The black kitten leaped onto Spence’s leg and climbed it like a tree. When the little fellow reached his lap, Emma scooped him into her hands and put him back on the floor, where he promptly attacked the white one.
“They are frisky, are they not?” Spence said, hoping to recapture the ease between them. “Have you given them names?”
She did not look up at him, but reached over to pour their tea. “Tom and Puss.”
“Oh, quite original, Emma.” He flashed her a smile. “Do not tell me you have a male and female?”
She nodded. “The black one is male and the white a female.”
He picked up the black one again and peered at it. “Indeed? How do you tell?”
She blushed, the color very becoming to her complexion. “You look on the other side.”
He grinned and their eyes made contact again.
The kitten squirmed, driving needle-sharp claws into Spence’s hand. “No doubt this fellow is the Tom. I’d have bet money on it.”
She frowned at the reference to gambling and he felt like kicking himself for making it.
He placed the kitten back on the floor and tried to change the subject. “What will you do today, Emma?”
A line creased her forehead. “There is little for me to do of late, with all the new workers you have hired.”
He placed his hand over hers. “You deserve some leisure.”
Her fingers tensed and he let go.
Tolley lumbered in. “Here you are, my lord. I could not find you and I was looking. But here you are in the kitchen.”
“I am indeed here,” agreed Spence. “Did you have need of me?”
Tolley nodded. “Yes, indeed. You said I was to tell you if I heard the vicar was returned and I did hear it and he is.”
“Did you send word that I wished him to call upon me?”
“No,” admitted Tolley.
Spence opened his mouth to protest, but Tolley added, “Mr. Hale said I could go tell the vicar myself, and so I will go straight away.”
“Excellent.”
Emma turned to him. “You have need of Reuben?”
In all Spence’s growing-up years, he never had need of Reuben. His cousin always preferred to stick his nose in a book rather than dash outdoors with Spence and Stephen. The two brothers would spend entire days exploring the vast property, coming home full of dirt. If Reuben accompanied them, he complained the whole time, tired quickly, or prattled on about some Latin translation he’d accomplished, or he made up acrostics and solved them when Spence and Stephen would not.
But Reuben had just spent time in London, had likely visited Uncle Keenan, and might now have information Spence needed. Like why Uncle Keenan would say Spence gambled away the family fortune. “I have some questions for him, yes.”
Later that day Spence sat in the library examining Mr. Larkin’s ledgers when Mr. Hale announced his cousin’s arrival.
“Good day, Cousin,” Reuben cried, walking toward Spence with hand extended. He shook Spence’s hand so enthusiastically, pain shot through Spence’s shoulder. “By God, you look well, very well indeed!”
“I am better.” Spence rubbed his shoulder and motioned Reuben to a seat. “How was London?”
“Quite lively! The Season, you know. Everyone is in town. There were some excellent parties, I must say. Delicious food.” Reuben’s eyes brightened when Spence poured two glasses of port.
“You were there for the Season’s entertainment?” For all Spence knew Reuben might have been searching the marriage mart for a wife, though his cousin would not be considered a highly desirable catch.
Reuben gave Spence a sheepish look. “Not for that, I assure you. I quite traveled there on your account.”
“Mine?”
“I thought it best to directly explain these recent events to Father. Knowing him, he would get wind of it soon enough and would be very displeased if he had not heard of it first.” Reuben took a sip of wine.
Spence’s uncle, a Member of Parliament, was a politician of increasing influence in the House of Commons. He disliked being in the dark about any matter.
“Good of you,” said Spence.
Reuben nodded approvingly of the wine. “I must say, Father did not seem unduly surprised. Perhaps he knew something of the matter already, although he denied it.”
Reuben was distracted by two workmen passing by the window with a long ladder.
“I say, Spence, there is a grand amount of activity here! I am astonished! You have hired a score of workers.”
“There is a great deal to be done.” Spence sipped his wine.
“Quite. Little problems become big ones if not tended right away.” Reuben covered this subtle gibe by rising from the chair and going to look out the window. “You must have had a run of very good luck. It is good of you to spend it on Kellworth.”
“There was no run of luck,” Spence snapped. “What is this talk of my gambling?”
His cousin turned back to him. “I do not get your meaning.”
