Argent (Hundred Days Series Book 3) (13 page)

              Her heart ached at his story. “Better than all right, in my estimation.”

Spencer nodded. “Very perceptive. Bennet is my brother and my child, in a sense. A strong reminder of our father. I love him fiercely for all those reasons and more.”

The picture was endearing, and Alix couldn't help the pang of jealousy at their bond. “I've never been close with Chas,” she offered. “We had entirely opposite temperaments as children, and after our mother and sisters died, he fell into a melancholy which he took out on the rest of us. When my father fell ill, he truly began to struggle...” She closed her eyes, trying to think back that far. “I have no idea where he was for those years. I can't recall his ever being there. I took care of father round the clock at the end. After father passed, Chas devoted himself to Paulina, and you see how that's fared for us.” Alix sighed, resting an elbow on the table and cradling her chin. “Chas can go days on end with the tedious work, but the truly difficult tasks?” She shook her head. “He vanishes.”

              “You must have missed out on a great deal, with your father's illness and your brother's absence.”

              She hated admitting to anyone, especially Spencer, how sad and humbled she'd become during those days, how she had made it near effortless for Paulina to sweep in and take over. “I did miss out. My courtship ended. I couldn't bear to leave my father and Edward tired of waiting. I suspect he also tired of Chas, who nattered Edward to death every visit. I stopped taking much of a hand in our company. The world passed by outside and suddenly I was twenty-six. Weddings, babies, funerals; they all kept time and I had missed out.” She answered Spencer's frown with a smile. “I set out to do plenty of other things. And I did, until Paulina truly dug her claws in.”

              He frowned. “A common theme where she's concerned.”

              “I know that she came to speak to you. I don't want to know what she said; I can probably imagine. Just,” she exhaled slowly, “weigh everything she tells you.”

              Spencer sat up, leaning in close enough that heat from his thigh transferred through her petticoats. He slid a hand over hers and fit their fingers together. “I've formed my own opinions.”

              She stared at the point where they were joined, wanting to remember the garden and to push it away. “Lord Reed --”

              “Spencer,” he corrected.

              “Spencer.” Alix tried it out, whispering his name and thrilling at how easily it slid from her lips, protest forgotten.

              “Alexandra --” His thumb stroked the back of her hand, idle at first and then suggestive in its rhythm. Then his face changed, and Spencer pulled back whatever he'd been about to say and separated their hands. Without warning, he stood up. “I'll bid you goodnight, for now.”

              She cast away her disappointment at the abrupt shift, searching his face and feeling reassured by what she found there. He was likely as wearied by the day as she. She couldn’t fault his being too tired for serious conversation. She stood up, taking delight in his formal bow.

              “Goodnight, Spencer.”

              “Alexandra?” Her hand was on the knob as she glanced over her shoulder.

              “I'll be waiting here tomorrow night, too.”

*              *              *

              Spencer pulled the bottle close and began to deal for solitaire. He certainly wasn't getting sleep anytime soon. There were moments with Alexandra when he felt they were crossing a line. Not kissing or touching, exactly. He knew what it wasn't, but he couldn't name what it
was
.

              Turning over another card, Spencer studied his move. A mantle clock kept patient time, ticking over the house's silence as he tried and failed to sort out their short but convoluted history. They’d gone from a layer of fabric away from lovemaking to an easy, almost necessary camaraderie. The events seemed out of order, but somehow they made sense. It didn’t help when he reached an impasse, as he had tonight, not wanting her to leave but having no idea how to take a step forward. He sighed and laid down the last ace.

              What was Paulina's motivation? He could understand her father's detached treatment of Paton Shipping; business was not an arena for emotional decisions. Her tight-fisted grip on Alexandra though… He sensed more at work than loyalty to the family. They had built enough intimacy that he felt comfortable prying Alexandra for details, and resolved to do just that at the next opportunity.

              Spencer abandoned his cards at a rumble of hooves thundering up the drive. It was a sound he had expected, though not until later in the morning. He slipped out into the hall and waved off the Hastings’s shuffling, gritty-eyed butler.

He caught the front door just ahead of a dusty, panting courier. The man raised a battered felt top hat under the hall lamp. “Lord Reed, urgently.” Spencer nodded and traded his coin for an envelope, the courier loping back to an anxious mount before the door had closed.

              Darby's wide slanting signature marked the first of two thick sheets of paper. His note read only 'For publication in this morning's papers'. Thin, nervous letters lined the second page, handwriting he recognized by content rather than form.

             
Lord Spencer Reed has called upon me to give, for my conduct, that satisfaction which a gentleman has a right to require, and which a gentleman never refuses to pay. Admitting offence given to his lordship and a concerned lady, Lord Grey accedes to disgraceful and insulting conduct against both parties. A public apology is merited, and offered to prevent a more hostile transaction.

Ld. G. Grey

             
“Coward.”
He crumpled both sheets. Not that he wasn't relieved at avoiding dawn at ten paces; if anything, he was grateful sparing fifty miles to London and rising at an obscene hour. He felt no joy at the prospect of injuring the man, but something about George’s casual disregard for Amelia had stoked a fury in Spencer which he hadn’t known was there. There was not an ounce of contrition to Grey's apology, just disgraceful self-preservation. In the army, men like him weren't given the gentleman's way out. He missed that simple justice now.

             
Whatever his feelings, the matter was settled. He relaxed and, relieved at having pried at least one weight from his mind, Spencer stuffed the letter into his coat and headed upstairs to bed.

*              *              *

Alix dressed for breakfast at an unprecedented speed. Usually coming down to face her brother and Paulina first thing in the day merited a lot of stretching and rolling over, several wardrobe changes, and enough attention to her hair that she could be presented at court.

