Married to the Viscount (32 page)

“Did your stepmother return after his death?”

He shook his head. “Nat receives the occasional letter from her. I…um…wouldn’t answer the ones she sent me, so she stopped writing me. But Nat says she married the count after Father’s death, and they have several children. Which is all she ever wanted.” Her own children, not those of some other woman. That’s what Abby would want, too. The thought punched pain through his chest. “So there you have it. The sordid tale of my stepmother and why she was completely unsuitable for my father.”

“As I am for you,” she said softly.

His head shot up. “I didn’t say that.”

“Lord Liverpool did.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“Is he?” she asked, her eyes searching his.

Suddenly a mad chiming sounded a few yards from them, making them both swing around to see what was going on.

Lady Brumley stood in the midst of the lawn, surrounded by a coterie of footmen ringing bells. In keeping with the
party’s theme, she wore white, and she’d actually abandoned her ship headdresses for a golden halo, of all things. Spencer rolled his eyes.

When she had everyone’s attention, she gestured to the footmen to stop ringing. More footmen lined up behind her, carrying either trays that held glasses of champagne or baskets full of ribbon-accented bottles.

The marchioness scanned the crowd until she caught sight of Abby. “Ah, there you are, my dear.” She gestured for Abby to join her. “I want you by my side for the announcement.”

With a blush, Abby handed Spencer her punch glass and hurried over to stand next to Lady Brumley. Spencer drained his punch and set both glasses down on the nearby table. This should be interesting.

“Now then, my friends,” Lady Brumley began. “I have a special treat for my female guests today.”

She nodded to the footmen, who threaded through the crowd, stopping to offer champagne to the gentlemen and beribboned bottles to the ladies. Spencer kept a watchful eye on his wife as he took a glass of champagne, wondering if all this public attention might embarrass her. But she seemed perfectly at ease.

Lady Brumley went on. “My good friend Lady Ravenswood has invented the most astonishing fragrance I have ever had the pleasure to experience. From the first time her ladyship wore it, I was so taken by its delicious scent that I had to have it. She was kind enough to give me her very own bottle.”

Lady Brumley smiled down at Abby, who smiled back serenely. Spencer stiffened. He thought he’d banished that cordial façade, but apparently he’d only peeled it back for a moment. Just as that cursed turban hid her lush hair, her new refined manners hid the old Abby from him.

“You all know what I’m like,” Lady Brumley continued. “When I find something I enjoy, I don’t rest until everyone hears of it. So I persuaded Lady Ravenswood to provide me
with bottles of Heaven’s Scent for
all
of my closest friends to try. I think you’ll be as impressed with it as I was.”

Curious, Spencer glanced around. Women were already removing the stoppers and cautiously sniffing the contents of the bottles. Here and there some touched the scent to their wrists, then turned to have their neighbors smell it.

“In any case,” Lady Brumley finished, “the bottles are yours to keep—a gift from myself and Lady Ravenswood. So enjoy the rest of my breakfast, and do tell us what you think of it. For myself, I intend to wear nothing else.”

Those guests whose hands weren’t full clapped politely, and the rest broke up into small groups. Except for the women surging toward Lady Brumley and Abby, and now Clara, too. Guests soon surrounded all three ladies.

“Your wife’s concoction seems to be meeting with great success,” a low voice said from beside him.

Spencer glanced over to find Blakely sipping champagne. “When did you arrive?”

“Not long before Lady Brumley’s little speech.” Blakely grinned. “I stayed away ‘working’ as long as I could without making Clara suspicious. I knew this was going to be a very dull party.” He held up his glass. “Typical women’s fare. And the damned woman has harpists. Harpists! Leave it to Lady Brumley.”

Indeed. “I don’t like Lady Brumley,” he told Blakely. “She’s a bad influence on Abby.”

“How so?”

“Surely you’ve noticed the difference in my wife. She’s turned into a damned English lady, all cool and collected. She only voices her opinion if you hold her feet to the fire. The rest of the time, she’s as false as a wooden shilling.”

“And you don’t like that?” Blakely probed.

“No, I don’t like it. It’s unnatural.” Especially for a woman who’d always spoken freely.

Now she was far too sophisticated for that. Spencer
glanced over to where the crowd around Abby and the marchioness grew larger by the moment. His eyes narrowed as he saw Lady Brumley hand out little cards to the ladies. Even Evelina, who looked a bit peaked, braved the crowd for one.