“You told Emma I gambled away the Kellworth fortune. I have done no such thing.”
Reuben walked back to the chair and sat. He leaned toward Spence. “Do you mean it is not true?”
“Of course it is not true!” Spence shot back. “I do not gamble overmuch. Certainly no more than the next man. Why the devil has it been bandied about that I do?”
Reuben’s brows knit. “But your debts have created much difficulty here, Cousin. I do not like to speak so plainly, but you have caused Emma . . . er . . . Lady Kellworth much suffering. If not for gambling, why did you cut the funds?”
Spence came to his feet, though he needed the cane to steady himself. “I did not cut the funds. I knew nothing of cutting the funds. Tell me what you know about it.”
Reuben’s eyes widened as he looked up at Spence. “Why, I know nothing about it, except what Emma . . . Lady Kellworth . . . told me. And Larkin. I did become concerned enough to speak to Larkin about it.”
“Emma said you heard this rubbish about my gambling from your father.”
Reuben nodded. “So I did. I had forgotten that. I sought Father’s advice. I thought he might be . . . be of assistance to Kellworth, but he, as you might understand, was disinclined to help. He told me then that you were gambling heavily and drawing from Kellworth’s assets to pay your debts.”
“I had no debts. Why would my uncle say I did?” Spence sat down again.
Reuben rubbed his chin. “I had the impression someone had told him. He would not have invented such a tale, would he?”
Spence gave him a direct look. “Did none of you consider that I was soldiering? I had more to do than wager my fortune away, I assure you.”
Reuben blinked. “Father told me about your debts. I certainly had no reason to doubt him. He has the ear of many in London, you know.”
“Why did you not ask me, Reuben?” Spence challenged. “You could have sent word to me.”
“I did!” exclaimed his cousin. “I wrote you many a letter.”
More mail Spence did not receive. It was inconceivable that so many letters failed to get through to him. Spence had received Ruddock’s correspondence well enough and an obligatory letter or two from his uncle. “Where the devil did you send your letters?” he asked. “I received nothing from you.”
“Why, I sent the letters through Father, of course!” Reuben sputtered. “He could frank them, you know. And it did not cost me.”
Spence leaned forward. “Did you send Emma’s letters that way as well?”
“Some of them,” admitted his cousin defensively. “But others she wanted sent to Ruddock’s firm. Why do you ask?”
“I received no letters from you or from Emma.”
“My God!” Reuben, struck speechless, leaned back in the chair. After a moment he said, “What could this mean?”
Spence stared into his cousin’s face. “It means there are still funds aplenty for Kellworth. It means I shall make certain this never happens again. But how and why this happened, I do not know. I promise you, I intend to discover the cause. What else can you tell me?”
Reuben shook his head. “Nothing.”
Reuben stared vacantly into the contents of his glass. Spence rose from his chair and turned away, frustrated that he could not mount his horse and ride straight to London to confront his uncle. The interview must wait until his health was fully restored, and then it promised to be difficult, an interview he could not cede to Blake and Wolfe. He and Uncle Keenan had barely spoken to each other since Spence married Emma. Their rare correspondence had been equally as terse.
Frowning, Spence returned to his seat and took a quelling sip of wine. “Emma told me you sold some things for her.”
Reuben’s head shot up. “I . . . I did not precisely sell them. I confess to telling her I sold them, but it was an untruth.”
“Reuben, cease the roundaboutation.”
Reuben tilted his head back and forth. “The pieces are at the vicarage. I gave her the money, but I never sold them.”
“You kept them?”
“Oh, not for myself!” Reuben looked alarmed. “I always planned to return them to the estate. I will return them directly, I promise. It . . . it was a means to give her money. She would not accept money from me any other way.”
Spence frowned, taking a sip of his wine. Here was another example of how he’d failed Emma, putting both her and Reuben in an uncomfortable position. “I will pay you back, of course.”
“Yes. Yes. No need, really. I will return the items forthwith.”
“Not yet.” Matters were so tender with Emma, Spence had no wish to upset her further by showing how Reuben had deceived her. “Keep them until I ask for them.”
“As you wish, Spence,” replied Reuben.
There was a rap on the door and Emma entered. Both men stood.
“Will you join us, Emma?” Spence asked.
