Anne Barbour (26 page)

Chapter Twenty

Eden simply gaped at her father. "What are you talking about, Papa?" she gasped faintly.

"I had an interesting conversation with the Duke of Derwent tonight at Hunstanton House. Nothing has been settled yet, but he is most impressed with you, m'dear—so much so that he is considering you as a bride for his heir."

"Me?" The word came out in a strangled croak. "His heir? You mean Belhaven?"

"None other. To be frank," he added kindly, "I rather had the impression that Zoë was their first choice, but she didn't measure up—not surprising. Lovely girl, of course, but a little bumptious for a future duchess."

"B-but... are you sure you heard him aright? What in the world could have led His Grace to so much consider me—or Zoë—for the position?"

"Why, it was Lindow, of course."

"Seth?" asked Eden, puzzled. "What could Seth possibly have to do with recommending a bride to the Duke of Derwent? Did he see something in Zoë during his visit to Clearsprings? I cannot believe that he would suggest an innocent like Zoë for such a position. For Seth," she explained earnestly, "sees Bel clearly for what he is, even though the two are brothers."

"Huh, much you know," retorted Lord Beckett. "If I read His Grace right, Lindow's purpose in coming to Clearsprings was not merely to purchase a few nags, but to make an appraisal of Zoë's qualifications as Belhaven's bride."

This time Eden was bereft of speech. He could not be serious! Seth? She had wondered at his purpose in coming to Clearsprings. But... his visit a complete fabrication? She turned again to her father, who stood rocking on his heels in self-congratulation.

"Are you sure?" she asked again, faintly. "I... I mean, it seems so impossible. Even if the duke had decided it is time for Bel to marry, why would he find it necessary to send Seth to scour the countryside for a bride? Surely, if Bel could be brought to the same notion, it would take only a twitch of the duke's little finger to bring prospective maidens lining up from Land's End to John O'Groats."

Lord Beckett cleared his throat. "Um, as to that, the duke wasn't specific, but I gather that the youngster has got into a spot of trouble recently. Nothing but youthful high spirits, I'm sure, but he's acquired a rather unsavory reputation. I understand that some of your niminy-piminy, milk-and-water misses won't give the lad the time of day."

"Yes, that's true," said Eden tonelessly. "An unsavory reputation is putting it mildly. Most parents," she added stringently, "would be unwilling to turn their daughters over to the tender mercies of the Marquess of Belhaven."

"Umph," replied her father, flushing slightly. "Well, I would not be so hasty, nor would any person of sense. That particular title comes with a fortune beyond my—that is, our wildest dreams."

It seemed to Eden that she had been plunged into a nightmare, where light and shadows whirled about the room in a harsh, almost physical presence, and where nothing made sense. She was having difficulty concentrating. "Papa— Surely you don't mean to allow Zoë to marry Belhaven!"

She almost used the word "coerce," but it struck her that, in light of recent discoveries, it would take little to send Zoë flying into Belhaven's evil influence.

"No, I don't. Didn't I just tell you? It's
you
the duke wants for his heir. Apparently, after looking Zoë over—I have to tell you, the duke was a little in his cups and said perhaps more than he should—he and that hatchet-faced sister of his decided she wasn't biddable enough. Or some such. At any rate, they decided
you
would fit the bill admirably."

"Oh, God." Eden swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. She wanted to scream her denial. She realized with stunning suddenness, however, that she had no time now to indulge in the agony of recrimination and betrayal on whose edge she teetered so precipitously. She was, she knew, in a struggle for her very existence.

She straightened abruptly and glared at her father. "I'm not going to marry Belhaven, Papa. From what I know of him, I might very well be signing my death warrant."

"Tchah! You sound like a heroine in one of those stupid books you and Zoë are always reading. You'd have to be out of your mind to turn down an alliance with the house of Lindow."

Eden turned to face him directly. Dear God, please let her say the right thing to Papa, before his will hardened any further.

"Papa, I have always been a dutiful daughter. I love you and Mama and Zoë dearly, but I cannot do this. I cannot believe you would ask it of me." Beneath her words lay the almost shattering pain of Seth's duplicity, a wound she knew would never heal, but she forced it from her consciousness. The hurt would be addressed later.

