Anne Barbour (19 page)

"Yes. Well, this time I brought some of my portraits to show him. As you noted, they are in a more traditional vein than my still lifes, but I believe they are something a little out of the ordinary. I've been told by one or two people," she added shyly, "people whose opinion I trust, that I have a certain gift for portraiture."

Recalling the stunning study of Zoë he had examined in her studio, Seth vouchsafed a heartfelt agreement.

"I have an appointment with Mr. Rellihan next week. I don't anticipate any more success with him this time than the last, but if he should agree to take some of my work, I shall need some advice. I do feel," she concluded solemnly, but with that glint in her eye that Seth had come to cherish, "that I can do no better than to go to the Duke of Derwent's counselor in business affairs."

Offering a punctilious bow, Seth took her arm. "I am at your service. Miss Beckett." He turned into the tea shop. "Do step into my office, and we shall see what is to be done with your soon-to-be acquired wealth."

Chapter Fourteen

“You see," confided Eden over a steaming cup, "my aim is to become independent of my family."

“Independent?" asked Seth cautiously, his brows lifting. Eden flushed. "I know it is almost unheard of—and truly I'm not one of those female firebrands who wish to bum down the establishment, but I would like to ... to live by myself," she finished in a rush.

"What?" exclaimed Seth, a note of disapproval in his voice. "It's all very well for you to say, 'What!'" Eden exclaimed with some asperity. "You have no idea what it is like to be the oldest daughter of the house—and still unmarried, to boot. It's not so bad right now, but my sisters are already making demands on my time and energy. I don't mind helping out in their various crises, but they, as well as my parents, seem to think there is nothing I would rather do with my life than run to Kent when Meg's youngest contracts the measles, or down to Bedfordshire to help Dorothy plan her annual spring house party. Mama volunteers my services for everything from the church fete to taking the neighbor's children on a picnic when their parents wish to get them out of the way, and she relies on me to keep Zoë in line. Which," she added with a grimace, "I think you will agree is a well-nigh impossible task."

Seth could only nod a heartfelt agreement, but he was startled at this sudden outpouring of grievance. Catching his expression, Eden halted abruptly.

"I must sound like the greatest whiner in nature," she said in some mortification.

"Not at all," Seth responded hastily. "I was only reflecting that we males have little comprehension of the woes of the opposite sex. I always considered it unfair in the extreme that when a woman marries, she is forced to place her well-being in the hands of her husband. However, now I see that a woman who, er, forswears that state is no better off. She is doomed to a life of sufferance on the good will of not just one man, but all the members of her family."

"Precisely." Eden experienced a surge of irritation that, though Seth seemed reasonably enlightened for a man, this concept had not previously occurred to him. On the other hand, she concluded philosophically, like every other man of her acquaintance, nothing he had experienced in his entire male-oriented span of years would have caused him to so much as consider the plight of women.

"So," continued Seth, steepling his fingers before him, "you are wondering what to do with the profits from your artistic endeavors."

"Yes, if I should persuade Mr. Rellihan to accept my work. And, of course, provided he might actually sell one or two paintings."

Seth had some private thoughts on that matter, but forbore to discuss them with Eden until he had had a chance to bring them to fruition.

"Um," he said instead, "you could just keep your earnings in a sock beneath your mattress, but that would, in my opinion, be extremely imprudent. What you want to do is open your own account at the bank of your choice. That way you will earn some interest on your savings. Then, when you have accumulated a little, you can consider investing the money in the consols, or in some other, perhaps more profitable venture."

He glanced up to note that Eden's eyes had glazed over. Even in a state of blank incomprehension, he noted, they reminded him of a summer mist. "Am I making sense?" he asked, his voice husky.

"I suppose so, yes. At least you would be if I had the slightest notion of how to open a bank account or to make investments." Her gaze fixed on him hopefully. "I cannot go to my father, of course, for I must keep my dealings secret from him. I hate to behave in such an undutiful manner, but if he were to get wind of my plans, he would quash them immediately. Even if he were to allow me to enter into an agreement with Rellihan, which I consider highly unlikely, he would lose no time in appropriating my earnings for the family coffers. I plan to exhibit my work under a pseudonym," she added, her eyes lifted anxiously to his.

