Page 27 of The Lady of the Lamps (Vows in Vauxhall Gardens #1)

T he grief in Beatrix’s heart did not lessen after a month, and neither did living with her betrothed get any easier. She had arrived home to find everything as she had left it, and two days later, Thomas’s sister arrived—making their living together acceptable in society’s eyes.

If Beatrix had hoped she would be an ally, she was sorely mistaken.

“Beatrix, allow me to present my sister, Sarah,” Thomas had said on the day they’d first met. He’d dropped the ‘Lady’ from her name without asking, but she supposed it was only right, since they were to be wed.

She’d beamed at the lady before her, who was a few years her senior, and tried to push her sadness from her mind, for she sincerely wished to have a good relationship with her new family.

“Mrs. Jones will suffice,” Sarah said, smoothing her skirt and looking Beatrix up and down.

“Oh. Yes. Of course. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Jones.” Shocked by her abruptness, Beatrix took a step back, unsure how to react. “Thank you for coming to stay. I am sure you are very busy…”

“Sarah has three children, all boys,” Thomas informed her proudly. All Beatrix could wonder was how she had left her children, presumably with their father and a maid or nanny, for three whole months in order to chaperone her brother and his betrothed.

“Is she in trouble then?” Sarah asked her brother. “Is that why you’re marrying? Waiting makes no sense—”

It took Beatrix a moment to decipher the meaning behind Sarah’s question, and when she did, she was outraged.

“I most certainly am not!” she declared, when Thomas seemed slow to inform his sister that there was nothing improper about their relationship.

“Sarah, as I told you, Beatrix was the daughter of my predecessor. She will make an excellent countess.”

Sarah sniffed. “If you say so.”

Beatrix did not think she had ever encountered such an unpleasant woman, and when the butler Samson suggested he show Mrs. Jones to her room to rest after her journey—although it had only been from the other side of London—Beatrix was quick to agree.

“Is that what people think about us?” Beatrix hissed, incensed.

Until this point she had ignored any rudeness or lack of tact from Thomas, choosing to believe it was all unintended.

But to have her honor called into question, when she was in mourning and had agreed to marry this man with no real desire for him, was just too much.

“Calm yourself, Beatrix,” Thomas said, as though he was speaking to an over-excited infant.

“My sister is merely blunt. She knows I have not wed up until now, and simply wonders why I have now chosen to do so. Remember she is doing us a great favor by staying here, so that we can wait to be wed as you have insisted.”

Beatrix felt her cheeks flame red—both at the earlier suggestion of her already carrying Thomas’s child, and the way he was admonishing her.

“Well. I am glad she is here for propriety’s sake,” she eventually said, although in her head she wished that his sister had never come.

Almost a month later, the relationship with the two soon-to-be sisters-in-law had not much improved. Sarah had kept herself to herself, choosing new furnishings for rooms that Thomas had given her permission to redecorate, and complaining when Beatrix was in her way reading or sewing.

Beatrix wanted to cry at the way her beloved home was being criticized, and how Sarah planned to redecorate her beloved parlor without even asking.

The house belonged to Thomas, yes, and he had every right to ask his sister’s opinion on the furnishings.

But even if Beatrix had not spent her childhood in that house, she would have thought he might value her opinion, as his future wife, over that of a sister he’d even admitted himself whom he had not seen for years prior to this visit.

And yet she did not feel she could say anything. Day after day she tried to fill her time and her thoughts and not burst into tears, in the hopes that things would be better once she and Thomas were wed, and she was truly the lady of the house.

But what if things are worse?

The question plagued her often, and she did not have an answer for it.

Her mind occasionally wandered to that incredible kiss with Lord Leighton, but whenever that happened she forced herself to think of something else.

Not because she regretted it, but because she doubted she would ever feel that way about anyone else, especially Thomas—and it hurt to think about what could have been, if Lord Leighton had not gone to war after they had danced, and had instead called on her as he had vowed to in Vauxhall Gardens.

*

Spencer knew he had been drinking too much. For the last few weeks, he had spiraled downward into a state of misery that rivaled how he had been when he had first returned from France.

The nights were worse than ever. And during the day, he had nothing to occupy him. He knew he ought to go to the country because he had work to do there and far more to keep him occupied, but he could not bring himself to leave.

Nor could he bring himself to go and stay with James, as he had been invited to do.

He did not think his friend would accept his misery without questioning it, and Spencer did not want to discuss why he was drinking so much.

Besides, the invitation had been extended before James had proposed marriage to Miss Louisa Trentbridge—and so, perhaps it no longer stood.

He still did not wholly understand what had happened there. Had James offered marriage out of pity for the girl? Or did he truly harbor feelings for her?

Spencer hoped it was the latter, and hoped to find out the truth as soon as he saw his friend again.

Drinking so much was partly so that he could sleep better, in the hopes that the nightmares would not come—although a month of trying this theory had proven that it did not work. But more than that, it was to block out the terrible feelings of regret he felt every time he thought of Lady Beatrix.

