The Marriage Bargain (11 page)
She could agree on that, but would do so secretly. She had made a point never to discuss her husband with his cousin. It seemed . . . disloyal.
“You may go, Reuben. I am needed elsewhere. I just wanted to speak with you first.”
He looked wounded. “I wish you would rest yourself. You work too hard, Emma, my dear. Shall I have Mr. Hale order us some tea?”
She gave a little laugh. She did not even know if there was any more tea. “I am not tired, and I really must not tarry.”
He gave up, bowed, and turned to walk out of the room.
Before he reached the door, Emma said, “Come for dinner at the usual time, Reuben. It is kind of you to lend your company.”
He smiled and departed with a happier step.
T
hroughout the next week Spence grudgingly accepted the annoyance of everyone withholding information from him. Not knowing what caused Emma’s chill or Wolfe’s worry or Blake’s determined cheerfulness became another obstacle to surmount, like the weakness in his legs and the pain in his shoulder. He concentrated on getting his strength back.
At Tolley’s recommendation and Wolfe’s insistence, Arjun took over Spence’s treatment. Tolley’s toothache had been miraculously cured from some sort of bark Arjun had given him to chew. During Tolley’s ministrations Spence heard every detail of the tooth treatment, including how Spence’s laudanum had given him nothing but the vomits.
What Emma thought of Arjun’s doctoring, she never said, but then, Spence saw very little of her. Sometimes he lay awake at night thinking of calling out to her, but pride prevented him. He had once been Emma’s valiant, now he’d turned into her burden, and, for some plaguing unknown reason, she was furious at him. He had failed her, but he did not yet understand what had happened or why.
The only way he could make the discovery was to recover; therefore, he threw himself wholeheartedly into Arjun’s odd regimen, refraining from meat, learning to sit still and think of nothing but one word, moving his muscles in gentle prescribed patterns. His balance improved, and using a cane Tolley unearthed from the attic, he soon navigated around the room by himself.
That evening he asked Tolley to dress him and he braved the staircase to appear in the dining room for the first time. Mr. Hale hastily set a place for him at the head of the table. Little of the food served met Arjun’s strictures, but Spence was not that hungry. He did chuck Arjun’s rules out the window for one forbidden glass of wine. Emma had served a sauternes that must have predated the war. Spence swished the sweet liquid in his mouth, savoring its rich taste as long as possible.
Though Blake and Wolfe had greeted his entrance at dinner with enthusiasm, throughout the meal Emma’s expression remained grim. He suspected it was in anticipation of what was soon to come. If he had recovered sufficiently to take the stairs, he had damned well recovered enough to listen to her account of matters here at Kellworth—and of what volatile emotions lay between the two of them. He would not rest until his questions had answers.
His body apparently took it literally that he would not rest. Sleep eluded him that night, even though the exertion of attending dinner ought to have exhausted him. True, he’d not tarried with Blake and Wolfe and their port after the meal. He left the room with Emma and had been rather proud to show her how he could climb the stairs unassisted. When he looked back after reaching the top, she still stood staring at him as if he were the Tower’s executioner.
Now he could hear her in her bedchamber and could see the lamplight from the crack in the doorway. More than once the past week he’d thought of begging for Emma’s company at night, of lying next to her, holding her and feeling totally safe, but he did not want her to see all his weakness of mind.
He had forced himself to forgo the lamp and make do with a glow from the fireplace and moonlight from the window. He repeated Arjun’s word over and over and soon mastered the panic of the darkness. He almost felt himself again.
Spence was still too weak to fear giving in to his masculine urges, the ones that on his wedding night gave him a battle quite different from any in the war. She had been so very young. He knew he’d have no time to show her what lovemaking could be. His uncle had frightened her enough with kissing and pawing at her. She would have needed a slow, gentle introduction. And what if he had got her with child and then returned to the Peninsula? That worry alone convinced him he must leave her the very next day.
