On to another man whose face popped into Elizabeth’s mind, Peter Jeffries, the Viscount Dayton. Elizabeth put his age around five and thirty. Not too old for Mary. His older brother had died from fever at a young age, moving Peter next in line to the earldom. If she recalled, his father had passed several years ago from a heart ailment. His mother still lived as well as one sister who’d married the Viscount Chapman. Dayton had a reputation for being a rake, but so had Wentworth, Myles, and Spencer. Perhaps there was some truth to the saying that reformed rakes made the best husbands. Elizabeth was hoping since Amesbury had the same reputation, although he didn’t seem the least bit rakish now.
The last name was a long shot, a gentleman so secretive, Elizabeth knew little about him except he had entered the marriage market. The Duke of Newbury. He’d fought with Wellington in Waterloo and was a war hero. Some said he still worked for the War Office. He’d recently become a Duke when a distant cousin died having produced no heirs. Other than that Elizabeth knew nothing about him. Not his age or what he looked like, although she’d heard he’d sustained injury serving the Crown. Couldn’t hurt to have a duke attend the dinner party. Going to the mahogany desk in her room, she took parchment and quill and scribbled down the three names to give to Spencer.
Just as Elizabeth finished writing the last name, a light knock on her door drew her attention. Who could that be at this late hour? Her hands went to the belt on her robe, making sure it was tied securely. “Who is it?” she whispered.
“Edward.”
She gasped, opened the door, and pulled him inside, poked her head into the hallway and scanned the darkness. The last thing Elizabeth needed was to cause another scandal for her brother to solve. She eased the door closed with the softest click and turned to Edward. “You shouldn’t be here.”
He hit her with a lopsided grin. “I know.” Then he turned serious. “I was worried about you. We never had a chance to talk after we got back from our ride.” His hands ran up and down her arms, and warm heat curled around her heart. “I wanted to see for myself that you are not upset about what we...did... That you are not still hurting.”
A smile broke out on her lips at the blush staining Edward’s cheeks. “Do you know how handsome you are when you blush?”
His blush deepened.
“Men don’t blush.” He scoffed.
Elizabeth leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Oh yes, they do.”
He captured her lips for a drugging kiss that sent all thought from her mind. When he pulled away and stepped back, so they were no longer touching, she moved forward, reached out for him, causing him to shake his head. “No. If we kiss again I won’t be able to leave. I just needed reassurance about today...that you didn’t regret it.”
Unease tried to invade Elizabeth’s mind and she buried it. She would not question whether Edward regretted making love to her. It would destroy her. The words blurted out regardless. “Do you?”
Reaching out, he pulled her back into his arms and buried his head in her hair. “No. It’s possibly one of the only things in my life I don’t regret. Which brings me to something I want to discuss with you.” He stepped back once again. “I had planned on asking Spencer for your hand when we return to London, and before you say anything, I’m returning with you tomorrow. But with Mary and what is happening, I think we should wait. I don’t want us to add to her pain.”
If Elizabeth could love him any more than she already did, she would. How thoughtful of him. And horrible of her for not thinking about Mary’s feelings regarding her and Edward’s betrothal. “Thank you. You are most kind to think of my sister.”
“Goodnight, my love.” Silently he slipped out the door, and she took a shaky breath and hugged her tingling body. May his voice and him calling her love, always have that effect on her.
She tried to sleep, she really did, knowing the next two days would be long and tiresome. Visions of Edward making love to her out in the wildflower field with the sun kissing their skin invaded her mind. Not that Elizabeth minded, she wanted to remember. Never had she imagined it would be so pleasurable. That her body and mind would experience so many emotions fighting for recognition at the same time. The pain Elizabeth had heard about and worried about was minimal. Perhaps when you were with the one you loved it eased the hurt.
There was soreness down there, and she bled a little still, but she couldn’t wait to make love with Edward again. Now Elizabeth understood why Spencer and Miranda spent so much time in their chambers at all hours of the day. And took dinner trays some nights instead of joining the family in the dining room. They were, after all, newly married. She couldn’t wait until her marriage to Edward.
