CHAPTER 19
D amien was not a man who disliked the companionship of women, but after three months at Haynesdale Manor with his mother and ward, and Lady Dalhousie visiting at least once a week, and with the property overrun by workmen, he was more than ready to return to town alone. So it was that he arrived in London a full month before his mother’s planned arrival, intent upon making the most of the interval.
Regrettably, he had heard nothing from anyone who might aid in the quest to see Esmeralda’s book published. He was also ready to be more assertive in pursuing that goal.
He missed her.
The house on Grosvenor Square had been prepared for him, of course, and Higgins sent out the entire staff to line up on the steps to greet him. Everything was swept and polished; there were fresh flowers on the table in the foyer; the salver of calling cards overflowed even at this time of year; the fire crackled on the hearth in his study. He shed his coat and jacket, welcoming the light repast that Higgins delivered to him before the fire as his belongings were taken to his chambers. It was good to be back in town and though he was not as curmudgeonly as he let people believe, it was also restorative to take refuge in his own company. He heaved a sigh of contentment, then Higgins presented one letter to him on a small tray.
“This came this morning, sir. I thought it might be of import.”
Damien recognized Edward Carruthers’ meticulous hand and dared to hope that man had heard some tidings about the publication of Esmeralda’s book. He thanked Higgins, who left on silent feet and closed the door behind himself.
Damien closed his eyes for a moment. He listened to the muffled sounds of activity in the house and the street, savoring his solitude, then opened the letter.
The publisher enquired after Damien’s view of an Arthur Beckham, who had offered for the middle Carruthers’ girl.
Arthur Beckham. A rascal by Damien’s thinking, but not a wicked one. No, the younger man was more mischievous than anything else. Reckless, perhaps. Confident, to be sure. No doubt a result of his mother doting upon him. He had a flair that was attractive to women.
But was the middle girl not a bit plain and conservative? Damien referred to the letter again. Yes, her name was Patience and he recalled her tidy appearance.
That made her an unusual choice of bride for Beckham. There had to be more to the tale, and Damien knew who among his acquaintances might be most likely to know it.
Whether she would confide in him or not was another matter, but he was delighted to have cause to write to Miss Esmeralda Ballantyne.
It was September when Esmeralda realized she was with child.
There could be no mistaking her situation. She was violently ill each morning, precisely as she had been the last time.
The difference was that this time, she knew the identity of the father. Was she obliged to break the silence between them and tell the duke of his by-blow? There had been no other man in her chambers this year. She had been as a recluse, busily compiled the pages of her book again, all the summer long. There could be no doubt of the child’s paternity.
But if she told him, he might take the child from her. If it was a boy, he most certainly would do as much. Esmeralda had surrendered one child soon after delivery and was disinclined to lose another.
She did not care what that meant for her reputation, or how that might impact her finances. She carried the duke’s child, and she could not quell her delight that some hint of the man who had claimed her heart would remain in her life.
She was utterly resolved never to see the man in question again, at least not by choice, when his invitation arrived.
Damien DeVries,
the Duke of Haynesdale,
cordially invites
Miss Esmeralda Ballantyne
to join him in his box at
the Drury Lane Theater
for the performance of
Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme
on Wednesday September 10.
This very night.
She should decline and immediately, but Esmeralda had not attended the theater in months. She also should thank him for sending the reward to her, and thus enabling her to keep to herself and pay her bills. She tapped the invitation on the mantle and looked out the window.
She would like to see him, at the very least.
She could decide whether to tell him about the child after she assessed his manner. If he was as cold as previously, she would keep the news to herself – but in a corner of her heart, she could not help but wish for a more enthusiastic greeting.
She would wear the sapphire silk, the one with silver embroidery, and the rhinestone pins in her hair. The diamond and sapphire necklace, the one made of excellent glass forgeries, would add the perfect sparkle.
Her decision made, Esmeralda summoned her maid and climbed to her chamber, intent on ensuring all was as she wished it to be. She could not quell a quiver of anticipation, much less a hope that the duke had more on his mind than conversation.
She told herself it was only because she would prefer to part amiably, but Esmeralda knew that was not the fullness of the truth.
