Anne Barbour (25 page)

In any event, she had gone to some lengths to keep her name a secret. Perhaps with the assurance of her continued anonymity. Papa would be more amenable to her selling her daubs.

And then there was Zoë. The girl was behaving in an extremely odd manner lately. She was still an engaging, willful sprite, but now she was unwontedly pensive. She vanished into her room on increasingly frequent occasions and would not be seen for hours. She declined her sister's company on shopping expeditions, but would depart in the morning with a friend, or simply her maid for company and reappear just in time for dinner, burdened with packages.

She was apparently becoming disenchanted with her current crop of admirers. At Lady Winslow's ball, she quarreled with the Viscount Hadley, to Mama's intense displeasure. Now, she seemed not to care that the rift still stood unhealed, and when the viscount made tentative peace overtures, she ignored him. In addition, Zoë no longer perused bouquets and trinkets sent to her with the eagerness she had formerly displayed.

Eden knew a twinge of foreboding. Zoë never spoke of Belhaven, although she might comment idly if his name came up. She turned aside Eden's casual queries with a shrug of her shoulders, and an interrogation of her maid. Beadle, proved fruitless.

Eden turned her mind resolutely from the problem. After all, was she her sister's keeper? Zoë was an adult—theoretically— and thus must be allowed to lead her own life.

She was leaving the house one afternoon for Weirhaven House when she was surprised to encounter Seth mounting the front steps.

He smiled, a polite curving of his lips that held none of the warmth to which she had become accustomed. She nodded courteously and waited for him to explain his presence. He seemed somewhat discomfited, but raised his hat.

"Good afternoon. Miss Beckett. I hope I have not come to call at an inconvenient time."

Really! The gall of the man. Did he think to find her with her nose pressed against the drawing room window, desperately hoping he would appear? She carefully ignored the fact that she had done just that for a good fortnight after his last visit.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," she replied coolly. "I was just on my way out."

"But I have come to see you," he said in what could only be considered a plaintive tone.

"How very unfortunate." Eden's tone remained even, and she allowed not the slightest hint of encouragement to creep into her voice. "I'm afraid I have an appointment for which I am already unforgivably late."

"I see." Seth spoke with an icy politeness to equal her own.

Eden nodded coolly and proceeded to her carriage. Once inside, with a gesture to the coachman, she clattered away without a backward glance. Seth stood, indecisively, on the front steps of Nassington House. What was he going to do, now? He
had
to apprise Eden of what he had seen in Green Park.

Horsley coughed discreetly, and bending an insouciant smile on him, Seth turned to exit Portman Square.

When Eden returned a few hours later, tired from an afternoon spent before her easel with the obstreperous Weirhaven daughters, and in no better mood than when she had left the house, Seth was no longer on the premises. Eden had hoped that perhaps ... She thrust the thought from her mind and removed bonnet, gloves, and pelisse in mechanical fashion.

Making her way upstairs to her chamber, she began preparations for yet another ball, this time at the home of the Marquess of Hunstanton and his lady.

Some hours later, the festivities at Hunstanton House were in full swing when Seth made his entrance. At the top of the great staircase, he was greeted with flattering cordiality by both the marquess and the marchioness before proceeding into the ballroom. His eyes searched the chamber. Hunstanton House was the last place on the planet he wanted to be tonight, but he rather thought the Beckett family would be putting in an appearance. Surely, he could successfully waylay Eden in the crush of guests and whisk her off for a private conversation. Ah, there she was, gowned in one of what he had com& to term her "spinster rig." It appeared to be the same shapeless sack in which she'd been garbed the first time he had seen her. Lord, how could he have failed then to perceive the delicate beauty that lay beneath the unpromising exterior. Tonight she was very pale, her head held proudly atop her slender neck. Her gaze swung to him almost immediately. Seth hastened toward her.

Once more she treated him to a cool smile. At least, she did not speed off in the opposite direction. After a routine exchange of pleasantries, he ventured to lay a hand on her arm.

"I wonder if I could have a word with you—in private," he murmured in as importuneless a tone as he could manage. Nonetheless, her arm grew rigid under his.

