? Is it the way I look?” She quickly and worriedly smoothed her hair back from her face.
“No, no, not the way you look. And you look pathetic, by the way.”
“Why, thank you, kind sir.” A mock gracious note of Southern gentility tinged her voice, as did a smile at the corners of her mouth. “And you? How are you feeling since losing your battle with the raised window?”
“I am relieved merely not to be paralyzed, madam. But am I correct in saying you appear to be recovering from your morning’s bout? Are you feeling stronger yet?”
She nodded. “Better. It’s passing. And that frightens me.”
A jab of concern had Spencer shifting his shoulders until he’d turned more to her. “Really? How?”
“A bit ago I was too sick to die. However, now that I’m feeling better, I fear I shall pass over at any moment.”
Spencer chuckled. “Try not to, if you would, please. No doubt, I’d be charged with your murder and hanged for it.”
“How sentimental you are. You warm my heart, sir.”
Spencer could only grin and hide how he truly felt. Looking at her, seeing her inner strength and beauty shining through despite her bout of illness, he wished she truly meant what she’d said … that he warmed her heart. Fanciful thinking, that’s what it was. Nothing between them had changed. All the problems and concerns and questions remained. Spencer cleared his throat as if that would suppress his yearnings for her. “My intent, in coming in here this morning, Victoria, was to question you”—she raised an eyebrow at that, and Spencer quickly reworded—“or, rather, discuss with you those topics between us that need discussing and clarifying. But obviously you are not up to such a discussion at the moment.”
“No, I am not. But allow me time to bathe and dress and see how I feel then.” Her blue eyes peered intently into his. “And you’re right: We must talk, and we need to do so before we leave for River’s End.”
The urgency in her voice tensed Spencer’s muscles. “I’m not going to like what you have to tell me, am I, Victoria?”
She shook her head. “No.”
* * *
As it turned out, Victoria felt much refreshed following her bath, with Rosanna’s help, and a light breakfast brought up to her by Tillie. With her hair piled atop her head and pinned there to keep its weight off her neck during the heat of the day, and donning one of her lighter, looser day dresses of pink linen, Victoria felt capable of convening a war council, as it were. Tillie had carried Victoria’s handwritten notes around to Spencer and Edward in which she’d asked them to meet her in the parlor at eleven-thirty.
It was that time now, but Victoria had yet to leave her bedroom. She needed privacy for a moment, so she’d sent Rosanna and Tillie off to attend to the packing for their approaching departure for River’s End. Once she was alone, Victoria picked up one of her jewelry boxes and removed a false bottom. In the small compartment was the folded-over letter she had received at Wetherington’s Point. With it were the others she’d received since she’d been back in Georgia, one at River’s End and two here.
These she put in her skirt’s pocket as she exited the now cleaned and aired-out bedroom. As she passed by and spoke to different ones of the servants busily going about their duties, she still worried about showing the correspondence to the two men. How well she knew she’d been warned not to involve anyone. But what else was she supposed to do? Spencer had nearly been killed once already. The attack on him in the alley had been no random assault by common thieves. Her last note had confirmed that. He had to be told so he could protect himself. And Edward, intelligent, inquisitive, would be a tremendous ally. Another set of eyes and ears—and fists.
Victoria achieved the landing to the sweep of curving stairs that led to the first floor and the parlor … the same parlor where Spencer had fought with Loyal Atherton. Holding on to the handrail, she started down, thinking and worrying about how quiet Loyal was. Not one word from him. She’d half expected him to challenge Spencer to an illegal duel. But nothing … so far. Well, if the horrid man knew what was good for him, he’d stay away.
Victoria stepped off the last riser and walked briskly up the short, narrow hallway, heading resolutely for the corner around which were the double doors of the parlor’s entrance. An appreciative part of her mind noted with pleasure how warm and elegant, yet comfortable, the house and its furnishings were. Her parents would be happy here. She knew they meant to move here to take advantage of the social life in Savannah proper and for her father to be closer to the banks, City Hall, and Factor’s Row, where the cotton exchange and the warehouses were. He had a hand in every business in Savannah, it seemed, just as her mother did in the social activities. And River’s End? It would be Jefferson’s.