Though not as terrifying as the confines of a coffin, Kellworth could be another sort of entrapment, one that bound him with memories and regrets. Even this bedchamber was a torture of memories. Stephen was everywhere in it. Spence could picture his coat and boots thrown casually aside. He could see Stephen turn and smile at him, could remember them both as boys scrapping on the floor. And just when he succeeded in banishing Stephen from his mind, the tall, shadowy figure of his father emerged, gone so long Spence could no longer remember his face without looking at the portrait below stairs.
He’d been only five years old when his parents perished at sea on their return from Naples, an excursion meant to acquire more treasures of antiquity to adorn Kellworth. Spence wondered if Emma had left the Roman or Greek statues in their various corners. The statues always stood like ghosts to remind him of what had been stolen from him.
But better for him to sit cross-legged on his bed and concentrate on the strange word Arjun had given him than let his mind travel in that direction. The direction in which his thoughts meandered was a mere indication he was bored. This mundane country life was like death to him.
Spence glanced back at the light glowing from Emma’s room. He imagined her seated at her dressing table, brushing her luxuriant hair. His fingers flexed with the memory of her soft curls. He recalled the scent of her, a scent so much like Kellworth she might have been spawned from its stones.
He sat up. Why wait until the morrow for their confrontation? There would be no interruptions at this time of night, no other tasks to perform, no distractions, except perhaps the recall of her soft curves beneath her thin muslin nightdress.
Spence reached for his cane and eased himself off the bed. Earlier he’d refused the nightshirt Tolley tried to hand him, and he could not visit her dressed only in his drawers. He hobbled over to the bureau and fumbled around before his fingers found his banyan. Grimacing at the shot of pain when he shoved his arm into the sleeve, he wrapped the robe around him and quietly walked to the door, opening it wider.
Emma sat at her dressing table exactly where he’d fancied her to be, brushing out her hair. In the dim light from the lamp, her hair looked as dark as his own, giving her an exotic, sultry air. Emma the rosebud had opened into full glory.
“Emma?”
Her brush stilled and she turned. Even in the darkness he could see her apprehension. She did not speak.
He entered the room, carrying but not using the cane to emphasize how well he had recovered. He stopped near the chairs by the windows and gestured to them. “Shall we talk?”
She turned back to the mirror, and he watched her straighten her spine and rise. She lowered herself into the chair but remained poised, like a Scottish Kellas cat ready to pounce.
He braced himself. “I am ready to hear it, Emma. Do not hold back. I am ready to hear everything.”
Her gaze did not waver as he took the chair opposite her. The moonlight from the window bathed her in a soft light, making her look as angelic as his fevered mind had fancied her. Her white nightdress completed the celestial impression, except that it clung to her body, revealing the very real woman underneath.
Desire stirred within him—a desire he knew himself still too weak to indulge—but it pleased him to feel so much a man in her presence.
When she did not speak, he murmured, “Tell me why you are unhappy.”
She blinked and her hands curled into fists in her lap. She seemed to steel herself before speaking. “My unhappiness ought to be no surprise to you, sir. Everyone at Kellworth has suffered. Did you not think we would?”
As it had so many times this week, the feeling that he’d missed something important, something he ought to have known, returned. “But why, Emma? Why have you suffered?”
Her eyes shot daggers at him. “We suffer from lack of funds and well you know it.”
The puzzle was no closer to being complete. He tried to remain calm. “You mentioned this before. What lack of funds?”
Her contempt could not have been more visible even in a noonday sun. “Do not toy with me, Spence. You cut the funds for Kellworth within my first year here. You ignored me when I begged you to send money, and so I had no choice but to economize where I could. When your
friend
Mr. Wolfe runs to you with his tales of how the house needs repair, ask him if the farm was neglected. Ask him if we saw to the crops and to the people—”
Spence held up his hand for her to stop.
She did not. “We let as many servants go as we could. They had to seek employment elsewhere, and now most of them are far from their homes and families. Loyal retainers like Mr. Hale and Susan stayed on, as well as others like Tolley, who would not find good situations otherwise, but the older ones deserve to be pensioned off. It is hardship for them to work—”
He could barely assimilate all this. He remained caught at trying to discern what she meant by cutting the funds. He had never cut the funds. He would never do such a thing. He wanted everything at Kellworth to remain as it had been when Stephen was alive.