THE EMPTY CRYSTAL GLASS hung from Spencer’s fingers as he sat in a wingback chair in front of the heart in their bedchamber while Miranda sat at her dressing table brushing her long red tresses. He’d drank more than his share of brandy and would regret it on the morrow. But bloody hell, he needed to vanish the look on Smythe’s face when he threw him out of Cliff House. He’d accepted his fate with honor, not fighting him on it, which made Spencer admire the bloke even more. But Smythe’s eyes couldn’t hide the pain, the anguish torturing him.
Then Mary. He thrust one hand into his hair, tugging until he winced in pain. Mary—his quiet, soft spoken, shy sister. Seeing her face contort with pain, her eyes wild with glassy tears, and her body collapse in on itself haunted him. Spencer had broken her. Broken her body, heart, and soul. He raised the glass to drink. Finding it empty, he threw it against the fireplace and reveled in hearing it crash into broken shards. Shattered like Smythe’s and Mary’s hearts.
His wonderful wife climbed on his lap and hugged him to her breast. She always knew what he needed before he did. “You know I don’t agree with your decision about Mary and her man, but I support you nonetheless. I’m not in your boots, but I understand you have her best interest in mind. As her brother you want the best for her. The best marriage, the best gentleman and happiness. And if not love within the marriage, at least a mutual respect and honor.”
Spencer wrapped his arms around Miranda and breathed in her scent belonging to her alone. She’d always smelled like jasmine and it soothed him. Soothed his nerves, his mind and soul. At times like this it was hard to believe they went twelve years without each other. Twelve years pining for the other. He’d been broken and never knew it. First he thought himself in love with Sofia LaFleur and then Lady Isabella Seabrook. When in truth he hated the first woman and loved Bella as a friend. He and Bella had a special relationship, even now, that most couldn’t understand. How could a man and woman be best of friends? Well, the answer was yes. They didn’t see each other as often since she’d married Myles and he Miranda, but that didn’t lesson their friendship. And after going to Miranda with something, then to his cousin Bridgeton, Bella was the next in line. God love his wife for understanding. Myles...well...he didn’t understand and probably never would.
“I’m sorry.”
Miranda hugged him tighter. “For what?”
“For being an arse today and wallowing in my cups.”
“Isn’t that what men do when they can’t face situations they don’t like or can’t control,” she teased.
“I will speak for all men when I say no. We don’t need our spirits or time pondering the situation alone in our studies.” It was a lie, of course, but his wife knew that.
“No apologizes necessary. I love you, flaws and all.” More teasing from his lovely bride.
“How did I ever get so lucky to marry you?”
“It wasn’t luck that brought us together.”
Sudden sadness in Miranda’s eyes had Spencer regretting his words. After Miranda’s father rejected his suit of her because of family scandal involving his cousin, Bridgeton, Miranda had disappeared for many years. During those years her Aunt Violet’s third husband raped Miranda, stole money and left them in the country. Aunt Violet and Miranda traveled to London this past spring for the Season
because it was high time Miranda married and money was scarce. He thanked God every day that they did. It brought them back together, even if the circumstances were horrendous. Violet’s husband had come back during the spring, kidnapped both her and Miranda and tortured them. Smythe and his runners found them. There was that name again...Smythe.
He owed the runner everything. Guilt sliced through him, he gasped, and jerked almost sending Miranda to the floor. “Sorry.”
“You caught me, that’s all that matters.” Climbing off his lap she held out her hand with a shy smile. “Come to bed.”
Sleep would elude him he knew, but when his lovely wife wanted to go to bed with him, never, ever, would he refuse. He held her close to his heart beneath the coverlet and listened to her breathing as it slowed and evened out while sleep overtook her. He held her that way the entire night as he questioned his decisions of the day. And asked himself, who was he to play with two people’s lives, hearts, and future happiness?