Victoria did not resent this as she used to do, even though she and Jeff had come to words over it out on the dock several nights ago. How long ago had that been? So much had happened since then. Had it really been less than a week? Yes, it had. Victoria made a sound of disbelief. Hard to believe. But, truly, it seemed right and fitting that a Redmond should carry on at the plantation. And she, after all, was no longer a Redmond. She was a Whitfield.
A Whitfield? When did I change my allegiance? This startling question popped into Victoria’s mind at the exact second she opened a door into the parlor and found herself faced with John Spencer Whitfield and his cousin, Edward Sparrow. The men gallantly rose to their feet as she stood there, staring, her hand still on the door’s knob. Her gaze sought and found Spencer’s. Quite unexpectedly, and as if it were independent of her will, her heart skipped a happy beat and raced her pulse. Oh, how awful. She was doomed if she should fall in love with—
“Victoria?” Spencer said, striding purposefully toward her with that leonine grace of his she so admired. “Are you quite all right? You look as if you’ve had a surprise or a shock.”
Victoria snapped her attention to her husband … a Whitfield … and forced a smile as she closed the door behind her. “I’ve just had both—a surprise and a shock—but never mind. It’s neither here nor there.”
“Nothing good comes of your saying it’s neither here nor there.” Though concern lowered his eyebrows over his black and glittering eyes, he took her elbow and guided her into the parlor. “May I say you look lovely, my dear?”
Victoria blinked, staring up at her husband as a part of her mind remarked on his high, smooth forehead and the delicious prominence of his cheekbones. She barely came to his shoulder and felt so protected when he was nearby. What was she going to do when he put her aside if this baby was not his? She must guard her heart better. She must.
But look at him … he certainly wasn’t helping. Why did he have to be dressed so daringly as he had been earlier in close-fitting, buff-colored riding britches, black and highly polished Hessians, and a neatly ironed white shirt, open at the throat? He stirred her feminine senses, and they seemed to need no provocation in that area since she’d been pregnant. He was all she thought about if she didn’t keep her mind actively busy on other subjects and concerns. She would have thought that would be easy, given that those concerns were literally life or death for the very people in this room.
“Victoria? You seem so distracted.”
“I’m sorry. But I am. I was. Did you just say I look lovely, Spencer?”
“I did. Very lovely and very … recovered over your state this morning. One would never suspect.” His devilish grin made jelly out of her knees. “Why? Am I not supposed to remark on my wife’s radiance?”
“Radiance? No. I mean yes. Of course. You just never have before. I had no idea I could lay claim to being radiant.”
He quirked his full and sensual lips. Was he suppressing a smile? “No? Then I am remiss. And look, we have Edward here with us.”
“Victoria,” Edward said formally, accompanying his greeting with a bow. Though Spencer was attired for riding, Edward was attired formally and looked as if he meant to call on th
e queen herself. Starched and polished he was. Hair neatly cut and combed. Every detail in place.
“Why, Edward,” Victoria teased, “which young lady’s head are you trying to turn this morning?”
As Spencer handed her around to the same medallion-backed sofa he had knocked Loyal Atherton over a few days ago, he said, “Your note asking for this meeting caught him on the way out the front door, Victoria. I believe he meant to call on a certain Miss Lucinda Barrett.”
Surprised, and staring at Edward, whose face colored, Victoria had to sit down. Of course, the sofa had long since been righted and repositioned. The small, round table was once again next to it, but now it sported a lone vase of fresh flowers. No figurines. “Lucinda Barrett? Why, where in the world did you meet her, Edward?”
“Is she not suitable?” Edward wanted to know, a frown creasing his forehead and pulling his mouth down.
“My word, she’s eminently suitable, and one of my dear friends— Oh, of course, you met her when she and her sweet mother paid a call the same day…” Victoria swallowed back her next words and cut her gaze over to her husband. She’d nearly said on the same day Loyal Atherton paid a call.
