The Art of Seduction (Kings of Industry)

by Eileen Richards

  “Thank you.” Beth waited there alone wanting Langford. She needed his arms around her. She needed his smile. She wanted to be back in her room with him, wrapped in his arms. But girls like her didn’t always get what they wanted in this life.

  “Miss Bishop.”

  Beth turned to find the Duke of Stafford standing behind her. It was the final straw in a horrific evening and she couldn’t make herself curtsy to him. “Your Grace.”

  “How much will it take to get you out of my son’s life?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “How many pounds? One thousand, five thousand?”

  Beth’s jaw dropped. Five thousand pounds would keep her and Mother nicely in the country for the rest of their lives. No more scraping for enough money for necessities. No more working for the theatre that paid little. For one brief second, she considered it, not for herself, but for Michael. It would be easier for him if she went away, but she couldn’t take the money. “You cannot pay me enough to hurt Michael that way, sir.”

  Stafford lips parted in a semblance of a smile, all teeth, but cold emotion. “Miss Bishop, I know your family’s circumstances. I know your mother placed that announcement to force my son’s hand.”

  Beth couldn’t keep the astonishment off her face. “You are the one spreading the gossip. Why would you hurt your son that way?”

  “He will be the next Duke of Stafford and with that comes responsibility and duty, whether he wishes it or not.”

  Beth was suddenly gloriously and furiously angry at the gall of this old man in front of her. His weight and ruddy skin spoke of years of profligate behavior. His hands formed into brutish fists. She should have been afraid, but she wanted to goad him, push him until he felt the same level of anger she had burning inside her. “You can take your offer and choke on it, sir. I will not be paid off to disappear from Michael’s life.”

  “You doom him to a life of drudgery then because if he marries you, he loses everything that is not entailed. He will be a duke with no way to care for his estates except to sell them off one by one. You will pollute the name of Stafford and weaken him. You doom him to embarrassment each time he enters society with a woman such as you on his arm. Mark my words, he will regret it every single day he has to live in poverty. He will hate you for putting him there. I know my son.”

  She flinched as each of the words pelted her like bullets, wounding deep. “I must present something very terrifying to you and the rest of Society, if you have to pay me to go away. What are you threatened by? That Michael might be happy marrying so far beneath him? That your precious plans for his life are thwarted?”

  The Duke of Stafford’s face grew redder with anger. “I will not be spoken to in this manner.”

  Beth drew herself up and met Stafford’s glare with one of her own. “I will not be treated like I am less than I am because you deem it so by matter of birth, something I have no control over. Not by you or anyone else.” She leaned closer. “You should be afraid, Your Grace. The world is changing and the likes of us are far outnumbering the likes of you. I would suggest you prepare yourself.”

  She turned to find St. Clair behind her, a dumbfounded look on his face. “Mr. St. Clair, I am ready to leave now.” She allowed him to place the cloak around her.

  “You’re trembling,” he whispered.

  “It’s not every day you stand up to a duke, sir. I think I need to sit down now.” St. Clair offered her his arm and she clung to it. It was as if all of her strength had left her in that one final statement.

  “You were magnificent. I hope Langford realizes how lucky he is.”

  “I was rude to a very powerful man. I imagine I will pay for it for an extremely long time.”

  St. Clair chuckled. “I think the duke has had a very rough night. Langford just argued with him in the card room while I was finding your mother.” He helped her into the carriage and she sat next to her mother. Lady Bishop was pale, her eyes red, her hands gripped together. She seemed older, tired and Beth’s heart ached. Regardless of the mess Lady Bishop had made, she did not deserve this.

  “Mother, are you all right?”

  Lady Bishop sniffed. “I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. Those people were positively vicious. I should have never put you through this, my dear.”

  Beth pulled her mother into her arms and held her, rubbing her back in soothing strokes. It wasn’t lost on her that as the injured party, things should be the other way around. “It will work itself out. No more tears. It’s over now.”

  “Miss Bishop, I do have one thing I wanted to discuss with you. I know this isn’t the time, but I’m not sure when I will get another opportunity,” St. Clair broke in.

  Beth tried to offer up a smile. She didn’t know this man well, but he seemed to care and she needed someone on her side for a change. “Please feel free to discuss it, though in my present frame of mind, you might not like the answer.”

  “I want to purchase the painting you did of the flower girl. I’m willing to pay handsomely for it, if you wish to part with it.”

  “You wish to buy my Beth’s painting?” Lady Bishop said. “That is very kind of you, sir.”

  “It’s not a kindness. The piece is breathtaking. I knew I had to have it the first time I saw it. I thought the sum of fifty pounds would be sufficient.”

  Beth gasped. “It’s not worth a quarter of that sir.”

  St. Clair chuckled. “That’s not the way to do business, Miss Bishop. You are to drive the price higher, not lower. You’ll need those skills for my next question.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “I’m building a new hotel in London. It is to be the finest in London, and I’ll need original art for the rooms and the lobby. I would like some pieces like the piece you did of the flower girl. I want pictures of London that include all levels of society, not just the wealthy or titled.”