FOR THE LONG DAY ON the road, Mary barely uttered a word to anyone. She jostled in the carriage next to Elizabeth, staring out the window, wishing she saw Robert riding outside protecting them as on the way there. Instead she saw Amesbury and Spencer. She knew they would be safe with two outriders on the back of the coach as well, but she wanted Robert. Then she chided herself. It was time to toughen up and realize a future with him would not happen. She would marry some aristocrat. A man her brother handpicked. And Mary knew her brother would only choose someone worthy of her. Her marriage wouldn’t have love, but it wouldn’t be terrible. She would never love another, Robert held her heart, but she would force herself to be content. The children she would bare would fill her heart to bursting. Everything would be well. It was easy to tell her mind, but her heart cracked wide open at the thought.
Elizabeth reached for her hand. “We are nearly home. Are you ready?”
Ready? Could anyone truly be ready when their future lay in the hands of another. Mary could lie to herself and say none of this bothered Spencer, but it did. He couldn’t look her in the eye, and he’d been in a foul mood since they left Cliff House. But she couldn’t bear to feel sorry for him—he could choose Robert for her.
Miranda and Aunt Violet sat opposite her, both looking sympathetic to her cause. Then Mary thought of her grandmother, the Dowager Countess of Bridgeton and her mother. Would her brother tell them? She didn’t believe so. She prayed not, she didn’t want to disappoint her grandmother, who had practically raised her since their mother lay in bed most days with one ailment or another. No, she didn’t want to see displeasure on her grandmother’s face.
Her hand being squeezed by Elizabeth forced her out of her woolgathering. “As ready as I can be.” Mary’s next words addressed her sister-in-law. “Did Spencer say anything about word reaching London about me? And when will this dinner party will be held?”
Miranda’s compassionate eyes met hers. “As far as we know, Amesbury squelched the servant’s gossip and no word of what transpired reached London. As for the invitations, I will hurry to get the them out tomorrow. Five days should be doable. Is there a gentleman you would like to invite?”
Her lungs ached. They burned as if on fire as she tried to breathe. “No. I’ll leave the list to my brother.” She tightened her hand around her sister’s then let go and told herself not to cry. Crying wouldn’t solve anything. Although the first thing Mary planned on doing once she reached the sanctity of her chamber was to expel her heartbreak with fresh tears. And then never allow herself to repeat it and accept her future. The future Spencer would choose for her. She could be brave. She would be brave.
Chapter Nine
The night of the formal dinner, Mary’s ladies’ maid, Lucy, dressed her in a lovely high waist, dark blue silk gown with light blue lace overlay and dark blue flowers embroidered in several repeating rows near the hemline. Matching dark blue ribbon tied beneath her chest drew one’s attention to the low scooped neckline exposing a swelling of creamy breast. Oh, the amount was proper, but she felt exposed. She once loved this gown. Tonight she felt on the auction block at Tattersalls.
The talented fingers of her maid styled her hair, curling it and pinning it up with curls wound in blue ribbon cascading down around her left shoulder. Even she had to admit she looked beautiful. A family of butterflies took flight inside her stomach, and she fought the urge to hug her belly. She could do this. What was about to happen tonight happened in drawing rooms and dining rooms all across England and other countries. All Mary had to remember was her brother wouldn’t marry her to an ogre, someone too old or too young. She needed to have faith in Spencer. As she descended the stairs, leading down to the grand foyer, her hands gripped the mahogany bannister as a lifeline, and she whispered the word, “Faith.”
She knew she was early, the guests wouldn’t arrive for another fifteen minutes, but she wanted to settle herself in the lovely burgundy and rose drawing room. Upon entering, thinking she would be alone, surprise hit her when she glimpsed Spencer standing stiff and tall in front of a large window, his arms linked together behind his back.
“Are you ready for this evening?”
How had he known it was her? “Yes.”
Pivoting around, her brother’s eyes took her in. “You look beautiful. I know this is not what you want, but I thank you.”
Tears swam in Mary’s eyes, she used her gloved hands to soak them up before they could escape. Words eluded her and thankfully, Miranda and Aunt Violet entered the room, saving her from replying. Thank goodness Grandmother and Mother were in the country because this night would be hard enough. Not to mention how would Spencer explain to them the sudden need to marry her off? Her stomach recoiled. Food would not go down easy tonight.