"As I recall, there is an alcove concealed behind that ghastly potted plant in the corner. If we're quick, we can lay our claim before some other couple desirous of privacy snabbles it." As he had hoped, the lightness of his words brought a slight relaxation to the tightness of her lips. He slipped his hand under her elbow and propelled her gently toward the alcove.

Eden felt as though she were moving in a kaleidoscope. The individual components of the ballroom, as well as the throng of guests, seemed to whirl about her in a confused splash of color and noise. What was Seth about? After his crude dismissal of her and his subsequent disappearance from the face of the earth, why was he now seeking her out with the persistence of a housewife seeking a bargain at the butcher shop? For she was sure his only reason for attending the Hunstanton ball had been to speak to her. His nearness was having its usual effect on her, and her flesh burned under his fingers.

The alcove proved to be furnished conveniently with two small satin-covered chairs.

"There now." Unthinking, Seth took Eden's hand into his own, and although color rose to her cheeks, she did not withdraw it.

She lifted her gaze to Seth. "What was it you wished to impart to me?"

Seth's expression grew serious, and he tightened his hold on Eden's hand. He took little time in telling his tale.

"Oh, dear God," breathed Eden when he had finished. "I had no idea—although I suppose I should have known," she concluded bitterly. "Once Zoë comprehended that Bel was forbidden fruit, she would, of course, lose no time in hurling herself into his arms. I could just strangle the little widgeon."

"I hesitated to approach Bel, for anything I might say or do to him would only serve to cement his determination to seduce Zoë."

Eden shuddered at the word. "You're quite right. It is up to me to keep Zoë under lock and key until we remove to Clearsprings once again." She paused, arranging carefully in her mind the words she wished to speak. "I... I thank you, Seth, for coming to me with this information. I know you are busy, and ... and you do not ordinarily attend these things." She swept her arm toward the ballroom.

"Not at all," Seth replied stiffly. For an instant, a swift, hungry expression leapt to his features. "It's good to see you, Eden. I've missed you." He spoke the words painfully, almost unwillingly.

Eden experienced a spurt of indignation. She lifted her eyes to stare directly into his.

"Have you?" she asked dryly.

Gazing into her eyes, Seth felt enveloped in a chill gray mist. He wanted only to gather Eden in his arms and beg her forgiveness for his cavalier treatment of the past weeks, but no. He must remember his resolution to put his feelings for Eden away from him. Lord, he did not know it would be like severing an arm. He groped for a new subject.

"You don't think you should tell your parents of Bel's ... pursuit of Zoë?"

"Oh, no!" she exclaimed involuntarily. "That is, yes, I suppose I should, but I've never tipped the double, if you will forgive my vulgarity. I've always managed to handle Zoë's transgressions on my own without betraying her trust. If I were to do so, I fear she would never confide in me again—although she certainly has not been open with me in this latest series of escapades. Still, my main leverage with Zoë has always been that she knows I'll keep her little secrets."

Eden sighed. "If I have to go to Papa to keep her from ruining her life, I will, but I would much prefer to handle the situation myself. I shall simply be obliged to increase my watchfulness."

"I'll try to keep an eye on Bel, as well, although that will be difficult. He goes to pretty extravagant lengths to avoid me."

"Do you take him to task so often, then?"

"No. At least, not so frequently as he deserves. Not that I have the slightest influence over him, being, of course, beneath his notice."

Eden looked at him quickly. There it was again, that bitterness when he spoke of his adopted family. "Is your father here tonight?" she asked idly.

"Yes, I believe so. At least, he told me he intended to make an appearance. I'm not sure why," he added a trifle uneasily. "He and Lord Hunstanton are not the best of friends, and they rarely appear at the same functions."

A silence fell between the two at this point, and Seth seemed to realize for the first time that he held Eden's hand in his. He released it as though he had just been informed she had the plague, then reddened as though realizing his gaucherie.

"Perhaps," he said in a strangled voice, "we should rejoin the company."