  “I’m not sure that people will want to sleep in a hotel with such depressing paintings, sir. The ragged people of London are not pretty.”

  “As I am fully aware. You see I used to be one of those ragged people. It’s not all sadness and starvation, Miss Bishop. It’s not all hardship. There were reasons to smile like the painting of the child you captured. That’s what I want for my hotel.”

  Beth knew her mouth was hanging open. She had no words. Such an opportunity was something artists lived for. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I know a great deal has happened tonight, and you will need time to think about my proposition. It would give you choices if you choose not to marry Langston, though I have a feeling he might have something to say on that matter.” His smile was kind. “There is also the possibility Langston won’t allow you to complete enough paintings to fulfill our agreement as well. As a titled lady, it wouldn’t be good to be seen working, but anyone who can give Stafford as good as he gives can deal with Langston and his priggish ideas.”

  “You are so sure that Langston will come around, but I have no hope. There is too much at stake for him.”

  “I would wager to guess Langston doesn’t give two pence for his duty, Miss Bishop, but as you say, it remains to be seen. Either way this is an opportunity for you to earn a living and paint. You have a gift, Miss Bishop and the world needs to see that gift.”

  “Beth, your father would be so proud, if you could do this,” Lady Bishop said.

  Beth hugged her mother close. The wounds of the evening were still present, but closing for now. “I will think about it, Mr. St. Clair. Thank you for the offer. It is nice to know we have options.” She turned to watch the streets of London pass by as they made their way back to Holborn, back to their home. And it was home. They had good neighbors. They had real friends. She would hold onto those things.

  St. Clair was right about one thing, there would be a reason to smile regardless of their circumstances. She just needed time to heal so she could smile again, to go back to the way things were before Langston returned to her
life.

  The thought of life without him made her heart ache, but perhaps she had reached too high. Perhaps she could just be happy with life as it was now. Maybe in a few years she would meet someone else and fall in love, but she doubted it. She could never love anyone like she loved Michael.

  The rest of the ride to Holborn was quiet, giving Beth more time to think. She couldn’t expect Langston to honor the false engagement. No, it was time to set him free. Marrying her would be another kind of trap, and she knew how much he hated to be trapped. She couldn’t do it to him. The carriage stopped in front of their house and St. Clair stepped out and held out his hand to her. Beth took it and stepped aside to find the house key in her reticule.

  It all felt so normal, yet didn’t feel normal at all. She watched as he assisted her mother to the walkway before moving to unlock the front door. She stepped aside for her mother to walk inside before speaking to St. Clair. “Thank you for seeing us home.”

  “My pleasure, if there is anything I can do, you’ve only to ask.”

  “Thank you. There is one thing. Please deliver a message to Langston for me.”

  St. Clair stilled at the resolution in her voice. “Of course.”

  “Please ask him not to visit any longer. We must part ways.”

  “Miss Bishop, are you sure?”

  She nodded because her throat was closing. “It’s for the best,” she whispered. She stepped into the house and closed the door, the snip of the lock sounding like a death knell in the late night darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The one good thing about not having a position to force her to get out of bed every day, was Beth never had to leave her house. She could stay in her room and sleep. She couldn’t seem to get enough sleep. She didn’t want to paint. She didn’t want to eat. She wanted to just curl up in a ball in her old bed and pull the covers over her head.

  Lady Bishop wasn’t much better. In the two days since the Danielson ball, she’d barely left her room. After St. Clair delivered them safely home, he had ushered them out of the carriage and into the protective safety of the house. He had had been kind to two emotionally exhausted hurting women.

  That was two days ago. Since then, the mail had only delivered heartache. Notes rescinding invitations were promptly burned. The rest, Beth forced herself to decline rather than ignore. She would not stoop to their level regardless of what had happened.

  The papers were filled with gossip about her most embarrassing ball. They called her a fortune hunter and worse. She’d wadded the papers up to use as kindling to light the fires in the rooms to ward off the chill of the late spring evenings.

  She’d also written The Times to recant the engagement. She didn’t check to see if they had responded with another post. Beth didn’t want to know. She just stayed in her room or forced herself to paint.

  Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to work either. The small studio reminded her of when Michael had made love to her on the chaise. Everywhere she looked there were memories of him. Most days, she simply stared at a blank canvas while piles of colors congealed on her palate. Today was one of those days.

  “Miss Bishop, there is a lady here to see you,” Tansy said from the doorway. Her voice was hesitant.

  “I’m not at home.”

  “It’s Miss Morgan from the theatre, miss.”

  Sally must have seen the debacle in the papers. At least she still had one friend. “Show her into the parlor and I’ll be right down.”

  “Shall I brew a pot of tea?”

  “Please.” As Tansy closed the door behind her, Beth moved from her stool to place the palate of paint on her work table and set down her brushes. She laid a damp cloth over the palette to keep the paint from drying, wiped her hands and went down the stairs to the parlor. She paused at the doorway, uncertain.

