A note in the older man’s voice implied he was, instead, surprised to hear Spencer say that. Spencer very coolly looked from his father-in-law to his brother-in-law across the billiard table from him. Jefferson raised his eyebrows and gave a subtle shake of his head. Spencer could not interpret the younger man’s meaning. Commiseration? Warning? Arrogance? He redirected his attention to Mr. Redmond, bluntly asking: “What else would you expect me to say, Mr. Redmond?”
Isaac Redmond sent Spencer a look … perhaps of mild disbelief … as he secured his cigar in an ashtray on a table to his right and also set his whisky down. With great nonchalance, the older man reached down to fondle the ears of the big rawboned hound dog named Neville, who had flopped at his feet. Earlier, the dog had sniffed at Spencer’s pants leg and then raised his intelligent eyes to look him over. Spencer had immediately squatted down and held out a hand to the dog. The keen hunter had politely sniffed at Spencer, and then grinned and wagged his tail.
Evidently, the dog’s reaction was a huge social triumph, or so Isaac Redmond had told him. It seemed Neville didn’t like too many people, but he certainly seemed to like him, and that was good. Spencer was further told the dog liked Victoria best of all. Privately, Spencer had assured himself he knew exactly how the dog felt. He liked Victoria best of all, too.
His expression friendly but not reaching his eyes, Mr. Redmond sat back in his chair, retrieved his drink, and took a sip. “I don’t know exactly what I expected you to say, Your Grace. I just know what Victoria said the day you and your entourage came riding up the drive to River’s End.”
“And what was that?” Guilt assailed Spencer. He could only imagine what she’d said.
“My daughter said you had no idea she was gone. She also said she was surprised to find you cared enough about her to come after her.”
“I see.” What else could he say?
Mr. Redmond carefully set his whisky glass down again, making his actions seem those of a man who believed he would need both hands free for a physical confrontation. “And I still do not know, Your Grace, why she came home after only two months of married life in England. Not really, I mean.”
“What reason did she give you for her … visit here?”
“My daughter said she was homesick.”
“Which you don’t believe.”
“I do. Who wouldn’t miss a place as beautiful as our great state of Georgia? And who wouldn’t want to spend all her life in Savannah, in particular? However, there’s more to this story. A father knows these things about his children. You’ll know what I mean one day when you’re a father, Your Grace.”
“Indeed, I shall.” Spencer’s heart gave a wrenching thump as he thought of the baby Victoria carried even now. Under normal circumstances, this would have been the perfect moment to break the wonderful news of an impending birth. However, his and Victoria’s were a far cry from the normal circumstances.
“Am I to take it then, sir,” Mr. Redmond persisted, “that you are not going to tell me, either, why my daughter is here?”
Spencer grew weary of this relentless questioning. Time for someone else besides him to be discomfited. Though he addressed Victoria’s father, Spencer locked onto Jefferson Redmond’s gaze across the width of the billiard table that squatted between them. “I assure you, Mr. Redmond, that your daughter’s return to River’s End had nothing to do with me. Or my treatment—or mistreatment—of her, which I believe is the implication here.”
Isaac Redmond sat forward and slapped his own leg. “I knew it! So you didn’t have her locked away in a tower somewhere, a prisoner against her will?”
Jefferson Redmond, and his steadily reddening face, was forgotten. Spencer shot his father-in-law a stunned look. “What the devil? Locked away in a tower? A prisoner? Victoria said that?”
“As much as. She implied she had no freedom of movement.”
Again, what could Spencer say? “I see.”
“I told her I had a hard time believing that, given your reputation and my own dealings with you.”
“Thank you for your trust in me, Mr. Redmond.”
“However,” the older man said, giving pointed emphasis to the word, “I assured her mother that should a man mistreat my daughter, Your Grace, I’d have no qualms with regard to taking him to hand.”
Spencer bowed slightly in acknowledgment of the warning in Isaac Redmond’s voice. “We understand each other, Mr. Redmond. I can assure you that Victoria has no reason to fear me. And I assure you I feel the very same way you do with regard to her being mistreated.” Spencer again arrowed a glance the way of her brother. “Should a man—any man, for any reason—threaten or harm my wife, he will answer to me. And it will be the last thing he remembers doing before he leaves this mortal coil.”
