by Kelly Boyce
They returned to the carriage before Garron could unload the trunks.
“Do you think people will question my staying with you? Won’t it look odd, given we have no known association?”
“Nonsense,” Spencer said, waving off the footman and giving her a hand into the carriage. “Your cousin-in-law and I are close friends. It is only natural I should look out for you while your family is away. Besides, it will work well with our cover story.”
She waited until he climbed in behind her and took his seat before she questioned him. “Our cover story?”
The carriage jostled as it started. The drive to Lord and Lady Ellesmere’s home would take no more than a few minutes. Her nerves grew. How would they receive her? She was but a stranger to them.
“Word is bound to get out that you were leaving London for Italy and that I conveyed you back home. It is best we disseminate our own version of events first to head off any controversy. Lord Glenmor and Nick being away will aid in this.”
“In what way?”
“Simple. In their absence, there was no one left to fetch you when you fell ill and needed to disembark. Nick requested my assistance as a close friend of the family to ensure your safe return. I did so—along with your chaperone, Miss Brampton, for propriety’s sake—and returned you to London. My grandmother then insisted you stay with us until Lord Glenmor’s return. This will also help head off Billingsworth if he tries to concoct some other story to depict the situation in a bad light.”
Caelie blinked at him. He had thought all of this up from the time they walked into the house until they left, which took all of ten minutes. “You have a very nimble mind, Spenc—Lord Huntsleigh. I confess it is a bit disconcerting.”
“You may call me Spencer. I do not mind.”
“It would be most improper.” Though, she had already made the switch in her mind. Sometime after she had kissed him it had become more and more difficult to think of him in such formal address.
“Are we not friends?”
“Are we?” She wasn’t sure. They had been at some point in their journey, but it had changed, the truth casting their relationship in shadow. “Perhaps it is best that we do not attach more familiarity to our union than need be. It is only a temporary façade, after all.”
“Very well, then.”
She nodded at his agreement but sensed he did not agree with her. Something in the way he straightened his shoulders and the sudden attention he paid to the street beyond the window, as if it had been a rejection. She would have thought he’d be pleased by her willingness to put a distance between them. To make it clear she understood any feelings he acted out in the name of their plan were not true and that she knew better than to get her hopes up.
“Do you think your grandparents will be put out by having me foisted upon them without warning?”
Spencer turned away from the window. “Grandmama has lived in a house filled with men for far too long. I suspect she will relish the idea of having another lady in the house again.”
“Again? You mean your mother?” He had not spoken of his parents again since he’d told her of that fateful night when they died.
He shook his head. “My aunt, actually.”
“I hadn’t realized you had one.”
“She passed away around the time I was born. She and Grandmama had been traveling and she fell ill, as I understand. She had been quite young. Only sixteen, I believe. They don’t talk about it much, but I’ve always had the sense Grandmama carries the grief with her always.”
“I can imagine she would.” Her own mother still carried the loss of her son and she’d not even had the chance to get to know him before he passed. To have a child for sixteen years, to watch them grow and form into the person they would be, then to have them taken away, their future never to come to fruition—she couldn’t imagine the pain such a loss would cause.
“Besides,” Spencer continued. “If I am to pull off the ruse of being besotted with you, it will be more convincing if we are under the same roof, giving me regular access to you, yet having it be properly supervised to avoid any hint of impropriety.”
She read the meaning that dwelled beneath his words. Any fondness he displayed toward her would be nothing more than a carefully crafted ruse. Understanding this however, did not save her tender heart from being bruised. She refused to let it show. He did her a service, despite any misgivings he had with respect to her character or past motives. She would not burden him further with any attraction she felt for him. Perhaps, in time, it would wear off. Perhaps he would find her a potential husband who would fill the spot he had taken in her heart.
* * *
Spence tried to push his misgivings about the plan he had concocted to the back of his mind as the carriage made its way from Lord Glenmor’s house to his grandparents’.
Spence didn’t believe his grandparents would cast Caelie out. He had meant what he said when he indicated Grandmama would enjoy the company of another lady in the house. He did, however, fear Grandfather’s reaction. Lord Ellesmere had a deep and abiding abhorrence to scandal and a determination to avoid it at all costs. Spence couldn’t fault the man. Had Grandfather’s brothers shared his feelings, perhaps Spence would not now bear the burden of being the only male heir to the title.
But alas, all three of his great uncles had shown a marked determination to ruin themselves. All had made disastrous unions filled with strife—an unsettling trend amongst the Kingsley men, save for Grandfather, though he had passed this trait to his son. All of his great uncles had met untimely ends—Gordon in a dual over a woman, not his wife; William from a disease Grandfather refused to name though rumor had it he caught it from the bawdy houses he preferred to frequent; and poor Bernard had an accident following a quarrel over a gambling debt.
None of the unions, save for Great Uncle Gordon, had borne any children—and Gordon’s only child, a daughter, had run off with a Frenchman, creating a scandal of her own. Whatever became of her, Spence had no idea. Grandfather never spoke of her, or his brothers and the numerous scandals attached to them, and he especially never spoke of Spence’s parents.