  Sally spotted her and rushed forward grabbing her hands. “I came as soon as I heard what happened. How dare they treat you in that manner and have the nerve to call us the lower class.”

  “Thank you for that.” Beth’s eyes welled up with the tears she hadn’t been able to cry in two days. She let Sally pull her into her arms and rock her back and forth. They stood like that for a long time, until Beth couldn’t cry any longer. She pulled back. “Forgive me.”

  “Love, you’ve earned that cry. St. Clair told me what happened.”

  Beth shrugged. “I knew it wouldn’t be easy, Sally. We come from different worlds. God forbid, someone cross the line into their world without an invitation. They made me feel like they couldn’t breathe the same as me.”

  “It’s a foolish notion, and you know it,” Sally said. She leaned close. “St. Clair was so angry on your behalf as well as Langston’s. I’ve never seen him so angry. It was quite exciting.”

  “So you’ve taken him on?”

  “I’ll not be his mistress, if that’s what you mean. I’ve decided that my career is more important.” She smoothed her hands over her dark green pelisse. “Given the latest reviews of the Taming of the Shrew, I’ve got good reason.”

  Beth squeezed Sally’s hands with her own, happy to feel something other than the pall of sadness. “I’m so happy for you, though I suspect St. Clair is disappointed.”

  Sally raised her chin. “He can be disappointed. It’s time men realized we ladies have choices, few though they are.”

  “You sound positively radical. I’d be careful if I were you. Gentlemen do not like women who reach too far, as past events will testify.”

  “Good, they should be very afraid,” Sally said before bursting into laughter. “It will have to become a perfect world for the likes of us to succeed.”

  Beth smiled. “The world won’t change unless we push the boundaries that are put upon us. I’m just not strong enough to do it any longer.”

  Sally wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “You are stronger than you know. St. Clair also told me he’s commissioned you to do the paintings for his new hotel. I am so very proud of you.”

  “His offer is very generous and will give Mother and me options.” Beth smiled as her eyes welled up again. She swiped at her face. “I hate crying, but now that I’ve started I can’t seem to stop.”

  “Has Langston called?”

  Beth shook her head. “I told St. Clair that I didn’t want to see him.”

  Sally released her hand. “Why would you do that? You love him.”

  “If he marries me, he loses everything. His father will leave him penniless. He’ll inherit the estates that are entailed, but he won’t have the money to keep them up. It would put him in an untenable situation. I can’t do that to him.”

  “So you let the old bastard win,” Sally spat. “I cannot believe this.”

  “It’s not a matter of letting Stafford win, but one of not hurting Michael any more. It’s not as if the engagement was real, Sally. This farce had to stop.”

  “You love him and from what St. Clair says, Langston loves you. He may not have asked you to marry him, but he isn’t going to let you go so easily, not if he’s the man I think he is.”

  Beth pressed her lips together. “It’s a lost cause, Sally. I have no more strength left to fight.”

  Sally heaved a sigh. “I suppose you have good cause. Attending that ball must have been difficult.”

  “I was confronted by Lady Cassandra Hamilton.”

  “I bet she had her drawers in a twist. She was waiting for Langston to propose. Rumor has it Stafford and her father had already drawn up the agreements.”

  “Indeed, she was not happy to see me,” Beth said. “I daresay she was quite insulted that I wouldn’t back down.”

  “Did you meet Stafford?”

  Beth nodded. “The man had the nerve to try and offer me money to leave his son alone. I swear if I held a stick I would have hit him with it, I was so angry.”

  Sally laughed. “I would pay a proper sum to see that.”

  “It is best for Mother and me that I not provoke the duke further. He is a
powerful man and could make things difficult for us even now.”

  “Are you worried he’ll seek revenge?”

  Beth shook her head. “He views me as a gnat therefore not worthy of his notice. As long as that remains true, I doubt he will bother us, especially since I won’t be seeing Langston again.”

  “I imagine Langston will not give you an option, if he feels as strongly about you as St. Clair thinks he does.” Sally took her hand again. “Beth, you must consider your decision not to see him. You love him and despite the differences in class, you deserve to have the man you love. The differences are only in our minds. He puts his trousers on the same way as any other man.”

  “He probably has a valet.”

  “Well, then he has help, but they go on the same. When you strip away the titles and the money, we are all the same. Stafford and his ilk would like us to think a title and an estate makes them better than us, but it’s not true.”

  “He has power over Langston and I cannot allow him to exercise that power because of me.” Beth said.

  “Then the man wins again,” Sally said her voice angry. “I’m sick to death of their lot.”

  “Their lot pay to see your performances, Sally, so take care.”

  “I know. I did not come here to complain about the way things are. I came here to cheer you up.” She reached for the reticule that she’d left on the settee. “I also came to give you this.” Sally withdrew a pouch and handed it to her.

  Beth shot her a questioning look, then opened it and pulled out a handful of gold sovereigns. “Good heavens, I had forgotten about this.”

  “St. Clair picked up the painting from the theatre. He said he purchased it from you and asked that I deliver the money to you. It should help you out until you begin your painting for his hotels.”