The Marriage Bargain (13 page)

Wolfe pointed to the papers on the desk. “Has Lady Kellworth set you to work?”

The smile froze on Spence’s face. “She has not set me to anything, Wolfe. It is merely time for me to attend to my duties—”

“I daresay there is plenty to attend to,” broke in Blake cheerfully. “What have you there?”

Spence picked up the sheets of paper. “Lists. It appears Kellworth has need of many things.”

Wolfe made a derisive sound. “That bears repeating. The place is crumbling around our ears.”

“Not only repairs, Wolfe.” Spence pointed to one of the lists. “Stores for the kitchen, candles, wine, soap. Many things. I do not know how Emma managed.”

“She spoke to you, then?” Blake asked.

“Last night.” Spence refrained from telling his friends he had sought the interview in her bedchamber. “She told an extraordinary tale. Kellworth’s funds were apparently cut severely almost three years ago. Without my knowledge, I might add.”

Blake nodded. “We heard the same from Larkin, your manager here. And from everyone else, for that matter.”

“I told them you did not do it,” Wolfe said.

“Indeed.” He frowned. “I need to discover who was responsible for the cut and why it was done. Lady Kellworth was told I gambled Kellworth’s fortune away.”

“Ha! We heard that as well,” Wolfe cried. “It would be more likely you’d won the fortune.”

“More accurate to say I break even.” Spence smiled. “Most of the time.”

Blake and Wolfe disclosed their own assessment of Kellworth, telling him how all focus had been on the farm, livestock, and needs of the people who worked so Kellworth produced income. They also detailed the neglect and disrepair, not indicating anything Emma had not put in a list. Spence tried to imagine how Emma had shouldered this burden alone. Now he knew why her dresses all seemed old and worn. A sick feeling of shame rested in the pit of his stomach. He wondered if it would ever leave him.

“I would wish to have a few words with your man of business, if I were you,” Wolfe remarked. “You have only Lady Kellworth’s word that he decreased the funds.”

“And Larkin’s,” Blake reminded him.

Wolfe gave Blake a skeptical look.

Spence spoke in a voice that brooked no argument. “Lady Kellworth suffered on my account, Wolfe. Do not imply any of this to be her doing.”

Wolfe opened his mouth, but then shut it again, as if thinking better of saying more.

At that same moment Blake shot to his feet. “Lady Kellworth.”

She stood in the doorway, cheeks flaming, her expression brittle. She had overheard Wolfe’s ill-chosen words.

Spence and Wolfe stood, Spence with more effort. “Come in, Emma,” he said.

Blake rushed to smooth the unpleasant moment. “You must pardon our dirt, Lady Kellworth. Wolfe and I discovered Spence out of his room and we could not resist a look.”

Gazing directly at Spence, she took a step inside the room.

“We were discussing the situation at Kellworth,” Spence explained.

She looked from Blake to Wolfe. “Indeed?”

Blake and Wolfe both glanced away.

She glared at them. “Did you forget my one request to you, gentlemen?”

“Request?” Spence asked.

“I asked your friends to wait until I judged the time to be right before speaking to you of Kellworth.” Her voice was stiff.

“I assure you, my lady, we meant no harm,” Blake said.

Wolfe glowered. “He asked.”

She returned a withering glance.

Spence leaned against the desk. “I did ask them, Emma. The fault is mine.”

“I asked as well, Spence,” she said in low tones.

Blake walked over to her. “You did indeed, my lady. You have our sincere apologies for going against your wishes.” He bowed. “Allow us to make it up to you. Perhaps there is some service we might perform for you? Wolfe and I would be delighted to do whatever you wish.”

She stared him in the face. “It is odd—is it not, Lord Blakewell—that you and Mr. Wolfe have not seen fit before this moment to ask if I needed anything. You were content to eat my food and drink my wine and criticize my care of the house without one thought that I might need some assistance from you.”

Blake and Wolfe had the grace to look ashamed. Spence’s cheeks burned as well. Even his friends had failed her.

The charm left Blake’s voice, revealing a truer emotion beneath. “Forgive me, my lady.”

Wolfe managed a bow.

She looked from one man to the other, her chin high. Without speaking she spun around and left the room.

