Chilling laughter from her brother sent icicles up her spine, and she turned to face him. “I thought you cared about me?”
“Mary.” Spencer inhaled and exhaled, and she could see him try to reel in his furry. “You know better than to question me about that. I blame myself. Obviously, I missed the warning signs about the feelings between you two. Of course, for the life of me, I can’t imagine how it happened. As far as I know, you two only met once. Perhaps I gave Smythe too much leeway. Treating him like a friend instead of the hired runner that he is.”
“Why cannot he be both?” Mary cried. “Why can he not be my husband?”
“Mary, it is not done. You are the granddaughter of a countess. A member of the aristocracy. If you were to marry him, you would be shunned.”
“How do you know?” Miranda chimed in.
His fingers raked through his hair and he groaned. “My dear wife, because it is so. Now if you ladies would leave, I would like a word alone with Smythe. Oh, Miranda, find Aunt Violet and meet me in the drawing room where we first waited for Amesbury, who is among the missing with my other sister. God knows what the two of them are engaged in?”
Miranda escorted Mary to her room, hugged her tight and whispered, “I’ll see what I can do. But I must say when your cousin, the Earl of Bridgeton, was accused of murdering his brother and his brother’s pregnant wife and was shunned for twelve years, Spencer worried every day for him. He saw first-hand what the ton can do to one of their own during a scandal.”
“I’m not accused of murder. I kissed a man. A man I love. And it’s not as though we were caught during a function attended by hundreds.”
“No. But servants gossip even worse. Even out here in the country word spreads like wildfire. That young servant who escorted us to Smythe’s room, after we asked for you, knew you were alone with him. Already there is gossip.” Miranda released her and left.
Mary was crestfallen, her legs so heavy they barely carried her to the bed where she curled on her side and let the tears flow. She would not regret her actions or her feelings for Robert—only that she couldn’t speak to her brother before he found out. Robert may not be a privileged member of the ton, but he was more loyal and a gentleman than most of the eligible gentlemen she met at balls and soirees. They would just as likely persuade her out to the gardens to steal kisses and more for no other reason than they wanted to, regardless if they had any feelings for her. Rakes, many of them, who cared for nothing but themselves.
AS THE DOORMAN CLOSED the door behind them, Edward watched with pleasure as Elizabeth lifted her skirts and hurried up the staircase. The butler approached. “Mr. and Mrs. Spencer await you in the green drawing room.”
As he strolled down the hall, he adjusted his own riding clothes and smoothed his hair. As he approached the closed double doors, he paused to wipe the sensual grin off his face and replace it with a friendly smile.
He stepped inside the room and paused. Something was wrong...or not right. Violet sat on the settee with Miranda. Violet looked positively ill and Miranda only slightly less ill. But it was Spencer who attracted his attention. Spencer was an affable fellow who joked and smiled often. Not today. Just in the few moments since he entered the room the man downed two fingers of whiskey and re-poured another. Edward pulled at his hastily tied cravat and knew without a doubt he and Elizabeth had been found out.
“I can explain.”
Spencer swung his eyes toward Edward and raised one brow. “The devil you say? You were off riding with Elizabeth when it happened under this roof. So how can you?”
He had him there. If it wasn’t about what happened between Elizabeth and him, then what? Even before Spencer spoke, he had a premonition of what occurred. Only before Spencer could speak Violet cried out, “I’m sorry. Ever since we were attacked I’ve felt ill. My duties as chaperone were lacking. It’s all my fault Mary will be ruined. I failed you Spencer and I’m sorry.” She sniffed most unladylike. “I will understand if you want to banish me from your home and family.”
Miranda patted her aunt’s hand. “Nonsense, you will always be part of this family.” Miranda glared at her husband, willing him to argue. “Right, my dear, husband?”
Spencer looked uncomfortable and tugged at his cravat. “Yes. Violet is always welcome in this family, and I’m sorry I took my anger and frustration out on you.” He went to help himself to more whiskey and Edward interrupted, “Perhaps Miranda could ring for a tea tray. You must be famished after your travels.”