Then she turned and spotted Spencer. She came right over. “I’ve been looking for you, my lord,” the young woman said as she started to tuck the card into her reticule.

“Let me see it,” he murmured. When she handed the card to him, he read the single line in gilt:
Jackson’s Apothecary in the Strand
. “What’s this?”

“It’s the address where interested parties can purchase Heaven’s Scent. Abby told me just now that Lady Brumley had them made up so that if ladies asked where to get more perfume after the breakfast, she had somewhere to send them.” Evelina smiled. “Abby couldn’t very well sell it out of your house, you know. That would be vulgar.”

“I didn’t know she was selling it at all.”

Blakely cast him a sly glance. “I thought Abby told you. Clara said you knew.”

“I knew Lady Brumley wanted bottles of the stuff, and Abby was supplying them, but—” But what? What else had he thought she planned to do with them? “Yes, I suppose she did tell me.”

Evelina removed the card from his hand. “Anyway, I came over to inform you that Mama and I are leaving. Mama’s head is plaguing her.”

“You don’t look so well yourself.”

A wan smile touched her lips. “I’m fine. And don’t worry about the carriage—we found friends to take us home. So you and Abby can stay here and enjoy yourselves. Good afternoon.”

As Evelina walked off, Spencer drank deeply of his champagne, trying to quell the sudden alarm in his chest.

“Abby’s success must be quite a relief to you,” Blakely said. “Now you needn’t worry about her when you part ways.
She’s got her business going without your brother, so her need for the money he stole is probably no longer as urgent. I understand Lady Brumley paid her a fifty-pound note for those bottles she gave away. And depending on what arrangement they made with the apothecary for subsequent purchases—”

“Devil take Lady Brumley,” Spencer muttered.

“Why? What’s wrong now?”

“Don’t you see? With fifty pounds, Abby could leave me.”

Blakely chuckled. “She wouldn’t get very far, especially since she already used some of it to produce the perfume.”

“You don’t know how much more Lady Brumley might have given her. Or how much she’ll get from this apothecary person.”

“Why do you care? If she leaves, that means she no longer expects anything from you. You should encourage that. Then you could look for Nat at your leisure.”

Christ, Abby had said much the same words to him the night of the ball. “It’s not the money I’m worried about. It’s the scandal.”

Spencer drained his glass, then took another from a passing footman. With enough money, Abby could just slip away. Last week, she’d agreed to stay as long as he needed her, but that was when she’d still hoped to make their marriage permanent. That night in the study, he’d killed those feelings.

Now she couldn’t possibly care what happened to him. This new Abby, the one with the poised smile and the elegant damned turban, had no heart. “I could easily wake up tomorrow morning to find her gone. That would certainly start tongues to wagging.”

Blakely arched an eyebrow. “It’s not the possibility of scandal that bothers you, I suspect.”

“Of course it is.” But it wasn’t, and that realization rocked him to his boots. He wanted Abby to stay. He wanted her here because he needed her here. Even if she remained aloof, even
if she never teased him again, he had to have her with him, and not just as his sham wife, either. Despite all his efforts, he’d lost the battle to resist her. Bloody, bloody hell.

“You’re worrying over nothing,” Blakely said. “Abby wouldn’t leave you hanging just because she got a few pounds in her pocket. Besides, didn’t you offer her a great deal of money to stay until the end? She’d be a fool to throw that away.”

True. But she’d threatened to do it once already, and he’d only kept her here by unwittingly raising her hopes for the future. Now that he’d dashed them, she had no use for money except to escape
him
.

And now the marchioness was handing Abby some other piece of paper, which his bloody wife was tucking into her reticule, cool as you please. Probably another bank note she could use to run away.

“Damn Lady Brumley to hell,” he muttered under his breath.

Blakely clapped his hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “Come on, stop taking this all so seriously. What you need—what we both need—is a good bottle of stiff brandy,
mon ami
.” Blakely called a footman over and made his request. The servant scurried off to do his bidding. “Our wives will probably be otherwise engaged for some time. So we might as well make the best of it.”

Chapter 19

Never argue with an intoxicated lord.