Blake collapsed in a chair and rubbed his brow. Spence lowered himself into his seat.

Wolfe paced in front of them. “She ought to have asked us. How else were we supposed to know? We would have done what she asked.”

“Stubble it, Wolfe,” cried Blake. “She only made the one request and we even failed to keep that one.”

“Deuce,” muttered Spence. A crushing fatigue came over him, enough to make his limbs tremble.

Since they’d been boys, he’d hated to be separated for too long from the Ternion, but now, for the first time, he realized he wanted them to be away.

He riffled through the lists and found the one detailing supplies Emma required. He handed it to Wolfe. “Go into the village with Tolley and purchase as much of what is on this list as can fill the wagon. If I am not mistaken, you are not short of funds, Wolfe. Buy what Emma needs.”

Wolfe took the list and skimmed it. He did not argue.

Spence went on. “Tomorrow I need for you both to perform a task for me.”

They nodded.

“Return to London. See what you can discover about this business with Kellworth’s funds. I cannot do it myself at present and I believe I have ignored this matter long enough. I’ll write some letters to give whatever permission necessary.” He stood, hoping for enough strength to make it upstairs. “And, for God’s sake, discover if there is enough money left to see to what must be done here.”

Leaning heavily on his cane, Spence started across the room. Before reaching the door, he turned to Blake and Wolfe. “One more thing. When you go to the village, buy Emma something nice. A hat or lace or something. And find out if the dressmaker is still in the village. Tell her to call on Lady Kellworth. Tomorrow, if she is able. Have her bring her nicest cloth.”

“We will attend to it,” said Blake.

Spence attempted a grateful smile, but the effort was beyond him. “I’ll write those letters a bit later.”

With his last reserve of energy Spence hobbled out of the room and up the stairway to his bedchamber.

Emma stormed off to the garden. She was so furious with all three men she thought she would explode. She did not care if the sun was bright this day, she attacked her weeds as if each one had the name Spence or Blakewell or Wolfe written upon it.

When she finally walked back to the house, a wagon drew up and another behind it. She quickened her step.

The wagons were filled with supplies. Emma could not help but feel excited, like a little girl again, her father home from London laden with dolls and dresses and tea sets. Except these baskets and boxes were filled with flour, tea, coffee. Chocolate—such an extravagance! How long had it been since she’d tasted a cup of chocolate? There were lemons and sugar and large joints of beef.

Mrs. Cobbett, who was trying to direct the unloading, told her Blakewell and Wolfe had gone into the village with Tolley to purchase supplies. They had not remained with the wagons, which pleased Emma. She was not ready to be grateful to them yet, even though the stores they brought her were more than she dreamed possible.

“Candles!” she exclaimed after opening yet another box. She sniffed. “Beeswax.” A luxury unheard of.

Mr. Hale came to offer assistance, but Emma cautioned him to leave the heavy boxes to Tolley. Cook was beside herself with joy. Tolley kept repeating, “And we stopped at the inn for a pint of ale.” His energy remained high even with hoisting box after box from the wagons.

It was not security, Emma reminded herself, but wonderful nonetheless. They would all eat well this night. And the next. And the next after that, and still without worry that food would run out.

Mrs. Cobbett opened a box tied with string. “Oh, how very nice.” She handed the box to Emma. “This is for you, m’lady.”

Inside was a paisley shawl in gentle swirls of aqua, red, and green. Emma lifted a corner. Its wool was so soft she thought it would disintegrate like a flake of ash in her hand.

She had seen the shawl in the village shop where gloves and hats and ribbon were sold, most brought in from London. She wished she could say such frivolity was not to her taste, but it would be a bald untruth. She loved such beautiful things. The only part of London she’d enjoyed in her brief time there had been the beautiful fashions. A lady could buy anything she fancied. Beaded reticules, glittering necklaces, buttery soft gloves. Seeing the shawl in the shop had reminded her of London merchandise. It also reminded her how shabby her own clothes had become.

With a sigh of delight she lifted the shawl from the box and wrapped it around her. “It is lovely, is it not, Mrs. Cobbett?”

“Very lovely, m’lady.” Mrs. Cobbett smiled. “It does my heart good to see you in it.”

There was a mirror over the fireplace in the drawing room, and Emma wanted to run to look at the lovely drape of the shawl around her shoulders.