Spence had no desire to live at Kellworth, but he cared about the property and he cared about the people. The people of Kellworth, the house servants, stable workers, even the farm laborers, raised him after his parents died. They were always more present to him than his uncle had been.
“—I begged you to release more money,” Emma continuted. “I told you what we had to endure. Why did you not answer my letters?”
He tried to take a breath. “Emma, I never received any letters from you.”
She huffed.
He tried to calm himself, by forcing his muscles to relax as Arjun taught him, but his voice took on a frantic quality. “I knew of no decrease in funds and I received no letters!”
She glared at him. “Do not speak fustian to me, sir. You forbade me to write to you except through your man of business, but I sent you letters in every way I could think of. To the Regiment, to Spain or France, or to wherever I thought you might be. Had I known of the existence of your friends, I would have sent them letters as well.”
He shot back. “I did not forbid you, Emma. Going through Mr. Ruddock was meant to be the most efficient means of contacting me. But I received no letters.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “It is no effort for you to say you received no letters. Would you sit here and admit to me you left us only a pittance? No, I daresay you would deny the whole.”
If he’d possessed more strength, he would have jumped to his feet. “No man would dare accuse me of lying. I warn you, do not you do so.”
She laughed. “Why? Will you challenge me to a duel? I do not recommend it, considering the result of your last one.”
His fingers curled into fists. “I received no letters. But then you never answered my letters. I assumed you had no wish for a correspondence.”
She blinked, but the hard look returned to her face. “There were no letters from you. You are attempting to turn this around.”
She’d accused him of lying again, but he let it go. He’d sent his letters through Ruddock as well. Ruddock had a lot to answer for. Spence wished he could get his hands around the man’s throat right this moment. Had Ruddock been playing it light and fast with the money and with Emma’s comfort?
He frowned. “I never decreased your funds.”
Her nostrils flared. “We have not had enough funds for almost three years. Kellworth has suffered. The whole village has suffered because of it.”
He moved forward to touch her hand. “But I did not decrease the funds. Why would I do such a thing? It is nonsensical. I had no need of money.”
She snatched her hand away. “Not even for your gambling debts?”
The wind whooshed from his lungs, leaving him as dizzy as he’d been the week prior. It was as if he’d plummeted from a great height. He pressed his fingers to his temple. “Emma, I have no gambling debts. I never wager more than I can afford to lose.”
Her eyes flashed.
“This is the truth.” He spoke in a firm voice. “I draw no more than my yearly portion, no more or less than I’ve drawn for years.”
She glared at him.
He leaned forward, looking her directly in the eye. “Who told you this? Who told you this gambling story?”
Her voice was tight as she responded. “Mr. Ruddock sent letters to Mr. Larkin and to me about the decrease in funds. He did not explain the reason. Reuben discovered it from your uncle, who was privy to the information.”
Why would his uncle be privy to Spence’s financial dealings? Uncle Keenan was no longer his guardian. He’d been out of Kellworth’s affairs ever since Stephen had reached his majority.
The only answer was that Spence’s money was being embezzled and as a result Kellworth had suffered. He had assumed all was well, but had never checked closely.
Spence’s anger and resentment broke into his voice. “Listen, Emma. I will tell you again. I did not lie. I did not know of the decrease in funds. And I did not gamble myself into debt.”
“Oh?” She lifted her chin. “Was your duel not about gambling? Did you not nearly die from it? You were accused of cheating, were you not? What gentleman would cheat at cards except one who could not afford to lose?”
The notion that she thought him a cheat as well as a gambler made his eyes burn. “I did not cheat at cards.”
She shook her head. “I suppose the opponent in the duel accused you as a lark.”
“I do not know why he accused me,” Spence said. “He was little more than a foolish boy.”
She gave him such a look of loathing that he felt like she’d slapped him in the face. “How very honorable to shoot at a mere boy.”