A Promise of More

by Bronwen Evans

  Clarice was a wise woman. She knew that it would be better to help them catch the culprit, because she was in danger until they did.

  He found the two men sitting at their usual table near the window and made his way over to them. As he sat down, Maitland signaled for another bottle of brandy to be delivered with an extra glass.

  It was Arend who immediately got to the point. “Well, did you manage to learn anything?”

  Sebastian ran his hand around his collar and loosened his cravat. This business was taking its toll on him—and, he was sure, on Beatrice; perhaps that was the cause of her outburst this afternoon. “It didn’t take long to find out what I wanted.”

  “I’m surprised you arrived so quickly. I thought it might have taken you a lot longer,” Maitland said. “Or perhaps you would stay to sample the delights so rudely interrupted several months ago.”

  “I’m married.”

  His friends responded to his comment with surprised coughs, and Arend dryly remarked, “I thought your marriage was for your convenience. Miss Hudson was very convenient.”

  Sebastian bit back a sharp retort, having fed their amusement already, and merely replied, “Clarice knew why I was calling. She is not a stupid woman.”

  “She is a beautiful woman,” Arend said, “but I assume she’s had to be clever as well to get where she is today. She has always been in demand as a courtesan but her protectors are usually long-term. No one gives her up very quickly, and it takes intelligence to keep most men interested as long as she does.”

  Arend spoke the truth. Clarice was one of the most sought-after courtesans in London, but she was particular. She enthused over patrons who were more inclined to keep her long-term, hence why she had never been any Libertine Scholar’s mistress. None of them did long-term.

  “She also knew something wasn’t right about the duel,” Sebastian said. “She was paid three thousand pounds.”

  His two friends gasped in shock at the amount of money that she had been offered. It was unlikely that even as prominent a courtesan as Clarice could earn that amount of money as quickly or ever.

  “She was given a note and asked to invite me to her bed. She doesn’t know who it was from, or who paid her the money. She did, however, suggest we talk to the bank, which again was a very clever idea.”

  “So a dead end?”

  Sebastian shook his head. “No, there is more. Remember, Miss Hudson is clever. She investigated the note when Doogie died. By shading the paper, she saw an indentation. The writing paper had the initials H.B. indented on it, but she has no idea who H.B. is. That is where the bank comes in. I’m hoping that the bank might be able to match the initials H.B. on the note to the depositor.”

  Arend looked at him and just shook his head. “Sloppy. It’s too obvious, perhaps meant to send you down the wrong track.”

  Sebastian sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. “You are absolutely right, Arend. They want us to find who sent us this note. Which indicates H.B. can’t help us learn the true identity of our mysterious enemy, but we have to follow every lead.”

  “Have you spoken to Beatrice?” Maitland asked. “I’m wondering if it was a friend of Doogie’s and that is why it was so easy to set you both up. She might have an inkling of who H.B. is.”

  “My wife”—he still stumbled over the word, it was still alien to him—“is at the ball with Marisa. She won’t be home for a few hours yet. I’ll ask her when I get home.”

  Maitland shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “That reminds me, did you find out where Beatrice was going yesterday? Hadley let slip that he’d seen her flag down a hackney. I was wondering if she’d snuck out to do her own inquiries. Why else would she hire a hackney when she had your stable of coaches at her disposal?”

  The two men looked expectantly at him. Sebastian stared at Maitland. “What goes on between myself and Beatrice is my business. Hadley should have been more discreet. I thank you to keep your nose out of it.”

  “My, we are a bit testy tonight,” Maitland said.

  Arend piped up. “It’s probably because Sebastian saw Dunmire deep in conversation with Beatrice at the ball the other night. The man seemed very interested in Sebastian’s wife. You’re not jealous, are you, Sebastian?”

  Sebastian made sure his face remained calm although his emotions were rioting. He had been jealous. Just like his father. A rage had engulfed him and he didn’t like the fact that Dunmire had put his hands on Beatrice. But he wasn’t about to let his friends know that. They would read far too much into it. He wanted a nice pliant wife who behaved and whom no other man wanted.