But there was also still too much to do, too many more items to be unloaded and put away. She refolded the shawl and returned it to its box, setting it aside. Tears stung her eyes. She was still angry with Blakewell and Wolfe, but it had been kind of them to buy her a gift, especially one so fine.

When dressing for dinner, she could not resist draping the shawl over her dress, even though it was warm enough to not need it. She hesitated self-consciously at the door of the drawing room, where the men waited until Mr. Hale announced the meal. She heard them conversing.

Spence would be there. She had not heard his voice, but she knew, because she’d peeked into his bedchamber before proceeding downstairs. As quietly as she could, she walked into the room.

The men were drinking some of the Madeira purchased that day. They stood at her entrance.

“Good evening, Lady Kellworth,” Blakewell said, with his most charming smile.

Wolfe bowed.

Spence’s approving gaze seemed to burn into her. Likely the others had informed him of their gift. It was a compliment to his friends for her to wear it. Even though her motivation had merely been because she relished its beauty.

“Would you like a glass of Madeira, Emma?” Spence asked as she crossed the room.

She accepted the glass Wolfe hastily poured for her, careful not to spill any on her lovely shawl. “Thank you.”

Emma sat, as did Spence. She knew he had rested all the afternoon while Arjun looked in on him, but he still looked tired. Blakewell and Wolfe remained standing. Wolfe walked over to the window and gazed out.

She looked up at Blakewell. “Thank you for this lovely shawl.”

He grinned at her. “It was not my gift, my lady. I fear I would have selected a pair of gloves.” Cocking his head, he went on, “You have Wolfe to thank. It was he who insisted upon the shawl.”

“Mr. Wolfe,” Emma said, her voice conveying her surprise.

Wolfe turned to her.

She blinked. “I thank you, sir. It is quite the loveliest shawl I have ever seen.”

His cheek twitched. “Spence charged us with buying it,” he mumbled, giving her a bow.

She turned to Spence, just as surprised.

“I merely told them to purchase you something.” Spence gave her another appraising look. “The shawl becomes you very well.”

Emma felt herself blush. She ought not to be so pleased by his compliments, but it had been so long since any man but Reuben had admired her and he, somehow, did not count.

Their dinner was the most comfortable since the gentlemen arrived. The beef had been roasted to perfection and Spence happily announced he was abandoning Arjun’s menu. For once, Emma felt she could eat her fill without a thought to what must be conserved for the following days. She even drank more than one glass of the barsac wine, enjoying the nice mellow feeling it gave her.

The men were in high spirits, Blake entertaining her with some of their exploits as boys. Their laughter—Spence’s especially—was like a tonic.

It was a temporary reprieve, but a nice one. It was a bit late for him to act the concerned husband, but when they made their marriage bargain, he promised she would have all she needed and desired. Soon, when he was stronger, Emma would attempt another discussion about finances, insisting he ensure Kellworth always be provided with the funds it required. After he left, it would be too late. He was likely to forget her and Kellworth all over again.

But Emma wanted no worries crowding her head at the moment. She wanted only to feel the soft wool of her new shawl against her bare arms and savor the barsac on her tongue and the pleasant sensation of having eaten too much.

The men laughed about the time they managed to sneak a goat into the headmaster’s office. They’d been caught and nearly ousted from the school, but the exploit finally earned them the respect of the older boys.

Emma smiled. Her memories of school were not quite as lively. She’d briefly attended a girls’ school, but when typhus fever broke out, her father brought her home and hired a new governess.

When the laughter died down, Spence said, “Blake and Wolfe will be leaving tomorrow, Emma. They go to London on my behalf.”

“Leaving?”

“They will look into my financial affairs for me. Try to discover what has happened.”

Emma was halfway to believing Spence’s assertion that he knew nothing of the decrease in funds. She glanced at Wolfe and Blake. “I thought you would stay until Spence was recovered.”

Blake gestured to Spence with his fork. “He’s well enough. In any event he will be in your good hands.” He winked at her. “Wolfe and I shall have quite a lark, acting like Bow Street Runners.”

“I doubt it will be as bad as all that,” said Spence.

Blake feigned dismay. “I assure you, I am counting on danger and intrigue.”