The next gentleman to arrive was The Duke of Newbury. Mary had never seen him before, nor heard of him. Her insides turned to stone at the sight of him. She would place his age around twenty-nine or thirty, but other than that words escaped her. Her eyes, however, were riveted to the poor, unfortunate man. He leaned heavily on a cane, his left leg appeared not to bend at the knee. A black patch covered one eye, making him resemble a pirate. A red, raised scar that ran from mid-cheek to across his chin looked new and decorated the same side as the patch. Fortunately, for him, he had one uninjured side, which made him almost handsome in a hard sort of way. Where on earth had Spencer found the Duke? More to the point, had he known about his shortcomings? Mary prided herself in not being petty or selfish or putting too much stock in a person’s looks. In the Duke’s case, even she may find it hard to overlook his disfigurement.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Miranda said as she joined her. “You are wondering how your brother chose his guest list? I can assure you he spent hours agonizing over it with Elizabeth and myself. The three invited are actively seeking wives and from what he could deduce, they are honorable men, although Spencer couldn’t find out much about the duke, except he served in the war with Wellington and fought alongside him at Waterloo. Some say he is a hero. His Grace came to London only recently after inheriting from a distant cousin. The poor man. I don’t believe Spencer knew he was a cripple.” Miranda wrapped her arm through Mary’s. “Come, let us go to your brother and get the introductions over with.”
Her feet, weighed down by invisible stones, shuffled along beneath her skirt. Vibrations invaded all her muscles. Even though her lungs expanded and contracted she didn’t think she took in air or expelled any, nor did her heart appear to beat.
“Ah, here is one of my lovely sisters now,” Spencer said. “Miss Mary Spencer, I would like to present His Grace, The Duke of Newbury.”
The duke took her gloved hand with his free one and made an awkward bow while he brushed his lips across her knuckles. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Spencer.” The whole time his face appeared impassive, except for one second she thought she saw an amused look cross his features. She must have been mistaken.
She pulled her hand back trying to appear gracious and sincere as she curtsied. “You Grace, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” It deemed terribly hard not to stare at his horrible scar or black patch, but she thought she did well.
Viscount Dayton and Mr. Phillip Percy were introduced next. The other gentlemen bowed, took her hand, and pressed their lips to her knuckles. Too bad she felt nothing. Three kisses to her knuckles and not one single tingle.
Spencer looked at her with a silly grin on his face. What on earth was he up too? And then all air vacated her lungs and her knees threatened to buckle. Her shocked eyes moved back and forth between her brother and the newly arrived guest being introduced by the butler.
“A Mr. Robert Smythe.”
It couldn’t be? How? Never had she seen him dressed so fine. He looked every bit the part of a gentleman of society in his dark brown coat, tan waistcoat, brown breeches, brown Hessians, white crisp linen shirt with a perfectly tied cravat. Dare she hope? Dream?
“Mr. Smythe,” her brother said, “you remember my sister, Miss Spencer.”
He bowed over her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles, causing those elusive tingles. “Miss Spencer, it is a pleasure to see you again.” A smile spread across her lips at the look of relief on his face and the twinkle in his creamy brown eyes.
“Very nice to see you again.” So shocked she was, it was a wonder she could speak.
Before Mary could say anything more, Bridgeton and Wentworth joined them and took over the conversation. Elizabeth wrapped her arm with hers and led her away to the other side of the room. Was she to spend the entire evening watching from afar? Not a half hour ago she’d wanted to do just so, now her insides were alive, tingling with the need to socialize and enjoy the night ahead.
“Why did you drag me away?”
Elizabeth laughed. “Because you needed saving. If you could’ve seen the way you and Mr. Smythe were making eyes at each other. I almost opened my fan to cool my face. Lord, if any of the other single gentlemen in the room had hopes of winning your favors, their hopes have been squashed.”
“I can’t believe he’s here? Does this mean? What made Spencer change his mind?” So many words so quickly caused breathlessness and her hand flew to her chest.
Soft laughter again from her sister. “I don’t know the answer. A change of heart I suppose.”
