The Spencer Sisters Forbidden Loves and Broken Hearts

by Christine Donovan

  Amesbury brushed her lips softly when they were joined in holy matrimony. Cheers surrounded them as they made their way down the aisle, out the door, down the stairs, and into Amesbury’s carriage for the ride back to Spencer House for the wedding breakfast.

  Silence surrounded her in the carriage as she sat next to her new husband—the vacancy of noise near deafening to her ears. Who knew lack of sound could do that?

  “May I say you look beautiful today?”

  Elizabeth pulled the lap blanket tighter around her. A chill had set in, and she’d left her cape with her sister-in-law.

  “You are cold. Let me warm you.”

  His arms circled her waist, and he moved closer so their bodies touched from feet to shoulder. If she didn’t remember what tore them apart, she would rest her head on his shoulder and revel in the closeness and warmth of his body. Enjoy the woodsy sent of his cologne, soft not overbearing. Let the sound of his even breathing lull her. Too bad her mind refused let her forget. Her heart, though, ached for him. Beat for him, was cracked wide open and vulnerable to him.

  “Better?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” Such politeness. Would their marriage be like that? She knew many whose were. She would go insane.

  The carriage came to a stop. They had arrived. Her stomach sank. She didn’t know if she would survive the wedding breakfast with all eyes on her and her husband. Amesbury helped her out of the coach, tucked her arm into his as they climbed the stone steps, a doorman opened the door and bowed as they entered. Voices could be heard down the hall in the drawing room. They made their way there to find all Elizabeth’s family members and most of their friends in attendance, laughing and looking merry as they enjoyed refreshments while awaiting the wedding feast. Champagne flowed freely. Amesbury plucked two flutes off a tray from a passing servant and turned to face her, looking uncomfortable.

  “To you, my dear wife, on our wedding day. I will forever be your most humble admirer and loyal servant.”

  His glass clinked with hers, and as they sipped from the crystal, the other occupants of the room cheered and clinked their flutes.

  Before Elizabeth had a chance to say anything back to her husband, they were surrounded by family and friends, everyone talking at once and congratulating them with hugs and kisses. Tears stung her eyes as she moved from one to another—their words a jumble inside her head as she realized all these people loved her and Amesbury. They were truly happy for them. And she was not the only person with tears in her eyes.

  When her cousin, the Earl of Bridgeton, pulled her into his arms he said, “There is no better man than Amesbury. I am so happy for you and for him. He has a prize in you, and I’m not just saying that because you’re my cousin. I know you are experiencing some difficulties, but I know in my heart they will resolve quickly. One only has to look at you both to know your love for each other runs deep. I love you and I’m the proudest cousin alive today.”

  “You are making me cry.” He stepped back and handed her his handkerchief. “Thank you.” She dabbed at her eyes and nose. “May I keep this?”

  “Of course. But I hope for only happy tears.”

  “Me too.” And she found herself relaxing. Perhaps today wouldn’t be so awful.

  For three quarters of an hour Elizabeth spent time conversing with all her friends and family, alternating between crying and laughing. Her discussion with her mother was most touching.

  They went to a quiet corner of the room, sat in two chairs side by side, and she waited for her mother, who looked lovely today in light blue. Her cheeks had color. It was a good day for her. Elizabeth worried about her so much. Had ever since she was a little girl and realized her mother seldom left her room and was as fragile as the most delicate china.

  “My dear Elizabeth,” Mother spoke softly, taking one of her hands in her cool one. “Please forgive me for not visiting your room last evening for the mother, daughter wedding night talk.” Her poor mother sounded guilty. “Is there anything you wish to ask me?”

  Since her husband had already bedded her, she had nothing to ask. Although she couldn’t let her mother know she was no longer innocent. “There is nothing to forgive. Miranda kindly explained things to me.” She forced herself to blush.

  “She is a wonderful daughter-in-law and sister-in-law to you and Mary.”

  Elizabeth squeezed her mother’s hand very gently. She was always afraid her mother would break if she hugged her or squeezed her too tightly. “I will miss you. I know I won’t live far away, but I worry for you.”

