Anne Barbour (5 page)

Seth laughed. "Perhaps. At any rate, I hope to get a chance to find out. I pray Miss Zoë turns out to be Bel's redemption."

Moppe snorted.

"Ain't a female alive who can redeem that makebait," he muttered, ducking his head before Seth's minatory stare. At the sound of a muted gong from belowstairs, he straightened hurriedly. "There now—it's time t'dress for dinner. And you needin' a reg'lar sluicin' down after your day jaunterin' about in God's clean manure."

An hour or so later, Seth strolled into the small salon where he had been told the family would await dinner. There he found Eden, alone, seated at a tambour frame near the fire. This evening she was garbed in a simple, rather shapeless gown of dark blue silk, adorned only by a small locket about her neck. She lifted her head at his entrance and flushed becomingly, though he could not ascertain whether she was unaccustomed to entertaining gentlemen without the protective bulwark of her family, or if she was still offended with him.

"Mama and Papa will be here shortly," she said quickly. "And Zoë as well. Won't you be seated, sir? M-may I offer you some wine?"

"Thank you, but I'll wait for your father," he replied, after which an awkward silence fell between them.

"Did you enjoy your outing with Papa?" Eden ventured at last.

"Indeed," replied Seth gratefully. "Clearsprings is beautifully situated, and must certainly be one of the most productive estates in the area."

"And the horses?"

"The—? Oh, yes, the horses. They, too, were most impressive. His Grace had expressed an interest in purchasing just two or three, but I'm sure he will be pleased to acquire all that Lord Beckett might be willing to sell."

Eden's laugh lit her gray eyes in a manner that touched her features with an undeniable beauty.

"I must warn you, sir, that my father is a shrewd dealer. I hope His Grace expects to pay a pretty penny for horses from the Clearsprings stud."

"What terrible things are you saying about your poor old papa?" bellowed a jovial voice, and Eden and Seth turned to observe Lord Beckett entering the room. "Pretty penny, indeed. You must be aware I'm known far and wide for the fairness of my dealings."

"That's very true, my lord," agreed Seth, smiling. "Lord Sidmouth—it was he from whom I first heard of your excellent stock—told me that he was much impressed not only with the quality of your cattle, but the openhanded manner in which you do business."

"Quite right," said Lord Beckett promptly. "Of course," he added after a moment, "I always insist on fair payment for fair goods."

"Of course," murmured Seth gravely.

Lady Beckett entered the chamber then, with Zoë at her side. Seth's brows lifted. The young lady had obviously taken pains with her appearance tonight. Over a gown of pale pink sarcenet, she wore an overdress of a darker pink gauze embroidered with a leafy border of spring flowers. Entwined in her golden curls was a wreath of small, delicate roses.

From her place at her tambour frame, Eden observed Mr. Lindow closely. Most men, on beholding Zoë in her battle garb, went slack-jawed with admiration. But once again, in Mr. Lindow's penetrating gaze, Eden could only find that peculiar expression of assessment.

At that point, Horsely entered to inform the group that dinner was served. Eden thrust her needle into her embroidery and rose. Stifling a marked feeling of apprehension, she turned on their guest the most charming smile at her disposal and followed the group into the dining chamber.

Chapter Four

Conversation over an excellent dinner was convivial. Eden noted that Mr. Lindow said very little about himself, but with subtle direction kept the subject on the Beckett family in general and Zoë in particular.

"And did you enjoy your sojourn in London last year?" he asked, accepting another helping of buttered crab.

"Oh, yes!" Zoë cried. "It was everything I dreamed it would be. That is—" she amended quickly, her lashes drooping in a semblance of world-weary sophistication. "It was all a dead bore, of course, but I did enjoy the dancing, and I made some lovely friends."

"And when will you return to the Metropolis? Do you plan to take part in the Season this year?"

"Return to London?" interposed Lord Beckett with a chuckle. "Good gad, we just came home."

"But, dearest..." began Lady Beckett, her hands fluttering helplessly.

"Oh, Papa!" Zoë giggled shrilly. "We were in London for barely a fortnight, and you
know
how I am pining to return for another Season."

"I know the reason for that." Her father's small eyes narrowed indulgently. "You didn't find your highty-tighty lord last year, and you're hoping to snabble one this year."