It was ridiculous. They had danced a few times, held hands twice, kissed once. Granted, it was more than he would have ever done with any other well-born lady, but it was surely not enough to send him into this state of misery.

But he wanted to be the man who was marrying her. He hated the thought of her marrying the new Lord Haxbury. She had looked so lost and broken herself when he had visited, and when she had come to see him, he had thought there was another reason than to inform him of her betrothal.

But it was too late now. Everyone knew that they were to be married, and he was not going to interrupt her happiness to what—offer marriage to himself?

He didn’t even think he was capable of that.

And if he was, it would be terribly unfair of him to tie her to a broken man who could not sleep through the night without nightmares, when she had a chance of real happiness before her.

But knowing all of that did not diminish his misery, and so he tried to dull it with drink.

Sometimes at home alone in his library, and sometimes, when the looks from his valet and butler were becoming too judgmental, he came to the club alone and sat in the corner he had always chosen with Timothy and James, watching people going about their lives with the decanter before him.

The day that the new Lord Haxbury chose to enter Spencer’s club was one of the days when the looks at home had become too judgmental.

Spencer didn’t notice him right away; his attention was on a group playing cards, where the stakes had become ridiculously high. They were foolish to gamble with such large figures, but there was still rather a vicarious thrill in watching it unfold.

When he did notice Haxbury, he froze, not wishing for the man to recognize him.

But then, why would he? They had only met once.

He had been a mere inconvenience in Lord Haxbury’s day, whereas his image had been seared into Spencer’s mind because he was marrying the woman that, in another life, Spencer would have made his wife.

His attention drawn away from the cards, he watched the new earl as he bought a drink and then got chatting to a few of the other patrons who were milling around the bar.

Ever so slowly, so that he was not noticed, he edged his chair nearer so that he could hear the conversation. It was stupid, but he could not resist.

He could not have known that that simple action would change his life forever.

“Ah, so you’re the new Lord Haxbury,” a balding gentleman said, offering his hand to shake. “We wondered when we’d be seeing you about town. Didn’t know if you’d already left for the country.”

“Not yet. I’m staying in the city until after I’m wed—and then, yes, I rather think we will retire to the country. I don’t see any need for the new countess to return to the city…”

The suggestive tone to his voice made Spencer ball up his hands into fists, but he got his anger under control and did not rise.

He did not like Beatrix being spoken of in such a way, but it was hardly uncommon amongst the men.

And he was nothing to her. If he jumped up and defended her honor, he would only make a fool of himself, and perhaps ruin Beatrix’s happiness.

“Oh yes, I did hear that you were betrothed to old Haxbury’s daughter. Congratulations,” a younger fellow further away from Spencer said. It seemed like most of the patrons were interested in this new earl, and he soon had quite a crowd around him.

Spencer knew he ought to go home, but he stayed where he was, not drinking, not moving, just listening to the increasingly drunken comments that passed between the gentlemen—if they could be called that.

“No, no, no. I assure you, gentlemen, any rumors you’ve heard about my betrothed are wholly untrue. She is the epitome of a virgin bride. A little cold and unfeeling, as these untouched women so often are, but once we’re married, I’ll take her in hand and warm her up.”

The men around him laughed, but Spencer simply saw red.

“She may hold me at arm’s length now, but once the vows have been said, she will do her duty with enthusiasm, I assure you.”

“How dare you?” He jumped out of his seat at the same time shouting, and it took the drunken lords a while to even register that he was speaking to them—well, to one of them in particular.

“You are marrying one of the best women of the ton and you dare speak of her like this. I cannot bear to hear it.”

Lord Haxbury turned and narrowed his eyes. “Oh. Lord…Laysbury, wasn’t it?”

“Leighton,” Spencer corrected through gritted teeth.

“Well, Lord Leighton, if you do not like the topic of conversation, might I suggest that you leave? I rather suspected you were angling for an affair with my soon-to-be wife, but I assure you, the rumors of any liaison between her and a notorious rake are false, and she is mine now.”

Lord Haxbury’s words only served to incense Spencer more.

How dare he suggest that Spencer had been trying to lure Beatrix into some sort of immoral relationship?

Without even thinking about it, Spencer found his hands on the lapels of Lord Haxbury’s jacket, and he pulled him to his feet and landed a blow on his chin before he even realized what was happening.

“How dare you!” Haxbury roared, once he had recovered from the blow. “I am the Earl of Haxbury, and you have no right to—”

“And I am the Marquess of Leighton, and I will defend the lady’s honor.”

They were torn apart from each other before Haxbury managed to land a single blow, but there was no way that Spencer was going to walk away after hearing him speak so foully.

“Name your second,” he found himself shouting, without thinking of the consequences. “I will not listen to the lady’s good name besmirched. We duel at dawn—unless you are willing to rescind your comments and apologize to the lady in question.”

“I’ll see you at dawn,” the new earl spat.