Anne Barbour (24 page)

The duke lifted both hands in a gesture of bafflement. "I must confess I don't understand this womanish display of sensibility. However, I suppose that, in dredging up two reasonably worthy candidates for the position of Duchess of Derwent, you might be said to have fulfilled your task, and I shall have to complete the bargain myself."

"What?" asked Seth in consternation.

"Certainly," the duke replied blandly. "I have met Lord Beckett and begun tentative negotiations. It remains only for me to speak to him more formally and send our attorney to him for a final confirmation. The lawyers can work out the details. I am prepared to be generous, after all. In addition, I've planted the seed in Bel's mind that the elder Miss Beckett would make an admirable bride for him. He laughed, of course, but when he realizes that this time I mean to bring him to the sticking point, I believe he'll capitulate."

Seth simply gaped at his father. It had not occurred to him that once he had withdrawn his assistance in achieving the duke's goal, the old gentleman would plow ahead on his own. The man had not lifted a finger on his own behalf for the last ten years. Why in God's name did he have to start now?

Because Bel's marriage was of prime importance to the line, of course. His Grace's will was not to be thwarted by the recalcitrance of the lowborn orphan he had taken into his home. Seth realized there was no point in speaking further. The duke could be stubborn as a spoiled child where his wishes were concerned. He might let Seth guide him in matters of finance and civic duty, but he would not be swayed in circumstances in which his personal desires were at stake.

Seth contented himself with a curt nod. Jaw clenched, he left the room. Behind him, he heard the duke's expansive chuckle. He returned to his sanctum at the rear of the house and, flinging himself into the chair behind his desk, gave himself up to thought.

If the duke chose to continue negotiations himself, there could be little doubt of the outcome. Lord Beckett would welcome with open arms the son and heir of the Duke of Derwent for the daughter he had previously considered unmanageable. He might be somewhat disappointed that Zoë had not come up to the ducal standard, but he would no doubt take comfort in the certainty that Zoë would snabble someone on her own who would be almost as acceptable. Beckett, concluded Seth, would be beside himself with visions of wealth and prestige.

And what would be Eden's reaction to her father's demand that she marry the Marquess of Belhaven? Would she cry defiance? Would she go so far as to leave the Beckett ménage, relying on her art to support her? Lord, Beckett would destroy her. If she persisted in pursuing her independence, he would simply lock her up at Clearsprings—or in Bedlam—until she capitulated.

At least, he thought, he would no longer be involved with the Beckett family—or, more specifically, the elder Miss Beckett. If his father chose to continue negotiations on his own, so be it. He, himself, at least would be out of it. Eden surely had enough backbone to defy her father if he began an effort to force her into a repugnant marriage. He need not visit the Beckett house, and he needn't force himself to attend the myriad insipid social functions that dotted the landscape of Mayfair like outbreaks of measles.

He need not see Eden anymore.

The words seemed to echo in the silence around him like the last words of a dying man. Good Lord, he had lived without love for most of his life. He had survived, and he would continue to do so. He had proved that he did not require love. He was not even sure what the word meant. Surely, it was not the sentiment done to death in ballads and poetry. Just as surely, it could not mean the prison in which so many of his friends and acquaintances found themselves entrapped—that unhappy state of bondage to the desires of another, catering to the loved one's desires and whims and defending oneself against imagined transgressions.

Yes, he was much better off on his own, as he had always been, and he would soon recover from the temporary aberration of his feelings for Eden. He was a busy man and had plenty to occupy him and to keep his thoughts away from gray eyes like pools of summer mist and laughter that warmed his heart like sunlight on a frozen lake.

Suppressing the ache that somehow seemed almost too much to bear, he rose from his desk. If he was to make an effort to repair the damage he had done, he knew where to start—although he felt the most abject dread at the thought of the confrontation that lay ahead.

Summoning his curricle, he made the short journey from Grosvenor Square to Arlington Street and stopped before a fashionable set of lodgings only a few steps away from St. James's Street. Climbing the stairs, he rapped sharply at one of the doors lining the corridor and was admitted almost immediately. Greeting the manservant who took his hat and walking stick, he made his way into an elegant if carelessly furnished sitting room and moved toward the figure seated before the hearth, immersed in a copy of Blackwood's sporting journal.