To her surprise. Lord Beckett merely chuckled. "Feminine nerves, m'dear. You just sleep on it, and by morning, I'm sure your good sense will tell you of all the advantages to such a union. You'll be set for life—a by-God duchess."

He was fairly dancing in place before the crackling hearth.

"By Jupiter, I'll be set for life, too. I'll be someone now. No more the country baron clinging to his pittance in obscurity. And Zoë—there will be no question of her snabbling her peer."

"And what about me, Papa? You may speak of titles and wealth and your plump purse, but would you buy them all at my expense? Do I mean so little to you that you would sell me as a brood mare to a man who, from all reports, is completely unbalanced?"

"Tchah!" said Lord Beckett again, more explosively. "I'm sure the reports of his escapades are just the usual tittle-tattle that is spread about any young buck these days."

"Papa, everyone knows what Lord Belhaven is—a degenerate who has gambled away his sustenance, ruined several gently bred young women, and is strongly suspected of beating his own groom nearly to death."

"All rumor, I'm sure. Marriage will no doubt settle him down. In any event, we do not need to discuss this further right now. I have an appointment with His Grace tomorrow morning, when we will discuss settlements." Another smile erupted at this lovely word. "Then Belhaven will no doubt come to you and do the pretty. You and your mama can talk of dates and wedding journeys and all that folderol."

"Papa—"

Lord Bartlett lifted a meaty hand. "No more talk now. You go on up now and seek your bed. You may expect a busy day tomorrow."

He opened the door in a dismissive gesture, and the next moment Eden found herself in the corridor, staring at the paneling. Somehow, she made her way upstairs and sat still and cold through her maid's ministrations, but when she slid into bed, she lay for some moments staring into the darkness before rolling over to bury her head in her arms.

Had Seth actually set out to find a bride for his wretched brother among the dwindling number of gently bred maidens who would consider marrying Bel? Then, having made up his list, perhaps narrowing it down to a select few, taken a trip to the country for a cold-blooded assessment of Zoë's suitability? Dear Lord, she had thought him a friend to her family!

And what was it Papa had said? She could feel the blood buzzing in her ears as she contemplated her father's theory that, having found Zoë wanting, he transferred his attention to herself. Of course. Seth would have perceived almost immediately that Zoë would not fit the ducal requirements, for the Derwents would want a submissive bride, one who would not complain of her treatment at Bel's hands. They would no doubt want a female content to remain immured at the family seat, producing the requisite heir and spare without protest, and making no further demands on any of them.

Who better to fill Seth's needs than quiet, colorless Eden Beckett, whose stated desire in life was to remain in the country surrounded by her flowers and her paint pots. Dear God! Eden had managed to maintain her composure before her father, but now she wanted to scream her despair. Seth was her friend! He had become her confidante and, she had come to realize of late, her love. And now, Papa had told her, in that odiously oily, satisfied voice, that Seth had been appraising her sister's possibilities—and subsequently her own—as though they were minimally acceptable breeding cattle. What she had taken for an interest in her and her artistic aspirations was nothing more than research on his part. He had no doubt mentally recorded with relief every syllable that confirmed his opinion of her as a reclusive doormat—a poor, sniveling hinny hat would do as she was told and put up with any abuse the villainous Marquess of Belhaven saw fit to heap on her. Dear Lord, Seth was willing to fasten her into a life of bondage merely to satisfy the Duke of Derwent's whim.

And she, basking in an unaccustomed glow of a little masculine attention, had risen to his every lure. She had poured out her heart and soul to him, revealing every facet of her dreams and aspirations. How he must have laughed at her blushful, naive confidences. No wonder he had expressed his disapproval of her intention to set up her own household. We couldn't have that, now could we?—the prospective bride of the Derwent heir haring off on her own to pursue a career as an artist. He had humored her, no doubt with a view to discarding her plans on the trash heap, once he had her safely buckled to Bel.

Lord, she had infused her voice with blatant invitation the last time she had received him at Nassington House. He must have been horribly embarrassed and possibly concerned that she was trying to force him into a compromising position. No wonder he had bolted like a hunted hare. And no wonder he had scurried back to her side to seek her assistance in keeping Bel and Zoë apart. An affair with Zoë at this point would throw a spanner into his carefully calculated plans for Bel.