This morning she had tripped on her petticoats and torn a shoulder seam in her gown, all in her eagerness to see Spencer. He would leave for London in the afternoon and she dreaded his journey as much as the outcome.

              She could hear Paulina's yammering as she reached the foot of the stairs, which was strange on two counts; Paulina made an art of frosty silence, and she sounded a shade less miserable than usual. The one-sided conversation ground to a halt, however, the moment Alix set foot in the dining room. She found seven pairs of eyes trained on her, Elizabeth Conyngham's only marginally more hostile than Paulina's. John and Laurel stared blandly, Chas sat resigned, and Spencer unreadable as he looked her over head to toe. Despite the attention of so many, it was his study which quickened her pulse.

              A man seated beside the pink satin abomination of Elizabeth, her unfortunate husband, were Alix to hazard a guess, toyed with a hank of dark hair in open boredom.

              Alix met each pair of eyes in turn, waiting in silence until more than one chair creaked under discomfort. Then she curtsied. “Lady Conyngham.”

              More silence. Lord Conyngham jabbed his wife with a broad elbow. Elizabeth's full lips tightened into a squished heart, eyes staring at a point beyond Alix. “Mrs. Rowan.”

Wearied by the pregnant silence, Alix moved to the buffet and put her back to the group.

              “Lord and Lady Conyngham have come with an invitation.” Paulina dropped the information in the center of the room, hanging it by a taunting thread.

              Again, silence while she managed an egg onto her plate. They were waiting for an 'Oh?', or an 'Is that so!' She would not give them the satisfaction.

              A feminine throat cleared behind her several times, Elizabeth requiring full attention and frustrated that Alix refused to turn and face her. Appreciating that she had all the ears possible and that Alix could go on forever choosing a pastry, Elizabeth finally spoke. “We have come to invite Mr. and Mrs. Paton to Hamilton Place.”

              Damn the woman if she was going to make anyone feel cut out. Seizing the opportunity, Alix buried her face in the crook of her arm, producing a wracking bout of exaggerated, unladylike coughing and stumbled to her seat. “I'm sorry I'm not well enough to join you all.” Thudding into her chair, she grimaced and hung her head to one side.

              Elizabeth pursed her lips and her cheeks flushed, but good manners and witnesses kept her from saying that Mrs. Rowan had
never
been on the guest list. Paulina was less circumspect, eager to build her up before tearing her down. “You can suffer a carriage ride, Alexandra.”

              Spencer, rendered headless behind the papers' crease, cut in. “I have business in London tomorrow, Conyngham; perhaps we can arrange an evening.”

              His duel. Alix swatted away the idea, sick over it no matter if he was accounted a 'dead shot.'

              “Capital,” drawled Conyngham, staring at the far wall and twisting away on his hair.

              “I did not know that
you
would be in London, sir.” Paulina's motives were so tactless that Alix nearly laughed out a mouthful of toast. The moment she believed Spencer would be fifty miles from Broadmoore, Paulina’s relief was palpable. “Alexandra, you will stay behind, for your health.”

Transparent
hardly did the moment justice.

              Laurel, bless her, brought everyone back to the beginning. “Hastings and I are too committed with improvements here to join Reed. Alexandra will convalesce with us, and the rest of you will be free to enjoy London.”

              “There,” resolved Chas with an unprecedented measure of backbone. “Everyone is settled. Reed, will you travel down with us?”

              “No. I have some marching orders for Bennet to carry out in my absence. I’ll leave late this afternoon, before supper.”

              “This breakfast is too heavy for my nerves!” declared Paulina, shooting up. “Arranging and packing; it won't sit. I must begin directly.” When no one made a move to acknowledge her outburst, she snapped bony fingers at Chas’s ear. “Charles.” Mid bite, Chas set down his fork and groaned from his chair, any trace of spine now absent. Alix was never certain who merited more disgust.

              Elizabeth rose next. “Lady Hastings, you may show us to the parlor.”

              Alix didn't miss the sideways glance, Elizabeth's haughty unease at their being in close company. Though her condescension stung, Alix took pleasure that Lady Conyngham felt a need to escape her.

              Laurel didn't bother concealing a frown at the imposition, at having no choice but to entertain the woman. “Of course, Lady Conyngham. Hastings, come. You can share your plans for the north wing with his lordship.”

              John, midway through breakfast judging by his plate, looked to her and then Spencer, then finally to his wife, eager for a sympathetic pair of eyes. Finding none, he wiped his mouth with violence and followed Laurel out.

              Spencer met her eyes and pulled a serious face. “And then... there were two.”

              She smiled without reservation now that they were alone. “I take a little pride in my victory, facing more opposition from the room than anyone else.”

              He clutched his napkin to his chest. “You mean you aren’t heartbroken, being cut so fully by the charming countess?”

              “Hah!” Alix poured coffee into her cup, punishing it with a frown intended for Spencer. “Her going to London is eclipsed by my anxiety at
your
going to London.”

             
No answer
. She finished pouring and glanced up to find dancing hazel eyes watching her. Spencer produced a creased envelope from his coat, laid it on the table and pushed it across to her with a finger to his lips.

              She unfolded it close to her chest and skimmed its few lines. “An apology?” she whispered. She glanced up again, hope blooming in her chest. “This means you don't have to go?”

              “I could still call him out,” Spencer whispered back. “Few would cry foul, though it would be rather ungentlemanly to press things now. Grey is humiliated, humbled. And his troubles are far from over.” He smiled and claimed the note. “I won't inconvenience myself to do what London can accomplish more artfully.”