Anne Barbour (11 page)

Until, that is, Seth Lindow had requested her hand for a country dance. He was far from handsome—in fact, a perfectly ordinary specimen, she told herself, if one discounted his height, and his damn-your-eyes air of authority, and that compelling gaze. Why did she feel that sense of communion when they were together, that comfortable familiarity as though there was never a time she had not known him?

She had been kissed before, of course—not often, and certainly not with any degree of passion. Those brief encounters had been as different from Seth's searing kiss as a child's sparkler was from an erupting volcano.

In any event, it would not happen again. Even if Seth should wish to repeat the occasion, she could manage to stay out of his way, and he would be gone in a day or two. They might meet each other in London, but such a circumstance would be purely social and would take place, no doubt, in a roomful of people. She rose and, without ringing for her maid, prepared for bed. She would chalk up her midnight encounter to experience. She might in later years draw it out from some dusty corner of her mind to savor, for she was sure nothing like this would ever happen to her again.

After brushing her hair with unwonted briskness, she retired, but it was many minutes before she was able to compose herself for sleep.

Eden saw little of Seth the next day, for he went out again immediately after breakfast with her father. At luncheon, she searched Seth's face, but could find nothing in his expression to indicate that he bore the slightest memory of the kiss that had left her trembling and disoriented, like a leaf blown from its branch in a winter storm.

That evening, Lord Beckett proclaimed with some satisfaction to his family that Mr. Lindow had agreed to purchase for the duke's stable two hunters, a hacking mount, and six carriage horses. The portly peer was cordiality personified to his guest at dinner, and when Seth announced his plans to leave for London the next day, he rubbed his hands with satisfaction and expressed a proper regret for Mr. Lindow's imminent departure.

"Oh, but I do hope we'll be seeing you in London, sir," put in Zoë, her lashes in full flight.

"Indeed, Miss Zoë, I trust we shall encounter each other frequently." Seth turned to Lady Beckett. "When will you be arriving in the Metropolis?"

Lady Beckett lifted her hands. "Why, I'm not sure. I have written to my aunt in Portman Square, but—"

"We should be in residence in a fortnight or so," interrupted Zoë eagerly.

"Splendid! The ambassador from Portugal is arriving in England for an extended stay, and the duke and he are longtime acquaintances. His Grace is planning a dinner party in the ambassador's honor in the first part of April—the sixth or seventh, I believe. Perhaps you and your family could join us? I believe there will be dancing."

Lady Beckett appeared to be robbed of breath by the heavenly vision provoked by this query, and for some moments gabbled speechlessly. Zoë, laboring under no such hindrance, spoke up quickly.

"Why, that would be lovely, would it not. Papa?" Clapping her hands prettily, she swung to face Lord Beckett. That gentleman, satisfaction written in every line of his face, harrumphed and said he supposed so.

Eden, seated nearby in a cherry-striped wing chair, straightened. "No!" she whispered involuntarily.

The others swiveled to face her.

"What?" asked Zoë.

"Surely," she continued hastily, "the duke will not want a parcel of strangers intruding on a private dinner party. We must not—"

"Oh, Eden, don't be tiresome!" interposed Zoë. She inclined her head toward Seth. "We'd all love to attend your papa's party."

"Excellent!" declared Seth, casting a sidelong glance at Eden. "I shall have an invitation sent to your aunt's house if you will give me the direction."

No more was said on the subject, but Zoë fairly simmered all through dinner and the rest of the evening. Seth excused himself early, citing his day of travel ahead, and Eden sought her own chamber a few minutes later.

So, thought Eden as she climbed into her bed, she would not be seeing the last of Seth Lindow once he clattered away from Clearsprings tomorrow. She firmly suppressed a twinge of anticipation. She shook herself. She did
not
wish to encounter Seth again. She had spent most of a lifetime building her facade of amiable composure, and now she had met someone who possessed the ability to shatter that composure into a million lightning shards of passion. As such, he was a person devoutly to be avoided.