“Drat, dinner is announced. I’m too excited to eat anything,” Mary exclaimed.
Mary found herself being escorted into the dining room by Mr. Percy. His mouth turned up into a bright smile at having the honor. Spencer and Miranda sat at each end of the long table. Mary was seated between Amesbury and Mr. Percy with Elizabeth on Amesbury’s other side. Across from her was Mr. Smythe with Penelope on his right and the Duke of Newbury on Penelope’s left. Lady Julia was seated on Smythe’s left with Viscount Dayton on her right. Spencer had managed to put all the single people together in the middle of the table.
Perhaps tonight wouldn’t be for not. Perhaps Penelope and Lady Julia would find suitors among the single men.
ROBERT COULD HARDLY believe the events of today, which began with him holding an invitation that arrived that morning. He’d read it three times before understanding the meaning. Well, it didn’t take him three reads to ascertain he’d been invited to a formal dinner party at the home of Mr. Stuart Spencer. The reason it took three reads was disbelief. When the implication sank in, his heart beat regularly for the first time since he’d left Mary at Cliff House. Perhaps Spencer was allowing his suit of Mary. It could mean nothing else. What had changed the man’s mind? And bugger all, did he have the proper clothing to attend?
Standing in the Spencer family drawing room now, glancing around at all the ladies and gents he realized his clothing, though not possessing the finest quality of cloth, looked passable enough. His old boots had polished up nicely. As a servant introduced him, he fought down panic threatening to overrun his entire being.
Thankfully, Wentworth and Bridgeton approached him, no doubt having witnessed his near panic, and welcomed him, putting him at ease. If one could be at ease as a guest at a polite society dinner party. Something he’d never expected to attend. He’d dreamed of a life with Mary but never expected it to come to fruition. Tonight, his heart soared with the knowledge it would happen. Why else would he be here?
When his eyes connected with Mary’s, he couldn’t look away. She looked breathtaking and beyond beautiful, making him wonder why she chose him when she could have any single gentleman in the room. And there were several if he wasn’t mistaken.
Before he became acclimated to the drawing room, dinner was announced and to his utter disappointment he escorted Elizabeth into dinner and not Mary. However, as he found himself seated across from Mary, and would be able to look at her throughout the meal, he relaxed and the tension eased from his shoulders and neck. He’d once heard it was bad form to speak across the table, so he would wait until he witnessed someone else doing it before he did. Meanwhile, he made small talk with Lady Penelope. Thankfully, she didn’t mention him being a Bow Street Runner.
Occupying the seat on Lady Penelope’s other side sat a rather large, imposing and intimidating duke, possessing a nasty scar across his face, an eye patch, and a leg that appeared crippled. Fortunately for him he was a duke and not part of the working class. He’d starve in the lower classes of London before someone gave him a job. Smythe’s curiosity had him wanting to ask about his injuries, knowing it was probably taboo had him keeping his mouth closed. Perhaps tonight was a test to ascertain if he could fit in with Mary’s family and polite society in general. If it was, he would not fail.
His eyes fell upon Mary and she smiled and blushed. God, how he loved her. He wanted to say something, anything, but afraid to
break etiquette rules, he sat there staring at her with what he knew was a stupid grin and a possessiveness he felt down to his very bones. She belonged to him.
Footmen began bringing food, at least he thought they were footmen. The upper class had too many servant names. Doorman, footman, under-footman, butler... The first course, a pureed soup, smelled quite good even if he didn’t know what ingredients were used. Before he dared pick up a utensil from the table, he looked across at Amesbury and followed his lead. Cloth napkin draped on lap. Even he knew to do that. What he didn’t know was what spoon to use until Amesbury picked up his. He sighed with relief as he dipped his spoon into his soup and tried his hardest not to make slurping noises. The taste was odd, but not in a bad way.
