Anne Barbour (13 page)

Eden, relishing the rare opportunity to hear one of the premier vocalists of the time, soon lost herself in the music, but jerked to attention at a light tap on her arm. She turned to behold Seth, who had come into the room moments before to seat himself next to her.

"Do you admire the Naldi?" he whispered, a warm twinkle in his eyes.

"Very much. I hope to see her at the opera sometime during our visit." Observing Seth's down turned mouth, she added, "You do not enjoy her performance?"

"Oh, of course, but I must admit I would rather listen to you and Miss Zoë. I prefer a fresh voice, one with unaffected sweetness, to one of such unrelenting culture. One could stir gravy with her vibrato."

Eden was surprised into a trill of laughter.

"Although," added Seth, "it could be just my commonplace origin speaking."

Eden shot him a startled glance. Had she detected a note of bitterness in his tone? He seemed to search out opportunities to insert his background into the conversation. She introduced a neutral topic, and the two chatted companionably until Madame Naldi had warbled her last. Then Seth left her again to attend his perceived duties. It was not until some of the guests made preparations to depart, the Becketts included, that she saw him again. The duke was on hand as well. Lady Shipstead at his side, to receive felicitations from his guests on a most pleasant evening. Seth moved to join them in the elegant entrance hall, as the duke smiled once more on Lord and Lady Beckett.

"I'm so pleased you could join us this evening. Did you enjoy yourselves?"

"Oh, yes," breathed Zoë. "It was lovely. I hope—"

But, what it was she hoped remained unspoken as a raucous bang sounded on the front door. Before the butler could approach, it was flung open to reveal a disheveled figure, swaying on the threshold.

"Bel!" exclaimed Seth in horrified accents, echoed by the duke and Lady Shipstead.

Lord Belhaven swept off his hat in a grandiloquent gesture and bowed, nearly toppling over in the effort. He tossed the hat in the general direction of the butler and, removing his gloves carefully, dropped them into the servant's outstretched hand.

"Thank you so much, Fosdick, isn't it?"

"No, my lord," returned the butler austerely. "Fosdick left two years ago. I am Bentick."

Bel waved a dismissive hand. "0'course."

His gaze, red and unfocused, swept the entrance hall, coming to rest on his father.

"But you did not tell me you're having a party. Papa," he said sweetly. "By some oversight, you neglected to invite me. Although," he added with a loose smile. "I see that Seth is in attendance, as usual."

His speech was not slurred, but he spoke with the almost painful precision of the very drunk. The other guests, lingering in the hall, paused to stare in avid fascination.

"Bel!" said the duke again, hurrying toward him. "What the devil are you doing here?"

"Just driving by, doncherknow," he drawled. "Saw the extra flambeaux lit, the bustle of carriages, and all that. 'What ho?' says I to m'self, and I realized at once that you would be devastated were I not to participate in the festivities." He glanced owlishly about the hall. "But, perhaps I am too late?"

At this. Lady Shipstead stepped forward. "Yes, you are, Bel, and in your usual disgusting condition. Kindly oblige us by leaving at once."

Bel swung to face the duke directly. His hand went to his brow in a melodramatic gesture, and his eyes widened in an expression of wounded bewilderment. "But, Papa, you cannot mean that my presence is unwanted?" He swept an arm about the hall, again nearly throwing himself to the floor. "Surely, you could not have planned to entertain the cream of society in our home without your own son and heir at your side—the pride and joy of your house?"

The duke spoke in a low tone. "Bel, certainly if we thought there was the slightest chance that you would have come, of course we—"

Seth stepped forward to grasp Bel's arm, gently interrupting his father. "Bel, you must see this is not the time—"

"Ah, yes, my brother—good old reliable Seth, the sainted cuckoo in our midst."

Seth, refusing to rise to the bait, said only, "Yes, yes, Bel, but right now ..."

Aware of the eyes watching greedily for any tidbit of scandal, Seth attempted to propel his brother toward the door. Bel, however, had other ideas. Pulling himself from Seth's grip, he turned back to his father. His gaze encompassed the Becketts, who still stood nearby, rooted in stupefaction. On beholding Zoë, he first staggered backward, then lunged forward. Lurching to stand directly in front of her, he scrabbled untidily for his quizzing glass through which he surveyed her leisurely from head to toe.

Lord Beckett started forward. "Now see here, young sir!" he exclaimed with fists clenched.