Mr. Lindow left Clearsprings shortly after breakfast the next day, accompanied by the beaming good will of Lord Beckett and his lady. Zoë, too, stood on the front steps, waving him off with a graceful sweep other arm. Eden, however, chose to say her good-byes at the breakfast table, civilly wishing him a pleasant journey home. If, in issuing his own farewell, he kept her hand in his a few moments longer than was entirely proper, she made no mention of the fact. If she blushed just a little when he held her gaze, he said nothing. Nor did he give any indication as he made his way to his carriage that he was aware of her presence at an upstairs window.

* * * *

On Seth's arrival in London, one of his first priorities was to apprise the duke of his recent mission.

"She sounds perfect!" exclaimed His Grace, his relief patent. "Her birth is unexceptionable, and, from what you say, she would very much like to be married to a marquess—particularly one who will someday be a duke. Er, has her father heard of Bel?"

"I believe so," replied Seth cautiously. "We did not discuss him, but Lord Beckett did not seem the sort who would cavil at—" He stopped abruptly, flushing.

"At marrying his daughter off to a degenerate rakehell?" finished the duke dryly. "No need to wrap it in clean linen."

"Er, yes. As far as I can tell, Lord Beckett is extremely anxious that his daughter marry well. He is a baron, and he's tired of being treated like a country squire. As for Lady Beckett, the mere mention of the Marquess of Belhaven puts her in a flutter. While mention of the Duke of Derwent," he added with a cynical grin, "renders her positively speechless."

He then went on to tell the duke of the invitation he planned to send to the Beckett family for the Portuguese ambassador's dinner party.

"Splendid!" declared the duke, rubbing his hands together. "I think that wraps things up then. It remains only for you to begin negotiations with the little baron to arrange the marriage between his daughter and my son."

Seth shifted uncomfortably. "I would not be so sure, Father, until you have met her. She's a taking little thing, but her manners ... leave something to be desired."

"I suppose that must be true," replied the duke expansively, "being raised in the country and all, but I'm sure you or one of m'sisters can give her a coating of town bronze. I've asked Horatia to be hostess for the ambassador's dinner party, so perhaps she might be willing to take Miss Zoë in hand."

Seth nodded dubiously. Horatia, Countess of Shipstead, was the most formidable of the duke's sisters. A matron of impeccable
ton,
she ruled her household, including the hapless earl, four children, and seven grandchildren with an iron hand. "I should imagine," he said, "that after a few weeks under Aunt Horatia's tutelage, Zoë will become either a model of deportment or be driven into a state of complete rebellion."

The duke only laughed dismissively. "Well, we shall see what we shall see," he said before turning away to examine the snuff box he had purchased that day.

Seth stared coldly after him for a moment. Then he shrugged and left the room.

He found himself faced with a number of tasks that had accumulated during his absence; thus, after directing the duke's secretary to send a card of invitation to Lord and Lady Beckett and their daughters to the upcoming dinner, he was fully occupied during the interval of time between his return home and the party.

Still, the fortnight did not pass so quickly as he might have expected. His thoughts drifted frequently to the Beckett family. Or no, if he were to be honest, his anticipation centered solely on the idea of seeing Eden Beckett again.

Would the stolen kiss in the midnight silence of the old nursery be uppermost in her mind when they met again? Or perhaps she had already forgotten the encounter. He thrust such maunderings from him. Lord, he was behaving like a smitten schoolboy.

He would be occupied in seeing to the enjoyment and comfort of the duke's guests. He would have little time for socializing with a minor peer from the country and his family. Courtesy, however, demanded that he be on hand to greet them, since, in all likelihood he would be the only person present with whom they were acquainted. He would bid Miss Beckett welcome, along with her tedious family. He might exchange a few pleasantries with her over the course of the evening, and that would be it.

When the night of the dinner party arrived, he stood at the top of the stairs, not a part of the receiving line composed of his father and his aunt, but nearby. As the guests were ushered into the house, one by one, and directed up the stairs, he found himself scanning each group expectantly. When, at last the Becketts arrived, accompanied by a footman to the drawing room, his gaze went immediately to Eden. She was dressed with her usual propriety in a gown of a deep peach satin, trimmed around the hem and bosom with gold, embroidered acorns. Around her slender neck she wore a single strand of pearls, and another was woven in her hair, caught up with small rosettes. Drifting in a soft cloud about her shoulders was an Indian shawl, also embroidered with gold thread.