  A smile graced her mother’s face, making her look years younger and more beautiful than ever. “I believe it is a mother’s duty to worry over her children. However, my three children have married well. I have no doubt you will be happy with Amesbury. Since he has no family left, I believe we will see the two of you often. Now, I’ve kept you from your gentleman long enough. I love you daughter, be happy.”

  Where had she put Bridgeton’s handkerchief. Drat, she’d left it on a table across the room. In her entire life, she’d never had a conversation this extensive with her mother. Perhaps her health was improving.

  As she made her way to her handkerchief, the butler announced, “Breakfast is served.”

  Immediately, Amesbury stood at her side offering his arm. The talk with her mother had flustered her, and it took her a moment to wrap her arm around his. “Thank you.”

  They were at one side of the table, with Spencer and Miranda seated at each end. Mary and Mr. Smythe sat across from the newlyweds. Every other vacant seat was taken with the rest of their family and friends. The footmen began serving everything from coddled eggs, sausages, bacon, fish, fruit, and numerous delicious looking pastries. Elizabeth couldn’t possibly eat the contents of her plate with her insides vibrating with nerves.

  Several hours later when Amesbury escorted Elizabeth from her family home, she smiled when her eyes fell on Amesbury’s carriage decorated with white paper streamers and flowers. Once inside, he pulled up the lap blanket to cover her and tapped the roof of the coach, letting his driver know to move on.

  “It is odd that I don’t know where you live. How no one has ever pointed it out to me on one of our strolls to the park, or that I have never visited.”

  “Not at all since it isn’t proper for an unmarried lady to visit a single gentleman. If I entertained perhaps you would have visited. Too relieve your fears that I live in some unfashionable area, I live in Mayfair on Brook Street, not so far from Spencer House.”

  “All I want is to be close to my family.” That he thought she would care if they lived outside Mayfair bothered her. Her sister lived outside of Mayfair and it didn’t bother Mary. If they lived near Mary she wouldn’t mind. Elizabeth never put on airs. At one point she had wanted to move to America and see the Wild West. Most ladies in London drawing rooms would swoon at the thought. Not her. Perhaps someday Amesbury would take her to America for holiday.

  The carriage stopped and as she exited she gasped as she got her first glimpse of her new home. Four stories of white stone and beautiful large mullion windows. The ground floor windows were decorated with flower boxes filled to the brim with an explosion of color. A sizable portico welcomed her to the entrance and drew her toward the wood and leaded glass, black front door.

  “It is beautiful, graceful, and not what I’d expected.”

  His brow quirked as he grinned at her. “No. And why is that, my dear?”

  “For one, my lord, I kept thinking about manly houses. Built for single gentlemen in dark brick and hard lines. But I shouldn’t have been surprised as this has been in your family for generations. I presume anyway.”

  He chuckled as he escorted her into the main entry, which was two stories high with marble floors and a marble staircase that curved gracefully up to the second story. “You will find this house more feminine than masculine. My mother had the home redone shortly before her death. It’s a pity she didn’t get to enjoy the beauty of her designs for
long.”

  “She designed this?”

  “She worked tirelessly with the carpenters, wanting to add her touch to the entire home.” He paused and cleared his throat. “Which she did. If something is not to your liking, please let me know and I will hire workers to change things.”

  Elizabeth gasped. “No, if the rest of the home is like the entryway, it is perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing.” Out of the corner of her eye, relief washed across her new husband’s face. How could she change anything when this home represented the family he lost?

  HEARING HER ADDRESS him as ‘my lord’ had Edward’s insides churning. He hadn’t realized, although he should have, that it would take time to win Elizabeth over to the carefree way their relationship used to be. In fact, since he’d made her acquaintance, he didn’t think she’d ever referred him as my lord, always Amesbury or Edward. “Please call me Edward. We are married now. Can we drop the formality between us?”

  When she finally answered, she didn’t meet his eyes. “Yes. Edward. May I see our rooms? I believe my maid, who would have arrived hours ago, should be done unpacking my things.”