"Papa!" cried Zoë in mortification. She cast a sidelong glance at Seth. "I am
not
on the hunt for a husband. In any event—" She tossed her curls. "You know very well I had several
notable
offers for my hand. As it happens, I merely wish to partake of some of the advantages of city life for a month or two—the museums and libraries—and ... and ..."

"The opera and the theater," finished Eden obligingly.

Zoë cast a glance of gratitude toward her sister. "Yes, precisely. And I would so love to celebrate my birthday there. I shall be one and twenty next month," she said to Seth with an arch smile.

"I dunno," mused Lord Beckett. "It may be too late now. Town was just beginning to fill up when we left. We'd never get lodgings now."

"Oh, but dearest," put in Lady Beckett, "my sister would put us up."

Zoë made a small moue. "Aunt Nassington? Oh, Mama, would we have to stay with her again? I don't want to live in poky old Portman Square. Could we not find a more fashionable address this time?"

Lord Beckett evidently thought it time to assert himself. "Now then. Puss. Your aunt's house will do well enough for the time being. She is away from Town at present, visiting her daughter in Hove, I believe it is. She'll be gone for a month or two, so we'll have the place to ourselves. Perhaps next year we will consider something a little more up to the mark."

This was all to the good, thought Seth approvingly. So far, Zoë had not displayed herself to advantage, but he still felt she might be an acceptable
parti
for Bel. In which case, he had planned to arrange the whole business with her father. On the other hand, it might be much better to get her to London, where Bel could actually meet her. He did not doubt that Bel would be attracted to Zoë. She was just the son of beautiful, featherbrained young miss he found irresistible—and ripe for seduction. This time, however, Bel's big brother would be on hand to hold him to the straight and narrow. Not a finger would Bel lay on Zoë, except in the line of duty.

He turned his attention back to the discussion between Zoë and her father.

At this point, Eden intervened.

'Tell us a little of yourself, Mr. Lindow. Where in London do you reside?"

"Why, I make my lodgings at Derwent House in Grosvenor Square." Out of the corner of his eye, he observed Zoë's pink mouth form an 0 of surprise. "Since most of my time is spent on His Grace's affairs, I have never sought to remove myself to other lodgings."

"His Grace?" put in Zoë. "But isn't he your father?"

"Zoë!" Lady Beckett exclaimed in scandalized accents.

"Well, but how am I to know anything if I don't ask?" responded Zoë reasonably. She turned to Seth. "I heard that you are the duke's son."

Seth hesitated, startled. Lord, had the chit no sense of propriety? He said coldly, "Yes, Miss Zoë, I am the duke's son—his adoptive son, although I cannot conceive of what possible use this information might be to you."

Eden gasped, and even Zoë seemed taken aback, but she continued her impertinent interrogation. "But I do not believe I ever saw you before the night of Lady Saltram's ball. Do you usually attend such functions? Or go to the opera? Or to Almack's? I suppose you must be allowed there."

By God, this was the outside of enough! Seth opened his mouth to offer the young lady the set-down of her life, but was stayed by Eden's expression of mortification. "No," he said stiffly, "I am seldom out and about except in the commission of my duties."

He glanced up to catch Eden's wide gray gaze on him. The candlelight had turned her eyes to the color of fine old silver, and he thought he caught a glimpse of gratitude—and yes, interest—in their glowing depths. To his surprise, he heard himself continue, "I do not believe it would be seemly to trade on my connection with the duke."

Zoë merely stared blankly. "How long have you been with him?" she asked at last.

"His Grace took me in when I was nine years old." Seth realized with no little dismay that he was speaking solely to Eden now. "He was Lord Hugh Lindow then, a second son, serving in the army. My father—my birth father, whose name was George Winslow—served under him as a sergeant."

Though he must have been aware of the lifted brows this statement provoked, Mr. Lindow remained cool and self-possessed. If, reflected Eden, he felt any stigma in having been born into the lower orders, he had either come to terms with it or was accustomed to concealing his discomfort.

