An Invitation to Seduction (9 page)

“Because he sent so many, miss.”

Kitty scrambled out of bed for a closer look. Without counting, she thought it looked as though at least two dozen flowers filled the vase. Each one exquisite, each one a blossom to be admired. But she found it difficult to appreciate them knowing from whom they’d come.

“Why don’t you take them down to the parlor so everyone can enjoy them?”

“I don’t know that there’s room, miss.”

Why must inefficiency run rampant on this of all mornings—when she was in no condition to deal with it properly?

“I realize it’s a large arrangement, Nancy, but then again, the parlor
is
a large room.”

“Yes, miss, but the other flowers are taking up almost the entire space in the parlor and the drawing room.”

“What other flowers?” she asked, a sense of apprehension filling her, as Nancy’s earlier exuberance about the flowers began to take root.

“All the others he sent. There must be close to a thousand, I should think. They’ve been arriving for the past hour, and we can hardly locate enough vases to arrange them all properly.”

Kitty snatched her robe off a nearby chair, shoved her arms into it, tightened the sash, and hastened out of the room. Down the sweeping stairs she dashed, halfway expecting to see Weddington waiting at the foot of them.

She came to a stuttering halt at the entry to the parlor. Every type of flower in every imaginable color filled the room. Some in vases, most simply bound together with ribbon.
A thousand flowers. A thousand apologies.

“Kitty, what on earth is going on?” her mother asked,
holding a large bouquet as though she was at a loss as to what to do with it.

Kitty shook her head. How could she even begin to explain without revealing all?

“Your father will not be at all pleased to see that Farthingham goes to such excess and extravagance—”

“Not Farthingham. Weddington.”

Her mother looked as though Kitty had drawn a pistol on her. “The duke?”

Kitty nodded.

“Why would he send—”

“To apologize.”

“What does he need to apologize for?”

Kitty couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. “He has an interest in me, Mama. And I have none in him.”

“He’s apologizing for having an interest?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Appears so.”

Shaking her head, Kitty walked to one of the vases and touched a velvety petal. “How typical of a man to think he can win a lady over simply by spending money on her.”

“He doesn’t know you well at all if he thinks you can be lured by objects.”

Kitty sighed. “You’re absolutely right. He knows nothing about me.”

And if she kept to her original intentions, he never would.

Kitty’s headache started anew when she received word that the Duchess of Weddington and her daughter had come to call. Of all the afternoons for them to make an appearance—when she wasn’t feeling quite herself. Still, she dressed appropriately, pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to get a little color into them, and went down to the parlor to greet her guests.

A petite silver-haired woman was wandering through the room admiring all the fresh flowers. Lady Anne sat on a sofa, her hands folded on her lap. She rose to her feet as soon as she saw Kitty.

“Miss Robertson.”

“Lady Anne.”

The older woman turned, and Lady Anne beamed. “Mother, I would like to introduce Miss Kitty Robertson.”

The duchess smiled warmly. “Miss Robertson, it is indeed a pleasure.”

“Your Grace, I’m so honored that you would pay me a visit. Please, sit.” Twisting slightly, Kitty signaled to the waiting servant to bring tea.

The duchess sat beside her daughter on the sofa, and Kitty took her place in a chair sitting opposite them.

“The flowers are absolutely lovely,” the duchess said.

“Thank you, Your Grace, but I can take no credit for their beauty.”

“I am well aware of that, dear girl. Anne says that I’m mistaken, but I do believe these are Richard’s flowers. Too many resemble the ones that filled his greenhouse until this morning. I daresay, he must have been up all night preparing them for delivery here.”

Kitty barely noticed the servant placing the tea tray on the table in front of her as she stared at the duchess. “You don’t believe these came from a flower shop or vendor?”

“I hardly think so. His conservatory was filled yesterday, and when I sent my girl out this morning to gather a few fresh flowers for my room, she reported the place was practically barren of blossoms.” She waved her hand. “And here they seem to be.”

Kitty felt somewhat better that he hadn’t gone to great expense on her behalf. “Your gardener is to be applauded—”

“No, no, no, dear girl. Not our gardener. Richard.
They are his flowers. He allows no one to touch them when we are in London, which is the very reason that I must send my girl out at the crack of dawn if I want any. To sneak a few out without his knowing. She said this morning that he was instructing servants to load them into carriages.”

“Are you saying that your son grew these flowers?”

“If they are indeed his, which I have no reason to believe otherwise.” The duchess arched a finely shaped brow. “Are they?”

Kitty shifted her gaze between the duchess and Lady Anne. She felt the heat climbing up her face. “The note that accompanied them was from the Duke of Weddington.”

“Whatever did you do to gain such favor from him?”