  “By all means.”

  Up the grand staircase and to the left were their chambers. He opened the door to her rooms first.

  EYES WIDE, ELIZABETH took in her exquisite surroundings. Edward’s mother had outdone herself in the marchioness’s rooms. A palette of soft blue, pink, and cream was prominent throughout the rooms consisting of a sitting room, bedroom, and dressing room with a separate bathing chamber as well. She would be happy here.

  “You haven’t said anything. Are these rooms to your liking?”

  “Oh yes. They are lovely and very comfortable looking.”

  “Good.” He swept his hand out, indicating a door off her sitting room. “My rooms are this way. Please follow me.”

  Obediently, Elizabeth followed him as her stomach fluttered to be seeing his rooms, knowing they were married and it wouldn’t be scandalous. They mirrored hers in that they entered his sitting room. His mother must have spent much time in here because her design touches stood out all around. Deep blue, brown, and cream made up the sitting room. The furniture was larger and more masculine, though subtle decorative pieces softened the room. They bypassed his dressing room and bathing chamber and stepped into his bedroom. A massive four poster bed took up the center of the room with deep blue velvet hangings. The floors, like hers, were wood but covered with expensive, thick rugs from the orient. No expense was spared in the interior of Worthington House.

  “My mother was planning on redoing Cliff House when the accident happened. Perhaps when next we are there you may wish to make changes.”

  “Milord.” Edward’s valet bowed. “Milady. I have two footmen ready to move your belongings to your new rooms.”

  “Send them now. We are done here.”

  “Thank you, milord.” He bowed and left.

  “You don’t use these rooms?”

  At her query Edward winced. “No. After my parent’s death I remained in my old rooms. I didn’t want to move here until I married and had my marchioness.” Without another word he exited through the adjourning room. “I would think you’d like to rest before dinner, which is served promptly at seventy-thirty.” He bowed. “Until then.”

  What? He just left as if she were a guest and not his wife. And then she recalled his wince when she inquired about now using the marquess’s rooms. Poor Edward, he’d never recovered from losing his family. Would their marriage help him accept and move forward? She said a quick prayer that it did. Even in her anger with him, she loved him so much her heart ached.

  She made her way to the lovely blue and pink damask chaise lounge and got comfortable. Napping would not happen as she wasn’t tired, but she hoped enjoying some peace in front of the blazing hearth would soothe her spirits and worry. Except tears filled her eyes. Ever since Elizabeth had been a little girl she’d dreamed of her wedding day. The horses, their necks adorned with wreaths of pink and white roses pulling an open carriage. Inside the carriage rose petals covered every conceivable surface. And her new husband lavished his attentions on her.

  Never, in her wildest dreams, had she expected her husband to treat her so callously. More tears fell and Elizabeth hated herself for them. For the past year she’d wanted to marry Edward. Loved him. She’d gotten her wish. So why did excruciating pain radiate inside her chest? Happiness should be surrounding them in its fold. Not this gloom and doom hovering over them like a massive storm threatening destruction to everything in its path. If only Elizabeth could go back to the night of the masquerade and never overhear the conversation that changed her opinion of Edward. He’d tried to explain, but she’d been so cross and hurt she’d barely heard his explanation. Their marriage would remain trapped beneath the storm clouds unless she insisted on him telling all that happened once he buried his family. Somehow she didn’t think it would be easy. A more private person she’d never known.

  “Milady,” Sophie said as she entered the room. “It is time to dress for dinner.” Elizabeth sat up and stretched her arms and back. Evidently she’d been tired because she had dosed off.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sitting in his study, cradling a glass with two fingers of brandy in it, Edward swore at himself. I treated her abominably. She must hate me.

  When Edward had left her in her rooms, more like dismissed her, the shock and hurt on her face had flashed in his eyes. What an arse he was. Elizabeth, who radiated kindness, happiness, and loyalty deserved more than him. He, with his broken body, heart, and soul. Oh, for a time he’d thought she’d healed him, but it didn’t take long for his demons to take root again. And now, thanks to him, Elizabeth would live out her entire life surrounded by him and his demons.