It was this tendency that gave him pause at arriving with Lady Caelie Laytham in tow. Her family’s scandal had barely dimmed in the past two years and now she stood poised on the precipice of another one if he didn’t do something about it and fast.
If nothing else, perhaps the appearance he may entertain the idea of marriage would put Grandfather’s mind at ease. It bothered his conscience to know he caused his grandfather grief, though not quite enough to be forced into a union. It wasn’t so much that he loved the scandalous life, but he had hoped partaking in such activities would show Grandfather he made a better bachelor than husband. To date, however, the Marquess of Ellesmere had refused to concede this point.
“You are a million miles away,” Caelie said.
Spence smiled. Her voice held a sweetness, like tasting a succulent peach and longing for another bite. Even after their long day of traveling, she appeared fresh and lovely. Her hair, always kept in a simple style, was gathered in back with soft curls cascading down from beneath her small bonnet. The soft, apple green of her travel dress and dark sage of her pelisse only enhanced the color of her eyes. She was a jewel. He would have no problem finding her a husband. In truth, he may have to fend off multiple suitors.
The thought curdled his stomach.
“Was I?”
“Do you expect your grandfather will be angry you left?”
“Without a doubt. But not to worry, he will be on his best behavior with a guest present.”
She smiled but he could see the nervousness tug at the corner of her delectable mouth. “Ah, we discover the real reason you were so quick to invite me to stay.”
“I’ve been found out. I warned you I am a dastardly rogue. All my motives are ulterior.”
“I think you’re far more honorable than you give yourself credit for.”
Her words s
tartled him, especially given how he had treated her. “You’re wrong. You have nothing to base this crazy supposition on.”
She shook her head and the red curls bobbed and swayed. He could easily stare at her all day and always find something new and fascinating to see. “On the contrary. I have ample evidence. You gave up your own wants to see me safely home.”
“I behaved abominably. I took liberties I should not have.”
Color rose high in her cheeks and she glanced down at her hands where they rested folded in her lap. “I kissed you, not the other way around.”
Spence smiled. He should head this conversation to safer ground, but it was the first time since he’d behaved the drunken fool that their easy banter had returned and he was reluctant to let it go. Bantering with her held a strange exhilaration. It engaged him on all levels—mental, emotional and physical. He’d never experienced anything quite like it.
“I’m quite certain I recall kissing you back.”
Her eyebrows lifted but she kept her gaze fixed on her hands. “But you offered marriage to compensate.”
“Yes, I suppose I did. And you turned me down.”
“I did.” She looked up and the light in her eyes had dimmed. “And I mean to hold to that as I promised I would.”
You don’t have to.
The words came unbidden to his mind and he clamped down on them before they shot out of his mouth. He had no business saying them. He did not want to relive their last night at The White Stag. It had been ugly and not well done on his part. He’d rescinded his proposal upon her rejection and then proceeded to behave like a royal ass.
His behavior of that night only served to highlight the truth—he was not suited to marriage and had they gone through with it, he would have made her miserable, much as he had that night. It had been ingrained into him, generations deep. The Kingsley men did not do marriage well, Grandfather the odd exception to that rule. Spence often wondered if the man wasn’t a foundling passed off as the heir. No other explanation made sense of the strange anomaly.
Spence changed the subject rather than dredge up the other night any further. “Are you prepared for the Season? It may be quite exhausting. Grandmother usually has a full social calendar and I mean to escort you to as many fetes, assemblies, teas and whatever else they throw at us. I want to create a buzz of ghastly proportions.”
“I will be ready,” she said, though her expression implied he might as well have asked her if she was prepared to walk the plank.
“It won’t be as bad as all of that, I promise you. You may even enjoy yourself.”
“Once upon a time, I might have believed you.”
“I’m a wonderful escort. And who better to weed through the selection of gentlemen than me? I can easily point out which men have honor and which only wear it when it suits them.”
“Men like Billingsworth, you mean?”
“Indeed. I will not allow you to marry that man.”
“Is that so? And what if he is my only alternative?”
“Then I would strongly encourage spinsterhood.”
“I can assure you, my lord, spinsterhood does not hold the same enjoyable benefits as bachelorhood. I do not wish to join its ranks. I would like children someday and a home filled with love and laughter.”
“And you think this will be achieved if you marry Billingsworth?”
“No. I do not. But I do think it possible with the right marriage.”
Her optimistic view of the institution amazed him after all she had witnessed of it. Her parents were no more stellar examples of marital happiness than his were. Yet she steadfastly clung to the belief she could achieve it. She was either a blind fool or…simply wrong.
He scowled. “And what makes a marriage right?”
She titled her head as if giving the matter grave thought. “Friendship.”
“Friendship?” Hardly the answer he expected.
“Friendship creates a solid foundation to build everything else on. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Spence’s scowl deepened and he glanced out the window. “I’m not sure there is a foundation solid enough to sustain the ravages two people can do to each other.”
“But if they are friends, why would they want to hurt each other?”
He did not have an answer to that. “We could argue this forever, but you will not change my mind. Marriage is a misery, and I have no plans to drag someone into such misery with me.”