Spencer glared at him but put the decanter of whiskey down and began to pace the room. “I should’ve known from experience,” he cleared his throat, “not my own of course, that ladies and gentlemen will...when they are attracted to each other...do things...” He groaned. “Bugger all, forget I said anything. I sound like someone’s strict, hard-hearted father.”
Spencer pierced Edward with his eyes and gesticulated toward him. “Did you know Mary and Smythe had feelings for each other?”
Edward choked then coughed as he hurried to pour himself a drink. After downing it and stifling another cough he turned to face Spencer. “I did not.”
“Mary and Smythe were caught in a compromising position,” Spencer said. “Would you please speak to your servants and try to keep them from discussing this if possible. I would like to muzzle the scandal and keep my sister’s name pristine. Then, if you don’t mind, I would like to discuss this matter in private with my family.”
“If you require anything...anything at all, pull the bell pull and someone will attend to your needs.” He bowed and left, closing the doors behind him. He paused just outside the large heavy double doors and breathed to calm his runaway heart. Poor Smythe and Mary. It would’ve been better if the scandal was about Elizabeth and he.
SLEEP PULLED AT MARY when a light knock sounded on her door and her sister’s voice asked, “May I come in?”
“Yes.” Sitting up, Mary wiped the tears from her cheeks, stood, and met her sister halfway to the door and threw her arms around Elizabeth. “I’m so glad you’re back from your ride. Spencer’s here,” she said between great big sobs robbing her lungs of air.
“I just saw Edward out in the hall, and he told me what happened.” Elizabeth rubbed her back. “Easy. Don’t cry. We’ll think of something to make it all right.”
“How?” Mary stepped back, swiped the tears from her face, and took a deep breath. “How?” she asked again.
Her sister looked puzzled. “I don’t know. But when Spencer calms down he’ll come up with a solution to this peccadillo. Meanwhile, he spoke to Edward and asked him to speak with his servants and see about squelching the gossip before it reaches beyond these walls. If he can do that, the problem of you being ruined is solved.”
“Truthfully, that is not what upsets me most. I want to be with Robert. I want to marry him and he me.” Mary’s tears dried up and anger settled inside her. Anger at her brother for being so careless with her heart. She’d finally found someone worthy of giving it to. And he loved her back.
“Spencer wants to see us both,” Elizabeth said with concern etched on her face. “Are you ready to face him again?”
Mary’s shoulders slumped. “Might as well get it over with.”
They entered the drawing room cautious and quietly. Mary and Elizabeth sat on either side of Miranda on the settee while Violet sat looking horrified on a green and pink damask print chair facing them. Spencer stood, back ramrod straight, shoulders tense, staring into the flames in the hearth. Mary cleared her throat, letting her brother know she wanted him to speak and get her chastising over with.
At the sound, he pivoted around and shocked her by sitting in the chair next to Violet opposite the settee and looking almost apologetic. Almost. He definitely looked tired and harried with dark circles beneath his eyes and stress lines around his mouth.
“Mary, I’m not going to lecture you about what society expects of its members of the ton. You know the rules and etiquette better t
han I probably do. And God knows I broke many of them. But fortunately for me, I am a man and we are expected to break the rules. Not so for women. You must act most proper at all times or be subject to ridicule, gossip, and ruin. Not fair, I know, but such is our life.” Spencer sat back and sighed deeply, looking as though he wished he were anywhere but there. “I have sent Mr. Smythe back to London.”
Mary gasped but swallowed the words she wished to say to her brother.
“I had to for your own good. If by some miracle Amesbury can keep his servants from gossiping, then all should be well and your name, once again, will be surmountable to goodness and propriety. If not, then we must face the assault to your person head-on. And just so you haven’t forgotten, servants have a gossip chain that works faster than any members of polite society. So while we sit here awaiting Amesbury to join us with his findings, I want you to tell me about you and Mr. Smythe and when it started.”
