Anne Barbour (12 page)

On seeing him this evening, her pulse had raced and her breath had caught in her throat as though she were the maiden in a Gothic novel, beholding her hero. Certainly, she reflected, Seth Lindow was in no way heroic, being very much an ordinary man. Resolutely, she turned away from the sight of his broad shoulders vanishing through the doors and swung back toward her family.

The important personages to whom they had been introduced soon drifted away to seek other more compatible company, and the Becketts were left standing alone in a corner of the room. Lord Beckett gazed a little wildly about the room and, spotting a gentleman who was known to him, hastened to his side. Lady Beckett rather desperately struck up a conversation with a woman standing nearby. She introduced Zoë and Eden with marginal success. Eden contributed her mite, but Zoë peeked over her fan in a covert surveillance of the population of younger, hopefully wealthy and titled gentlemen.

When the last guest arrived, the duke circulated about the room, introducing his friend, the ambassador, to those not already acquainted with him. Thus, it was not long before he appeared once more before Lady Beckett and her daughters. He chatted with them for some minutes, during which time Zoë's behavior was all that her mother could have wished. She laughed charmingly at the duke's witticisms, and the rest of the time kept her pretty mouth shut, except to answer the oddly penetrating questions put to her by the duke.

Seth returned to the drawing room just before dinner was announced, and he accompanied Lady Beckett and her daughters into the dining room. To Eden's surprise, she found herself seated next to him, near the middle of the table.

Catching her expression, Seth lifted his own brows quizzically.

"It is nothing," said Eden, "only I would expect to see you seated nearer your father." She gestured toward the duke, who presided, of course, at the head of the table with the ambassador at his right.

"Actually," he said somewhat stiffly, "I rarely sit at table at one of these functions. As His Grace's man of affairs, I would not ordinarily do so, and I prefer to keep my status as his adopted son in the background."

"Is that how the duke prefers it, as well?"

Immediately, she could have bitten her tongue at asking such a personal question, but Seth merely smiled. "Oh, no. He has never given the slightest indication that he cares one way or another." The words were uttered dispassionately and without a hint of self-pity. However, he apparently wished he had not uttered them. "As I believe I explained before, I think it would be very wrong of me to take advantage of the duke's good deed on behalf of a scruffy orphan boy."

"But, I promise you, Mr. Lindow, you are not even slightly scruffy now. It seems to me you have repaid His Grace a thousand fold for his kindness. Surely he is fortunate in having you not just for a skilled man of affairs, but as his son, as well."

Eden had spoken with a great deal more vehemence than she intended, and now she blushed. Seth's dark eyes lit with amusement.

"I thank you for your endorsement. Miss Beckett. However, the fact remains that I neither expect nor desire gratitude from His Grace. My service to him is of my own accord, and I consider it a private matter."

His tone was courteous, but Eden blushed yet again. Trying to ignore the pointed manner in which she had been put in her place, she turned the conversation to a more neutral subject matter, commenting on some of the dignitaries she had met that evening.

"The gentleman with the turban?" replied Seth to a question. "That is Randar Singh. He is a representative of the Maharajah of Gujarat. He is in London to negotiate with Parliament regarding the dispersion of certain property belonging to the maharajah. As I understand it, our government would like to build a road for the movement of troops in his dominion."

The two chatted in a similar vein for several more minutes before Eden was obliged to turn away to converse with the gentleman on her right, a Lord Wismouth from Exeter. She had been introduced to him earlier in the evening, and now discovered from his consequential dialogue that he rarely visited London, but preferred to remain among his gardens and books. When Eden professed a like sentiment, he became positively loquacious, describing his snug little property in Devon and the works of Sir Walter Scott, in which he was currently engrossed.

Eden was herself a devotee of Sir Walter and would have enjoyed her discussion with the gentleman from Devon, if she was not so conscious of the gentleman on her left, now conversing with the Countess of Silchester. At last, as part of the obligatory shift in conversational partners, she turned to Seth once more. There was a moment of silence before he spoke.

"Is Miss Zoë enjoying herself this evening?"