The lid clattered as Kitty picked up the teapot, because her hands were trembling so badly. “I really can’t say,” she said, hoping the manner in which she emphasized the words gave the impression that she didn’t have a clue rather than that she wouldn’t say.
I kissed him at dawn and set our blood to boiling. Apparently, he’s having no more luck forgetting it than I am.

“Orchids are a hobby of his, although I don’t think he’s as obsessed as Joseph Chamberlain is reported to be. I believe Richard finds solace in his conservatory. There and on the sea.”

Kitty handed the cups and saucers to her guests. “I’m fond of the sea as well.”

“You must visit us at Drummond Manor sometime,” Lady Anne said. “We would make you feel most welcome, wouldn’t we, Mother?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Richard could take you out on one of his yachts.”

“I really don’t see where I’ll have time, with all the plans I need to make with Lord Farthingham.”

“Of course, but still it’s a pity. I was telling Mother
how very much I’ve enjoyed your company since meeting you,” Lady Anne said. “We do hope you will come to call.”

“I’d be most pleased to do so.”

“Splendid,” the duchess said. “Now, we must be off. We have other calls to make this afternoon.”

After the duchess and Lady Anne left, Kitty sat in the parlor, surrounded by the sweet fragrance, her gaze lighting on each flower. She would have preferred that he’d purchased the blasted things. She didn’t like the idea of his giving her something he’d nurtured and coaxed into blooming—didn’t like the idea of him alone all night standing in a greenhouse with plants, standing alone on a rocky shoreline gazing out to sea.

She’d had three Seasons and not once had she met him. How could such an impossible loner be friends with Farthingham, who constantly gathered people around himself as though he needed them in order to breathe?

And why, oh why, could she not tear her thoughts away from Weddington?

R
ichard heard the deep laughter echoing into the hallway long before the butler escorted him into the library.

“Weddington! So glad you came by,” Farthingham said, coming to his feet and greeting him as soon as he entered the room. “You’ve had the honor of meeting Frederick Montague, haven’t you?”

“Yes, we were introduced a few years ago.”

“I thought so.”

“I managed to catch your performance in a play that Farthingham recommended to me,” Richard said to Montague. “I was impressed with your acting talent.”

Montague was young, but his gray eyes reflected intelligence and perhaps a bit of seeing more of the world than he would have liked. He bowed slightly and smiled. “Your Grace, I am honored that you would be impressed by any of my humble efforts.”

“As well you should be, Freddie. Weddington, would you care for some port?”

“I believe I will.” Richard sat in a plush chair, one of four that sat around an octagonal table.

Farthingham lifted the decanter and pointed it toward Montague. “Freddie has recently left the stage, however, to work behind it—as a playwright. I was just reading his latest work. It’s fantastic.”

“Based on the laughter I heard before I came in, I presume it’s a comedy.”

“Quite so,” Farthingham said, handing Richard a goblet. “It’s the story of a man who commits murder in order to gain a woman’s affections.”

“I’ve never considered murder to be humorous.”

“Admit it, Weddington, you consider very little in life to be humorous. But Freddie’s play is brilliant. I predict it would make even you chuckle a time or two. Perhaps he’ll let you read it.”

“Oh, no,” Montague interjected. He blushed, his gaze darting between Richard and Farthingham. “It’s only a first write. I still need to polish it a bit more.”

“When you’re comfortable with it, then, I’d like to read it,” Richard said. “I trust Farthingham’s opinion.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. I will be incredibly honored to have your opinion of my work.”

Richard sipped his port.

Smiling, Farthingham took a seat, lounged back, and crossed his legs. “So what brings you to my door?”

Richard shrugged. “I thought a visit was in order.”

Farthingham’s smile faded. “You can speak candidly in front of Freddie.”

“Very well. I wanted to speak with you about Miss Robertson.”

“My goodness,” Montague piped up. “I’d forgotten that I have an appointment. I must be off.” He came to his feet. “It was a pleasure to see you again, Your Grace.”

“I was serious about reading your play once you’re comfortable allowing me to see it.”

The man looked inordinately pleased. “Thank you, Your Grace. I shall be certain to get a copy to you.”

“He’ll stay up all night writing it out himself,” Farthingham said.

Montague laughed self-deprecatingly. “I am but a poor playwright.”

“I understand that even Shakespeare died a pauper,” Richard said.

Montague’s eyes widened. “I would not dare compare myself to so great and gifted a man.”

“Freddie is planning to move to America before the year is out,” Farthingham explained. “He thinks he might have more success selling his plays in New York.”

“I wish you the best in your endeavors then.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. Now if you’ll excuse me, I really must be off.”