Esmeralda arrived at the theater to find that the duke was not yet in attendance. She went to his box and was ushered into it. The theater was brightly illuminated and she stood at the lip of the box, admiring the change that gas light had brought to the interior. No more candles and dripping wax. Far less potential for fire. She stood and surveyed the other attendees, letting all and sundry note that she was in the duke’s box.
If he wished to appear as strangers, he should not have invited her to join him here.
She wondered as she settled into a seat, the whisper of speculation rising around her, just what the man’s plan might be. A footman informed her that the duke had been delayed and offered her a beverage. She accepted a glass of orgeat lemonade.
To her surprise, it was a young buck with fair hair who arrived next. She knew Arthur Beckham slightly, though he had never been one of her clients. They had flirted once or twice in previous seasons and she was well aware of the tide of gossip that followed him.
She liked him. He had a forthright manner that she could only admire. To be sure, he indulged in many pleasures and often in scandalous behavior, but there was no malice in Beckham. No, she considered him both mischievous and charming, and she smiled at his appearance in the box.
He bowed low before her. “You might be a goddess of the heavens, Miss Ballantyne, so adorned with stars.”
She was amused that he referred to the rhinestone pins in her hair, shaped like stars. “Mr. Beckham. I had heard that you were returned from Venice. How was the weather?”
“Perfect in every way, although I find myself with two new cats.” His brows rose with feigned alarm, as if he had opened his luggage in London and been surprised by their presence. She knew he had played a larger role in their relocation than he implied, so laughed at his manner.
“I can imagine that they might have been desolated by the prospect of your departure.”
“On the contrary, I was the one who could not leave them behind, although there were moments on our return journey that I doubted the wisdom of my impulse.”
“Cats, in my experience, suffer worse from the discomforts of travel than most people.”
“These do, indeed.”
“How fortunate then that you have arrived and they can push such memories aside.”
“Our cook has proven to be adept at finding them morsels of fish,” he confessed with a grin. “I believe they would follow her anywhere.”
They laughed together and the footman offered orgeat lemonade to the new arrival. It was immediately evident that Beckham did not care for the beverage, though he strove to hide his reaction. No doubt he did not wish to offend his host, even though the duke had yet to appear.
“You would prefer a brandy or a glass of Madeira, I suppose?” Esmeralda teased, then clicked her tongue. “Best to abandon such indulgences until after your wedding night, unless it is your intention to disappoint.”
Arthur blinked in surprise, but he should have known that everyone was talking about his uncle’s wager, and Mr. Grosvenor’s satisfaction in winning such a husband for his daughter at cards. It was a poor way to find a spouse in Esmeralda’s view, but she supposed Beckham was caught in the defense of his uncle’s supposed honor.
“I did not realize my suit was common knowledge,” Beckham said, taking a glass of orgeat lemonade as if it were a poison elixir. He sipped and winced a little, despite his obvious desire to quell that impulse. He must have dire need of the duke’s favor. “You are well informed.”
“It is a habit that is difficult to abandon.”
Indeed, Beckham sipped again of the beverage, more heartily this time. Why was he here? What would he ask of the duke?
“I confess myself surprised at the news you intended to wed,” she said when he did not speak.
“By my mother’s accounting, I should have done as much already,” Beckham said. “But yes, I have formed an alliance and will wed shortly.”
Still he did not expound upon the details and Esmeralda wished to know more. She considered the depths of her glass. “And you are in search of His Grace on this evening for a reason?”
“I was summoned by him.”
Esmeralda straightened. “Summoned? That is a strong choice of word, Mr. Beckham. Surely the duke was more gracious than that.”
“He has a talent, Miss Ballantyne, for sheathing an iron fist in a velvet glove. I had no doubt that my attendance was mandatory, nor was I so foolish as to be late.”
How curious.
Did Beckham’s invitation have any connection with her own?
“Do you know why he sought your presence here tonight?”
“No. I wonder, though, if it has to do with my pending engagement.” Esmeralda waited and this time, Beckham did continue. “The lady’s father did say he would consult with the duke on the matter.”
How strange that the explanation should provide no illumination at all. “But why?”