“Yes,” Edward quickly said, neatly covering her near-gaffe.
But Spencer seemed oblivious to their tension as he settled himself next to Victoria on the sofa. The Earl of Roxley raised his eyebrows at Victoria, signaling his relief, and then favored her with his smiling, eager attention. “As my cousin has so kindly informed you, Miss Barrett has invited me to make a call this morning.”
“Oh, my stars, Edward, I didn’t know. You go right ahead. I don’t want to keep you—”
“No, no, I feel this is more important. Family, as it were. Besides, I’ve already sent word asking if I may call later before we depart for River’s End. If not, then I will see her tomorrow, certainly, at the, uh, barbecue?”
“Why, of course you will. I’m certain Mama has invited the Barretts, as well as the Carpenters and the Sales and the McIntoshes and the Cliftons. All very prominent and all dear friends and relatives you met the other day. You should have your pick of any number of young ladies to get acquainted with.”
Edward grinned boyishly, the smile lighting his brown eyes.
“Have a seat, Edward, before you faint from excitement,” Spencer said drolly. He surprised Victoria by placing his arm along the sofa’s serpentine spine, essentially around her shoulders, had she been sitting back. But, of course, she sat properly forward on the cushion.
His smile gone now, a belligerent expression having taken its place, Edward retorted: “I’ve never fainted, sir.” But when Spencer merely raised an eyebrow, he abruptly sat down and gave Victoria his undivided attention.
So did Spencer. Feeling suddenly too warm and overwhelmed by all she had to say and to reveal, Victoria felt uncertain how to start … and decided to start there. “I know I asked for this meeting, and I feel it’s essential we have it before we leave for River’s End. But I’m not certain how to begin, really. There’s so much to say. So much I don’t know myself but only suspect, so I don’t know if I should mention everything or just start with—”
“Allow me to start, then,” Spencer said. “I have a question for you, Victoria, regarding something that needs settling.”
CHAPTER 13
What could Victoria do except smile and say, “And what is that?”
“Three nights ago, the second time you left my room, after dousing me with the cold water and I went to change my clothes, where did you go and why?”
Edward’s sharp bark of laughter forestalled Victoria’s answering. “She doused you with cold water?”
“Shut up, Edward.” Spencer’s glare could have cut diamonds. “It’s not amusing, and I was speaking to my wife.”
His question and his petulant tone took Victoria by surprise. Obviously, he had been brooding about this, but she’d expected his first question to be about the letter or Loyal Atherton. “I’m sorry, but I was—”
Edward continued to make strangled, choking noises, and Victoria feared the cousins could come to blows right here in this parlor. What is it about this room and men? She quickly said: “Why did I leave, you mean, after swearing on my grandmother’s grave that I would not?”
“Yes. Exactly. Your poor grandmother.”
“My grandmother was never poor a day in her life. And to answer your question, I was called away by Rosanna.”
“Ah, the infamous and never-present lady’s maid.”
“She is always present. Except when you’re about. At any rate, it was an unfortunate squabble with Tillie over the placement of my belongings.”
“I beg your pardon? Tillie?”
“Yes, Tillie. She’s a maid at River’s End, and one of my mother’s many charity cases. A skinny blond girl with stringy hair and the mannerisms and curiosity of a cat. A sharecropper’s daughter Mama’s taught to read and write and has given employment. I have no idea why my mother does these things. At any rate, and for some reason I cannot fathom, she—Tillie—begged Mama to allow her to come here to bolster our army of servants. I don’t know why Mama agreed because she knows Tillie and Rosanna do not get along.”
Victoria knew Spencer had not a hair’s worth of interest in a discussion of maids and whom they did or did not like. But he had listened to her admittedly prattling speech with what she realized was growing and amused interest. What had brought about this sudden change in him, this warmth and solicitousness with regard to her? Had he really meant it earlier when he said he was coming to believe the baby she carried was truly his? While this cheered her on one front, it did not on another. She would like to be liked, and wanted, for herself.
