Married to the Viscount

by Sabrina Jeffries

  That arrested Abby’s attention. “Her ‘place,’ my lord?”

  “As a support and helpmeet to him, of course,” Liverpool intoned. “The statesman’s wife should put no demands on her husband. His activities in the public sphere place enough on him as it is. She must accept that she will only receive those few attentions he can spare. She must concentrate on easing his way whenever possible.”

  Sir Robert shot Spencer a glance meant to prod him into stopping Liverpool’s idiotic opinions. But Spencer was waiting with bated breath for Abby’s response.

  She didn’t disappoint him. “And if she does make demands on her husband?” Her smile was deceptively sweet. “What then? Should he deny her what she wants?”

  Liverpool didn’t even see the trap closing in. “Certainly, if her demands interfere with his aims. He must use a firm hand, cut her off before she grows too willful.”

  “I see,” she said noncommittally. But there was no mistaking the mischief creeping over her face.

  Hope leaped in Spencer’s heart.

  “Then you needn’t fear for me,” she went on. “My husband never hesitates to use a firm hand. Why, only the other day he threatened to have me chained up if I didn’t behave.”

  Spencer nearly crowed aloud. Ah, there it was—the old Abby. Thank God for Liverpool and his crackbrained ideas. Rampant pomposity always brought out the devil in her. “What could I do?” Spencer said, inciting her to further deviltry. “You were being so troublesome.”

  “Well, it was certainly an effective way to remind me of my ‘place.’”

  Liverpool blinked, first at her, then at Spencer, clearly unsure whether to believe them or not.

  But Sir Robert threw himself eagerly into the spirit of things. “And where were you planning to chain your recalcitrant wife, Ravenswood? Have you a dungeon beneath your town house that none of us know about?”

  “I figured I’d put her in the Tower. I’m sure His Majesty wouldn’t mind lending me a cell, given the trouble he had with his own wife. What do you think, Liverpool?”

  The reference to the late Queen Caroline stymied Liverpool even further, since he’d been one of the men to advocate strict measures regarding her behavior. “Er…I…I would not advocate chaining, of course, but—”

  “Why, the whole lot of you could chain your wives in the Tower when they misbehave.” Abby’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “I understand it’s large enough for it. And that could prove advantageous to me, if I manage to stay out of it myself. Because if enough statesmen chain their wives in the Tower, leaving you gentlemen free to come and go as you please, you might not have to work so hard.” She grinned. “And Spencer could finally take me on a tour of the city.”

  “Lady Ravenswood, I would not condone—” Liverpool began.

  Sir Robert erupted into laughter. “She’s pulling your leg, old chap. Chaining wives in the Tower indeed. Can’t you tell when a woman’s joking?”

  Thoroughly delighted with his wife, Spencer joined Sir Robert in his laughter.

  But Liverpool didn’t find the conversation nearly so entertaining. Since he apparently couldn’t decide whom to glower at the most fiercely, he settled for glowering at them all.

  Belatedly, Spencer attempted to soothe the man’s ruffled feathers. “Please excuse my wife, Liverpool. She has a tendency to tease. I did threaten to chain her in the Tower if she didn’t behave, but she knows perfectly well I didn’t mean it.”

  “What?” Abby exclaimed in mock disbelief. “I thought sure you were serious. You are always serious. Everybody knows that.”

  When she graced Spencer with one of her old teasing smiles, he exulted in it. Impulsively, he caught her hand beneath his and squeezed, thrilled by the pretty blush that stained her cheeks. He hadn’t made her blush in a week.

  “A serious nature is much to be preferred over an impertinent one,” Lord Liverpool pronounced, his face as dour as an executioner’s.

  “Don’t be so stodgy,” Sir Robert said gamely. “The woman’s an American, and everyone knows American women speak their minds.”

  “Only when Englishmen threaten to put them in their places, sir,” Abby quipped.

  “You married an English husband,” Lord Liverpool cut in. “It might behoove you to remember it the next time you speak so idly, madam.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, man—” Sir Robert began.

