A dull ache went through the earl’s heart at the thought; he had fought against the feeling for a long time, but he had finally acknowledged that he loved Miss Clairmond—Marianne. His interest had been sparked when he had found her fishing in the brook that separated their estates. It was in a part of the brook that had been claimed both by his father and the late viscount, her father. He had questioned her right to fish in it, and she had defied him. He argued, and she threw her fishing rod in the brook in a rage. When he laughed, she stormed off, leaving brook, fish, and rod behind.
Of course he had to return the fishing rod; and when he did, she had received him with chill formality, worthy of a dowager duchess. He had also noticed the faded furniture and curtains, her dowdy dress, and how she had worn her pride like a royal robe.
He rose and pulled the bell rope for his valet, and when the servant entered, he readied himself for the luncheon. He smiled to himself, remembering. He had presented the fishing rod to her, and she had taken it in a grand manner, looking very much like a rather shabby queen with an overly thin scepter. And then, seeing the picture she made when she happened to glance at a nearby mirror, she had burst into laughter. And for the first time since his wife’s death, he had laughed as well.
He did not know how it had happened, but during the course of his call, he had acceded to her all rights to that portion of the brook his father and hers had argued over for decades. He had noticed the poor repair of her house, and it irked him. He had sent a carpenter to work on it. She sent the man back. She would take no charity, thank you, her note had said. But each time he called upon her, the quality of her life vexed him more and more until he ached to do something, anything, to help her.
When the last governess had fled from his house, her wig still ablaze in the fireplace—his daughters had tied a string to the wig while the woman had dozed, and when she rose from her chair, it had fallen off into the hearth—he had hit upon the idea of hiring Miss Clairmond to care for his daughters during the time he sought another governess. So he had written a pleading note, and Marianne had come to his aid, as—she said—a neighbor should. Yes, he had calculated it correctly: He could depend on a Clairmond’s sense of duty, if not pride, to spur Marianne into coming to him, if not her need for money.
Each day the earl saw her—for he made sure to look into the nursery-schoolroom from time to time—he could not help wishing there was more he could do. He caught himself staring at her, at her slim, oval face and pale, clear complexion. He’d look away, but his gaze would move back again to linger upon the long line of thigh and leg as she sat, and upon her form outlined by the thin, worn muslin dress she usually wore.
The earl had not thought of marriage for a long time after his wife had died, but he thought of it now. Would Miss Clairmond come to him without a dowry? He well knew her pride would not allow her to come to him without bringing something. It was a damnable obstacle, her pride.
Well, he had got Clairmond’s consent—however unwilling—to his courtship of Marianne, and having gained her friendship, he would begin to woo her in earnest. No doubt the viscount believed the earl thought of her only as a substitute mother for his children at best. At worst … A cynical smile crossed Wyvern’s lips. No doubt Clairmond thought him a satyr lusting after an innocent maiden, from whom it was his brotherly duty to save her. If so, perhaps he would allow the viscount to continue thinking it. His smile grew wider. If it made Clairmond agonize over Marianne a little, and drive him to bettering his estate and his sister’s life in general, then most certainly he would allow him to think it.
How entertaining it would be! He could be virtuous and pursue a pleasurable courtship at the same time. Wyvern chuckled to himself and with a last little tug on his neckcloth put on his hat at a definitely rakish angle and left the room.
The sun was hot on Eveline’s face as she lifted her gaze to the sky. Were it not for the breeze that blew steadily upon her as Lord Clairmond’s curricle bowled over the road, she would have felt quite uncomfortable. Though the sky was mostly clear with a few gray clouds in the distance, the air felt thick and heavy with moist heat. Another guest’s barouche bowling along in front of them showed the occupants chatting to each other; Eveline could see the fluttering of handkerchiefs from time to time, so she supposed they, too, were feeling the heat. She looked surreptitiously at the viscount. He seemed cool and composed despite the energy needed to guide two fresh horses.
Clairmond’s eyes met hers and he smiled; but now she was conscious of a subtle, new disturbance. The shadows she had seen in his eyes before seemed to have deepened, and though he smiled at her intimately, it was of a sort that made her feel suddenly uneasy. Eveline wondered why he had sought out her company. Flirtation, she had thought. However, there were many other ladies with whom he could do that—ladies of greater birth, of comely and beautiful looks who had actively sought out his company. She had seen it in the assembly rooms, and in the pump room. And yet, he had responded to them with smiling civility and flirted with them not at all. Her nurse’s cautionary words came to her again, and her father’s as well. A little trepidation crept into her… Could it be that because of her lower birth, he thought her more likely to be seduced, for example?
Eveline shook her head and smiled at herself. Of course not. He had always acted the gentleman, and she had often experienced the sort of approach from so-called gentlemen who were interested in nothing but seduction. He had always treated her as if she were a lady born, rather than the practical merchant’s daughter she actually was. Regardless, she was no fool to fall for anyone’s blandishments. She was firmly resolved to enjoy the rest of the day, and no thoughts of wrongdoing would mar it.
