An evening call on old friends like the Wedburys was one thing. The Spains were another matter entirely.
But the coach had gotten him to Bristol, and if anyone had suggested he should wait until morning, Lewis would have shoved his dirty boots down their throat.
He knew their address; Cassie had pulled out Anna’s letters from the summer. He’d read through them last night, reinterpreting each word in light of what he knew now. His heart broke again, imagining all the pain she had held inside. No sympathetic ear, no voice of comfort, no gentle touch to ease her cares for a moment. Almost he resolved to do without their money.
But they owed her, by God! Living in squalor, clothing herself from the rag shops. No wonder if she’d become bitter. She couldn’t return to them, with or without the child. He wouldn’t let her.
So he would damn well take whatever he could wring from their miserly hands.
A footman younger than himself answered his knock. “No one’s at home,” he said after a cursory glance from head to toe. Lewis had to move fast to get his boot over the threshold and shove the door with his sore shoulder to get inside.
He couldn’t blame the servant. Lewis’s clothes were rumpled from a day on the road and far removed from evening dress. His eye looked more like a bloody hole than an eye, and his face in the mirror this morning had shown most every color on the painter’s palette. He had not shaved since yesterday—the extra day’s beard was possibly an improvement.
He held out his hat so the footman had no choice but to take it. “Thank you. Please inform Mr. and Mrs. Spain that I require an audience.”
The poor fellow’s voice squeaked. “Now? This evening?” He cleared his throat. “They’re not at home.” His gaze swiveled toward the stairs, giving away the lie.
He read the calling card Lewis offered him. Lewis caught the barest flicker of recognition, a widening of the eyes and a sidelong glance. He might not know of Lewis Aubrey, or Gideon either, but he knew that someone named Aubrey was the father of Miss Spain’s unborn child. Servants always knew their employers’ business.
“I don’t believe you,” Lewis said. “Let them know I’m here.” He’d meant to sound commanding, but it came out more like a growl.
“Y-yes, sir.” The young man scurried off. Not up the broad, carpeted staircase, but beyond it toward the servants’ quarters. Going for reinforcements. Lewis grimaced.
Determination kept his feet rooted on the white marble floor when they wanted to pace. He stood straight and locked his hands behind his back. Imperious yet at ease, he hoped, should anyone be watching.
His gaze roamed over the fine wooden staircase and wainscoting, the spotless blue and white of walls and trim work, the immaculate cleanliness. Unlike his own parents, the Spains knew what elegance looked like and didn’t mind paying for it. Yet the place was dead. Gleaming, rich, and dead.
Lewis raised his eyebrows as the butler approached. “Is there a problem?” This was not the man from London, but if the young footman hovering behind him recognized the Aubrey name, the butler did as well.
“My regrets. Sir and Madam are not receiving this evening. If you will come again tomorrow, perhaps…” Oh, the man was an expert at haughty.
But Lewis was in the mood for haughty himself. “My business will not wait. If they won’t see me this evening, I shall sleep here in the foyer.”
The butler blinked his astonishment. The footman’s mouth fell open and Lewis’s calling card fell to the floor.
“Sir! You know that is impossible. If you will not leave in a mannerly fashion, I will have you thrown out.”
Thrown out of two buildings in the space of forty-eight hours? Lewis bit his tongue and lifted his gaze to the ceiling to keep from laughing out loud.
“If you will come this way.” The butler reached out his hand to guide the uncooperative visitor toward the door and took a couple of steps.
Lewis didn’t move. “Tell them I’ve come from Leeds.” Stiffening, the butler turned to face him. “Yes, I can see that gives you some idea of my errand.” The butler’s gaze flicked toward the stairs like the footman’s before him. Lewis took advantage of that moment of doubt to add, silky-smooth, “I wager your employers would rather hear it from me than from you.”
The butler nodded. “Yes, sir. Quite.”
He ushered Lewis through an open doorway across the hall. “Wait here, sir.” He left, closing the door.
A gas lamp burned low, illuminating a small salon painted red and furnished expensively in the latest mode, gilded frames and mirrors reflecting the light. Lewis ground his teeth. No, he needn’t worry that his demands would beggar Mama and Papa Spain.
Thirty minutes later, the butler returned. “Follow me. Sir and madam will see you now.”