As Frederick Montague disappeared through the door, Farthingham shook his head. “I do not envy those who seek to make a living through creative endeavors. It seems a terribly difficult road to travel, and yet I have the utmost respect for those who possess that gift. If I had the means, I’d serve as patron for every writer, artist, and musician in London.”

Farthingham downed his wine, got up, and poured himself another glass before returning to his chair. “I assume you’re here to tell me that your night at the opera went splendidly.”

“I’m here to ask you to consider not marrying Miss Robertson.”

“After spending a harrowing month with the solicitors and her father working on the settlement, I think the possibility of not marrying her is extremely remote.” Lean
ing forward, planting his elbows on his thighs, Farthingham studied the liquid within the goblet he held between his hands. “Although I’m pleased you enjoyed her company, I must admit to being quite fond of her myself.”

“Fondness is not love. You’ll destroy her, Farthingham.”

Farthingham’s head came up abruptly. “Don’t be so melodramatic.”

“She is a passionate woman who needs a man who can love her passionately.”

Farthingham dropped back, extended his legs, and cradled his chin in his palm. “You deduced all this from a single waltz, a game of lawn tennis, and one night at the opera?”

Richard’s friendship with Farthingham had weathered many storms, so Richard did not hesitate to confess, “Before all that, our paths crossed near Drummond Manor.”

“I should have guessed. I thought I detected a definite undercurrent at Ravenleigh’s ball. Did she ask you to speak with me?”

“No. She wants nothing to do with me.”

Farthingham laughed. “Oh, that’s rich. Still, you’ve decided to save her from me.”

“I truly don’t believe you can make her happy.”

“And I truly believe that I can.” Farthingham came to his feet, walked to the window, and gazed out on the garden. “As I said, I’m very fond of Kitty. I would never harm her. I enjoy her company and take great pleasure in spending time with her. I find her beautiful. I will remain faithful and never give her any cause to doubt my devotion.”

“I do not doubt your willingness, but rather your ability to carry through on your plans. A man’s past often speaks loudly of his future.”

Farthingham turned and held Richard’s gaze, his face deadly serious. “And yet there comes a time when a man must set his past aside and embrace his future whether he
wishes to or not. As a firstborn son, you know as well as I that our lives belong to England, that we have a duty to those who came before us and to those who will come after—to provide a good financial foundation and an heir, to be honorable, to put our wants and needs last. Whatever my life has been, once I take Kitty as my wife—” he shook his head as though he needed time to regain control of his commitment—“I will dedicate myself to her and her happiness.”

Richard came to his feet. “Farthingham, I have always admired and respected you. I know you possess a profound sense of duty and an understanding of obligation that exceeds most men’s grasp, but I beg of you, do not take Kitty as your wife. She deserves so much more than a marriage based on duty and obligation. You cannot bring to your marriage the passion for her that I could.”

Farthingham shook his head slowly, his smile one of sadness and—Richard dared not acknowledge—pity as well. “Still have a driving need to control everything, Weddington, to believe you and you alone know what is best for everyone? You’re not God, man. You can’t
know
what one’s life will hold.”

“I don’t profess to have some omniscient power or gift, but I feel strongly that she is not the one for you, nor you the one for her.”

“Do you love her?”

Richard lowered his gaze. “You know I don’t.”

“You speak of passion when you cannot love. Not even yourself. You hold yourself responsible for your father’s death, and you’ve never forgiven yourself for it. I can think of a thousand reasons why marriage to you would make Kitty unhappy. I, on the other hand, love myself and everyone who surrounds me. I shall make her laugh, I shall bring her joy.”

“If I ever determine that she is not the happiest woman
in all of England, I’ll do everything in my power to free her of you.”

“You’ve never been one to do things in half measures. I’m surprised you’re not doing everything now.”

Richard grinned. “Who’s to say I’m not?”

Farthingham laughed. “Who indeed! I suppose now is not the most opportune moment to ask you to stand as my best man when I exchange my vows with Kitty.”

Richard decided he was a glutton for punishment. “Now is as good a time as any.”

“Because the answer is no.”

“Because the answer is yes. We have been friends far too long for me not to feel honored by the request.”

Farthingham swirled the wine in his glass. “You hold within your grasp the power to very easily turn her away from me.”

Richard made a move to leave. “I don’t wish to turn her affections away from you, Farthingham. I merely wish to turn them toward me.”

Kitty loved the intimacy of small, friendly gatherings, preferred them actually. Although she adored balls and elaborate dinner parties, she also found them extremely taxing. To always have to worry about how one was presented and perceived. Within Farthingham’s home, a home that would soon be hers, she usually felt comfortable and safe.