Mary squirmed in her seat knowing all attention was on her and her transgressions. Surely he could not mean her to explain... She took a deep breath for courage and forged on. “We met for the first time when both you and he were injured when Violet and Miranda were taken by Mr. Baker. It was only Elizabeth and I home, besides Grandmother and Mother and the servants. Elizabeth and I both decided she would look after you and I would take care of Mr. Smythe.”
“I see,” Spencer said as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his thighs, looking intently at her, waiting for more.
“I took care of him. When he woke up we spoke. Not for long, but enough to realize there was something pulling us together. Is pulling us together.”
“You could have been ruined then. After that day, have you been sneaking off to see him? Sending notes back and forth? Did he come into our house at night?”
“No.” She took offense at the implications. “I didn’t see him until we left for here.”
Spencer raised his brows in disbelief and her stomach suddenly became queasy. It would not do for her to cast up her accounts on Amesbury’s lovely oriental rug.
“It’s the truth. I may have daydreamed about him and wished to see him, but I didn’t.” Her eyes went to her hands clasped together in her lap. “I wanted to send him notes, but I didn’t have the courage too.”
“Good. If we can keep this situation from becoming scandalous, when we arrive back in London, I will actively seek a husband for you. I will invite several gentlemen, those I think worthy, to a small formal dinner party with of course other single ladies. We don’t want to appear obvious.”
“You...you.” Mary’s insides froze in disbelief. “You want to parade me in front of these eligible gentlemen—or more accurately—serve me up on a platter to the first who asks for my hand.”
“Mary,” Miranda interjected, “that is not true.”
She swung her head and looked at Miranda. Even though she was angry tears burned her eyes. “Yes, it is.”
“Mary,” Spencer said, his voice several octaves lower than normal. “I know it sounds terrible, but this happens in homes all over England and beyond. I will do my best to keep anyone who attends from thinking you are desperate.”
She gasped.
Spencer jumped up and paced the room. “Do you think I want to do this? Marry you to someone you do not love? Well I do not. But what choice have you given me?” He stood in front of her, dropped to his knees, and took her hands in his. “Please, this is not what I want for you.”
She tried to yank her hands out of his, but he held on tight. “Then don’t.”
“I have to. I can’t risk your reputation. Go get a good night’s sleep as we leave first thing in the morning.”
Chapter Eight
When the only two people left in the drawing room were Miranda and Spencer, Spencer stared out the window as darkness fell. “Am I wrong?” He forced the words out as a lump the size of his fist clogged his throat.
He heard the bustle of skirts and then his wife’s arms circled his waist, her head rested against his back. “That is a difficult question to answer, since I’m a woman whose father once rejected the love of her life’s offer of marriage. We may be together now, but look how many years were wasted living in pain, pining for the one who owned our hearts. I’m afraid, even after Mary is married, she will yearn for Mr. Smythe. I pray not, and she will come to love the man she marries, but we can’t pretend to know how the future will unfold.”
“It’s so bloody complicated.” Spencer pivoted around, enfolded Miranda in his arms, and rested his forehead lightly against hers. “I don’t want her to think I’m heartless.”
“She doesn’t.”
“No? I sounded heartless. I can’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. I respect Smythe, but I can’t give Mary to him. It wouldn’t be fair to her. Besides, Grandmother would never forgive me.”
Miranda cupped his cheeks and smiled. “I believe in my heart all will work out for Mary.” She raised on tiptoes and kissed him gently. His wife had such a gentle soul until someone threatened her or someone she loved, then the tiger in her showed her claws. He loved that about her and so much more. She’d been to hell and back and survived. Something Spencer had a hard time forgiving her dead father for. Thank God they belonged to each other now, and he would spend the rest of his days showing her how much he wanted, needed, and loved her.
He groaned and deepened the kiss, his tongue tangled with hers, his hands splayed across her back pulling her tight against him, letting her know how much he wanted her.
“Spencer, not here.”
“Let us retire for the evening. I’ll order a dinner tray sent to our room.”
