An Invitation to Sin

by Suzanne Enoch

  Anne chuckled. “I faithfully swear to tell you all the good gossip. Now come down for dinner. I’m certain Mama will want to tell you again how you are her favorite.”

  “That will be new.”

  “Yes, but it’s bound to last for at least the next three days.”

  Caroline conjured a smile. “You are a very good sister, Anne.”

  “And so are you. When you are happy, I will be very prepared to be happy for you. Perhaps working with Lawrence will give you everything you want. I hope that it will.”

  “I know that it will,” Caroline said firmly, fervently hoping she would turn out to be right.

  Chapter 24

  Two months later.

  Zachary looked up from his desk at the rain outside the window. It had rained for the past week, and before that at least every other day for two months. Everyone in Bath went on and on about how the entire town would be washed away down the River Avon if the rain didn’t stop, and how soirees and parties could mean the death of anyone who dared to attend. He didn’t mind, though. He liked the rain. It fit his mood as no soiree or card party had a snowflake’s chance in Hades of doing. Lifting his glass, he took another generous swallow of whiskey.

  As he returned to reading the latest report from Edmund, his office door opened. “Set the tea on the table if you please, Andrews,” he said, gesturing, while in front of the fire Harold lifted his head, wagged his tail, and went back to sleep again. Zachary didn’t know why his aunt insisted on sending up hot tea for him every afternoon, anyway. He never drank it.

  “Rain’s choked out the stove again,” Aunt Tremaine said, entering the room in place of the butler. “Your tea will be late.”

  “That’s fine. I’ve enough whiskey to keep me.” He gestured at the decanter, which was three-quarters empty.

  “So I see. Are you going to the assembly rooms tonight?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Lady Haldridge will escort you, won’t she?”

  “Of course she will. Is that from Edmund?”

  He nodded absently. “We’re up to our first year’s goal of thirty-five cows. Nine of them have a lineage comparable to that of Dimidius’s dam, and he’s fairly certain that at least two dozen of them are with calf.”

  “You should have a busy spring, then.”

  “Yes. The offspring are what I’m interested in.”

  She sighed audibly. “Sorry to say, I’m not. How is Sally?”

  “Ecstatic. Susan’s to be married on Saturday, and Julia and Grace are both betrothed.”

  “Three so far out of seven. She must be happy. I’ll write to congratulate her.”

  He didn’t correct her arithmetic, remind her that only six Witfeld girls wanted to marry, because that would mean admitting that he still thought about, obsessed over, Caroline. Zachary took another drink. “Yes. I’m thinking of hiring myself out to tutor chits in how to trap a husband.”

  “I may hire you for myself.”

  “Spare me, Aunt. You could have married a hundred times since Uncle Tremaine passed. You simply enjoy tormenting my sex.”

  “Speaking of torment, Zachary, how much longer are we going to stay here?”

  Zachary glanced over the top of the letter. “You’re the one with the gout.”

  “Not any longer. My gout’s gone, and it’s my head I’m beginning to worry about. Yours, too. This place is so dull and wet that I think I’m beginning to rot.”

  “The idea of being in Bath is to take the waters. The rain simply makes that more convenient.”

  “You are an evil boy. Take me back to London.”

  A tremor ran through him. She was in London. “It’s easier to work uninterrupted here.”

  “The Season’s over. There are more parties here now than in London. If you’re going to come up with an excuse for remaining in Bath, at least make it a plausible one.”

  He set down the letter to refill his empty glass. “It’s not an excuse.”

  “Zachary, if it continues to rain like this for another week, we may all be washed out to the Atlantic Ocean to drift about on chair cushions. We’ll only be in London a short time, anyway. You know your brother likes to be at Melbourne Park for winter.”

  “Then we’ll go straight from here to Devonshire.”

  His aunt stalked up to the desk. “You remain here until Michaelmas, then. I’m leaving for London in the morning. And I’m taking the carriage, so you’ll have to ride Sagramore. Don’t catch pneumonia.”