  “You are jealous,” Arend exclaimed. “Although I’ve seen the way Beatrice looks at you. She was half in love with you the minute you offered for her. And you don’t like that.”

  “Would you?” he appealed to Arend. “You are the one who refuses to acknowledge that we have to marry to ensure our line. You’re the one who keeps saying that you are not going to do your duty and that you don’t care about titles.”

  Arend bristled under Sebastian’s words. “I lost my title when our family was thrown out of France years ago. It means less than the empty words of your marriage vows. None of the women at the ball your wife is attending tonight would look twice at me as a marriage prospect. I’m merely an entertaining and pleasurable interlude.”

  “I think you are being too hard on yourself,” Maitland said. “You are a very wealthy man in your own right. There are plenty of families at the ball who could do with an injection of money into their line.”

  “Oh yes, I’ve always wanted to be bought purely for my wealth,” Arend replied sarcastically.

  Maitland as usual just said what came into his head. “Well, women have been selling themselves like that for years. Why should we be any different?”

  “How did this discussion get onto marriage?” Arend said. “Christian’s married and now Sebastian’s married, I suspect the rest of us will be following suit soon, but I intend to make sure I’m the last one to enter the parson’s noose. And if I decide I’m never going to marry, I mean it.”

  Maitland picked up the bottle of brandy and refilled everyone’s glasses. “I’m going to marry, and I’m not really fussed about who I marry as long as they have good bloodlines. I suspect that given Christian and Sebastian have done their duty and married, I should really start looking around for a wife too. I just wish Grayson would get back home safely so that I could talk to him about it. Perhaps one of his or your”—he nodded at Sebastian—“sisters would be appropriate.”

  Sebastian tried to hide his horror at the idea of Marisa or Helen being married for life to a man like Maitland. Oh, his friend was rich, a duke, and honorable, but he was one of the most undemonstrative men Sebastian had ever met. He rarely showed any emotion. He’d often wondered what Maitland was like in the throes of passion. He didn’t want either of his sisters married to a man who appeared cold and did not let love into his life.

  He was a bloody hypocrite, because that is what he expected Beatrice to put up with. He shook his head. No, he at least offered friendship. Was that fair, was that enough? He changed the subject. “Has anyone heard from Grayson? Do we know if he is all right?”

  Arend nodded. “I called into the Home Office and it appears they have managed to find Portia and free her from the Sultan. Her brother was injured, though, and they are now making their way back to England.”

  “I’m assuming Grayson got our warning then?” Maitland said.

  “The message has been sent, but I have no way of knowing whether he received it before they left Cairo.”

  Maitland picked up his glass and raised it in a toast. “Then let’s raise a toast to Grayson’s safe return.”

  Sebastian added in a drawl, “And let us hope that we have already sorted out who the enemy is before he does return. Grayson will thank us for it.” With those words, he decided to get incredibly drunk.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You were awfull
y quiet tonight, Beatrice. Missing Sebastian?” Marisa whispered into her ear. At Beatrice’s silence Marisa asked, “Is anything wrong?”

  Beatrice turned to face a happy but tired Marisa. Hadley was snoozing in the corner of the carriage as they made their way home from the ball at close to three in the morning.

  She gave a small smile, but the argument she’d had with Sebastian that afternoon weighed heavily on her mind. She’d gone back on her word. She’d tried to make their marriage into more than they had agreed, and she’d set her goal back irreversibly. Her goal of winning his heart was a task that required patience, fortitude, and cleverness. Acting like a jealous harpy had been a mistake. She was quiet because she was trying to work out how to put it right before facing Sebastian again.

  Perhaps Marisa could help. She flicked a quick glance at Hadley. He looked as if he were asleep. “Your brother and I had a terrible argument earlier today.” Marisa raised an eyebrow, waiting for Beatrice to continue. “I went back on a promise I made when we agreed to wed.”

  Marisa sighed and put her arm around Beatrice’s shoulder. “It’s obvious what has occurred. I see the way you look at him. Have you fallen in love with my brother?” she asked softly. “I suspect he didn’t take that well.”