"Hello, Bel," Seth said in a tone of utter weariness. "I'm pleased to find you at home."

Chapter Nineteen

Bel's eyes widened in mock astonishment. "Well, by God, Saint Seth coming down from his mountain to mingle with the sinners?"

Seth noted that Bel was apparently sober, although at the moment he was sipping languidly from—good Lord, what... ?

"What the devil is that... thing?" asked Seth, indicating the enormous mug Bel held loosely in his fingers. It was made of some sort of ceramic, and was covered with a fanciful oriental design, featuring fire-breathing dragons and bolts of lightning. It was glazed with an odd, opaque substance that gleamed dully in the light of the fire. Beside Bel, on a table, stood a matching pitcher.

Bel laughed, raising the vessel with a flourish. "You like it? I think it suits the exotic side of my nature."

Seth uttered a bark of laughter. "It looks like something out of Prinny's palace at Brighton. Where did you get it?"

Seth knew he was grasping at straws to avoid the subject he must bring forth, but. Lord, he didn't want to get into this.

"I won it in a card game a few months ago," replied Bel carelessly.

"I might have known."

"I took it off Charlie Wellbore. I must say it was sweet. Charlie had a streak of luck a few months ago. Won a thousand from me, braying all the while over his skill. For some reason he treasured the set."

Seth allowed himself to be drawn into the current of this innocuous conversation with Bel, pleased that, at least for the moment, he and his brother were having a normal conversation, free of contention or ill will.

Bel chuckled. "It's rather odd, actually. Charlie had just returned from the Continent, where an inventor friend gave this to him. Claimed it's glazed with a newly discovered substance."

Seth grunted skeptically.

"Well, that's what I thought—mere gammon, but the material is unusual. I like the feel of it and the way it catches the light. And, of course, knowing what it meant to Charlie—well, I'm quite taken with it."

Seth drew a deep breath. Time to get to work.

"That's not all you're taken with, is it, brother mine? And whatever takes the Marquess of Belhaven's fancy, he must, of course, possess."

Bel glanced up warily, and his customary expression of ugly discontent settled on his features.

"What are you babbling on about now? And, in case it has escaped your notice, you are not my brother."

"Thank God for that. I'm talking about Zoë Beckett."

Something unexpected and indescribable leapt into Bel's eyes. "What about her?"

"Your attentions to her are causing concern to her ... her family."

Bel's unattractive laugh brayed out into the room. "Do you think I care a tinker's damn about her family's concern?"

"No, but if I were you, I'd have a care for Father's. He's not happy at your newest inamorata."

"But, Seth, old fellow," Bel said plaintively, "Father is never happy with me. Speaking of which, what is this current maggot he's taken into his brain about my marrying the other Beckett chit?"

"Well, that's the problem, you see. He wants you to marry one sister, ergo you must stop trifling with the other."

"Well, you can go back and tell the old man that I intend to do neither. Good God. How many times do I have to tell him that I do not wish to marry? I'm having a perfectly fine time as I am. Does he think that marriage will somehow turn me into a respectable pattern of rectitude like him?" The marquess belched. "Not bloody likely. And as far as Miss Zoë is concerned, if you think I've been forcing my attentions on her, you're badly mistook. The little twit actually likes me," he concluded in some surprise. "I've got her in my evil clutches, Seth, me lad, and in a few more days, I'll have her in my bed."

Something cold and unpleasant stirred in the bottom of Seth's gut. Short of tying Bel up like a spring calf and hauling him to The Priory, he doubted there was anything that could sway him from his fell purpose. He assumed his sternest mien.

"Bel, Father is serious this time. He is determined you shall marry. Personally, I would just as soon not see anyone married to you. However, in case you're interested, I have no intention of allowing you either to ruin Zoë or to marry Eden Beckett."

"Really?" Bel drawled unpleasantly. "You have an interest there yourself, oh saintly one?"

"She is my friend," replied Seth curtly, "and I wouldn't wish a lifetime with you on my worst enemy. I give you fair warning, Bel. Abandon your pursuit of Zoë Beckett if you value your allowance, your horses, your low companions, these pleasant lodgings, and all the other frivols that mean so much to you. And, don't even think about marrying Eden Beckett if you value your life."