  “And you, sir,” Liverpool went on, fixing a disapproving gaze on Spencer. “A pity you didn’t heed your father’s mistake when you chose your own wife.”

  The insult to Abby cast an instant chill over the conversation. As Spencer watched mortification banish Abby’s mischievous smile, an ungovernable anger possessed him.

  “My father’s mistake was in marrying a woman half his age,” he growled, staring Liverpool down. “And as I am not yet in my dotage and my wife is not fresh out of the schoolroom, I fail to see any similarity between his marriage and mine.”

  Liverpool’s frigid smile held his usual contempt. “Ah, yes, I forgot. You went off to school after your father married Lady Dorothea—no doubt you missed hearing about your stepmother’s wild escapades, impudent manner, and utterly frivolous character.”

  “I heard. I also heard that you offered for her before my father did, and she turned you down. Apparently, you only found her character to be frivolous after she proved to be uninterested in you.”

  When Liverpool’s lips tightened and he looked as if he might speak again, Spencer went on, “Now if you’ll excuse us, gentlemen, my wife and I have friends to seek out.”

  Settling his hand in the small of Abby’s back, he led her off toward the punch table, inwardly seething.

  As soon as they were out of earshot, Abby whispered, “Spencer, I’m sorry. I should not have been so frank.”

  “Nonsense. The man’s a pompous ass, always has been.”

  “But I shouldn’t have teased him. It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

  Liverpool’s comments were making her retreat into her new cool manner, and the very thought drove Spencer mad. “You mustn’t let that humorless old fool’s words affect you. You couldn’t have known that he has no sense of humor. Or that the doddering idiot actually believes all that rot about a woman’s place.”

  “I gather you don’t much like his lordship.”

  He gazed down at her still ashen features. “I don’t like any man who insults you. If he’d been anyone else, I would have called him out for it.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Don’t be silly—you would have done no such thing.”

  “No man insults my wife with impunity.”

  Shifting her gaze across the lawn, she said in a small voice, “So I suppose what he said was true. All that stuff about your stepmother being impudent and frivolous.”

  Spencer stiffened. Devil take Liverpool for raising such questions in her head.

  They’d reached the punch table. As Spencer took a cup and filled it, he glanced at the guests nearby, but they were all engrossed in conversations. Handing Abby the cup, he filled one for himself and lowered his voice. “For the most part it’s true. Then again, Lady Dorothea was only twenty when she married my father, and plenty of women are frivolous at that age.”

  “Twenty?” she exclaimed. “How old was your father?”

  “Forty-eight. He married her about two years after Mother died bearing Nat.”

  “That’s why Lord Liverpool called the marriage a mistake?”

  Spencer drew her away from the others. “Dora was…lively and youthful, probably too much so for Father. She wanted constant attention, and Father couldn’t give it to her.”

  “That must have been very hard for her.”

  “I suppose. She hid it well, at least at first. She tried to mother all of us and outrageously spoiled Nat, who was only a baby. Even my older brother, Theo, who was still alive at that point and at school, got her lavish attention when he was home.”

  “So you liked her?”

  “N
ot at the beginning, but that wasn’t her fault.” He stared down into his punch glass. “I was at a difficult age. Ten-year-old boys aren’t very amenable to new mothers. I resented her, but she didn’t seem to mind. She used to laugh and call me ‘His Little Highness.’” He shot Abby a rueful smile. “I suppose I was overly serious even then.”

  Abby didn’t smile. “You’d just lost your mother two years before, Spencer. Any child would be serious under such circumstances.”

  Her sympathy crept inside to warm that aching spot in his heart reserved for memories of his stepmother. Leaning back against the tree, Spencer sipped his punch. “Anyway, I grew to love her almost as much as I had my own mother. The trouble was, she wanted her own babies, and Father refused to give them to her. He said he already had three sons. Apparently when he’d offered for her, it was under the condition that she relinquish any hope of having her own children with him. She must have married him with the intention of changing his mind later, for she pressed him about it through the years. He always steadfastly refused.”

  “But they shared a bed?” Abby asked, clearly perplexed.