  “I didn’t tell him I loved him exactly. I simply acted like a jealous wife and demanded more from him than he wanted to give.”

  “I assume he’s angry. Mother and Father fought bitterly, and my father’s blatant indiscretions were cruel. He always used to scream that he was entitled to live his life as pleased. Sebastian, being older, got caught in the cross fire more than we did. And Helen and I didn’t really understand why they fought. For many years I assumed this was normal behavior between married couples.”

  Beatrice squeezed her hand. “I’m not sure what’s worse, a wife yelling and screaming, or behaving like my mother and simply letting her husband do whatever he likes with no consequences. I used to think there was no dignity in being a doormat, but I suppose it was less painful …”

  Marisa hugged her tighter. “Not less painful. Just less painful for everyone else; your mother did her family a favor. The fights between my parents would make Sebastian flee the house, an escape Helen and I did not have. We were too young to understand what was going on.” She sniffed back tears. “Helen and I used to hide in our room, cuddling each other. I used to tell her stories about a family that loved each other and had no arguments, and we would pretend we couldn’t hear the crying and cursing echoing round the house.”

  It was Beatrice’s turn to hug Marisa. “I think that is worse than a strained silence. I’m so sorry.”

  “Turmoil is what a marriage turns into when love is involved.”

  “But love is not always like that.” Beatrice sounded as if she were trying to convince herself.

  “Are you sure? Have you seen any truly happy couples?” Marisa’s voice dropped to a whisper. “If my parents married for love, then I want nothing of it. I’d rather enter into an arranged marriage like you have with my brother. Kindness, respect, and friendship. No high or low emotions.”

  Beatrice stayed silent. The feelings she had for Sebastian were riotous; she couldn’t deny that. One minute she couldn’t wait to see him, her excitement making her all bubbly inside. The next he would disappoint her with a look or a word, and worse still, cause her pain with his casual dismissal of her importance in his life. But would she give the riotousness up? No. For the moments of giddiness and joy were worth any amount of pain.

  “Life would be very boring if marriage, for the rest of our lives, was based on indifference,” Beatrice said. “No highs or lows. No joys or sorrows. No thrills and excitement. No longing. No love …” Marisa’s eyes opened wide as if she’d never thought of what she’d give up if she accepted a life without love. Beatrice continued, “I don’t think I can live the rest of my life like that. An even keel is boring. I want to set sail and I don’t care if the sea gets a bit choppy along the way. I only hope that when I reach my final destination, I have enjoyed the voyage.”

  Marisa wiped tears from her eyes. “I know what you say is right. We only have one life and we should live it to the full, but I’m so scared of being hurt like my mother.”

  “Is that why you are avoiding Lord Montague? Do your feelings for him scare you?”

  Marisa nodded. “But when I think of him marrying someone else, I die inside.”

  Beatrice took both of Marisa’s hands in hers. “Look at me.” Marisa slowly complied. “You love Montague?” Marisa nodded. “Would you do anything to hurt him?” At Marisa’s frown, Beatrice said, “No one who’s in love, truly in love, would do anything to hurt the other. I don’t believe your parents were in love—infatuated with each other perhaps, but if there is nothing deeper between them, infatuation fades.”

  Marisa sank back on the squab and rubbed her brow. “I have a headache. I wish Mother was still alive so I could ask her.” She turned to Beatrice with a look of desperation. “How are you brave enough to believe in love when there is so little of it around us? And you married my brother. He definitely scorns love.”

  Beatrice leaned forward and pushed a stray strand of Marisa’s hair behind her ear. “But I see love every day—and from your brother. I see love every time Sebastian looks at you or Helen. I see it in the way Helen and you interact. I can see what love is. And I know none of you would ever do anything to hurt, ridicule, humiliate, or embarrass the other. You’d fight to the death for each other, you’d put your sister’s or your brother’s needs before your own in a heartbeat. That is love. That is what I feel for Sebastian.” The last sentence came out on a gasp. “Oh my God. I love him.”