"It was at the siege of Toulon," continued Mr. Lindow, staring directly at Eden, "that my father lost his life saving that of Lord Hugh. When he sold out after being elevated to the title on the death of his older brother, the duke went to visit George Winslow's widow with the intention of providing for her for the rest of her life. When he arrived at Sergeant Winslow's home village, however, he discovered that the young woman had herself perished from smallpox not three months previous. He also discovered Winslow's nine-year-old son, myself, being sheltered by an uncle. I was, by the by, about to be sent to work in a nearby foundry." Mr. Lindow's dark gaze focused on a distant point, and his voice harshened. "I was terrified at the prospect, for I knew boys who had been sent there. Within weeks they were transformed from happy, laughing children to small old men, weary and sullen. The tales they told of abuse and careless cruelty made me shiver with fear."

Eden watched in unwilling sympathy as Mr. Lindow's fingers tightened around his fork. What must it have been like, she wondered, for the small boy, overwhelmed by the enormity of his double loss and obliged to face the vision of hell provided by the youngsters who served as industrial fodder. What must he have felt upon being summoned to meet the Duke of Derwent in all his titled glory. To her surprise, Mr. Lindow glanced at her, and as though reading her thoughts, smiled.

"The duke is a tall man," he said, "and it seemed as though I had to look up to the sky to meet his gaze. He stood in a shaft of sunlight. The jewels he wore in his cravat and on his fingers were set ablaze, and I thought I was in the presence of God.

"Before I knew what was happening, he whisked me up on his shoulder, and bade me call him 'Father.' Subsequently, he arranged for—" Mr. Lindow halted suddenly, and his eyes sought Eden's. "My father had been buried in foreign soil, and my mother had been put in a pauper's grave. This last was a matter that weighed heavily on my spirit. The duke saw to it that Mama was reinterred in a proper resting place with a fine headstone." Mr. Lindow stared off again for a moment before concluding briskly, "Not long after that, he took me from the house, never to return again, and brought me into his own home. I was raised as one of his own family."

"My," breathed Zoë, "it's almost like a fairy tale. You must be ever so grateful to the duke." She smiled pertly. "And did you live happily ever after, Mr. Lindow?"

Eden thought a strained expression flashed momentarily in his eyes, but Mr. Lindow smiled again, this time indulgently, as Lady Beckett made another futile attempt to quell her daughter. "Yes, I did, Miss Zoë, inasmuch as any of us can be said to reside in complete happiness. And, yes, of course, I owe the duke an enormous debt of gratitude. I..." He paused, then spoke slowly and reflectively, again to Eden. "I've tried to repay his... kindness ... and that of his family, as well."

"What family?" It was Zoë again. "Do you mean the duke's wife? And his children? How many were there? Goodness, how did they take to the idea of a new child in the household? I'm not sure how I would have liked waking up one morning to be told that Mama and Papa had siphoned a strange little boy into the family. Although," she added thoughtfully, "I've always thought a brother would be nice."

"The duchess was everything that was kind. She took pity on the scrawny little waif who turned up in her drawing room one day and made room in her heart for one more child. I..." Once more he hesitated. "I owe the duke and duchess my life.

"As for the rest, I now had a brother and two sisters and they—" Seth paused and concluded austerely, "I was not of their world, and there were ... contretemps from time to time, but we gradually worked out a living arrangement."

Again, Eden sensed something unspoken, an unpleasantness concealed. Remembering what she had heard of the Marquess of Belhaven, she wondered with what enthusiasm the duke's heir had subscribed to the "living arrangement." And, the duke himself, had he treated the boy with love or the distant forbearance shown a stray picked up on a whim and then forgotten?

"But the duchess," put in Lady Beckett tentatively. "Didn't I hear... ?"

"Yes, she passed away from the wasting sickness when I was sixteen. It was a sad time for all of us."

Seth drew in a deep, shaking breath. This was the first time in years he had revealed so much of his past to anyone, let alone a roomful of strangers. Again, he was struck by the notion that Eden Beckett already sensed too much about him, as though she had known him for a very long time.

Eden noted a tightening in Mr. Lindow's jaw muscle. He looked around suddenly and flushed, as though he had just committed a faux pas. He turned abruptly to Eden.

"Tell me. Miss Beckett—when Lord Beckett and I encountered you on our return to the house this afternoon, I noticed that you were carrying artists' paraphernalia. Do you paint?"

Now it was Eden's turn to redden. "Oh!" She gasped a little. "Yes ... that is, I..."