  “Of course. I suppose he merely took precautions.” He stared off across the lawn, his face rigid. “Anyway, matters began to deteriorate. Toward the end, all they did was argue about her desire to have children. Fortunately, I wasn’t home much. I went off to school at twelve. When I returned home and England was heading off to fight Napoleon again, I begged Father to buy me a commission in the army so I could escape watching Dora and Father destroy each other. I wasn’t the heir at that point, so he readily agreed.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Eighteen. Two years later, once Nat started school and Theo was sowing his wild oats in London, Dora was left alone with Father.” He gave a ragged sigh. “I suppose she couldn’t take it anymore. She started running wild, behaving outrageously, flirting with other men. When none of that swayed Father, she ran off to Italy with some count.”

  “Your father must have been devastated,” Abby said, her face rapt with pity.

  “I don’t know. I was at war. But according to Nat, Father didn’t care. He cared more when Theo died in some idiotic brawl in a gaming hell a few years later. Nat finished school and followed in Theo’s reckless footsteps. And Father—” He sucked in a heavy breath. “Father took pneumonia and died a few months after Theo.”

  “Did your stepmother return after his death?”

  He shook his head. “Nat receives the occasional letter from her. I…um…wouldn’t answer the ones she sent me, so she stopped writing me. But Nat says she married the count after Father’s death, and they have several children. Which is all she ever wanted.” Her own children, not those of some other woman. That’s what Abby would want, too. The thought punched pain through his chest. “So there you have it. The sordid tale of my stepmother and why she was completely unsuitable for my father.”

  “As I am for you,” she said softly.

  His head shot up. “I didn’t say that.”

  “Lord Liverpool did.”

  “He’s an idiot.”

  “Is he?” she asked, her eyes searching his.

  Suddenly a mad chiming sounded a few yards from them, making them both swing around to see what was going on.

  Lady Brumley stood in the midst of the lawn, surrounded by a coterie of footmen ringing bells. In keeping with the party’s theme, she wore white, and she’d actually abandoned her ship headdresses for a golden halo, of all things. Spencer rolled his eyes.

  When she had everyone’s attention, she gestured to the footmen to stop ringing. More footmen lined up behind her, carrying either trays that held glasses of champagne or baskets full of ribbon-accented bottles.

  The marchioness scanned the crowd until she caught sight of Abby. “Ah, there you are, my dear.” She gestured for Abby to join her. “I want you by my side for the announcement.”

  With a blush, Abby handed Spencer her punch glass and hurried over to stand next to Lady Brumley. Spencer drained his punch and set both glasses down on the nearby table. This should be interesting.

  “Now then, my friends,” Lady Brumley began. “I have a special treat for my female guests today.”

  She nodded to the footmen, who threaded through the crowd, stopping to offer champagne to the gentlemen and beribboned bottles to the ladies. Spencer kept a watchful eye on his wife as he took a glass of champagne, wondering if all this public attention might embarrass her. But she seemed perfectly at ease.

  Lady Brumley went on. “My good friend Lady Ravenswood has invented the most astonishing fragrance I have ever had the pleasure to experience. From the first time her ladyship wore it, I was so taken by its delicious scent that I had to have it. She was kind enough to give me her very own bottle.”

  Lady Brumley smiled down at Abby, who smiled back serenely. Spencer stiffened. He thought he’d banished that cordial façade, but apparently he’d only peeled it back for a moment. Just as that cursed turban hid her lush hair, her new refined manners hid the old Abby from him.

  “You all know what I’m like,” Lady Brumley continued. “When I find something I enjoy, I don’t rest until everyone hears of it. So I persuaded Lady Ravenswood to provide me with bottles of Heaven’s Scent for all of my closest friends to try. I think you’ll be as impressed with it as I was.”

  Curious, Spencer glanced around. Women were already removing the stoppers and cautiously sniffing the contents of the bottles. Here and there some touched the scent to their wrists, then turned to have their neighbors smell it.

  “In any case,” Lady Brumley finished, “the bottles are yours to keep—a gift from myself and Lady Ravenswood. So enjoy the rest of my breakfast, and do tell us what you think of it. For myself, I intend to wear nothing else.”