As if he’d suddenly remembered he was supposed to be irate with her, Spencer narrowed his eyes and brought a frown to his strong, handsome features. “I take it this disagreement between your maids was important enough for you to abandon your solemn vow to me not to leave your chair?”
“If I hadn’t gone, it would have escalated to hair-pulling and scratching and shrieking. I didn’t think your hurting head would appreciate such a serenade at that point.”
“And you would have been right. But you didn’t come back.” His expectant and challenging expression said he knew she had and waited to see if she would own up to having done so.
Victoria raised her chin. “I did, but you were already asleep. And now I have a question of curiosity for Edward.”
“For Edward?”
“For me?”
Victoria nodded first at Spencer and then his cousin. “Yes. You. You seem to have medical training. Am I right?”
“Medical training?” This was Spencer, sounding alarmed. “What has he done?” He pointed at his cousin. “We’ve talked about this before, Edward.”
Looking supremely guilty, especially with the tops of his ears turning a nice red, Edward cried, “I’ve done nothing—”
“I don’t know what you two are talking about,” Victoria cut in, “but I’m referring to here in the parlor with you and … Loyal Atherton. When you were both unconscious, Edward knew exactly what to do and what to check for. I was very impressed.”
“Thank you, Victoria.” Edward sent Spencer a smug look. “She was impressed with me, Spence, old man.”
“She wouldn’t be if she knew where you received your alleged training.” He turned to Victoria. “My esteemed cousin has had no formal training. The peers are not to have professions, you see. However, Edward has spent a shameful amount of time and money at gaming tables and boxing matches and illegal duels, the scoundrel. Always the second or the man in the corner. He’s also famous for his, uh, ‘medical examinations’ of other men’s wives, if you will forgive me for being so indelicate.”
“Oh, dear. Oh, my.” Flames of embarrassment raced like wildfire across Victoria’s flushed skin.
“Exactly, my dear. Why do you think I brought him with me to America? It was to keep him from getting killed.”
“No
it wasn’t,” Edward countered. “You took me with you to Wetherington’s Point to keep me from getting killed in London. But you did not want me, in the worst way, to come here with you to Georgia.”
Spencer gave a regal nod of his head. “I stand corrected. You’re right. You did invite yourself along on this trip.”
“There, you see?” Edward said, his expression triumphant.
“You worry about him, don’t you?” Victoria’s heart was alight with warmth and respect as she smiled at her husband. “And you care about him.”
Perhaps it was masculine pride that had Spencer scowling. Victoria realized she could see right through this façade now to the man underneath. “No, I do not. I care about his mother. A lovely woman. I watch over him for her sake. Despite his being a grown man and an earl, he is her adored only child.”
Edward guffawed. “And you, as well, are an adored only child, my dear cousin.” He turned to Victoria. “Has your husband told you about his treks out to the horse-breeding barn when he was but a little chap? Quite the interested and wide-eyed party, he was, too, from all the stories—”
“That will be enough, Edward.” Looking sorely discomfited, Spencer abruptly sat forward on the divan. “I say we should get on with this discussion and stick to the point or points.” He turned to Victoria. “We cede the floor to you, my dear. Start at the beginning, if you would.”
Caught off guard, having been engrossed in the brotherlike banter between the two men, Victoria shot her husband a quick look. So, here it was, the conversation they so desperately needed to have. And yet, it remained the conversation she so desperately did not want to have, fearing as she did his response to everything she had to tell him. “Start at the beginning?” she repeated.
“Yes. The letter. Tell me about the letter.”
* * *
His heart in his throat, Spencer watched Victoria. She tucked a stray strand of glistening dark hair behind her ear and twisted her hands together in her lap. She had yet to utter a word or to look directly at him since he’d asked her about the letter. Whatever she needed to reveal, he could see, was difficult for her to say. What she couldn’t know, though, was how damned hard it was for him to sit here at her side and await her response. But he knew enough not to hurry her or chide her in any way. Should he do so, given the ample evidence he had of her excitable emotions of late, she could just as easily scream at him and jump up and run out in tears—and never tell him about the letter.
To Make a Marriage Page 20