Tonight, however, sitting at the dining table with Farthingham to her left and Weddington directly across from her, she was acutely conscious of Weddington’s stiffness and formality. She could hardly blame him. She’d not sent a written thank-you acknowledging receipt of his lovely flowers. On his arrival with his sister, she’d done nothing except awkwardly greet him.

Lady Anne sat beside her brother and across from
Freddie Montague. Kitty had read a few of his plays. She thought they were well done, but she was always surprised by the hard edge she detected in his work. He had such a boyish face that she expected his writings to reflect what she knew of him: youthfulness, charm, innocence. But his biting humor made her often wonder if perhaps he wanted to strike out at a world that he thought unfair. Surely a writer’s words reflected some part of him.

“If America is so wonderful, then why are so many ladies seeking out our lords?” Lady Priscilla asked.

Apparently one of Lady Anne’s dearest friends, she sat on the other side of Freddie and obviously thought he was the most fascinating of men. Since her arrival she’d hardly taken her eyes off him. She was clearly not happy with Freddie’s announcement that he was planning to move to America.

“Good question,” Farthingham said. “Why do you think that is, my sweet?”

“America is wonderful,” Kitty admitted, her gaze darting around the table, staying the briefest amount of time on Weddington. “But I think it’s only now beginning to achieve the refinement England has held for so long. It takes a while to recover from a civil war. I would have thought your own history would have taught you that.”

“She has you there, Prissy!” Farthingham crowed.

“Oh, bugger off.”

Farthingham laughed. “Such unladylike talk for the daughter of an earl.”

“I think we all get tired of being on show,” Lady Priscilla said. “Don’t you think, Freddie?”

“As the fifth son of a viscount, I’ve hardly ever been on show.”

“I didn’t know your father was a viscount,” Kitty said.

Freddie blushed, and Farthingham provided, “He’s rather the black sheep of the family, my sweet. A man trying to
earn
his keep in the world—as a playwright, no less—is hardly behavior befitting of an aristocrat’s son.”

“Your family doesn’t approve?” Kitty asked.

“They don’t approve of a great many things about me.”

Kitty wondered if it was that disappointment that she saw reflected in his writings. “It’s their loss, Freddie.”

“You are too kind, Miss Robertson.”

“Come, come,” Farthingham said with a generous wave of his hand. “No formalities tonight. We are friends among friends, free to be ourselves. Why do you think I did not make us sit according to
Debrett’s
?”

“Quite honestly, Farthingham, I assumed it was because you did not yet have a wife to sort it all out for you. By the by, when are you going to make a formal declaration? People are beginning to doubt the integrity of my gossip,” Lady Priscilla said.

“Kitty has asked me to wait until the end of the Season to announce our betrothal,” Farthingham said.

Kitty lifted her eyes to Weddington for only a heartbeat, but it was long enough to recognize that he wondered if perhaps her desire to wait had anything to do with his request that she delay the announcement. She lowered her gaze to where Farthingham had wrapped his hand around hers, watched as he lifted it and kissed the back of her hand.

“I am more than willing to do whatever my lady desires in order to keep her happy.”

“Hear, hear,” Freddie said. “Allow me to offer a toast for happiness to the both of you.”

The toast was acknowledged by all present, glasses lifted, sips taken. Kitty felt as though her stomach were tightening into a knot. She had no doubt she would be happy with Farthingham. Yet she could not seem to ig
nore the presence of the man sitting across from her. While everyone else seemed to be on the fringes of her world, he seemed to be ensconced directly in the middle of it. She found that acknowledgment extremely unsettling.

She wished he’d say something. Anything. He’d spoken so little since his arrival that she was beginning to wonder why he’d bothered to come at all, and even as she thought it, she knew, because he’d known he’d find her there.

He wasn’t using a walking stick, but neither did he move with the fluidity she’d seen on the rocks. She somehow sensed that he was still experiencing discomfort, but fighting to mask it.

“How is your back, Your Grace?” she asked quietly.

His jaw tightened. “Much improved, Miss Robertson. Thank you for your concern.”

“My God, Weddington, must you be so formal?” Farthingham asked.

“Unlike you, Farthingham, I have no desire to imitate the masses.”

Farthingham chuckled. “Then you’ll absolutely adore what I have in mind for entertainment later.”

“Whatever is wrong with your back, Your Grace?” Lady Priscilla asked.

“He injured it while trying to beat Kitty at a game of lawn tennis,” Farthingham said before Weddington could respond.

“I did not
try
, I succeeded in winning,” Weddington said tartly.

“How unsporting,” Lady Priscilla said. “What sort of gentleman are you, Weddington, not to allow a lady to win?”

“A gentleman who—” Kitty and Weddington began at the same time, stopped simultaneously, and looked at each other.