Eden wanted to cry out for an explanation of Seth's sudden coolness over the last few days, but she tightened her lips. One had one's pride, after all. He may have felt obliged to warn Eden of Zoë's mischief, but he seemed in no way inclined to resume the relationship that had unaccountably become as the breath of life itself to her.

"Why, there is the duke now," she remarked as they moved into the ballroom. "Good heavens, he's speaking to Papa— again." She swiveled to face Seth. "Do you have any idea—oh, look, the duke is urging Papa from the room—toward one of the salons. What in the world—?"

But Seth had drawn her farther into the crowd of dancers. The orchestra was just swinging into a boulanger, and he hastily drew her into a set for the spirited dance. She had no opportunity for speech with him until the last strains of the music had faded away. By that time, Seth had begun another topic of conversation, one which, Eden suspected, he had rehearsed during the course of the dance in order to forestall any more questions about the duke's behavior with her father.

It was some time before she saw her father again, but shortly before the supper hour, she observed him approaching Mama with an air of barely suppressed excitement. Drawing his wife aside, he spoke briefly in her ear, with the result that Mama dropped her fan and placed a hand to her breast. An expression of beatific joy spread across her placid features, and she glanced quickly about the room as though searching for someone. Her gaze did not cross that of Eden's, and after a moment, Eden shrugged and turned away, only to bump into Lady Shipstead.

"My dear Miss Beckett," said the countess, fairly bubbling over with bonhomie. "How very nice to see you. I must say you are in looks."

Which left Eden in some doubt as to her ladyship's eyesight. However, the countess stayed to chat for several minutes before moving off to another conversation, and her ladyship took pains to speak to her in passing several more times that evening.

She had hoped that Seth might ask to take her in to supper, but looking around, she rather thought he must have left the premises. She would, of course, have refused his offer to escort her to the dining room, but now, any enjoyment she might have taken in the evening darkened and died. She was at least saved from the ignominy of trooping into supper with the group of maiden ladies and matrons who had been seated along the walls of the ballroom. As the moment approached, her company was solicited by Mr. Horace Wicheldon, a widower with a quiverful of unruly children for whom he was desperately seeking a mother.

She observed Zoë enter the chamber on the arm of young Lord Gundrip. She laughed gaily up into his face, but her eyes were blank and disinterested. Supper took a mere eternity to pass, and the rest of the evening was spent watching Zoë. Eden almost expected Bel to put in an appearance, but he remained mercifully elsewhere. At last, when Eden's head was fairly ringing with empty smiles and inane platitudes, the Hunstantons' guests began drifting back down the stairs and toward the front door.

The Duke of Derwent, who had smiled at her from a distance several times during the evening, was among the first to leave, with his sister on his arm. Both the duke and her ladyship nodded cordially as they made their way to the door. Eden wondered if somehow word had reached them of her modest success in the art world. She could think of no other reason why the Lindows should single her out for such condescension.

It was some time before the Beckett carriage made its way along the street to the front portal of Hunstanton House, and Lady Beckett and Zoë declared themselves heartily sick of standing about on the pavement while others were taken up.

"At least it isn't raining," remarked Eden prosaically.

"Never mind the weather," growled Lord Beckett in Eden's ear as they mounted their vehicle at long last. "When we arrive home, come to my study. I must speak to you privately."

Wondering, Eden contented herself with her own thoughts during the short drive home. Zoë, bidding the others a brief good night, scurried up the stairs. Lady Beckett, her eyes bright with a secret excitement and her hands fairly vibrating in the air, hugged her daughter.

"Oh, my dear child, what a marvelous evening this has been!" With this cryptic expression, she kissed Eden's cheek with extraordinary vigor and hurried upstairs after Zoë.

Shaking her head in puzzlement, Eden made her way to the back of the house. Lord Beckett was right behind her and he hustled her into the room.

"Well, missy," he said, rubbing his hands as he made directly for the brandy decanter, "I have some most excellent news for you."

His smile curved so broad that his face resembled a split melon. Eden could only stare at him in wonderment.

"How would you like, m'dear, to be the Marchioness of Belhaven and the future Duchess of Derwent?"