“Well said, sir.” This was from Isaac Redmond. Spencer looked his way and saw the man had visibly relaxed in his chair.
But Victoria’s brother’s response was the exact opposite. He stood taller; tiny white lines bracketed his mouth. Too late, Spencer wondered if, in his haste to allay the father’s concerns, he had not alerted the son’s suspicions. Had he given too much away? Did Jefferson now understand that Spencer knew Victoria’s true reason for coming home? Did he suspect Spencer knew of Jefferson’s complicity in the abominable plot against his child? Spencer quickly replayed in his mind what he had said and could not find anything any loving husband would not have said under the same circumstances. He feared, however, he could not say as much for his challenging looks or the intonation in his voice.
“Jefferson, my boy, do you intend today to take that shot? You’ve considered it from every angle except from under the table.”
Jefferson set himself in motion around the table. “Sorry, Daddy. I had trouble concentrating with all the talk distracting me.”
Isaac Redmond raised a hand in acknowledgment. “Point taken, son.”
A silence, more companionable than antagonistic, settled over the men, leaving Spencer free now to contemplate how Victoria might be faring upstairs with her mother. The women were apparently still chattering away in the large and airy and richly decorated bedroom Mrs. Redmond had assigned him and Victoria. The suite of rooms boasted a sitting room and shared dressing room. Mrs. Redmond had been excitedly knocking on the door almost before he and Victoria—she in the dressing room with her lady’s maid, and he in the bedroom with Hornsby—had time to dry off and change.
He worried about Victoria. She had to be tired. She needed her rest but could hardly say why without giving a reason. For his part, and fortunately, the ride and the cooling air and the activity of getting the hoods up had cleared his head and his headache. As he watched Jefferson finally take his shot—successfully—and walk around the table to consider his next move, Spencer allowed his mind to stray upstairs to his wife. He pictured the two women getting in the way of that … what was her name? Rose Ann, wasn’t it? At any rate, his plump, proper, and gray-haired employee from Wetherington’s Point. He’d finally seen the woman in the course of packing up and leaving the house in Savannah. Not a young girl, at all.
Thinking of Savannah had Spencer directing his attention to the bank of tall, narrow windows directly across from where he stood. Outside he saw this end of the long and winding, oak-lined drive that led to the front door of River’s End. Worry on another level pushed its way to the forefront of Spencer’s thoughts. He leaned over to his left to the small table positioned there, where he set his emptied drink. The cigar followed suit, being placed in an ashtray. He straightened up and considered the weather outside.
The rain had lessened in intensity in the last hour from an all-out deluge to a nice, steady patter. The window he peered out of was open, as was one off to Spencer’s left. This arrangement provided a cross-ventilation current to draw the cigar smoke out and keep the air in the room fresh. Twilight was about to descend, he realized with a start. Where had the time gone? Interestingly enough, though the rain still fell, the sky was remarkabl
y light. As if the sun were not going to go down without a fight. It was just as well that the day held, Spencer decided.
Edward and his escort, a large blond fellow by the name of Gibson or Gibbons or something like that, had not arrived yet. Spencer deemed it too early to be concerned and tried to convince himself that Edward had probably accepted an invitation to stay over in Savannah or had gone back to the Redmond House to wait out the storm, which may not have abated yet at that location. In either instance, Edward would be here tomorrow, all hail-fellow-well-met and full of sauce and vinegar. At least, he had better be.
His eyes narrowed, Spencer watched Jefferson Redmond—his opponent, he feared, in more ways than one—take his next shot and make it, too. Lucky bastard. For now. Still, “A difficult shot. Well done, Jefferson.”
Jefferson slowly straightened up and looked into Spencer’s eyes with blue ones so like Victoria’s. Spencer had time only to read a hesitance there, an uncertainty. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“You can call me Spencer, you know. I am your brother-in-law.”
“I know … Your Grace.”
Spencer arched an eyebrow at the young man who had to be younger even than Edward. So this was how it was going to be.