He led the way to a large room at the rear of the house, an office for a man of business. Instead of poetry and histories, the shelves were lined with account books and ledgers. No rugs, no globe, no comfortable chairs for reading or conversation, but a massive desk and a long work table with sturdy wooden chairs for six. A barren space, perhaps chosen to intimidate their visitor. Perversely, Lewis found it more comfortable than the grand public rooms. More appropriate for the business transaction he’d come to negotiate. Warmer too, thanks to the roaring fire.
Mrs. Spain came forward from her position beside the desk as he entered. “Mr. Aubrey! What a surprise to see you in Bristol.” Her wide, frosty smile reminded him strongly of his own mother. Her eyes, however, showed apprehension. Perhaps it was merely dismay about the damage to his face.
She held out her hand. He considered ignoring it, but settled on the briefest of handshakes and the slightest of nods. If she was prepared to be civil, he could do no less. For now, at least. “Mrs. Spain.”
Her husband pushed his bulk up from his desk chair. So different from Anna! Swarthy and dark-haired, he made sense of the surname that suited his daughter not at all.
He advanced slowly, eyeing Lewis up and down. Lewis smothered the impulse to apologize for his appearance, for the late hour. They deserved no such consideration.
“Mr. Spain,” said his wife, “this is Mr. Lewis Aubrey, whom I had the pleasure of meeting in London.”
No pleasure on either side, but Lewis didn’t bother saying so. He shook the man’s hand, not a glimmer of a smile between them. A heavy gold ring gleamed on Spain’s finger, set with a ruby that could surely support Anna for the rest of her life.
Anna’s mother directed Lewis to one of two chairs in front of the desk and seated herself in the other. Her husband returned to his own but remained standing. He opened his mouth to speak.
Lewis beat him to it. “As your butler no doubt told you, I’ve just come from Leeds. You can have no doubt whom I met there.”
“We were sad to send her away,” Mrs. Spain said, “but really, there was no other choice. She was naughty, was she not? Your brother did not come up to scratch, and…” She broke off with the annoying laugh he had blessedly forgotten.
“And neither did I, Mrs. Spain? Is that what you were going to say? You did your best to trick me into it, I know that.” If he had known the truth at the time, what would he have done? Would he have walked willingly into the trap, without love?
She flushed but ignored his comment. “How is our dear girl, Mr. Aubrey?” As false as all the rest of it.
“Is it possible you don’t know? She lives like a pauper, Mrs. Spain. Their apartment is smaller than this room, with an inadequate fireplace and no facilities for cooking anything more than tea and broth. She’s not seen a doctor and they cannot afford to hire a hackney to take them where they need to go. Do you know what winter is like in Yorkshire, Mrs. Spain? Two feet of snow over an inch of ice?”
He’d begun in a conversational tone, but despite his best intentions it escalated into condemnation. He spoke only to her, but was aware of Mr. Spain’s fingernails tapping on polished mahogany.
“What of it?” The man’s pose was idle, but his words came clipped, narrowed eyes betraying his concentration. “Anna went to London to snag a wealthy husband, and snagged something entirely different. We send her as much as she deserves. You have no right to question our actions with regard to our daughter.”
“But I do question them. Your treatment of her obviates your right to complain. If a minor child may not expect her parents to provide for her—parents who clearly have the wherewithal to do so—where should she turn? Did you truly intend your dear girl to become an object of pity? Of charity?”
“Whose fault is it that she found herself in such a precarious situation, Mr. Aubrey? Her own, yes—and your brother’s,” Spain said, jabbing a finger in Lewis’s direction. “He is a—”
“Yes, yes.” Lewis leaned back in his chair. Time to defuse the hostility if he could. “You’ll get no argument from me. He is a rake, a scoundrel, and worse.”
His argument deflated, Spain merely glared.
“Please sit down, Mr. Spain,” Lewis offered. “Surely we have a common interest in this matter.”
To his surprise, the man complied.
“I am prepared to marry your daughter.” If he married her, they would be his parents as well. A daunting thought.
“You are?” Mrs. Spain’s eyes widened in surprise.
Her husband’s narrowed in suspicion. “Why?”
Lewis shrugged, and lied. “Pity. Charity.” They don’t need to know I can’t live without her.
“And the child?” asked Mrs. Spain.
He gave a curt nod. “The child too.” It was none of their damned business, but raising their grandchild would cost money, money he didn’t have. Spain would understand that.