She smiled. “But you’ll help me find someone to make miserable?”
“Yes, it will be my pleasure.” Although how much of an actual pleasure it would be remained to be seen. The notion of her with another man left him unsettled.
The carriage turned and came to stop outside his grandparents’ townhouse. He looked out the window and let out a deep breath. “We have arrived.”
Time to face the music.
A liveried footman wearing the Ellesmere colors of green and gold opened the door to the carriage and set a step in place. Spence stepped out first then assisted Caelie down. He could feel her hand shake and he squeezed it in support.
“Relax.”
“I am being foisted onto two people who barely know me and are not expecting me and then enlisting their help to find me a husband. Relaxing is not in my repertoire at the moment.”
“It will be fine.” Spence nodded at the footman. “Good afternoon, George. Will you see Miss Brampton into the house and have Mrs. Faraday settle her upstairs in the servants’ rooms once the trunks are unloaded?”
“Yes, m’lord. Lord and Lady Ellesmere await you in the sitting room.”
“They do?” He had not sent word ahead. He’d thought the element of surprise would work in his favor.
“Yes, m’lord. Lady Ellesmere saw your carriage from the window and called Lord Ellesmere up from his study. They have convened to the sitting room to await your arrival.”
“Ah.” That must have required a fast hustle on their parts. It did not bode well. Spence spared Caelie a glance. Her lips were pulled tight. “And their mood, George? Is it good?”
Before the footman could answer, the front door swung open and Felton, the Marquess of Ellesmere’s ancient butler, stood on the other side looking his usual dour self. “Good afternoon, my lord,” he said and swept a hand to usher them inside. “May I take your hat and shawl, my lady?”
Caelie fumbled with the ties. Spence could see her hands shook and suddenly regretted not sending word ahead. His grandparents may have noted his arrival, but they were not expecting her. Was it fair to thrust her into the middle of this in such a way? Likely not. But they had arrived and he could hardly toss her out and tell her to make a run for it.
He handed Felton his gloves and gave Caelie his arm. “Shall we?”
She nodded but said nothing. Likely no words could escape her tightly pursed lips.
The walk up the stairwell and down the hallway to the sitting room took forever and yet took no time at all. Felton led the way and announced their arrival before judiciously disappearing, closing the door the behind him.
The sound had a strange ring of doom to it.
Such nonsense. Caelie’s nervousness must be catching.
He looked at Grandfather. His grandfather glowered back. Spence swallowed and quickly switched his glance to his grandmother, but his hopes for a warmer reception there were dashed. She sat on the sofa, her face cut from stone. In her lap, she worried a handkerchief clasped in her hands.
A sick foreboding made Spence’s heart stutter in his chest. Something was not right.
“What is it?” The words came on a whisper, as if the quiet might soften whatever news his grandparents were about to impart.
“It is Marcus,” Grandfather said.
Blood rushed in Spence’s ears at a deafening rate.
“Bowen?” He hardly ever called his friend by his given name. It had been that way since they were boys and he’d determined Bowen had a far more dashing ring to it. The silly things boys
do. He didn’t know why he thought of that now. “What about him?”
“He’s been stabbed.”
Chapter Twelve
Grandfather’s voice cut across the room, each word landing with a hardened blow. Spence could no longer feel his hands and a strange roaring had taken up residence in his head and refused to abate.
“No.” Because of course Grandfather was wrong. Bowen did not get stabbed. Such a suggestion was preposterous. Bowen had no enemies. Now if his grandfather had said it had been Nick who had been stabbed, that would be more believable. But not Bowen. Everybody loved him.
Grandfather ignored his denial and stepped forward, closing the gap between them. He looked older than when Spence had left; ridiculous as less than a fortnight had passed since then.
“Marcus was returning from the dock, likely to tell me you had set sail before he could board, as I suspect you planned when you sent him on some unnecessary task.” The accusatory tone of his grandfather’s stern voice abraded Spence. He swallowed but said nothing. He had no defence to give. “As he left the dock, he came across Lady Franklyn who had been set upon by brigands. Naturally, he intervened. In the ensuing scuffle, one of the thieves pulled a knife and stabbed him twice.”
Grandmother choked back a sob. When Spence looked at her, she had pressed a fist to her mouth as if to hold the rest of them inside. The roar in his head grew louder until it threatened to deafen him, yet he heard every word Grandfather said.
“He continued to fight despite his injuries and dispatched the brigands. It wasn’t until the authorities arrived and Lady Franklyn was safe that he collapsed.”
“W-what was Lady Franklyn doing at the docks?”
“She did not say. Though it appears she had packed for a trip.” Grandfather’s gaze pierced Spence. A trip. His stomach dropped away. She had not taken it well when he had broken off their affair and informed her of his plan to leave London. He used the guise that it was for Grandfather’s business, but she had not been interested in his reasons and had threatened to follow him wherever he went. He’d thought it only an empty threat. Histrionics of a jilted lover. She was married to a wealthy duke after all and her daughter had just entered society. Had she truly followed him to the dock with the intent of running away with him?