Eden fairly trembled with self-loathing and humiliation. She had allowed the snake to kiss her! She had responded with wanton abandon to his advances. Of course, that was before he had determined that it was her humble self rather than her flamboyant sister who would be led to the slaughter. No doubt he saw no harm in a little dalliance on the side in the pursuit of his duties. How could she have been so taken in?

Over the course of an interminable night the question rang in her ears in a dozen different versions, each one more unpleasant than the last. She longed to sob out her hurt, but found she was unable to cry. Dry-eyed and icy with anguish, she considered her future. It had seemed so promising just a few hours ago, but now it had turned to ashes. When she arose with the dawn that slowly limned the outlines of the room, she was unrefreshed, curiously empty, and lonelier than she could ever recall being in her life. Lonely and bitter, angry and hurt, and wishing with all her heart that she had never met Seth Lindow.

The morning brought no relief. She sought out her father, in hopes that she might sway him before he set out for his interview with the duke. She failed utterly. Not only was Papa even more set up in his rosy plans for the future of the Beckett family, but he would brook not even the appearance of opposition from his daughter.

"Dammit, Eden," he said irritably, "here I present you with news that would have any other young woman dancing in the chandeliers, and all you can do is whine. I tell you, I won't have it, do y'hear? I will not have it! When I have returned from Derwent House, I shall inform your mother and your sister of our good fortune, and you will put a good face on it. You will, by God, be happy!"

With this, he slammed out of the house. Eden was left to contain herself as best she might until Papa returned, deigning to inform her of her future.

Feeling that she must either get out of the house or burst, she returned to her bedchamber to change clothes for a brisk walk. She found it hard to concentrate and found herself on several occasions, staring into space, holding a shoe motionless, or her scarf half flung over her shoulder. At last, she was ready to make her way to the park, but she halted suddenly on the staircase.

Zoë!

Good heavens, she had been so absorbed in her own problems, she had completely forgotten Zoë's involvement with the wretched Belhaven. So conditioned was she to putting her sister's affairs before her own, that she did not hesitate in whirling about to mount the stairs once more.

Zoë, of course, was still deep in slumber, but Eden bustled about the room, flinging open curtains and shutters.

"Wha—?" mumbled Zoë, burrowing beneath her pillows. "Ed'n, is that you? What the
deuce—
?"

"Language, language, dearest." Eden tugged vigorously on the bellpull. She then plumped down on the bed. "Now, then, wake up. Beadle will be here in a moment with chocolate, and then we can have a comfortable coze."

"A
what?”
Zoë pulled the covers over her head. "Eden, have you gone out of your mind? What time is it?"

"It is time to open your budget, sister mine. There will be no day-long shopping trips, or visits to old friends for hours. I want to talk to you—and you are going to talk to me."

"Won't," mumbled Zoë, sounding very much like her six-year-old self.

"Will," retorted Eden in an exchange unused since childhood.

A few minutes later, seated in an armchair near the bed, with Zoë settled in a nest of pillows, sipping chocolate, Eden opened negotiations. "I know what you've been up to with Belhaven."

Zoë jerked spasmodically, causing her to spill some of the chocolate, but she said only, "I beg your pardon?" widening her eyes in azure innocence.

"Don't try your little ways with me," retorted her sister. "You've been sneaking off to meet him! I think it's you who have lost your mind."

Zoë's lips curved in an odd smile. "Perhaps I have."

"Zoë!" gasped Eden in consternation. "What have you done?"

Zoë shrugged, white shoulders rising from the embroidered lawn of her night rail. "Good Lord, Eden, I haven't done anything. Except—well, yes, I did go out to meet Bel," she admitted, picking at the coverlet defiantly.

"And it's not the first time, is it? Oh, Zoë, I do not mean to fratch at you, but you are traveling toward disaster."

Zoë's musical laugh rippled from the warren of silken bedclothes. "Don't be absurd, dearest. I know what I'm doing. Bel is ... amusing. That is all. He makes me feel treasured and ... well, seductive."