Eden's insides lurched unpleasantly. Seth had appeared fairly immune to Zoë's beguilements, but his question indicated more than a casual interest in her sister.

"I believe so," she replied cautiously. "Zoë enjoys any sort of social function, and one such as this must rank very high on her list of memorable occasions."

"Tell me about the rest of your family," said Seth abruptly. "I believe you have three married sisters."

"Yes," Eden replied, wondering at Seth's intent, for she was sure he had not posed his question out of idle curiosity. Why, she wondered distractedly, did she feel this familiarity with his thought processes? Nothing in his expression indicated that his query had been uttered from any other motive than idle courtesy. She knew, however, as surely as though Seth had hung out a sign, that he was after something. "Margaret," she continued, "or Meg, as we call her, is married to Joseph Mallow, a squire in Kent. Dorothy is next, and we don't see her very often as she lives in Northumberland. Her husband is Sir Arthur Beddoes and their estate is extensive. Eleanor's husband, as she is fond of telling us, is the nephew of the Earl of Waterston, and they reside in Bedfordshire."

"They all seemed to have married comfortably. Lord and Lady Beckett must be pleased."

Eden took a sip of wine. "Mm, yes. Although," she added with an engaging grin, "they would have preferred a trifle more rank somewhere in the mix. As with any parents, they desire to see their children marry well. Papa, especially—although I should not say this—especially enjoys Eleanor's connection with the earl."

"And your mother?"

Eden was beginning to grow uneasy at Seth's probing. "Yes, she, too, is pleased. She ... she has taken pains, of course, to assure that all her daughters are creditably settled and secure."

"Of course." Seth paused meditatively. "Your sister, too, seems interested in making an advantageous marriage."

Lord, did he consider himself in the light of a suitable
parti
for Zoë? Was he using her merely as a sounding board?

"I would prefer," she answered stiffly, scooping up a forkful of
croquembouche
, "to say that Zoë knows her own worth and hopes to wed a man who will assure her of an amiable place in society."

Her manner so clearly indicated that she thought the whole subject none of his business that he smiled ruefully. "You must think me a regular Paul Pry, but I meant only that, since my visit to your charming home, I must confess myself interested in your equally charming family. I apologize if my curiosity has gone beyond what is proper."

Eden found herself at somewhat of a loss for a reply, and was grateful the next moment when a faint, startled cry issued from farther down the table. Darting a glance in the direction of the sound, Eden observed that Lady Dinsborough, whom she knew to be seated across the table from Zoë, held her napkin pressed to her mouth in obvious horror and distaste.

Eden's heard sank. Now what had Zoë done?

Chapter Nine

Eden was not obliged to contain her apprehension for very long. In a few minutes. Lady Shipstead rose to signify the retreat of the ladies to the drawing room. Eden hastened to Zoë's side, noting the dagger glances sent her sister's way by Miss Honora Paisley, who had been seated a place or two down from Zoë.

"What in the world happened?" she asked, grasping Zoë's arm.

Zoë laughed airily. "Nothing, really. I fear I put the divine Miss Paisley's nose out of joint. You know, of course, that she must weigh upwards of ten stone. Despite this, she considers herself an Incomparable. A Diamond of the First Water, no less. Really, Eden, she just infuriates me."

Eden bent a minatory stare on her. "What have you done, Zoë?"

"Nothing," the girl repeated. "Only, during dinner Lord Bascombe was seated next to me, and Miss God's Gift to the Males of London kept interrupting our conversation. Honestly, Eden, it was enough to make one sick the way she simpered and flapped her eyelashes and flopped her pudgy little hand on his arm every time he directed a comment at me. When the
croquembouche
was served—would you believe—she asked for a second helping! The footman asked if she'd like another after that, and she giggled and said that she mustn't, for she was obliged to watch her figure. Then she stared expectantly up at Lord Bascombe, just waiting for him to babble something complimentary. Well, the poor man was at a complete loss, and I said—oh, I know I shouldn't have, for I spoke directly across his lordship—but I said, 'Oh, but we're all watching your figure, Miss Paisley. How can one do otherwise?'"