“I cannot say. Perhaps they are good friends. Perhaps he respects His Grace’s counsel.” Arthur shrugged.
“How curious. I did not realize that Mr. Grosvenor and His Grace were acquainted.”
Beckham’s eyes lit with understanding. “Oh, you mistake my intention, Miss Ballantyne. It is not Miss Grosvenor I would marry, but Miss Patience Carruthers.”
Miss Patience Carruthers?
The second daughter of the publisher, Edward Carruthers. A young lady of firm opinions, to be sure, but not a beauty. Esmeralda had seen her when she had visited Carruthers & Carruthers dressed as Mrs. Oliver.
Wait. Was this the chit who had misplaced her own copy of Harris’ Guide, the one that had been bound into the case for Childe Harold? The baroness had been vague about the details of the book’s loss, adamant that she would see it returned to Esmeralda, but Esmeralda was certain there had been some mention of a sister.
And Venice. Baroness Trevelaine had said something of the book traveling to Venice by mistake – while Beckham had just returned from Venice with his family.
Could it be that her misplaced book had somehow brought these two together? If so, there was a tale Esmeralda wished to hear.
“What a curious match,” she said softly, waiting to hear what Beckham would confide.
“I do not find Miss Carruthers that unlikely of a spouse,” he said, his manner so earnest that she believed him. “She is clever and pretty, not so young as some other eligible ladies, to be sure, but I would have a wife closer to my own age.”
His companion smiled. “I meant Miss Carruthers’ choice of you as a spouse.” She almost laughed aloud at the surprise Arthur failed to hide.
“Me?”
Esmeralda refilled her glass. “You are handsome, to be sure, young and no doubt virile, and I understand that you have wealth, as well, but the Carruthers sisters are daughters of a publisher. They have been raised to know their own minds, to think and discuss and read widely. Indeed, they are most uncommon young ladies, and thus I would expect their marital choices to be somewhat uncommon.”
“But the eldest is wed to Baron Trevelaine.”
Esmeralda raised a glass to him. “A match made by His Grace, and thus a conventional one. Also a happy one, I believe.” She sipped. “But the second daughter, Miss Patience, is said to be the cleverest of them all and practical beyond compare. I might believe that she had chosen you for your income, but beyond that –” she tilted her head to consider him, then shook her head minutely “– I cannot see why you would appeal to her. You have a charm, Mr. Beckham, but such a lady would require more substance than I would expect you to offer.”
Her companion was astounded to silence.
Esmeralda thought the experience might be good for him.
When he did not speak for some moments, she set her glass aside. “I see that I have caused offense, though that was not my intention, Mr. Beckham. I simply do not see you as a philosopher or a man of ideas, though there may be more to you than anticipated.” She leaned a little closer and dropped her voice, inviting him to tell her what she wished to know. “Or is there, perhaps, more to this match than meets the eye?”
His relief was tangible. “The lady has a quest, which I have sworn to assist. We deemed it best to formalize our partnership with marriage as it will be a lengthy venture.”
“Now I am intrigued,” Esmeralda murmured.
Beckham moved closer and lowered his voice. “There is a book, you see, or the manuscript of a book. It is not yet published, and Mr. Carruthers declines to publish it, despite the endorsement of his eldest daughter. The baroness confided in her sister, who is herself determined to publish the book.” He straightened. “We intend to establish a publishing firm to do precisely that.”
No. He could not be speaking of Esmeralda’s own book.
“For one book,” she said. “It must be a work of tremendous interest to your intended.”
“It is. She says it will change the lives of women everywhere.”
“Indeed?” Esmeralda murmured, averting her gaze to disguise her thoughts. He did speak of her book! “Do you know more of this volume?”
“Only that it is a work of intimate advice for women, intended to aid married women in maintaining the amorous attention of their spouses.”
Esmeralda could not help but catch her breath. “And Mr. Carruthers has declined to publish such a work?”
“Evidently, he thinks the content inappropriate.”
Esmeralda took a deep breath, then forced a polite smile. “How laudable that you would undertake such an endeavor.”
“Miss Carruthers is very certain of its importance.”
“I find I must agree with her.”
