An Invitation to Sin (29 page)

He had to know she would be watching, and from where, but he'd never even looked in her direction. Well, that was fine. It was all fine. She didn't care a lick. The only Griffin family member she owed anything to was the Duke of Melbourne, and he'd only acted as he had to keep her and Zachary apart. And though his actions had been extremely fortuitous for her, they hadn't been necessary. For a brief second she might have thought about what it would be like to be married to Zachary, but she wouldn't have done it. And now she was glad she hadn't, the arrogant, insufferable man.

She looked on as Melbourne and Charlemagne entered the remaining carriage, the duke having to extricate his hand from her mother's clutches. Oh, yes, the Witfelds were all so grateful. Their silly eldest daughter would have continued with her silly eccentricities for who knew how long if he hadn't stepped in and handed her such a wonderful opportunity.

Caroline turned away from the window as the second coach left the drive. She had brushes and canvases to pack. Sir Thomas Lawrence would want to see her work, whatever fine things Melbourne had said about her.

She would just put him—all of the Griffins—out of her thoughts. Zachary didn't know what he was talking about, anyway, to say that living her dream wasn't enough. As if she needed a man in her life to feel complete and happy. She was going to be a portraitist at the finest studio in England. There wasn't anything she wanted more than that. Nothing. No one.

That sentiment, though, didn't explain why she packed Zachary's portrait in with the other half dozen she meant to show her new employer. Tannberg had accused it of being too idealized, but she didn't actually need to show it to Lawrence. She just needed to have it with her.

Caroline looked at the painting for a long moment. That keen ache in her heart, in her lungs, and behind her eyes would go away. She only felt so… awful because she'd counted on Zachary to be happy for her, and instead he hadn't understood at all. That was why she was crying now—because he'd said those terrible, stupid things instead of simply wishing her well and telling her that he would look for her when he returned to London.

"Caro?"

Wiping at her face, Caroline set the portrait down before she faced Anne in her bedchamber doorway. "What is it?"

"They've gone."

"I know. I watched them leave."

Anne tilted her head. "I liked the duke. He was very sure of himself."

"Yes, he was."

"And Lord Charlemagne said when he's next in Wiltshire he will come by and see all of us."

Ha
. She doubted that. "How nice of him."

Her sister's shoulders rose and fell. "And Zachary will of course be back. He told me three months, but I don't think it will be that long. And now that he has his business concerns becoming organized, his mind will of course turn to organizing his private life."

Caroline's hand shook, and she grabbed up a pelisse to fold. "I shouldn't be surprised."

"If I'm clever, I should be able to assist with having at least two more sisters betrothed before then. That should make things much easier for me."

"Anne, if you're trying to make me jealous, stop it. I don't even care. I'm going to London, and I daresay my days will be so full I won't even give him a second thought."

"If you don't care, my love, then why are you sitting here crying?"

Caroline wiped at her stupid, uncooperative tears again. "Only because when I leave Wiltshire, I have to leave you and Papa."

Anne came forward and hugged her from behind. "Perhaps not for long. If Papa and Zachary's plans work as they expect, we'll be able to afford to come visit you in London. Maybe even for Christmas. And we'll write every day."

"Yes. I want to know how the project is going."

"Will you want to know anything else?"

About whether Zachary was heartbroken, or whether he waltzed off with some other female the moment he left her presence? With Anne, even? "The family, of course. And whether Lord and Lady Eades found someone else to tutor that awful Theodore and the other little monsters."

Anne chuckled. "I faithfully swear to tell you all the good gossip. Now come down for dinner. I'm certain Mama will want to tell you again how you are her favorite."

"That will be new."

"Yes, but it's bound to last for at least the next three days."

Caroline conjured a smile. "You are a very good sister, Anne."

"And so are you. When you are happy, I will be very prepared to be happy for you. Perhaps working with Lawrence will give you everything you want. I hope that it will."

"I know that it will," Caroline said firmly, fervently hoping she would turn out to be right.

Two months later.

Zachary looked up from his desk at the rain outside the window. It had rained for the past week, and before that at least every other day for two months. Everyone in Bath went on and on about how the entire town would be washed away down the River Avon if the rain didn't stop, and how soirees and parties could mean the death of anyone who dared to attend. He didn't mind, though. He liked the rain. It fit his mood as no soiree or card party had a snowflake's chance in Hades of doing. Lifting his glass, he took another generous swallow of whiskey.

As he returned to reading the latest report from Edmund, his office door opened. "Set the tea on the table if you please, Andrews," he said, gesturing, while in front of the fire Harold lifted his head, wagged his tail, and went back to sleep again. Zachary didn't know why his aunt insisted on sending up hot tea for him every afternoon, anyway. He never drank it,

"Rain's choked out the stove again," Aunt Tremaine said,entering the room in place of the butler. "Your tea will be late."

"That's fine. I've enough whiskey to keep me." He gestured at the decanter, which was three-quarters empty.

"So I see. Are you going to the assembly rooms tonight?"

"No, I don't think so. Lady Haldridge will escort you, won't she?"

"Of course she will. Is that from Edmund?"