But Seth was before him. Once more he grasped his brother's arm. "Bel, for God's sake!... You're insulting a lady!"

The lady, however, appeared in no way insulted. She blushed prettily and smiled, gazing up at the viscount through her forest of lashes.

Bel lifted her hand in his and brushed her fingertips with his lips. "But I think we have met before?" he whispered, an acquisitive gleam in his eyes.

"Oh, I don't think so," replied Zoë, meeting his gaze unabashedly. "I would have remembered."

The two stood, wrapped in mutual bemusement. Not another sound was heard in the hall except for the music, drifting down from the ballroom. Wordlessly, his hand still holding Zoë's, Bel moved to encircle her waist with his other arm. He drew her away from the group and began a slow waltz in the center of the hall floor.

Zoë at first stiffened in startlement, then with a self-conscious glance around her, joined Bel in his outrageous performance.

Eden gasped. Dear Lord, what did the man think he was about? For one of his reputation to approach a young girl in such a fashion! Zoë had not received permission to waltz from the patronesses of Almack's. Well, she wasn't even on speaking terms with those ladies, and her behavior so far this evening was not likely to promote such an eventuality.

Lord, what was she maundering on about? thought Eden wildly. She stared at the couple, performing a slow, sinuous dance, their eyes locked. The propriety of Zoë's waltzing was hardly the issue when what was taking place before her eyes seemed only slightly less than a full-blown seduction to music. Not a single one of the persons in the hall was making the slightest move to depart, but looked as though they intended to stay rooted to the floor until the little drama was fully played out.

Drawing a deep breath, Eden stepped forward. "This has been a lovely evening. Your Grace," she said in a clear, carrying voice. "We have so enjoyed meeting you, and . . . and your family. I do hope we shall meet again."

So saying, she took her mother's elbow and moved to where Zoë and the viscount swayed dreamily to the music.

"Zoë, dear, I am
so
sorry to interrupt your impromptu waltz, but the carriage has been brought about and the horses are standing."

She pinched her mother's arm, and that lady spoke in a shaking voice.

"Yes, indeed, my love. It is time to go."

For a moment, Eden feared her words had had no effect, and that Belhaven would not release her sister. However, she discovered with gratitude that Seth was right behind her. His features rigid with anger, he placed a hand on Bel's shoulder. Glancing up, the marquess smiled lazily at Seth, but stopped dancing and, bowing low, withdrew his arm from Zoë's waist.

Zoë tittered behind her fan and curtseyed.

Servants began to bustle into the hall at that point, carrying cloaks and hats and canes. The guests claimed their belongings and, their gazes lingering on Bel, somewhat regretfully bade farewell to the duke and drifted past the open door into the night.

Inside the house, the duke saw the last of the party-goers from the house and, white with anger, turned to his heir.

"Come upstairs, Bel. Bentick"—he gestured to the butler— "send someone up to the blue saloon with coffee." He laid a hand on his son's arm, but Bel shrugged it off.

"I ain't staying. Father. Only dropped in to see what I was missing, if anything. For God's sake don't try to turn it into a cozy family gathering."

"But, Bel—"

"On the other hand, for once I don't feel I wasted my time in coming here. Who was that charming little armful? And what the devil was she doing here among the pillars of society?"

"Her name is Zoë Beckett," interposed Seth. "Don't you recall Lady Saltram's ball? You saw her there, and were quite struck. We were talking about the current crop of marriageable young ladies," he added carefully.

Bel snorted. "Marriage? Li'l baggage is far more likely to end up in a Covent Garden nunnery. Where," he concluded with a crooked leer, "I shall take care to become her first paying customer."

What the duke might have replied to this highly inflammatory statement was lost as Bel bade a peremptory farewell to his family and stumbled out the door. Thus, he was on hand as the Beckett carriage trundled away from Derwent House. He lifted a hand to Zoë in a sardonic salute.

"Well," declared Zoë in some satisfaction. "I
knew
a great deal of good would come of your association with Mr. Lindow, Papa. Only see, I have met a duke's son—and if I do say so, I can't help but believe he was taken with me." She twined a golden curl about her finger in satisfaction.

Lord Beckett twisted in his seat to stare at her. "Taken with you?
Taken
with you! It looked to me—and to everyone there with eyes in their heads—as though he was going to
take
you right there on the floor!"