Several more courses came and went and each time he waited for Amesbury to pluck a utensil off the table. The footman refilled his glass several times with wine, causing the room to tilt and the voices surrounding him to blend into a mess of non-sequential noise. No more wine for him, and he refused another refill. By the time sweetmeats, cheese, and assorted fruits were served, Smythe thought he’d burst through his breeches. He couldn’t believe people ate like this on a daily basis.
All of a sudden, everyone stood. He promptly rose and watched as the ladies exited the room and the gentlemen resumed their seats as port and cheroots were passed around. Smythe did love a good smoke, but he passed on the port. It wouldn’t do to get drunk and embarrass himself or Mary. He needed to keep his wits about himself. The conversation turned to politics, and he listened with an avid ear. He would never have a spot in the House of Commons, but that didn’t stop him from keeping abreast of current government affairs. He listened but didn’t utter a word.
Not long after, they rejoined the ladies in the drawing room. Bridgeton invited him to play chess. Thankfully he knew how and prided himself on being a moderately good player. After a rather good move, where he swiped Bridgeton’s knight off the board, his opponent said, “You’re proficient at chess. When do you have time?”
“I find the time. I have a chess board in my office.”
“I never noticed. I think you know why I asked you to play? Spencer wants me to talk with you about Mary and what your intentions are toward her?”
He’d thought his attentions were obvious after Spencer caught Mary and he in a private moment. “I would like to marry her.”
“How do you propose to support her? I know you let rooms in a tenement in St. Giles. But Mary needs better lodgings.”
Smythe fought the urge to tug on his cravat, which seemed to be getting tighter and tighter by the second. “I have money saved up. I will let a house in Cheapside. I would think living amongst doctors, bankers, and lawyers would be acceptable to Mr. Spencer.”
Bridgeton kept his eyes on the board, contemplating his next move. “I believe that will be acceptable to my cousin. I know you will find the next question rude, but do you make enough money to sustain that address in the long-term.”
He wanted to laugh. Did Bridgeton expect him to come right out and say how much blunt he made? He didn’t believe so. “Yes. Between running the office of the Bow Street Runners and the work I pick up on the side, I do quite well, thank you.”
“Christ.” Bridgeton raised his eyes and looked apologetic. “This is damn awkward. One last question and then we can concentrate on the bloody game. Spencer has a family ring he would like to give you for Mary. It belongs to his mother, but he didn’t want to insult you if you have a family ring of your own. Do you?”
“No. I would be honored to accept the ring on behalf of Mary.”
“Good, good. I need a brandy, pardon me for a moment.” He stood and then paused. “Would you care for some?”
“Why not.”
“Oh, and one more thing, Mary’s dowry is five thousand pounds.” Bridgeton held up his glass. “The two of you should do just fine.”
Chapter Ten
After most of the guests left, except for Wentworth, Amesbury, and Bridgeton, the four men sat in Spencer’s study enjoying a smooth, aged brandy.
“Do you think me allowing Mary and Smythe to marry will cause much of a scandal?” Spencer said as he took a healthy swallow of his drink.
Bridgeton answered before anyone could respond. “Most definitely. But since when can’t this family deal with a little scandal. What I want to know is did you discuss this with Grandmother? Because the only approval you need is hers.”
“I did. Sent a letter before we even left Cliff House.” He shivered, thinking about her reply. “She wasn’t pleased. Hoped both Elizabeth and Mary would marry into titles.” He looked at Amesbury. “I can count on you asking for Elizabeth, can’t I?”
Amesbury’s nodded his head.
“Good. Because she said if I made an advantageous match for Elizabeth, Mary could marry Smythe. We all know the man is honorable and brave. But is he marriageable? Can he provide for Mary? Not that she doesn’t come with a large dowry and a nice estate in Sussex, thanks to Grandmother, but still, Smythe is a proud man, will he want to rely on his wife’s riches?”
“Many men do,” Wentworth replied. “But I know what you mean. Have you had a conversation with him about his finances? Perhaps he’s squirrelled away a large nest egg. Broach the subject with him.” He cocked a brow. “You do need to have a private conversation with him to discuss particulars anyway so bring it up.”