Miranda acknowledged her first. “You look stunning, my dear.” She kissed her cheek. “I’d hug you but we mustn’t wrinkle our gowns.”
“You look lovely. Green is your best color with your hair and eyes.” Mary complemented.
The butler entered, bowed and announced the arrival of her cousin, Bridgeton, and his countess, Amelia, and the Duke of Wentworth and his sister, Lady Penelope Seabrook.
Her insides finally settled—family and friends. No single gentlemen...yet. Mary greeted the new arrivals, wondering what was keeping Elizabeth. She curtsied. “Your Grace, how nice to see you again.”
“Lady Mary.” He bowed over her hand. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else tonight. Your Grace sends her regards—she is unable to attend.” He acknowledged his sister. “You remember Lady Penelope.”
Mary curtsied. “Yes. It is a pleasure to see you again.”
Lady Penelope curtsied and smiled. “I’m looking forward to this evening. Perhaps we will have time to chat.”
“Yes, I would like that very much.”
The Seabrook family had only recently learned about Penelope’s existence. She was the natural born daughter of the previous duke and his mistress. Wentworth, with his mother’s blessing, introduced Penelope into society recently as his sister and none, but a very few, dared cross the powerful duke and question her parentage or the use of the title lady. Mary wondered if being rich and marrying into the family of a duke would make some eligible gentleman of the ton ignore the circumstances of her birth. Mary wished her luck and hoped she found her happily-ever-after. Mary looked forward to getting to know her better. She was terribly shy and utterly beautiful with her blonde hair and blue eyes resembling her brother, the duke.
Bridgeton approached her. “Do you not have a hug for your favorite cousin.”
Mary hugged Bridgeton carefully, not wanting to crush her dress or his exquisite charcoal coat or silver paisley waist coat, not to mention his white shirt and starched cravat tied expertly. “How handsome you look this evening, cousin.”
“And you, my dear cousin, are positively radiant.”
Amelia, his countess, chimed in, “No hugs for us, after all the work our maids went into pressing our gowns.” She took both Mary’s hand
s into hers. “William is right, you do look radiant. Has one of the single gentlemen invited tonight captured your heart?”
Hiding her pain and anguish proved an impossible task. Mary noticed Amelia saw it right away, linked her arm with hers, and led her to the side of the room. “My dear, is something amiss?”
“I’m sorry.” Mary blinked and willed her tears to dry up. “There is someone, but Spencer won’t allow it.”
Amelia squeezed her hand. “Why ever not?”
“If I confide in you, you must promise not to tell Bridgeton.”
“One thing I learned early on in my relationship with your cousin is that we don’t keep secrets. Perhaps if I confide in him, he will speak to Spencer on your behalf. You do remember when Wentworth refused to allow anything to pass between William and me. Even had him thrown in Newgate for attempting to murder me, which of course, he did no such thing.”
How could she forget the tragic events leading up to the marriage between her cousin and his young bride, only several years older than Mary. “This is different. He is not a member of the peerage. Far from it.”
“Indeed.” Amelia hid her shock well. “Still, there is always hope. Oh dear, your cousin is glancing this way with a look I know all too well. I will do what I can even without the gentleman’s name.”
Finally, Mary spotted Elizabeth entering the room on the arm of Amesbury. No doubt she’d been waiting for him to arrive. Perhaps tonight they would announce their betrothal. She wanted nothing but happiness for her sister, even though her heart ached for her own betrothal and happiness to Robert. Several more guests entered the drawing room as she stood in a quiet corner all alone. Two gentlemen she recognized as Mr. Philip Percy and the Viscount Dayton were announced by the butler. Neither had shown any interest in either Elizabeth or her during the Season. What was Spencer thinking inviting them? Also announced was an old matron, Lady Southfork, and her granddaughter, Lady Julia Finley. Obviously Spencer needed to make an even number of gentlemen and ladies. He’d chosen well because Lady Julia was gracious, not gossipy, boring, or frivolous. It was her third Season. Perhaps she would catch the eye of one of gentlemen in attendance.
The Spencer Sisters Forbidden Loves and Broken Hearts Page 9