  Those guests whose hands weren’t full clapped politely, and the rest broke up into small groups. Except for the women surging toward Lady Brumley and Abby, and now Clara, too. Guests soon surrounded all three ladies.

  “Your wife’s concoction seems to be meeting with great success,” a low voice said from beside him.

  Spencer glanced over to find Blakely sipping champagne. “When did you arrive?”

  “Not long before Lady Brumley’s little speech.” Blakely grinned. “I stayed away ‘working’ as long as I could without making Clara suspicious. I knew this was going to be a very dull party.” He held up his glass. “Typical women’s fare. And the damned woman has harpists. Harpists! Leave it to Lady Brumley.”

  Indeed. “I don’t like Lady Brumley,” he told Blakely. “She’s a bad influence on Abby.”

  “How so?”

  “Surely you’ve noticed the difference in my wife. She’s turned into a damned English lady, all cool and collected. She only voices her opinion if you hold her feet to the fire. The rest of the time, she’s as false as a wooden shilling.”

  “And you don’t like that?” Blakely probed.

  “No, I don’t like it. It’s unnatural.” Especially for a woman who’d always spoken freely.

  Now she was far too sophisticated for that. Spencer glanced over to where the crowd around Abby and the marchioness grew larger by the moment. His eyes narrowed as he saw Lady Brumley hand out little cards to the ladies. Even Evelina, who looked a bit peaked, braved the crowd for one.

  Then she turned and spotted Spencer. She came right over. “I’ve been looking for you, my lord,” the young woman said as she started to tuck the card into her reticule.

  “Let me see it,” he murmured. When she handed the card to him, he read the single line in gilt: Jackson’s Apothecary in the Strand. “What’s this?”

  “It’s the address where interested parties can purchase Heaven’s Scent. Abby told me just now that Lady Brumley had them made up so that if ladies asked where to get more perfume after the breakfast, she had somewhere to send them.” Evelina smiled. “Abby couldn’t very well sell it out of your house, you know. That would be vulgar.”

  “I didn’t kn
ow she was selling it at all.”

  Blakely cast him a sly glance. “I thought Abby told you. Clara said you knew.”

  “I knew Lady Brumley wanted bottles of the stuff, and Abby was supplying them, but—” But what? What else had he thought she planned to do with them? “Yes, I suppose she did tell me.”

  Evelina removed the card from his hand. “Anyway, I came over to inform you that Mama and I are leaving. Mama’s head is plaguing her.”

  “You don’t look so well yourself.”

  A wan smile touched her lips. “I’m fine. And don’t worry about the carriage—we found friends to take us home. So you and Abby can stay here and enjoy yourselves. Good afternoon.”

  As Evelina walked off, Spencer drank deeply of his champagne, trying to quell the sudden alarm in his chest.

  “Abby’s success must be quite a relief to you,” Blakely said. “Now you needn’t worry about her when you part ways. She’s got her business going without your brother, so her need for the money he stole is probably no longer as urgent. I understand Lady Brumley paid her a fifty-pound note for those bottles she gave away. And depending on what arrangement they made with the apothecary for subsequent purchases—”

  “Devil take Lady Brumley,” Spencer muttered.

  “Why? What’s wrong now?”

  “Don’t you see? With fifty pounds, Abby could leave me.”

  Blakely chuckled. “She wouldn’t get very far, especially since she already used some of it to produce the perfume.”

  “You don’t know how much more Lady Brumley might have given her. Or how much she’ll get from this apothecary person.”

  “Why do you care? If she leaves, that means she no longer expects anything from you. You should encourage that. Then you could look for Nat at your leisure.”

  Christ, Abby had said much the same words to him the night of the ball. “It’s not the money I’m worried about. It’s the scandal.”

  Spencer drained his glass, then took another from a passing footman. With enough money, Abby could just slip away. Last week, she’d agreed to stay as long as he needed her, but that was when she’d still hoped to make their marriage permanent. That night in the study, he’d killed those feelings.