Next to her, thought Seth, Zoë and her mother looked like partridges done up as peacocks. Lady Beckett's gown of puce satin put one strongly in mind of a theater curtain, burdened by swags of fringe and tassels. In addition, she had apparently draped the entire contents of her jewelry box around her plump arms, neck, and fingers. Zoë wore a robe of a startling green, whose décolletage was completely unsuitable for a young girl on the fringes of the
ton.
Lord Beckett, himself, looked in imminent danger of choking from a very high, tight collar, whose points were already wilting under the heat of the room and the awkward consequence of its wearer.

Seth presented the Becketts to the duke and to Lady Shipstead. This lady, whose ponderous mien and imposing shelf of bosom tended to put persons who met her in mind of a ship of the line, raised her lorgnette and subjected the Beckett ladies to an examination. The entire process took only a few seconds, but not one of the examinees failed to realize that she had been surveyed from head to toe, every facet of her ensemble noted and evaluated. Lady Shipstead extended two fingers to Lord Beckett and acknowledged with a thin smile Lady Beckett's curtsey and those of her daughters.

His Grace was all cordiality as he shook Lord Beckett's hand and bowed over those of the ladies. Brushing his lips over Zoë's gloved fingers, he gazed with particular intensity at her, and the girl responded with a coquettish smile.

"I trust you are all settled comfortably into your town lodgings," he said.

"Yes," replied Zoë, a flush of excitement tinting her cheeks. "I am so glad we came!" She giggled confidingly. "I had
such a
time talking Papa into a new wardrobe, but I finally succeeded."

She pirouetted the green gown before His Grace.

Lord Beckett laughed uneasily. "I'm afraid our little puss is badly spoiled. Your Grace."

Zoë inclined her head with another giggle, as though she had just been paid a compliment. "Yes, I am. Papa always gives in—for I must admit, when I want something very badly, I refuse to take no for an answer. At any rate, we have already been invited to several balls and soirees, not including this one, of course." She fluttered her fan.

The duke frowned a little, but said in an avuncular tone, "Ah, Miss Zoë, you enjoy the empty frivolity in which we social beings indulge ourselves?"

Zoë simpered. "I know it is considered farouche to admit it, but I adore London. The shopping, the parties, the theater! And the young men can always be relied upon to simply drown one in compliments."

The duke's returning smile was, perhaps, not so admiring as she might have wished, nor did he make the rejoinder that might have been expected. Instead, he turned to Eden and said, "And you. Miss Beckett? Do you find London to your liking?"

Eden's eyes lit with her lovely smile. "I'm afraid I am more of a country mouse, Your Grace. There are aspects of city life that I enjoy—the museums and the galleries and, yes, the theater, but I must confess, I would rather be home among more familiar delights."

"Well said, my dear." The duke's gaze widened to include the others in the family. "At any rate, I do hope you will all enjoy yourselves tonight."

At this point, another contingent of guests toiled up the stairs to be greeted by the duke and his sister, and the Becketts moved into the drawing room. Seth accompanied them, introducing them to some of those already gathered in the chamber.

Among these were such exalted personages as Lord and Lady Sefton, Lord Castlereagh, and other prominent social and political figures. As was his custom, Seth did not remain in conversation with the company, but excused himself after a few moments to see that things were progressing properly in the kitchen. He realized full well that this was unnecessary, since the Duke of Derwent possessed an excellent staff that could certainly be relied on to handle a dinner party without his supervision. However, he considered it as part of his duty to keep a personal eye on all aspects of any entertainment undertaken by the duke.

Eden's gaze followed him as he left the room, and she felt oddly bereft at his departure. She had spent the previous fortnight in a state of anticipation that she found annoying in the extreme. The house had seemed inordinately empty following Seth's departure, and she found herself reflecting far too often on the enjoyment she had taken in his company.

She refused to dwell on those shattering few moments in his arms, but it cost her a great deal of self-control not to do so.