"I will, of course, honor your confidence, my dear, and I would deem it an honor if you would allow me to be your guide in the matter," he said, following his cue with gratifying promptness.

Impulsively, Eden laid her hand on his arm. "Oh, my, I was hoping you would say that." Seth covered her fingers with his own.

They sat thus for some moments, lost in each other's gaze, before Eden removed her hand and said, briskly, "Very well, then. I shall speak to you when I have seen Mr. Rellihan—if I have good news, that is."

"Please—send round to me either way. I'd like to know what he says."

Seth congratulated himself silently in a fair surety of Rellihan's reaction. The gentleman had made several profitable sales to the Duke of Derwent through the duke's efficient man of affairs, and if Seth was not very much mistaken, Mr. Rellihan would be quick to encourage one who was represented to him as a protégé of both the duke and himself.

This proved to be the case, for when Seth visited Rellihan's gallery later that same day, the gentleman professed his eagerness to take up the young artist's cause, particularly when Seth declared his intention of purchasing at least one of the paintings. In addition. His Grace, of course, would wish one himself. A floral work, perhaps, suitable for one of His Grace's reception rooms.

Seamus Rellihan, a rotund personage of some fifty summers, rubbed his hands gleefully. The late afternoon sun glinted off the surface of his polished bald pate and created little halos around his gold-rimmed spectacles.

"Yes, indeed, Mr. Lindow, I am not surprised to hear that His Grace was taken with Miss Beckett's work. I found it remarkably expressive—evocative, as it were. I'm pleased that she found favor with him, for, while I must admit I had my doubts about her marketability, I very much like her style, myself. I shouldn't wonder, with His Grace to bring her into fashion, she might become all the rage."

Seth left the little man lost in his beatific vision and repaired to Derwent House, where he spent the rest of the afternoon in his study, staring at the wall.

What was he to do about Eden? The question buzzed about in his mind like a bothersome insect. It had always been his policy to avoid the maidens of the
ton.
On the rare occasion when he had been attracted to one of them, he lost no time in distancing himself. He was a burnt child who had learned his lesson well, he reflected, his thoughts hurtling back to the Lady Melissa Frumenty, whose path had crossed his not long after he had come down from Oxford. The daughter of an earl, endowed with beauty, wit, and warmth, she had responded to his attentions with a flattering enthusiasm. Matters progressed, but just as he had begun working up to a proposal of marriage, her father had got wind of their
affaire de coeur.
He had threatened to horsewhip Seth and had gone to the duke, full of a fine outrage. Father had read him an abrupt lecture on his station in life. The earl, apparently, discoursed to his daughter on the same subject. The next time he and Melissa met, she favored him with two fingertips and an anguished glance. After that, he rarely saw her at all. A few months later, he read of her betrothal to the Marquess of Milverhampton's son and heir. For some months, he felt his life blighted and not worth living, but in an astonishingly short time, he had made a full recovery. Thereafter, however, he had confined his amours to brief, meaningless flirtations. From time to time he kept a mistress in a discreet town house in St. John's Wood, leased for this purpose, but of late years, even this pleasure had palled. The house had stood empty for some months.

And now, into his life, had blown Eden Beckett, like a delicate leaf borne on a gust of brisk March wind. Was he attracted to the unusual Miss Beckett? Oh, yes. For all his protestations of mere friendship, he could not spend five minutes in her presence without falling into the moonlit pools of her gaze. He thought often of the kiss they had shared in her studio at Clearsprings and very much wished to repeat the experience. He felt he had known her always, and that there was nothing he could not talk about to her.

He almost groaned aloud at the sheer folly of his musings. It was unlikely that Lord Beckett would accept an offer for his daughter's hand from the offspring of an army sergeant, adopted son of the Duke of Derwent or no. Beckett wanted money very badly, and Seth was wealthy in his own right, but would that be enough to sway the status-hungry lord? Seth doubted it.

As for Eden, how would she feel about marrying one of such low birth? He felt she would not be much swayed by his wealth, even if she were aware of its full extent. He thought she might have some feeling toward him—again the memory of that stolen kiss washed over him. She had responded with an ardor that astonished and delighted him. However, one might chalk the experience to the circumstances—the isolated intimacy of the dimly lit studio, and perhaps too much wine earlier at the Becketts' party.