He nodded absently. "We're up to our first year's goal of thirty-five cows. Nine of them have a lineage comparable to that of Dimidius's dam, and he's fairly certain that at least two dozen of them are with calf."

"You should have a busy spring, then."

"Yes. The offspring are what I'm interested in."

She sighed audibly. "Sorry to say, I'm not. How is Sally?"

"Ecstatic. Susan's to be married on Saturday, and Julia and Grace are both betrothed."

"Three so far out of seven. She must be happy. I'll write to congratulate her."

He didn't correct her arithmetic, remind her that only six Witfeld girls wanted to marry, because that would mean admitting that he still thought about, obsessed over, Caroline. Zachary took another drink. "Yes. I'm thinking of hiring myself out to tutor chits in how to trap a husband."

"I may hire you for myself."

"Spare me, Aunt. You could have married a hundred times since Uncle Tremaine passed. You simply enjoy tormenting my sex."

"Speaking of torment, Zachary, how much longer are we going to stay here?"

Zachary glanced over the top of the letter. "You're the one with the gout."

"Not any longer. My gout's gone, and it's my head I'm beginning to worry about. Yours, too. This place is so dull and wet that I think I'm beginning to rot."

"The idea of being in Bath is to take the waters. The rain simply makes that more convenient."

"You are an evil boy. Take me back to London."

A tremor ran through him.
She
was in London. "It's easier to work uninterrupted here."

"The Season's over. There are more parties here now than in London. If you're going to come up with an excuse for remaining in Bath, at least make it a plausible one."

He set down the letter to refill his empty glass. "It's not an excuse."

"Zachary, if it continues to rain like this for another week, we may all be washed out to the Atlantic Ocean to drift about on chair cushions. We'll only be in London a short time, anyway. You know your brother likes to be at Melbourne Park for winter."

"Then we'll go straight from here to Devonshire."

His aunt stalked up to the desk. "
You
remain here until Michaelmas, then.
I'm
leaving for London in the morning. And I'm taking the carriage, so you'll have to ride Sagramore. Don't catch pneumonia."

"And you claim that
I'm
evil. Very well. Please inform Andrews that we'll be leaving on Thurday morning. I have a few appointments between now and then that I'm obligated to honor. I made them, after all." He made his voice sound as calm as he could, and hopefully she wouldn't detect that he was anything more than annoyed. "That's my compromise."

"Very well, then. Three days. And thank goodness. My next stratagem was going to be drugging and kidnaping you. I'm so pleased I didn't have to resort to that."

She might still have to
. "I'll have Harold test my food tonight, just to be safe, then," he returned dryly. "Go dress for your ball. I have paperwork to finish. I'll have to inform Witfeld of my change of residence, and let Melbourne know we'll be arriving on Saturday."

Hopefully Witfeld wouldn't inform anyone else. Especially the daughter who currently resided in London, or any of the Witfeld family members who might be corresponding with her.

He'd managed to go for several weeks without hearing anything of her. All he knew was that Lawrence had taken her on, and that she'd been commissioned for several portraits. He didn't know precisely where in London she was residing, though it was safe to say it wouldn't be in May-fair. If he stayed close to Griffin House once they returned, then he could be relatively certain of not running into her until the family left London for the winter.

It was vital that he never see her again. If he did… He could scoff at his aunt's threats of drugging and kidnaping, but when considered in conjunction with Caroline and measured against the deep, numb hole that remained in his heart, the plan made sense. Sense for a madman, but sense nonetheless.

"They're coming home?" Her night dress billowing around her knees, Peep did a dance around her father as he stood in the foyer. "Hurray!"

"About bloody time," Charlemagne muttered, handing his greatcoat over to Stanton.

"Papa, Uncle Shay said 'bloody.'"

"Yes, he did." Sebastian eyed his brother. "Go wash your mouth out with soap."

"I'll wash it out with a glass of claret. Care for one?" Shay headed upstairs for the billiards room.

"Make mine brandy." As his brother vanished, Sebastian swept his daughter into his arms. "And you, my darling, are up well past your bedtime."

"You and Uncle Shay shouldn't have gone out tonight," Penelope replied sternly. "Mrs. Beacham said it looked like it might snow."

"It didn't snow. It didn't even rain. In fact, it's barely the middle of September. Are you certain Mrs. Beacham said it might snow?"

"Well, I thought it might snow," his daughter amended, unrepentant.

"Ah. Perhaps a cup of hot chocolate will calm your shattered nerves, then."

"I think it might help."

"Stanton?" Sebastian glanced over his shoulder at the butler, then headed upstairs, his daughter in his arms.

"Right away, Your Grace."

"What else did Uncle Zachary say in his letter?" Peep asked.

"Just that he and Aunt Tremaine will be home on Saturday."

"And Harold?"

They were going to change the dog's name, whatever else happened. He had no intention of allowing the ill-mannered mutt to go about carrying his middle name. "I imagine so."

"On Saturday. Splendid. Does he know that Aunt Nell and Uncle Valentine are back from Venice?"

"I wrote to tell him several weeks ago."