Given the kidnappings and the murder and the threats and the blackmailing undercurrents that Spencer now knew marked his wife’s return to Savannah, he could not help but worry about Edward’s well-being. Not because he loved him, but because the boy’s mother did and would have Spencer drawn and quartered should something happen to her precious son. Not in any hurry to test that medieval death sentence, Spencer again assured himself he would kill his cousin himself, should he be so careless as to get himself, well, killed. Hearing himself, Spencer pronounced his worrying ridiculous. Of course, Edward was healthy and merely delayed by the weather.
Still, Spencer was glad the billiard room was located at the front of the large house and faced the oak-lined approach. This way, he could occasionally and surreptitiously glance outside to see if any riders approached.
* * *
Upstairs, Victoria pronounced herself content merely to listen without comment, except for the occasional murmur or nod of assent, to her mother’s worries about the weather and how it might affect tomorrow afternoon’s barbecue. Cathe-rine said over and over how excited she was about the coming social gathering of all of Savannah’s finest citizens. Why, there had not been a decent party in all of Savannah since the July Fourth celebration—or maybe there had been one, right before Victoria had shown up, traveling trunks, English maid, and all, on the front porch.
She makes me sound like an unwanted distant cousin come to take endless advantage of her hospitality, Victoria thought with wry amusement.
She reclined gratefully, tiredly, atop a fainting couch in the sitting room that complemented the guest bedroom she and Spencer had been assigned by her mother, much to Victoria’s surprise. She’d assumed they would be in her bedroom, but of course she now realized her narrow bed would never do for two people, especially not when one of them was as broad shouldered and as tall as Spencer. And she had to admit, she felt very pampered, indeed, to be put in this bedroom, the most elegant one after that of her parents.
Why, not too long ago, she’d barely been allowed to step one foot in this room, and now here she was, a guest in it. The notion of being a guest in her childhood home was a strange one to her but not unpleasantly so, she found, since Spencer was coupled with that designation.
In the background, behind her mother, Victoria could hear Rosanna in the bedroom itself as she opened and closed drawers, putting away Victoria’s belongings. She believed Hornsby was in there, also, taking care of Spencer’s things. He had to think this arrangement barbaric, given how separately husbands and wives of the peerage lived. Indeed, how separately she and Spencer had lived. To make matters worse, he and Rosanna despised each other, based solely, Victoria believed, on her and Spencer not getting on previously. Even now, their truce—hers and Spencer’s—was a delicate one. She hoped the cease-fire held with her maid and his valet, as well.
As her mother went through the guest list and benignly gossiped about every prominent household in Savannah, Victoria schooled her features into an interested expression but found her thoughts wandering downstairs to her husband. He’d said such wonderful things to her this afternoon in the parlor of the house in Savannah. Or had tried to, at any rate. That darned Edward, the scamp, kept interrupting.
She’d hoped Spencer would say more intimate things to her on the ride out to River’s End, but the weather had interrupted that. Well, darn if it wasn’t one thing or another contriving to keep her and her husband apart. Victoria heard her own warm thoughts about the man. Only yesterday she would not have indulged these. But so much had changed and kept changing with each passing day … or hour, even.
At any rate, she hoped Spencer felt stronger now than he had earlier in Savannah. The poor man shouldn’t have to endure a bout of billiards and drinks and cigar smoking with her father and Jefferson. Oh, dear, the scent of cigar smoke. It would make her so ill to smell it on him later. She hadn’t told him the effect it had on her. But even had she, what could he do? Ask her father not to smoke his afternoon cigar? Not without having to explain why. He’d had no choice, either, about the billiards. Why, being a big, strong man, she thought fondly, he’d rather pass out face-first on the table than say he couldn’t participate in such a manly pursuit because he’d been attacked twice in as many days, once by rough men and once by his tiny wife, and had been knocked unconscious and lost two days in bed.
Before she could feel too sorry for him, Victoria reminded herself that at least he would recover from his symptoms much quicker than she would hers. Worse, right now her mother’s delicate perfume was making Victoria queasy. What a twist that scents she had always enjoyed now sometimes made her ill. Victoria raised her hanky to her mouth, and swallowed thickly.
