Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Edward Spencer opened the doors to the shared salon between their two suites with Alva dogging his steps.
“We need to discuss our daughter, Elizabeth,” Alva spat.
His wife had expensive perfume. Why must she marinate in it? “Elizabeth is a rare beauty and quite charming. I’d hate to think a mother was jealous of her own daughter,” he said, letting that thought snake around his wife.
Alva lifted a heavy rope of emeralds from her neck and tossed them on a table.
“An ill business, that, to hide a young woman with a disreputable background and keep her in a high place. I do wonder if all the money you spent to keep the scandal at bay was well-spent. What if there was a leak? Then what would we do?”
“One can create all kinds of fiction to obtain their objectives. I’ll tell you when to fear when there is something to worry about.”
Alva summoned a challenging mew of displeasure. “I had a strict upbringing and the way you allow Elizabeth to gallivant about town is shameful. She’s not a young girl anymore. She’s a spinster and needs to marry.”
Edward walked to the mantel and rested his elbow on it. “I’m in no hurry to hasten our daughter to the altar.”
Alva plunked herself down on the velvet settee.
“Elizabeth has always been a peculiar girl. If I’d known she had played sports in that progressive primary school you sent her to, I never would have allowed it.
She never took up needlework or painting like other young ladies and has no interest in men. ”
“Can you blame her?”
“I don’t for one second believe she has no knowledge of who the man was that put her in the family way. She is protecting him.”
“Nevertheless, she is a Spencer and will be safeguarded.”
“So, you are admitting there is a possibility.”
“No, I am not. Everything has been taken care of.”
“And the child? You got rid of it so no evidence of it will be traced to us?
“How grandmotherly of you, Alva.”
“Don’t play that game with me.”
Edward lit a cigar, blew out the match and threw it into the fireplace. “I’ve gone over this a million times. The child has been sent anonymously to a family in the west. The child will be cared for.”
She pointed her finger at him. “I hope you covered your tracks well. Something this monumental may well be our ruin. And why are you being so stubborn when it comes to her? I’m always right about things like this.
You wouldn’t want her marrying a cowboy, would you?
And don’t think I didn’t notice the attention Mr. Rourke was giving her. ”
“They just met, and it looked to me like a Civil War had broken out. You’d get more affection between two badgers going at it.”
“Who do you think you are fooling? I have a sixth sense about such things. They know each other…maybe intimately.”
“Stop it, Alva. Won’t you give your daughter the benefit of the doubt that she may well have been raped? Might you show her compassion instead of scorn?”
Alva’s mouth tightened. “She owns a hopeless independent streak she learned from you. Giving her all that education has gone to her head. And the Catholics no less! Now, she cavorts with ragtag orphans all day and you allow it.”
“She is a modern young woman. Education was good for Elizabeth. I find her an asset at the dinner table, bringing many ideas and charming my business guests.”
“Is that a backhanded way of saying I’m unacceptable?”
“Alva, you need a hobby. Besides, I admire her charity work, and the Fitzgeralds who support the institution are good people.”
Alva flicked her hand. “Am I the only one seeing impending disaster? That cowboy troubles me.”
“He has a great idea and was here for financing. That has nothing to do with Elizabeth.”
Alva stared him down. “Nevertheless, I don’t like the way he phrased things or the way he sat.
Too comfortable. His arrangement seems fishy to me, and I’m warning you to turn a blind eye to his scheme.
” Alva patted her hair. “You must admit I have a good grasp of social politics. That man is an inferior.”
“Yes, Alva,” Edward said tiredly. His wife had the ability to exhaust him in a few minutes of conversation. Alva had grown up in an environment that taught her that certain groups didn’t deserve respect while pretending to feel sorry for others because of the “misfortune” of their station in life.
“I need your full support with Elizabeth’s betrothal to the heir of the sugar empire. If I pressure Elizabeth enough, she’ll give in. She always does.”
Edward snorted. “Elizabeth? That’s not the Elizabeth I know.”
“I wish you had a pair. It gets old having to convince you not to cave in to Elizabeth.”
“My daughter is content with herself and wishes not to marry. I will not force her. In fact, I like having her around. If I had a son, I’d want him to be just like her.”
Edward had wanted a large family, but after three difficult births, with one of them a stillborn, Alva was less rapturous. She loathed being pregnant.
When he had gone to Europe on business, he had been elated to hear that Alva was expecting their next child. Alva miscarried. He wanted to know what caused the miscarriage, a question Alva had never answered.
“I suppose the messenger is always killed.” Alva pressed the back of her wrist to her forehead. “Oh, how I’m plagued with headaches. And you show no consideration whatsoever. I’m going to bed.”
Martyrdom was Alva’s foremost manipulation. Her talk. Her enormous ego, false, weak posturing, inventing drama where she always starred. He’d lost any sympathy for her years ago, especially when a private investigator found out that Alva had aborted his baby.
When Alva huffed into her room and slammed the door, Edward smiled.
At a very discreet and luxurious brownstone, he kept a mistress, Mrs. Bethel, a widow.
She provided Edward with companionship, love and understanding, all the things he missed in his marriage to Alva.
With a spring in his step, he moved down the stairs and grabbed his topcoat and hat from the butler.