"I think Uncle Valentine will be glad Uncle Zachary's coming home, too. I heard him tell Aunt Nell that if they have to spend Christmas at damned Melbourne Park, he could at least get some blasted pheasant and grouse hunting done at home at Deverill before they have to leave again." She looked him in the eye. "I don't think he likes being still in London."

"Probably not, or he wouldn't have cursed so much." He would have liked to have been back at Melbourne by now, himself, but business seemed to keep him later in London every year.

In addition to a general longing to be back in the country, he did have another reason for wishing they all could have been gone from London by the time Zachary left Bath. Caroline Witfeld was taking the city by storm. Thank God she'd arrived at the tail end of the Season, or she would have been feted and celebrated at every event. May-fair liked an eccentric, and they loved one who actually had the skill to back up his or her reputation. Miss Witfeld had the skill in spades.

"Papa?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"I'll be glad when Uncle Zachary is home. I like everything better the way it used to be."

"So do I, Peep." Hopefully Zachary would, as well. Once they'd all settled back into their routines, they would all be happier. And Zachary would see other women, and find someone more acceptable, and eventually his youngest brother would thank him for putting Caroline Witfeld out of his reach.

Caroline sat in the corner of her small parlor, which doubled as a dining room, and ate roast mutton. With only her and Molly there, the apartment was stunningly quiet. While there were times when the bliss of that made her smile like a halfwit, this wasn't one of them. Outside a late vendor's cart bell rang as he pulled his wares home, while farther away she could just make out the sounds of a raucous gathering, probably at The Kettle, the closest inn to her home.

Cheapside certainly wasn't Witfeld Manor, but, she reminded herself, she'd only been in London for two months. Already she was saving her pennies, and if things continued as they'd begun, before long she'd be able to move to a larger, nicer apartment in Islington or Brompton.

Mr. Francis Henning, the subject of the portrait she'd just completed, had been suitably impressed, and he'd assured her that by spring all of his acquaintances would be hammering at the studio doors for an appointment. Of course he'd also proposed marriage, but from what she'd heard he did that on a regular basis, and he'd seemed relieved when she'd declined.

Sir Thomas, while a bit aloof, was proving to be a fair master. He didn't offer friendship, but that wasn't what she wanted. What he did offer was a chance for experience and a level of professional acceptance she'd never experienced before.

As she finished her dinner and sipped at the small glass of wine she allowed herself, she unfolded the letter she'd received that day from Anne. " 'Dearest Caro,'" she read to herself, " 'You'll never believe it, but Peter Redford has proposed to Julia, and she has accepted. Mama is so heartened by the circumstances that she has already begun trying to convince Papa to give the rest of us a few weeks in London next Season. Can you imagine?'"

"Very well," Caroline answered, smiling a little. It wasn't only the smaller number of unmarried daughters that would persuade her father to take the remaining family to London; it was the supplement to his income, money the Griffins provided to him in return for his overseeing the breeding project. The amount was probably too generous, but if anyone deserved to not have to worry about money for once, it was her father.

She looked down at the paper again and resumed reading. " 'The only unhappy family member is Joanna. I still think she blames herself more for not trapping a husband than for her greed and lack of patience. I do hope she finds someone before we arrive in London, or who knows what may happen.'"

"Indeed."

"Miss Witfeld," Molly said, coming into the room to clear the dishes, "would you like some tea?"

"Yes, that would be lovely. And then please turn down my bed; I'm quite tired."

"You've been working so hard, miss, that I'm not surprised to see you tired."

"I'm thankful to be busy," she returned, looking down at the missive again.

" 'You'll be happy to know that Grace is insanely jealous,' " the letter continued, " 'that you will see the new Paris fashions weeks before she will. If you're able, please send me a new catalog so I may tease her with it.

" 'That's all the news for today; it's raining, and I promised Papa I would help him complete the weekly report to go to Zachary—and I promise you, that's the last mention I will make of him. With loving regards, Anne.'"

The two mentions were enough. As far as Caroline knew, he was still in Bath. She looked up at her small mantel. Above it, in a pretty mahogany frame, rested his portrait. For the first few weeks in London she'd alternated between putting it up where she could see it and locking it in the linen closet with the bedsheets. Finally, though, she'd stopped taking it down, and now an evening didn't go by when she didn't spend at least ten minutes gazing at him.

Idealized or not, in the month she'd known him he'd become not only her lover but also her friend. And she missed both aspects of him. Some of the things he'd said to her that last day… She looked around her small parlor. It wasn't the size of it that troubled her; no, it was the fact that she was sitting there alone.

She'd found her dream, yet every night she sat by her bedchamber window, looking out at the night, too restless to sleep and uncertain what she could do to smother and kill that deep feeling of longing and incompleteness. She should have been completely happy, completely content.

During the day, when she was painting, she felt that way—or she had at first. If she'd never met a Griffin, she was certain she would still feel that way. Now, though, more and more her mind wandered to faux Greek ruins and Zachary posing with the wind tousling his hair, and how she'd known exactly what he'd meant when he'd described seeing the
Mono Lisa
for the first time.