“Then perhaps you might?—”
Esmeralda was not certain what he might ask, but she had to give him instruction while she could. She leaned forward, her tone becoming urgent. “You must not tell the duke of this venture.”
“But…”
“No. He will consider such an agreement unacceptable as a basis for your match. An arranged marriage is one thing, and a love match another, but I am convinced that you will never persuade the duke of the merit of this negotiation.” She smiled to reassure the startled young man. “I, however, find myself reassured of your prospects for a happy union.”
“Oh!”
“Tell him that you are smitten,” she urged. “Tell him that Cupid’s arrow has found its mark and you wish only to spend your life with Miss Carruthers. Convince him of your ardor and all will be well.”
Before Beckham could reply, there was an audible thump of a cane. Esmeralda caught her breath as the duke stepped into the box, as tall and dark and wondrous as she recalled. His lips were drawn in a taut line and she wondered that he leaned on his cane so much. Had his injury reasserted itself? Had he been wounded again? She might have risen to her feet to aid him, but he cast her a quelling glance that had her sinking back into her seat again.
“You look to be making mischief, Miss Ballantyne,” the duke said without censure, then nodded at her companion. “Beckham.”
And this was his greeting after so much time apart? What were his intentions? Why had he invited her here? Esmeralda could not imagine, but she did not reveal her uncertainty.
“I simply make a scheme to locate more orgeat lemonade, Your Grace,” she said. “Alas, the heat has caused it to evaporate and there is none left for you.”
“How disappointing,” the duke said in a tone that made his lack of disappointment abundantly clear. She could not suppress her own smile, and noted how his eyes glinted as he watched her. He even smiled a little himself, and his manner became indulgent. “But your will must be done, Miss Ballantyne.” He bent over her hand and kissed the back of it, making her heart race as only he could do. He called for a servant to fetch more of the beverage, along with a brandy for himself.
Then he sat, putting aside his cane as he eased into the seat immediately beside her. Esmeralda could feel the heat of his thigh so close to her own and caught the scent of his skin. A heat kindled within her, simply due to his proximity, and when he slanted a sizzling glance her way, she was lost all over again.
This man.
The duke then turned his attention to Beckham. “And so, you would wed Edward Carruthers’ daughter, Patience,” he said without preamble. “Why?”
To Esmeralda’s relief, Beckham followed her advice. He made a convincing argument for his adoration of Miss Carruthers, one that persuaded the duke to grant his approval.
For her part, Esmeralda wished to know more of the scheme of Patience Carruthers to see her volume published. How could she learn more?
She must visit Carruthers & Carruthers the following morning as Mrs. Oliver.
Esmeralda.
The sight of her was like water in the desert. Damien wanted to carry her off, to seduce her anew, to make her laugh – and to give her pleasure.
But first, he had to persuade her of his own merit.
When Beckham left, he turned a smile upon her. “You look well,” he said, for it was true. She had regained a bit of weight, making her figure more lush. Her skin was radiant and her hair was lustrous. Her confident manner had been restored as well, and he admired the glint of intellect in her eyes. He did not welcome the wariness he found there when she looked at him, though, and knew he had to try to repair the damage with haste.
“I thank you, Your Grace,” she said, nodding toward his cane. “While you appear to have regressed in the healing of your leg.”
“It does appear to be worse,” he ceded. “But I daresay I will be more active here in town so expect improvement soon.”
She nodded, as if indifferent, and rose as if to leave.
“I wonder, Miss Ballantyne, if you ever had the good fortune to meet the previous Viscount Addersley.”
She paused and glanced toward him. “I did not. He was not often in town, as I recall.”
“No, he was not fond of town in the least. He could be found at home, most often. You know that Addersley Manor is not far from my own home.”
“I assume then that you had met that gentleman.”
“I did and he was even so kind as to grant me some advice before I undertook my commission. He was reputed to be a spymaster, you see, and whether he was or not, he knew a great deal about subterfuge and disguise.”
“Indeed,” she said and he heard the urge to leave in her tone.
He looked out over the stage. “Indeed, and one of his suggestions I have never forgotten, for it challenged all that I might have expected to be true.” He looked at Esmeralda again. “He said that the most confidential details were best exchanged in the presence of a great many people, for no one expects secrets to be shared in public view.”