“It just so happens,” Spencer cocked a brow back at his friend, “Bridgeton spoke with him this evening, I think most of my financial worries, where they will live and such, have been answered satisfactorily. But you are right, Wentworth, I still need to speak with him. Members of the ton discuss people’s finances all the time. Nothing is secret when it comes to money within the realm. So I won’t hesitate discussing money with Smythe.”
“Nonsense,” Amesbury interjected. “Society only knows what is entailed. Or if someone is stupid to shout their wealth from the rooftops, or they gamble it away. I challenge any of you to guess my worth?”
Spencer coughed. “We can discuss this when you ask for my sister’s hand.”
Amesbury grinned. “Certainly.”
“Not to change the subject, but what do you think about Newbury for Penelope?” Wentworth asked, his attention focused into his crystal tumbler half full of amber liquid.”
Spencer spoke up, “It appeared strange enough when Elizabeth came up with his name, but then you did as well, making me curious. Dayton and Percy I could understand, but Newbury?” He paused and tossed back his drink. “She may not want herself shackled to a cripple. And his scar is positively frightening. And the black patch. God knows what his eye looks like beneath that thing.”
“Are you a sissy?” Bridgeton said with a smirk. “It’s not as though you have to live with him and view his frightening scar, patch, and leg on a daily basis. Let Penelope decide.”
“Actually,” the duke drawled. “I will decide. I’m not saying I’ve set my sights on Newbury, but he’s in the running. Besides, snagging a duke would be a fait accompli for my dear bastard of a sister.”
“Will you not consider her feelings at all?” The earl asked, who not long ago had to prove his worth to Wentworth in order to wed his sister, Amelia. Wentworth had hated Bridgeton with a passion when they first met. Thankfully all ended well.
“Does Penelope know tonight was as much about her as it was Mary?” Spencer queried as he refilled his glass from the decanter, held it up offering refills.”
Wentworth leaned forward, holding out his empty glass. “I never came right out and said anything. But I could tell by the way she was glaring at me over dinner she suspected as much. Tomorrow, I’ll broach the subject and get her thoughts. She is only ten and seven, but with her background, I think it’s best to marry her off as soon as possible. I’d hate to have her suffer through another Season. She did not attract favorable attention in the spring. The whispers and such. The ton is cruel. I’m torn also because she only recently came into our lives,
and I don’t want to lose her yet.”
“Do you still see your sisters, Bella and Amelia.” Bridgeton rose from his seat and took the decanter off Spencer’s desk and refilled his and Amesbury’s glass.
“Yes.”
“There is your answer. You will still see her. Not daily, but truthfully there are times I think Amelia spends more time with her family than with me.” Bridgeton took a large sip from his glass. “Damn, this is good brandy.” Bridgeton grinned as he looked at His Grace.
“Hating you came easily when we first met,” Wentworth griped. “I can revisit that.”
Spencer, Amesbury, and Bridgeton chuckled, but it was Bridgeton who said, “As if Amelia or your duchess would allow it.”
“Are you saying my wife wears the breeches when it comes to family affairs?” The duke looked appalled.
“I’m not commenting either way,” Spencer said with a shoulder shrug.
Amesbury answered, “Well, I do remember a time when Emma...”
“Shut up.” The duke growled, snagged the decanter off the desk and sloshed the liquid into his glass, glaring at Bridgeton. “Don’t say a word. As I said already, I can hate you again.”
Wisely Bridgeton remained silent, his expression amused.
After his friends left, Spencer found himself contemplating his future. Not necessarily his future but that of his sisters. He didn’t want Mary to ever regret her decision to choose Smythe. It would break her heart if society shunned her, and she was forced to leave all she’d ever known behind. Or would it break his heart to witness his sister being shunned? Mary would probably be perfectly happy living on her Sussex Estate with Smythe who could take a job as the local constable. Would Smythe be happy leaving the cutthroats, drunks, thieves, and murderers behind in London? If he loved Mary, indeed he would be.
The Spencer Sisters Forbidden Loves and Broken Hearts Page 10