  “And you claim that I’m evil. Very well. Please inform Andrews that we’ll be leaving on Thurday morning. I have a few appointments between now and then that I’m obligated to honor. I made them, after all.” He made his voice sound as calm as he could, and hopefully she wouldn’t detect that he was anything more than annoyed. “That’s my compromise.”

  “Very well, then. Three days. And thank goodness. My next stratagem was going to be drugging and kidnaping you. I’m so pleased I didn’t have to resort to that.”

  She might still have to. “I’ll have Harold test my food tonight, just to be safe, then,” he returned dryly. “Go dress for your ball. I have paperwork to finish. I’ll have to inform Witfeld of my change of residence, and let Melbourne know we’ll be arriving on Saturday.”

  Hopefully Witfeld wouldn’t inform anyone else. Especially the daughter who currently resided in London, or any of the Witfeld family members who might be corresponding with her.

  He’d managed to go for several weeks without hearing anything of her. All he knew was that Lawrence had taken her on, and that she’d been commissioned for several portraits. He didn’t know precisely where in London she was residing, though it was safe to say it wouldn’t be in Mayfair. If he stayed close to Griffin House once they returned, then he could be relatively certain of not running into her until the family left London for the winter.

  It was vital that he never see her again. If he did…He could scoff at his aunt’s threats of drugging and kidnaping, but when considered in conjunction with Caroline and measured against the deep, numb hole that remained in his heart, the plan made sense. Sense for a madman, but sense nonetheless.

  “They’re coming home?” Her night dress billowing around her knees, Peep did a dance around her father as he stood in the foyer. “Hurray!”

  “About bloody time,” Charlemagne muttered, handing his greatcoat over to Stanton.

  “Papa, Uncle Shay said ‘bloody.’”

  “Yes, he did.” Sebastian eyed his brother. “Go wash your mouth out with soap.”

  “I’ll wash it out with a glass of claret. Care for one?” Shay headed upstairs for the billiards room.

  “Make mine brandy.” As his brother vanished, Sebastian swept his daughter into his arms. “And you, my darling, are up well past your bedtime.”

  “You and Uncle Shay shouldn’t have gone out tonight,” Penelope replied sternly. “Mrs. Beacham said it looked like it might snow.”

  “It didn’t snow. It didn’t even rain. In fact, it’s barely the middle of September. Are you certain Mrs. Beacham said it might snow?”

  “Well, I thought it might snow,” his daughter amended, unrepentant.

  “Ah. Perhaps a cup of hot chocolate will calm your shattered nerves, then.”

  “I think it might help.”

  “Stanton?” Sebastian glanced over his shoulder at the butler, then headed upstairs, his daughter in his arms.

  “Right away, Your Grace.”

  “What else did Uncle Zachary say in his letter?” Peep asked.

  “Just that he and Aunt Tremaine will be home on Saturday.”

  “And Harold?”

  They were going to change the dog’s name, whatever else happened. He had no intention of allowing the ill-mannered mutt to go about carrying his middle name. “I imagine so.”

  “On Saturday. Splendid. Does he know that Aunt Nell and Uncle Valentine are back from Venice?”

  “I wrote to tell him several weeks ago.”

  “I t
hink Uncle Valentine will be glad Uncle Zachary’s coming home, too. I heard him tell Aunt Nell that if they have to spend Christmas at damned Melbourne Park, he could at least get some blasted pheasant and grouse hunting done at home at Deverill before they have to leave again.” She looked him in the eye. “I don’t think he likes being still in London.”

  “Probably not, or he wouldn’t have cursed so much.” He would have liked to have been back at Melbourne by now, himself, but business seemed to keep him later in London every year.

  In addition to a general longing to be back in the country, he did have another reason for wishing they all could have been gone from London by the time Zachary left Bath. Caroline Witfeld was taking the city by storm. Thank God she’d arrived at the tail end of the Season, or she would have been feted and celebrated at every event. Mayfair liked an eccentric, and they loved one who actually had the skill to back up his or her reputation. Miss Witfeld had the skill in spades.