She hesitated, but shook her head. “I merely wanted to see if Reuben intended to dine with us this evening.”
“I would be delighted, my dear.” Reuben beamed. “I shall take my leave now and return properly dressed at the usual hour.” He took a step or two toward the door, then halted. “That is, with your permission, Cousin.”
“Of course,” Spence said, although not eager for more of Reuben’s company at dinner. Or rather, not happy to share Emma’s. “Until dinner, then.”
Reuben joined them for many dinners that week, and when Sunday arrived, Spence declared himself able to accompany Emma to church. The dressmaker had delivered her dresses and she wore a lovely sage muslin dress and a spencer trimmed in dark green ribbon. The dressmaker included a hat in the exact shade, trimmed with a dark green bow, and the shoemaker made a new pair of shoes as well. Emma felt self-conscious in the finery, so used to wearing her much-mended brown dress to which the villagers and neighbors were so accustomed.
Reuben gave a ponderous sermon on the Prodigal Son, ending it by exhorting everyone to give thanks that the Earl of Kellworth, who was present at the service, had returned to kill the fatted calf. The analogy was a backward one, but then Reuben’s sermons often made little sense.
After the service the vicar was ebullient in greeting his cousin, the earl, and made a show of giving Spence and Emma the precedence to which Spence’s position entitled them. After Reuben, the other members of the congregation gathered to greet Emma and Spence warmly. Emma wondered how they might have greeted Spence had he not already infused the village with new prosperity.
One of the tenant farmers stopped Spence to have a word with him. The man’s wife spoke to Emma. “Lady Kellworth, I am sure you will be happy to know that my daughter gave birth to a fine baby boy not a fortnight ago.” The woman beamed with pleasure.
“How lovely, Mrs. Oates.” Emma had not seen the young expectant mother for over a month and had forgotten it was her time. “How is Mary faring? Did she have any difficulty?”
Mrs. Oates grinned. “Not a bit. She’s a sturdy girl, my Mary. And the babe is a robust one, let me tell you.”
“I am very glad to hear it. I shall send a basket for her.” Emma squeezed the woman’s hand.
“That is too good of you,” exclaimed Mrs. Oates. “Now the earl is home, there is so much activity it takes my breath away. And you’ve fairly bought out the shops!”
The spending was as big a boon to everyone as Kellworth’s poverty had been the cause of suffering. It relieved Emma that she no longer had to worry about the well-being of the whole valley—at least for the time being. “Yes, there is plenty now.”
Mr. Oates finished his conversation with Spence and gave his wife an impatient glance.
She waved in acknowledgment. “I must go, my lady, but please come and look upon my new grandson, if you are able.”
Emma might as well do so. She had nothing else to occupy her time. Mr. Larkin’s reports on the crops and livestock now went to Spence, who passed on to her the briefest of summaries. Her kitchen garden was tended by others, so tidy no weed would dare take root there. She even gave up her pigs, now that there were workers to tend them and no need to use them for profit. She had given Mr. Larkin permission to slaughter the last of the litter.
Emma had nothing but time on her hands. “I should love to call upon Mary,” she said to Mrs. Oates. “It will be a pleasure.”
Mrs. Oates bobbed a quick curtsy. She took a couple of steps toward her toe-tapping husband, but hurried back to Emma. “Perhaps now the earl is back, you shall be next.”
“Next?” Emma did not understand.
“You know,” called the woman as she bustled away. “The next to be increasing! To get a fine heir, that is it!”
Emma kept her smile in place. In the early days of her marriage she had spun happy visions of holding an infant in her arms, Spence leaning over, a look of pride on his face. It was one of those many foolish dreams she’d learned to bury deep in her heart.
She tossed a quick look at Spence, chatting with Squire Benson whose property bordered Kellworth. Spence appeared as fit as the day she’d first seen him, though he’d become a bit winded at the end of the walk to church and he still carried the cane. The repairs to the house and outbuildings were progressing at a rapid pace, and, for all Emma knew, Spence might leave one day soon.
Spence concluded his conversation and returned to Emma, offering his arm. “Shall we walk back?”
She looped her arm through his, and they exchanged greetings with other folks as they started down the lane. Children, now free of church pews and Reuben’s platitudinous sermon, ran and skipped ahead of their parents, shouting and chasing each other.