She considered this for a moment, then nodded. “That is not intuitive, but it might well be the case.”
“And so I invited you here this evening, that I might apologize to you and explain myself before several thousand people who would never expect me to do as much.”
She blinked in surprise, but did not leave.
“You might nod and smile, perhaps even laugh a little, as if I made a witty remark,” he suggested quietly. “There are those who believe me to have an increment of charm, after all.”
Esmeralda laughed lightly, turning to the stage as if he referred to one of the actors there. “I have heard it said,” she acknowledged. “But an apology is most unexpected.”
“Yet fully deserved. You must recognize, my lady, how awed I was to come upon you in the gardens that night. I did not expect to see you as your own self, and I anticipated even less that you would be so bold as to taunt the villain. You drew him to you with the jewels, an audacious choice that should have not so surprised me, for I know of your bravery.” He shook his head and she laughed lightly, as if they performed for the assembly instead of the actors far below.
“I did not expect you.”
“You expected no one to come to your aid,” he countered. “You never do, for you have learned to solve all matters yourself. I returned as soon as I heard of his attempt to enter your house, for I guessed his destination, as surely you must have.”
“I did,” she said with a warm smile.
“And praise be that I arrived in time.”
“You were appalled by my action,” she guessed, but he shook his head, indicating the stage with a finger. They might have been disputing the meaning of the French dialogue.
“I was awed by it. I wanted nothing more than to carry you away from that place, to congratulate you and to celebrate with you. But I was afraid as I have never been afraid before. I feared, you see, that your name was too closely associated with his and that all would be twisted into a new meaning, one that was not to your benefit.”
She sank back into her seat, her gaze locked upon him. “You defended me,” she whispered, all pretext of discussing the play dismissed, and he hated that she was surprised by the truth.
“You had been charged with a crime he had committed. You were known to have an acquaintance with him and he had violated your home multiple times. Who knows what lies might have been told by those who do not admire you as I do? No, no, my lady, you had to be far away from the scene, as far as might be contrived. I would have wished you to Turkey to ensure no taint touched your name.”
Her eyes glowed when she smiled. “But London had to suffice.”
“And in case there were those paying attention, the belongings of Mrs. Oliver could not be delivered with haste. I had to wait and watch, until it was safe.”
She turned to the stage again and he watched her swallow. “I thank you for the reward.”
“It was yours in truth.”
“You did not have to send it to me, though the funds were most welcome, Your Grace.” She made to rise again and he cleared his throat, then seemed to direct her attention back to the stage. She looked as indicated, her restlessness to be gone more than clear.
“There was one item I dared not entrust to another,” he said. “For I knew its value to you. I vowed that I would keep it for you and only return it when I could place the pages in your hands myself.”
Her sidelong glance was quick and filled with astonishment.
“I have your book,” he said with a smile. “I wonder if I might return it to you later this evening, perhaps after midnight?”
She smiled then, a smile that finally lit her eyes and he felt triumphant in obtaining one goal. “Are you not afraid to be recognized in such a locale?”
He dismissed this with a wave of his hand. “No one will recognize a cloaked man without a cane as me.” Her eyes widened a little, her gaze dropping to the cane then back to meet his own. “I confess that I also learned something of subterfuge from a lady named Mrs. Oliver. Do you know her?”
“I have heard of her. I expect many people have, but I have yet to make her acquaintance.”
“That is a pity. I anticipate that you would like her, for she is forthright in sharing her views, and she is not often wrong.”
And Esmeralda smiled, so welcome a sight that Damien’s heart clenched. “Midnight, then,” she purred, shaking a finger at an actor on the stage below and laughing lightly. “I shall look forward to it.”
“Not so much as I will, Esmeralda,” he murmured and they shared a hot glance before she left the box. He nodded to himself and shook his head, as if the ways of women were a mystery to him. He then leaned forward, bracing his hands upon his cane, as if fascinated by the play performed on the stage. In truth, he was indifferent to it.
He was thinking only of Esmeralda and their scheduled meeting. Time could not pass quickly enough to satisfy him.