  “Papa?”

  “Yes, my dear?”

  “I’ll be glad when Uncle Zachary is home. I like everything better the way it used to be.”

  “So do I, Peep.” Hopefully Zachary would, as well. Once they’d all settled back into their routines, they would all be happier. And Zachary would see other women, and find someone more acceptable, and eventually his youngest brother would thank him for putting Caroline Witfeld out of his reach.

  Caroline sat in the corner of her small parlor, which doubled as a dining room, and ate roast mutton. With only her and Molly there, the apartment was stunningly quiet. While there were times when the bliss of that made her smile like a halfwit, this wasn’t one of them.

  Outside a late vendor’s cart bell rang as he pulled his wares home, while farther away she could just make out the sounds of a raucous gathering, probably at The Kettle, the closest inn to her home.

  Cheapside certainly wasn’t Witfeld Manor, but, she reminded herself, she’d only been in London for two months. Already she was saving her pennies, and if things continued as they’d begun, before long she’d be able to move to a larger, nicer apartment in Islington or Brompton.

  Mr. Francis Henning, the subject of the portrait she’d just completed, had been suitably impressed, and he’d assured her that by spring all of his acquaintances would be hammering at the studio doors for an appointment. Of course he’d also proposed marriage, but from what she’d heard he did that on a regular basis, and he’d seemed relieved when she’d declined.

  Sir Thomas, while a bit aloof, was proving to be a fair master. He didn’t offer friendship, but that wasn’t what she wanted. What he did offer was a chance for experience and a level of professional acceptance she’d never experienced before.

  As she finished her dinner and sipped at the small glass of wine she allowed herself, she unfolded the letter she’d received that day from Anne. “‘Dearest Caro,’” she read to herself, “‘You’ll never believe it, but Peter Redford has proposed to Julia, and she has accepted. Mama is so heartened by the circumstances that she has already begun trying to convince Papa to give the rest of us a few weeks in London next Season. Can you imagine?’”

  “Very well,” Caroline answered, smiling a little. It wasn’t only the smaller number of unmarried daughters that would persuade her father to take the remaining family to London; it was the supplement to his income, money the Griffins provided to him in return for his overseeing the breeding project. The amount was probably too generous, but if anyone deserved to not have to worry about money for once, it was her father.

  She looked down at the paper again and resumed reading. “‘The only unhappy family member is Joanna. I still think she blames herself more for not trapping a husband than for her greed and lack of patience. I do hope she finds someone before we arrive in London, or who knows what may happen.’”

  “Indeed.”

  “Miss Witfeld,” Molly said, coming into the room to clear the dishes, “would you like some tea?”

  “Yes, that would be lovely. And then please turn down my bed; I’m quite tired.”

  “You’ve been working so hard, miss, that I’m not surprised to see you tired.”

  “I’m thankful to be busy,” she returned, looking down at the missive again.

  “‘You’ll be happy to know that Grace is insanely jealous,’” the letter continued, “‘that you will see the new Paris fashions weeks before she will. If you’re able, please send me a new catalog so I may tease her with it.

  “‘That’s all the news for today; it’s raining, and I promised Papa I would help him complete the weekly report to go to Zachary—and I promise you, that’s the last mention I will make of him. With loving regards, Anne.’”

  The two mentions were enough. As far as Caroline knew, he was still in Bath. She looked up at her small mantel. Above it, in a pretty mahogany frame, rested his portrait. For the first few weeks in London she’d alternated between putting it up where she could see it and locking it in the linen closet with the bedsheets. Finally, though, she’d stopped taking it down, and now an evening didn’t go by when she didn’t spend at least ten minutes gazing at him.

  Idealized or not, in the month she’d known him he’d become not only her lover but also her friend. And she missed both aspects of him. Some of the things he’d said to her that last day…She looked around her small parlor. It wasn’t the size of it that troubled her; no, it was the fact that she was sitting there alone.

  She’d found her dream, yet every night she sat by her bedchamber window, looking out at the night, too restless to sleep and uncertain what she could do to smother and kill that deep feeling of longing and incompleteness. She should have been completely happy, completely content.