In any event, it was apparent she thought of him as a friend, one who could help her in her present endeavors. Was that all she saw when she looked at him? It was impossible to say, but he felt sure that if a more likely suitor were to appear on the horizon, Eden would not hesitate to accept his attentions, forgetting she had ever known Seth Lindow.

He shrugged and turned his attention to the papers that lay scattered on his desk, reminders that he was paid handsomely to manage the Duke of Derwent's affairs and he had better not forget that fact.

The next day, Eden turned her attention to Zoë. This time Zoë's efforts to play least-in-sight were to no avail. When the girl's maid entered her bedchamber with a breakfast tray, Eden was right behind her. She ignored Zoë's expression of displeasure on beholding her sister.

"Good morning, dearest," Eden said brightly. "It promises to be fine today. Would you like to go for a stroll in the Park? Or perhaps some shopping in Bond Street? I declare, after some consideration, I believe you should purchase the shoes you saw in Megrieve's window. They would admirably complement your new ball gown."

She plumped herself down on Zoë's bed and helped herself to a slice of toast as the maid busied herself about the room, flinging open the curtains and pouring water in the washbasin. When the servant had taken herself from the room, Zoë favored her sister with a grimace.

"What is it you want, Eden? And do stop burbling about the weather."

"You know very well what I want. You've been avoiding me for two days, and it's time for a cozy chat."

"Very well. I will admit that it was singularly ill-advised to participate in a tête-à-tête with B—that is, the Marquess of Belhaven."

"You must surely have known that before you ever swept off with him to that scrubby little alcove. Zoë, you intended to meet him at the masquerade—that's why you whined and wheedled your way into going!"

"Yes," replied Zoë unrepentantly.

"Then, why—?"

"I'm very attracted to Bel," said Zoë sulkily. "You have to admit there's a lot to be attracted to. All those muscles, the masses of golden hair, and his eyes—such a compelling shade of blue, don't you think?"

"And his habit of seducing anything with a bosom—to say nothing of his fondness for striking women."

A frown creased Zoë's forehead. "Mm. That did come as an unpleasant surprise. I... I'm sorry that you should have been the victim of my poor judgment in meeting him alone."

"Does this mean you do not plan to do so again?"

Again Zoë's forehead wrinkled. "I'm not sure."

"Zoë! Good God, how can you even think of seeing him again? Even the thought of encountering him in a roomful of people is enough to give me the shudders."

"I know, but, Eden, there's something about him. I don't know ... when I'm with him, I feel... alive. I know he has a perfectly dreadful reputation, and I'm sure it's well earned, but I can't help feeling that underneath, he's ... I don't know ..."

"Just waiting for the love of a good woman?" asked Eden caustically. A flush rose to Zoë's cheeks.

"Yes, something like that," she returned defiantly. "And I'm sure I could make him love me."

"I can only say, I think you've taken leave of your senses."

"That may be," Zoë retorted, "but I've heard it said that love is a fine madness."

"Lord, are you in love with him?"

"I... I'm not sure, but I think I could be. And I'd like to find out."

Eden felt chilled to her marrow. "Zoë! You'd be walking into a ... Gothic novel! You can't... you
surely
can't be thinking of marrying him."

Zoë took a thoughtful sip of coffee. "I don't know," she said slowly, and Eden felt the blood congeal in her veins. "I would like to be married to a marquess—and even better I'd like to be a duchess later on. Even if he were a failure as a husband, I would still be a duchess. Perhaps I could be like the Duchess of York, who rarely sees her husband at all." Eden stared as she laughed airily. "I could breed dogs at—where is it? The Priory, I think—and invite interesting people to come see me. I could give parties and sweep into London now and then to set the town on its ear."

Her vivid little face suddenly grew serious. "But I would try very hard to make Bel become a good husband. There is—I don't know how to explain it—something between us, I think— and I believe he felt it, too—from the moment he took me in his arms for that disgraceful waltz. Something he has not experienced with many women—if any at all."