ROBERT SHOULD’VE NEVER touched Mary. He’d known she was above his station in life. But he couldn’t control his heart. Of all the women in his life, why did he have to fall in love with her? Cruel, the fates were cruel. He wished they’d never met. Accept for the night she’d cared for him, became his angel, saved his life. And he truly believed she had saved him. Infection had ravaged his body from a filthy knife wound, and one day in her care he crawled back from the brink of death. Her voice—her essence—pulled him back from the darkness trying to swallow him.
He remembered it all even though he wasn’t in his right mind. When his fever had broken and he saw her for the first time, he’d swear she glowed with a halo. Although why God sent an angel to him, with all the horrible things he’d done for his job and to survive in St. Giles as a young boy, baffled him.
His hands were soiled from death. He wasn’t worthy of touching her with poisoned hands. So why had he done so? Because he believed they could overcome the differences in their stations. The question plagued him on the long ride back to London on horseback. He’d wanted to ride straight through, but the burning, stabbing pain down his injured side wouldn’t relent. He’d forgone the sling, and if the warmth against his skin was any indication, he’d begun to bleed.
He stopped at a coaching station about eight hours outside of London. The innkeeper supplied fresh cloth. Inside his room, he removed his bandages, hissing loudly at the pain. What he wouldn’t give for Mary’s gentle touch. Using fresh water from the basin he cleaned off the blood and rewrapped his wounds and went in search of food.
After eating a bowl of stew made with meat he could not decipher and a piece of crusty bread in the public room, he sat at the table alone and downed several ales until his mind had trouble focusing on Mary and all he’d lost. Unfortunately, once he retired to his small room, all memories of her crashed back into focus, and he spent the night tossing and turning until he finally gave up sleeping and left before sunrise for the last eight grueling hours to London. Grueling because he knew his mind and heart would be with Mary. The only relief he received from his anguish was knowing Spencer would only marry Mary off to someone worthy of her. Someone possessing integrity and intelligence. Someone without vices, hidden secrets, or cruelty.
Once whispers of a suitor’s name traveled to his ears, he would investigate, leaving
no stone unturned until he came up with something incrementing or nothing at all. If he found nothing in the gentleman’s past, he would resign himself to her marriage to another and wish them both well. If he found something damaging, he would send news of it to Spencer. He knew he had no hope to be with Mary, but damn if he would see her shackled to an unworthy and cruel man.
AFTER HELPING HER SISTER into bed and waiting until she fell asleep, with tears staining her cheeks, Elizabeth made her way to her room, her heart heavy. Poor Mary. She tried to put herself into her sister’s slippers and wondered what it would be like if Spencer refused Amesbury’s request for her hand and married her to someone else? Unimaginable pain and heartache would paralyze her. She would want to die. Would never speak to her brother again.
Her hand flew to her chest as though her heart was being ripped out. Was that how Mary felt? No doubt it was and more. Elizabeth’s sympathies lay with Mary, but also with Spencer. The pressure on him to make good and honorable matches for his sisters, she knew weighed heavily on his shoulders. She also knew he wanted love matches for them. Something not high priority with members of the ton but important to Spencer since he’d held out for love.
Perhaps Mary would come to love the man she married. Spencer would not marry her to just anyone. Elizabeth expected the most honorable gentlemen at the dinner party. At the moment, Elizabeth’s brain refused to work on coming up with any eligible young men for Mary. There had to be several. She probed her brain and did come up with three. Mr. Philip Percy, eldest and only son to one of the richest, untitled families of the ton. His parents had both recently died and left him to raise two younger sisters. No doubt why he’d entered the marriage mart. He needed a wife to help him introduce his sisters into society. Elizabeth had danced with him a time or two during the beginning of the Season. He’d appeared affable enough, if not a little shy, and pleasant to look at. He never made a social call to their residence though. Didn’t mean she couldn’t talk to Spencer about inviting him.
The Spencer Sisters Forbidden Loves and Broken Hearts Page 8