Suggestions for the Stoic Servant

N
ight had already fallen by the time the crowd of women around Abby and Lady Brumley thinned. Two or three were quizzing Clara, but Abby was finally getting a chance to relax. “Phew!” she murmured under her breath to Lady Brumley. “I can’t believe how enthusiastic these ladies are about a perfume.”

“Didn’t I tell you they would love it?”

“They love it because you told them it was fashionable to do so,” Abby said dryly.

“Nonsense. The scent stands on its own. Though I like to think I did what I could.”

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am for all your help,” Abby said. “If Heaven’s Scent succeeds, it will mean more to me than you can imagine.” She would no longer have to worry about what might happen if Nat was never found.

Lady Brumley waved her hand dismissively. “You need not worry, my dear. I shall be much amazed if it isn’t an instant success. The ladies are probably already speculating that your fabulous scent was what snagged you a rich hus
band like Ravenswood.” She glanced beyond the ladies talking to Clara. “Speaking of your husband, I believe that’s him headed this way.”

Abby swung her gaze around to find a grimly determined Spencer stalking toward them. Captain Blakely followed close behind, shoulders slumped.

“Ravenswood looks angry,” Lady Brumley added. “You did tell him about this, didn’t you?”

“Of course.” Abby set her lips. “Pay him no mind. He’s been such a grump lately I hardly know what to do with him.”

“Men are simple creatures, my dear. Keep them well fed and well pleasured, and they are content. Since I doubt you have to worry about the former, you must concentrate on the latter. Take him to bed. That always brings a man right out of the doldrums.”

Shocked by her ladyship’s forthrightness, Abby could think of no answer but the truth, and she could hardly tell the woman that.

Besides, by then Spencer had reached them. “It’s late, Abby. Time to go.”

“Late?” Lady Brumley smirked at him. “Why, my dear Lord Ravenswood, it’s only seven o’clock. Why the rush to get home?”

He fixed the marchioness with a glittering gaze. “I don’t believe I was speaking to
you
, Lady Brumley.”

His voice carried to the other women, who fell into an uncomfortable silence.

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Abby said in an undertone. “Her ladyship has been most kind to me.”

“If you can call it that.” Spencer stepped close to grab Abby’s arm. Though he seemed steady enough, he reeked of brandy. Which might explain why he went on speaking loudly enough to be heard by those standing nearby. “I call it meddling in other people’s affairs.”

Lady Brumley’s smirk vanished, replaced by a steely anger that brought high color to her heavily powdered cheeks. “Perhaps, Lady Ravenswood, you should go home with your husband after all. He seems to forget the courtesy he owes a hostess.”

“I owe you nothing,” Spencer grumbled, and now Abby could hear the faint slur to his words. “My wife owes you nothing.”

“Ravenswood, old fellow, you’re going about this all wrong,” Captain Blakely muttered.

“He’s clearly foxed,” Abby retorted. “I suppose I have you to thank for that, Captain Blakely.”

“Probably.” Clara took her husband’s arm. “Come now, my dear, let’s go home. You’ve done quite enough for one night.”

As Clara drew the protesting captain away, Spencer said, “I am
not
foxed. I meant every word, Abby. She’s taken advantage of you quite enough. Come on, we’re going, too.”

“Taken advantage—” Abby wrenched her arm free. “That’s an unfair assertion, and I’m not going anywhere with you until you apologize.”

He glowered at her. “I refuse to apologize to that rumormongering—”

“Go on, my dear,” Lady Brumley put in, her smirk returning. “There’s no point to arguing with a man in his cups.”

Spencer whirled on her. “I am not in my cups, I’ll have you know. And furthermore, madam—”

“You’re right—we should go,” Abby muttered. All too aware of the curious ladies who remained nearby listening to every scandalous word, she dropped her voice. “I can’t imagine what’s possessed you. But we’re leaving before you can make us a laughingstock.”

“You’re bloody right we’re leaving.” Wrapping his arm about her waist, Spencer towed her toward the house and
thankfully lowered his voice. “And you’re never to come here again, do you hear? That gossiping witch is not to be trusted.”

Abby rolled her eyes. What on earth had brought all this on? What had happened to the calculating spymaster, the cautious statesman? Glancing back to the marchioness, who waved her off as gaily as if mad husbands routinely dragged their wives from her breakfasts, Abby called out, “I’ll pay you a visit tomorrow!”