Lady Beckett gasped, and she murmured incoherently between broken sobs.

"How the devil," Lord Beckett roared, "could you have let that. . . that thatchgallows maul you like a common drab?
Dancing
with you—although that's not what I'd call it—in the duke's entry hall, and him drunk as a... well, as a lord. By God, I should have taken a horsewhip to the feller!"

"Oh, Papa," replied Zoë placidly. "He was a little well to go, as the gentlemen say, but
I
think he was being ever so romantic. I shouldn't wonder if he were to call tomorrow."

"Well, if he does," Lord Beckett retorted with a snort, "I shall have something to say to him."

Eden spoke. "I think he was merely amusing himself, Papa. It's my belief he merely wished to do something outrageous enough to set the duke's teeth on edge. It appears to give him great satisfaction to embarrass his father. You would do well to remember that, Zoë."

"Oh, yes, I shall." To Eden's surprise, Zoë's voice was calm. "But the fact remains that I quite took his fancy. And," she added with a smile that Eden could only consider ominous, "he quite took mine, too."

Chapter Ten

Some time later, Seth and the duke conversed quietly in the library.

"You would not," said Seth, "want her parents running tame in Derwent House—or The Priory, for that matter. They're not bad sorts, actually, but. . . well, you saw how they were tonight, completely unhinged in the presence of exalted company."

"Except for the older girl," the duke mused aloud.

"Yes." Seth smiled warmly. "Except for Eden. She is a pearl beyond price, isn't she?"

The duke glanced up in surprise, and Seth rushed on. "That is, in comparison with her sister and her parents, she is a model of gentility."

"Mmm. Miss Zoë, on the other hand... She appears on the face of it to be an ideal candidate for Bel's bride—but in actuality, she is absolutely impossible. She has the deportment of a badly trained puppy. She's bumptious, ill-mannered, self-aggrandizing, and pursues her own whims with all the subtlety of a brass gong."

Seth sighed. "I had come to the same conclusion myself. It's my belief that she would very much fancy herself as a marchioness—and Mama and Papa Beckett would be ecstatic at the prospect. I was hoping that their aspirations would prove an incentive for her to fit herself into the proper mold. But, after seeing her tonight..."

"I do not believe that young woman would recognize the proper mold if it knocked on her front door and bit her on the hand. Nor can I see her sitting with her hands folded in submission for months on end on an estate in Northumberland, or wherever Bel should choose to tuck her away."

Seth sighed again. "No, she would probably be on the first available coach to London—and she would no doubt create havoc once she got here." He lifted a hand in frustration. "I was so hopeful that Zoë Beckett would fill the bill. I shall just have to continue the search, although the choices—"

"However," interrupted the duke in a meditative tone, "I was very much taken with the older one. Eden, is it?"

For a moment, Seth felt as though his heart had stopped beating, a circumstance immediately proved false as that organ began banging against the walls of his chest like a prisoner attempting escape. "Eden Beckett?" he asked stupidly.

"Yes. She is everything that we discussed—everything that Zoë is not—quiet, reserved, well-bred and she likes living in the country."

"Yes, but..." Seth felt as though he were being plunged into a nightmare. "She has no desire—at least, it is my impression that she has no wish to become a peeress. Wealth and jewels and status and all that flummery mean nothing to her. She wants only to be left alone to garden and paint, and—"

"You seem to know a great deal about her," remarked the duke, his brows lifted.

Seth flushed. "Yes, well, I became rather well acquainted with her while I was at the Beckett estate, Clearsprings. Frankly, she was the only member of the family whose company I could tolerate for more than five minutes at a stretch. But surely—"

"I see." The duke tapped his finger thoughtfully on the arm of his chair before twisting to face Seth. "My boy, I believe she represents our salvation. You've already found her background to be suitable. She may not be impressed at the thought of an exalted title, but I should imagine she might be persuaded by the prospect of a life of comfort and ease in pleasant surroundings. She would be welcome at The Priory, but if she should wish to set up her own establishment at Broadbent, she can garden and paint to her heart's content. She may form friendships among the surrounding gentry and, should she wish to travel to London from time to time, I'm sure that can be arranged. I'm sure that once wed to Bel, she would not be a source of embarrassment for the family. In fact, if anyone might have a hope of persuading Bel to settle down, I feel it would be she. Horatia was much taken with her," he added, as though this fact convinced him of his wisdom in pursuing this plan.