  Today had physically exhausted his body. If Edward could make it through dinner without his cane, miracles could happen, which, of course, he needed. On their first day of marriage he didn’t want to frighten Elizabeth by using his cane in front of her. He didn’t want her to think she’d wed a cripple. Although, in reality, she had. Or Edward would be a cripple eventually as day by day, month by month his back and legs progressively worsened. By forty, he’d be reduced to using a chair with wheels like an old, decrepit invalid.

  A vice clamped around Edward’s insides which caused him to gasp. Who knew guilt caused such physical pain. He should’ve been upfront with his weaknesses—emotional and physical. No one had called him out on it. He was surprised Wentworth and Myles hadn’t realized he seldom rode anymore. His days of racing through Hyde Park were ancient history.

  The sound of the dinner bell warning shocked him out of his maudlin. He had half an hour to make himself presentable for his new bride.

  In Edward’s chambers all appeared silent next door, and he wondered if Elizabeth had already made her way downstairs and he’d missed her on the main staircase. Then suddenly voices and several pairs of feet moved around next door. His valet appeared at his side, giving him a start.

  “You appear in pain, may I get your cane, milord?”

  “Hell, no. Just help me dress for dinner.”

  “There has been a change in plans. Mrs. Potter has ordered dinner to be served in milady’s sitting room.”

  He was going to fire his housekeeper. “On whose orders?” he barked. “Never mind. I’ll deal with Mrs. Potter later. You may go, Gerard.”

  “But you said...”

  “I know what I said, but since I’m dining casually, what I’m wearing is suitable.”

  “Yes, milord,” Gerard said and left with a bow.

  In fact, he removed his coat. It was damn stifling inside his rooms. His shirtsleeves and waistcoat would have to do. If he planned on seducing his wife, he would change into his robe, if only...

  Mrs. Potter knew what she was doing. Between her, Gerard, and his butler, Stephens, they were always poking into his affairs ever since the accident. More since his struggle with opium. They were the only three in his empl
oy that knew. And they were loyal. Damn it, Edward couldn’t be angry at Mrs. Potter. The three of them were like family. How he wished to make a family with Elizabeth. He hated to admit his jealousy toward Wentworth, Myles, Bridgeton, and Spencer for the contentment and happiness they lived with daily. Could contentment and happiness be attainable for Elizabeth and him as well? Only time would tell, and time ticked on the longer he stayed in his rooms and avoided hers.

  His knuckles wrapped lightly on the adjoining wooden door. He sucked air into his lungs as he waited for a sign to enter. The door opened, and Edward inhaled deeply to make up for not breathing while he’d waited for the door to be answered. He could lie to himself and say that was the cause of his breathlessness, when in fact it was Elizabeth standing before him. Edward’s eyes ran from her bare feet peeking out beneath the white robe, up to her waist, bypassing the apex of her thighs, higher to where if he squinted he could make out the darkness of her nipples then on to her face. Heat charged through his body, he undid his cravat and opened the top of his shirt, trying to breathe. Then he looked at his wife’s lovely face, her pink cheeks. Thick, wavy chestnut hair cascaded loose to her waist. He fought like hell not to adjust his cock inside his breeches. Not to mention pulling her into his arms and burying himself in her scented hair.

  “Please come in.” Stepping aside, she curtsied. “I hope this evening finds you well, Edward?”

  “Yes and you?”

  “Quite well, thank you.” Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered toward the small table set with covered dishes and champagne flutes with an open bottle breathing in a bucket of ice. “Mrs. Potter insisted we dine in private. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.” Bloody hell, Edward didn’t want to consume food, only Elizabeth. Was he wrong in thinking she didn’t want him? Dare he hope by the way she was dressed, or rather un-dressed?

  He helped her into a chair, and as he sat down he realized he’d not been wrong. The glare she sent him showed her anger quite clearly. Instant knot inside his stomach.