  “I’m happy for you but filled with trepidation. Sebastian is not going to be so easy to convince.”

  “Convinced of what?” Hadley had finally stirred.

  “Never you mind,” Marisa told him.

  “I hope you’re not concocting another harebrained scheme, young lady.”

  Marisa bristled with indignation. “Go back to sleep, Hadley. This is women’s talk.”

  “I’d gladly go back to sleep, in fact keep talking about gowns and ladies’ teas and I’ll fall asleep, but,” he said, looking out of the carriage window, “I think we are at Waverly Court.”

  Beatrice’s stomach plummeted. She had to face Sebastian.

  Sebastian sat in the chair next to the fire in Beatrice’s bedchamber, waiting for her to return home. He had been waiting for over an hour since his return from White’s. Beatrice and Marisa were enjoying a very late night and it was now close to three in the morning.

  He heard the carriage draw up outside and heard the girls’ laughter as they entered the house. Marisa had obviously had a lovely time, for she was in a very gay mood. He enjoyed listening to Beatrice’s carefree laughter. She didn’t laugh like that with him. She was more contained. For a moment he envied Marisa. What would it feel like to have Beatrice soft and compliant in his arms and hear her laugh with him, at him?

  He sat looking at the door, suddenly nervous. He didn’t know how to handle Beatrice. She confused him, challenged him, and made him want—want something he couldn’t explain.

  Beatrice entered the room, a smile upon her lips, her eyes alight with humor, her new maid, Missy, following close behind.

  They both stumbled to a halt when they saw Sebastian sitting by the fire. The warmth he’d heard in her voice moments ago drained from her smile and wariness invaded her eyes. Why did that irk him so?

  “You may leave us, Missy,” Sebastian said, and Beatrice’s maid turned and fled the room at his angry growl. He didn’t know why he was angry, but for some reason he was.

  The memory of the scene after their bath earlier that evening was still fresh in his mind. After her initial shock at seeing him waiting for her, her face lit up with—goddamn it—hope.

  She owed him answers, and when he did not return her tentative smile, hers fled like the night facing the approaching dawn.


  “I’m assuming your meeting with Clarice didn’t go as planned?” she offered as she walked across to her dressing table and put her reticule and fan down before turning to face him.

  “I actually had quite a successful evening. I had no problem getting her to talk. I have news and perhaps a lead. We have the initials H.B.”

  He watched Beatrice swallow. “What did you have to do to get her to talk?”

  Sebastian knew exactly where her mind was going. She was wondering if he’d had to seduce Clarice, entice the information out of her, and whether he had been unfaithful to her.

  “I merely pointed out that I could do a lot of damage if she didn’t tell me what I needed to know. But as soon as she heard that Doogie hadn’t been killed by me, but by an assassin, she wanted to help. She didn’t think Doogie deserved to die that way.”

  Beatrice’s eyes welled with tears. “He didn’t deserve to die that way. He might have been rash in challenging you and very foolish, but he was just a young boy trying to find his way in his manhood.”

  “I think we have both agreed on that. She told me she received a note with the offer of three thousand pounds if she agreed to seduce me into her bed the night Doogie found us.”

  Beatrice gasped at the amount. “That’s a fortune.”

  Sebastian nodded and rose from the chair he had been sitting in, making his way across to stand in front of Beatrice. “We have started investigating, so she knows she’s now in danger and she is more than happy to help us in order to apprehend the culprit and remain safe.”

  “Can we protect her?”

  “She is well protected. She has men of her own to see to her safety. She’ll be well guarded, more so than any of you. I think we need to step up the guards.”

  “Do you think we all need protecting? Should Marisa and Helen not go out on their own at the moment?”

  “I think none of you should leave the house without myself or one of the Libertine Scholars by your side.” She started chewing her bottom lip, obviously not happy at his words. “Which leads me to another question. Where is it that you disappeared to the other day? And don’t tell me that you were visiting a sick friend. The street you picked happens to house Hadley’s mistress, and he saw you hiring a hackney and disappearing east the other morning. You certainly weren’t visiting a sick friend who lives behind the museum.”