  During the day, when she was painting, she felt that way—or she had at first. If she’d never met a Griffin, she was certain she would still feel that way. Now, though, more and more her mind wandered to faux Greek ruins and Zachary posing with the wind tousling his hair, and how she’d known exactly what he’d meant when he’d described seeing the Mona Lisa for the first time.

  A tear ran down her cheek, and she brushed it away impatiently. It wasn’t being alone that bothered her, and it wasn’t that she needed a man in her life in order for her to be happy. For heaven’s sake, she’d never had a man in her life until three months ago.

  No, it was the man she missed, Zachary whom she wished she could talk with and listen to and touch. The last time she’d put her hands on him, though, it had been to slap him. If nothing else could have ended it, that would. He was a Griffin. He could have anyone he wanted, and she couldn’t think of a reason why he would still want her.

  “You’re a fool, Caroline,” she muttered to herself, folding her sister’s letter again. She’d thought he was the one who’d needed to be taught a lesson, and he’d ended up teaching her one. Only now it was too late to learn from it.

  Melbourne turned a page of Zachary’s latest project update. “How conservative is this estimate of yours?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at his youngest brother.

  “Extremely. I looked at both beef and milk prices over the last six years and took the low-side average, then factored in processing costs for cream and butter against bovine transport and butchering.”

  “I want to expand your breeding program.”

  “I don’t.” Zachary sat in the deep windowsill of Melbourne’s office and absently kicked his boot heel against the wall. “There are too many conjectures in all of this. Once the new calves mature enough to be bred and they begin giving milk, we’ll know if I found the correct combination of lineages. Then we can expand the breeding program.”

  “But if you’re correct, doubling the herd size will give us a considerable head start on—”

  “I’m not in that much of a hurry,” Zachary interrupted. “I want it done correctly. Witfeld’s the authority at the moment, and he agrees with me.”

  “Very well.” His brother set the report aside again. “Has Peep bribed you into goi
ng riding yet? It’s all she talked about once we knew you were returning to London.”

  “I’m going with her in the morning.”

  “Good. With luck I’ll have the Primton property deeds in the next few days, and we can leave London for Melbourne Park.”

  Zachary realized he was supposed to give some sort of reply. He turned his gaze from his hands to look at his brother. “That’s fine.”

  “Did Shay tell you the Huntleys are still in town? They’ve invited us to a small soiree tomorrow night.”

  Standing, Zachary made for the door. At his movement Harold silently rose and padded over beside him. Absently he scratched the dog’s ear.

  Nothing much seemed to affect him any longer. Instead he seemed to go through his days in a kind of slow blur, with only news from Edmund or one of the other farmers rousing him momentarily. “Please give my excuses,” he said, opening the door. “I have some work to do.”

  “Major General Picton will be there.”

  Zachary slowed. “That would make my appearance there a bit embarrassing then, don’t you think? The man did practically offer me a position with his regiment and then I vanished from London without a word to him, after all.”

  “Damnation, Zachary, sit down.”

  “Why?”

  “This sulking is not going to change anything.”

  Zachary sighed, facing the empty hallway in front of him rather than his brother behind him. “I’m not sulking, Sebastian. I’m keeping myself occupied, and I’m enjoying the work. I’m sorry if you expect me to explode at you or something, but frankly I don’t feel much except the need for some sleep.”

  “You understand why I separated you from Miss Witfeld, don’t you?”

  “I understand perfectly. You didn’t think the Griffin name could withstand one of us marrying a well-bred female who intended to earn her own way in the world.”

  “That’s a bit simplistic.”

  “Yes, well, I hate to wound your feelings, but you weren’t what separated us, Seb. Caroline did that. She views being married to me with the same horror that you view me marrying her. According to her, a married woman is expected to do nothing more and nothing less than give tea parties, embroider, dress well, bear children, and be otherwise useless.” He faced his brother again. “It’s amusing, isn’t it, that her views equate so closely with yours?”