Zoë ducked her head. "I must have spoken a trifle loudly, for Lady Dinsborough, across the table from me, nearly choked, and Honora let out a squeal like a stricken rhinoceros."

"Oh, Zoë, how could you?" gasped Eden. "To so expose yourself to censure in the Duke of Derwent's home, of all places."

Zoë sighed. "I know it was wrong, but—oh, Eden, if you could have seen her. Tossing her curls and draping herself over Lord Bascomb's shoulder in the most
blatant
display. Besides, she's been quite horrid to me all evening, lifting that squashed-in little nose every time I approach, as though I'd just strolled in from the stables. After all, everyone knows her grandfather was in trade." She turned to Eden. "I heard her say something cutting about you, too, to Lord Wilburton. I almost gave her a set-down then. It's my belief that she can't abide the presence of anyone who might outshine her—which, of course, includes almost every female in the Home Counties." She sighed. "I wonder if this means we shan't be invited to Derwent House again."

Eden glanced at her, startled. "I should scarcely think we shall be invited back under any circumstances. Our being here tonight is only a courtesy due to Se—that is, Mr. Lindow's recent visit."

Zoë tossed her head. "Nonsense. I'm sure he will invite us back if I am nice to His Grace, and I intend to be ever so charming to him—and his sister."

By then, they had reached the drawing room, and Zoë drifted away to speak to one of the younger women to whom she had been introduced earlier. Eden frowned. She hoped Zoë was not pinning entirely unrealistic hopes on the possibility of gaining the Duke of Derwent's patronage. Certainly, if the duke were numbered among her friends, her social status would undergo a marked improvement, but surely Zoë did not believe that, even if such an unlikely event were to come to pass, a friendship with His Grace would lead to her highly desired union with a peer.

She moved to her mother, who had seated herself on a straw satin settee. She forbore mentioning Zoë's confrontation with Miss Paisley, seeing no good point in sending Mama into a spasm in the middle of a
ton
party. That lady was still very much in alt at their very presence here, and her conversation dealt entirely with the magnificence of the company, the elegance and cost of their dress, and the exalted gentlemen who she was sure were smitten to a man by their little Zoë.

She continued in this vein, unnoticing of the buzz that circulated as Miss Paisley made her way around the room, or the increasing number of hostile stares directed by the other ladies present at their little Zoë, until at last the gentlemen emerged from the dining room. Eden's gaze flew without volition to Seth, only to find herself staring straight into his dark eyes. She drew in a startled breath at the sharp, almost painful sensation that swept over her, as though she had been subjected to an electrical shock.

Seth's eyes widened as though acknowledging the same connection. The next moment, he smiled faintly and looked away. As the gentlemen entered the room, Eden observed Lady Dinsborough advancing on the duke. Her hands waved in the air as she whispered volubly in his ear, glancing several times in Zoë's direction. Good Lord, thought Eden, the woman was losing no time in reporting Zoë's hoydenish behavior to His Grace. Her ladyship was evidently describing the incident in great detail. At one point. Lady Dinsborough placed a hand on the prow of her bosom and gave an exaggerated tug to the bodice of her gown. She then inclined her body forward and at the same time twisted her mouth in an alarming grimace, meant apparently to imitate a seductive smile, all the while rolling her eyes wildly and fluttering her sparse eyelashes.

The duke listened attentively, his mouth twitching once or twice during the viscountess's narration. At the end, however, while he smiled courteously, his expression was grave.

Evidently, Zoë had also been watching the little drama, for scarcely had Lady Dinsborough left the duke's side, than she hurried to take her place. She opened negotiations with a winsome smile, apparently offering her own version of the contretemps with Miss Paisley. The winsome smile phased into one of charming contrition, followed by a flirt of her fan. It was difficult to ascertain the success of her efforts, for, although the ducal countenance wore a pleasant expression, it was quite unreadable. After a while, Zoë abandoned her efforts and turned away, her smile sagging a trifle.

Eden had no chance to interrogate Zoë on her conversation with the duke, for in a moment, the guests began to troop into the music room to listen to Madame Naldi, the Season's most popular singer, who entertained for some time with a pleasant range of selections from the classics to Italian folk tunes.