“I want to be clear,” he continued. “I am not here for your permission. Your failure to care for her relieves you of any authority over her. It is her decision and mine.”
“All right then. What do you want, Mr. Aubrey?” Spain demanded, all business.
Lewis stood and paced as he’d been longing to do, forcing his feet to a slow, measured rhythm, calm and thoughtful.
“I will need your official written consent. Also, since the point of this marriage will be to restore Miss Spain’s reputation, proper announcements of our betrothal in all the usual publications.”
Mrs. Spain gave one short nod. “I will take care of that. When shall we plan the wedding?”
Her husband rolled his eyes. “Are you out of your mind, madam? There will be no public wedding. The less seen, the better.”
Lewis could not have agreed more. “The wedding will be a small affair in Wrackwater Bridge,” he said. He added, lest they think they were invited, “The bride’s parents will be unable to attend.”
Spain rose with a satisfied smirk. “Couldn’t be simpler. We can shake hands on the business right now. We wish the best for Anna, after all.”
Does he really think I’m finished? Lewis turned away to hide his disgust and consider his next words. He strolled to a side table displaying a grand epergne in silver and white.
Mr. Spain spoke from behind him. “That’s a new design from one of my factories. The finest lusterware in all England.”
Lewis ignored him. “You’ve not asked about my circumstances.”
“If my daughter has approved your suit, I have no option to reject it. Isn’t that what you said?”
Lewis clenched his jaw. “Unfortunately, my resources are limited. I cannot possibly support a family without adequate consideration.” He heard Spain’s chair creak as he resumed his seat.
Spain asked again, “What do you want?”
“What would her dowry have been if Miss Spain had—er—snagged a rich husband, as planned? That’s what I want.” Did I really say that? “One payment at the outset, and you need never hear from us again.”
Spain’s pen tapped a frantic rhythm on the desktop. “Your family should pay us for the loss of the benefits a good marriage would have brought. We should have sued, but Mrs. Spain persuaded me otherwise.”
Lewis managed a shrug that he hoped appeared nonchalant. “You’ve already tried your hand with my brother and failed. I’m willing to clean up the mess, leaving you with a clear conscience. Do you have a better offer waiting in the wings?”
Spain surveyed him beneath lowered brows. “How do I know you won’t be back here a year from now, asking for more?”
Another shrug. “I have no debts, and I’m not a gambler. What had you planned? Five thousand? Give me that now and I’ll sign anything you like.”
“Five thousand? You belong in Bedlam!”
“Come now. I shall have your daughter and your grandchild to support. We need housing, food, and coal. Clothing and servants. A modest carriage and horses to pull it. These things cost money.”
Spain glowered and named a lower figure. Much lower.
Lewis returned to his inspection of that hideous epergne. Should he settle for what Spain offered? Invested wisely, alongside his own income, it would keep them in relative comfort for a time.
But oh, it went against the grain to take a penny less than he could pry from this pinchfist who thought so little of his own daughter!
He turned and spoke as though he’d just now had an epiphany—which he had. “Perhaps we should move here to Bristol.” Would he ever consider it? Lord no! But the Spains would hate it as much. If he could convince them he might really do it…
“This seems like a fashionable part of town,” he continued, stepping toward the desk. “We could purchase a place, with your help. Mrs. Spain, you would be delighted to have your dear girl close by and introduce us into Bristol society, would you not? Then too, think of the benefits to the children! Our son could play with his cousins, and when the time comes I have no doubt you would be eager to contribute equally to his education.”
Had he said enough? Too much? As much as he could get away with, in any case. Red-faced, Anna’s father stared. Mrs. Spain eyed her husband as if she feared either an apoplectic fit or an explosion of temper they would all regret.
Lewis kept his expression as cool and ingenuous as he could. It was Anna’s mother who spoke, placatingly.
“We could not ask such a thing of you, Mr. Aubrey. I remember how you longed for Yorkshire. Wrackwater, did you say? A quaint little town, I’m sure, with its cottages and its…um, its sheep? Your family is there, and the Wedburys are great friends, are they not?”
Spain cleared his throat. His voice gruff and tightly controlled, he came up with a better number. “Be here at nine tomorrow and we’ll draw up the papers. Every minute you’re late, the amount goes down by a hundred.”