Bel merely laughed and raised his mug in salute. Seth turned on his heel and left.

Some hours later, upon concluding a piece of business in the City, he took a shortcut through Green Park to a small property he wished to inspect in Hans Town. To his surprise, on crossing the little bridge over the canal, he beheld in the distance Bel's long-tailed gray. Hellion, tethered to a tree on the fringe of a small grove. Next to it stood a gig, in which was seated a young woman in the garb of a lady's maid.

Slowly, Seth guided his curricle in a circuitous route that took him past the gig without being seen, to a position some distance away. Dismounting, he made his way on foot through the little grove. Upon catching the sound of a faint female giggle, he moved forward silently. Soon, his efforts were rewarded by the sight of Zoë and Bel, standing in a secluded bower. They were not embracing, but they stood disastrously close to one another, apparently oblivious to the world about them.

It was equally obvious that Zoë was lost in love's young dream. Her visage as she gazed up at Bel was not one of besotted adoration, but rather she looked as though she had moved to a heightened plane of awareness. Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks, glowed, and she lifted a hand to caress Bel's cheek. It was Bel, however, who truly caught Seth's attention. Never had he seen such an expression of tenderness on his brother's face. He laughed as he lifted his own hand to clasp Zoë's, and for once there was no trace of the ugly sneer that usually marred his features.

Seth's first instinct was to accost the pair, to wrest Zoë from whatever plans Bel had in mind and take her home. This urge was superseded by an equally strong one to drive his fist into the bridge of Bel's nose.

He did neither.

After a moment's struggle with his good sense, Seth began to consider the matter rationally. He was aware that Bel would surely not attempt to seduce Zoë in a public park with her maid in attendance only a few feet away. Nor did he believe Bel would take her to a more appropriate spot, such as his lodgings—at least, not in the middle of the afternoon with said maid in tow.

No good would come of confronting the pair right now. After all, he had no real authority over Zoë, nor over Bel, for that matter. He would go immediately to tell Eden what he had seen. Together, they could then decide the best course of action.

A treacherous undercurrent of excitement swept through him at the prospect of seeing Eden again, which he suppressed with impatience. Good Lord, he was going to see her on a family matter, not an assignation. When would he overcome this ludicrous weakness where she was concerned?

* * * *

In the days that followed Seth's departure from her life, Eden had attempted to return her life to its usual, placid course. As time passed, and Seth did not appear at Nassington House, she could only conclude that her dismal surmise had been correct. He did not wish to pursue the relationship that had developed between them.

Or had there really been a relationship? If so, she had said or done something to sever that tenuous bond. Perhaps, she had simply misread the connection she had felt with him. She supposed spinsters must be prone to that sort of thing, although she had never imagined anything of the kind with any other man.

Well. She was certainly not going to sit by the fire and weep, nor would she set the latest fashion in sackcloth and ashes. She had a life of her own, after all. She had muddled along very nicely, thank you, without Seth Lindow in her life, and she would contrive just as nicely now. Particularly when she had a great deal with which to occupy herself. To begin with, there was her career. How she liked the sound of that. Seth had told her she was being an undutiful daughter in deceiving her father, and perhaps that was so. She simply did not care. Seth had said that she was walking a dangerous path, that Papa, if he discovered her secret life, would be very angry indeed. He might confiscate her so-far meager funds and banish her to Clearsprings, to live on bread and water.

Mmph.
She would take her chances. Papa might be angry with her, but surely he would not go so far as to make her a prisoner in her own home. Would he? Actually, he might very well be relieved at her setting off on her own. She would be one less mouth to feed, and perhaps he might even grow to be proud of her accomplishment. After all, it was not a sin against society. It was not as though she was setting herself up to be a ... barrister, or some such. Several female artists had managed to make a good living for themselves without being ostracized from society. Miss Jane Austen, she understood, was a clergyman's daughter, and still in good standing. There was Angelica Kaufmann, for example, and Elisabeth Vigie-Lebrun, the celebrated French artist. Of course, what might do very well for a Frenchwoman might not be considered acceptable for a proper English female.