She did not dare get sick in front of her mother. How would she explain that? Oh, when did these symptoms disappear? Or did they at all? She wished so much she could ask her mother, but how could she without revealing her secret? The truth was she couldn’t say a thing before she knew what her and her baby’s fate would be. The nature of that decision would determine whether or not her announcement would be a joyous occasion or one fraught with more heartache for her family. Right now, with her mother so excited and her color high and her eyes sparkling, Victoria was loath to ruin her happy spirits.
Suddenly serious, her mother sat back on the delicate silk-covered chair positioned opposite Victoria’s. “Honey, are you feeling ill? Your color has gone suddenly pale.”
Pale, indeed. What Catherine Redmond couldn’t see but Victoria could, given that her mother’s back was to the opened door that led from the dressing room into the bedroom, was Rosanna. She had obviously heard Victoria’s mother’s comment and had bustled over to the doorway, her eyes wide with concern. Victoria warned her off by fluttering her hanky in the air, a gesture which also served to wave away Victoria’s mother’s concerns. Rosanna nodded and sharply turned around to re-enter the bedroom. Victoria heaved a sigh of relief … and felt her stomach turn over. Why did this have to happen now? She hadn’t been sick before in the afternoons, not even on the tossing and turning Atlantic Ocean crossing.
“Maybe you’re just tired from the drive out here.”
Victoria jumped on this explanation. “Yes, Mama. It was appalling and tiring. We were all just drenched, and the wind about took my bonnet.”
“You poor thing. Oh, I hope you’re not going to take sick, not after all my planning for tomorrow.” Her mother leaned in toward Victoria, innocently giving her a solid whiff of her lavender perfume, and felt her daughter’s forehead. “Well, you’re not feverish, thank the Lord.”
Victoria fought a gag. Oh, dear Lord, no, I can’t be ill, not now, not with Mama in here. But the truth was … she was going to be ill. Her breathing quickened and she broke out in a swe
at.
“Victoria, what on earth—?”
Victoria swung her legs over the side of the couch and sat forward. “I’m sorry, Mama, but I think I’m going to be sick!”
“Sick? Why on earth would you be sick?”
“I don’t know,” she groaned, clamping a hand over her mouth.
“Rosanna!” Catherine Redmond cried. “Come here! Something is wrong with Victoria!”
Victoria jumped up quickly, intent on making a run for the nearest basin. But the second she stood, instead of being ill, she smacked into an invisible brick wall. Her muscles suddenly relaxed; blood drained from her head … and she felt herself losing her grip on consciousness. The next thing she knew, the carpet came up to meet her and—
* * *
Downstairs in the billiard room, behind closed doors, Spencer leaned over the table, about to make the shot that would end the game successfully in his favor. But before he could shoot, he heard a steady, somehow frantic-sounding drumming on the stairs, like that of running footsteps. Accompanying this was a keening, feminine cry. Instantly alert, Spencer straightened up and looked to his hosts.
“What’s that noise?” Jefferson said, looking as if he feared he’d heard a ghost instead of seen one.
“I’ll tell you what it is.” Looking thoroughly put out, Isaac Redmond jumped up from his chair—or meant to. He had forgotten about the sleeping dog, which he stepped on and made howl. The animal’s bellowing and skittering away from him upended the older man, knocking him back into his chair. “Damn it all to hell! I’m sorry, Neville, come here, boy.” The dog wouldn’t, and this irritated the elder Mr. Redmond further. “If that is that girl Tillie again, running down the stairs like I’ve told her a hundred times not to do, I’ll fire her—”
“Isaac! Isaac Redmond! Oh, dear God, come quickly! Spencer! Heaven help us! Something’s terribly wrong! Isaac! Victoria has fainted and fallen to the floor! Help! Come quick!”
“That’s your mother!” Isaac Redmond cried, staring at Jefferson. In the next instant, he gripped the leather chair’s arms and made ready to pull himself up. “See what’s the matter, Jefferson. Don’t simply stand there like a fool!”
To Make a Marriage Page 23