They soon arrived at their destination, a small park of grass and trees near a lake, with the rest of the party. Lord Clairmond had told her it was on the outskirts of his property, and so it was; it was only a little way from the main road from Bath. There were three carriages in all: the one she was in and the other two with Lord Clairmond’s friends.
With a smile the viscount introduced her to his friend, Sir John Grey, and his sister Miss Lavinia Grey. Sir John was a tall blond man, a little unkempt in his dress. His sister was also tall for a woman, but she was as neat as her brother was untidy, and her merry face was heart-shaped rather than long.
Sir John bowed over Eveline’s hand and threw a laughing glance at Lord Clairmond. “So this is what has been keeping you from the delights of London, eh, Hawk?”
Eveline blushed, then suppressed a smile as she looked at the viscount. It hadn’t occurred to her, but he did indeed look like a hawk, with his aquiline nose and large piercing dark eyes.
Clairmond rolled his eyes. “Good Lord. I see I may depend on my friends to make fun of my poor face. Why I ever decided to invite you, Jack, is beyond me.”
“To keep you humble—the Clairmonds’ pride is legendary, and pride is a sin, you know.” Sir John turned to Eveline. “I swear to you, Miss Seton, that the Clairmonds’ insteps are so high that their bootmakers have to make a miniature bridge inside their shoes to keep them supported.” Eveline chuckled at the image.
“Oh, Jack!” Miss Grey chimed in. “I do not know how you can say that. Why, if it were so, how is it that he has consented to be the friend of such an untidily dressed person as yourself?”
Clairmond put his hand over his heart. “I thank you, Miss Grey, for coming to my defense.” He gazed at his friend mockingly. “Yes, do tell me why it is I am your friend, oh unkempt one.”
Jack looked innocently at them all. “Why, Hawk, you must know it’s to make you shine all the brighter by contrast.”
Eveline’s suppressed giggle burst forth in a laugh. “I wonder that you can call each other friends the way you insult each other so!”
“Surely you must know, Miss Seton, that it is a curious habit men have of insulting their dearest friends!” replied Miss Grey, also laughing.
The occupants of the last coach stepped down, and th
en Eveline knew Miss Grey’s words must be true. For as soon as a tall, dark figure descended from his carriage, Lord Clairmond’s face turned from laughing ease to cool civility. The viscount’s face softened when he looked at the young lady next to the man, but not by much.
“Wyvern.” The viscount’s bow to the man was as exacting and formal as the most stringent etiquette book might require.
“Clairmond,” returned the earl, his voice holding just a hint of irony.
The young lady by Wyvern’s side moved to place her hand on Clairmond’s arm. “You did say I might bring a friend, Richard.” She looked uncertainly from one man to another.
There was a short silence, and Eveline became conscious of the heavy, humid heat of the air around them.
The viscount’s face unfroze just enough to give a polite smile. “Of course. You are welcome, Lord Wyvern.” The earl bowed.
Clairmond took the young lady’s hand and turned to Eveline. “Miss Seton, may I present to you my sister, Miss Marianne Clairmond?”
Miss Clairmond smiled at her and held out her hand, and when Eveline took it in greeting, she liked her immediately. There was a forthrightness about Miss Clairmond’s bearing, with which the merchant’s daughter felt quite comfortable; she herself was far more used to dealing with frankness than with the exacting behavior often demanded in polite circles.
“I am pleased to meet you, Miss Clairmond,” Eveline said. “Lord Clairmond has mentioned to me that he has a sister.” She hesitated only a little; she realized the viscount had said little of his family and only mentioned that he had a sister once or twice. But then he seemed to be a private man, and perhaps he was simply not wont to talk of family matters much.
“And I, you, Miss Seton.” Miss Clairmond gave her a warm smile and then looking teasingly at her brother. “And I think Sir John is in the right of it. You were never so fond of Bath before.”
Eveline blushed and shook her head in denial, unable to speak out of discomfort at the attention she was receiving. Lord Clairmond came to her rescue.
“Marianne, you minx, you are putting Miss Seton to the blush! Quite an ill-mannered way of receiving our guests, I believe.”
His sister only opened her eyes in wide innocence. “Why, how can that be? It cannot be ill-mannered to compliment one’s guests!”
Eveline laughed, clasped Miss Clairmond’s hand briefly, and looked quickly at the viscount. “No, Lord Clairmond, how can it be rude? I declare, I have not been given so much Spanish coin in all my life! How can I dislike it?”
“Spanish coin! Richard, have you not complimented her at all?” cried his sister.
“Shameful!” exclaimed Miss Grey at once, her eyes twinkling.
“Hawk! You have been shamefully behindhand, man!” Sir John said at the same time.
They all burst out laughing, including the viscount. “Well, then! I will shower Miss Seton with flowery compliments all day to make up for it, shall I?” The group laughed again and then set off toward the luncheon that Eveline could see the servants had laid out near the lake.
Through it all, however, she had noted the Earl of Wyvern’s silence. He had said nothing through the company’s banter, but the slight twinkling in his eyes told her he had been amused. Yet, there was still that distance, the chill formality between him and the viscount, and the slight unease of the rest of the group toward the earl. She did not know the cause of the coldness between the earl and his host. However, Miss Clairmond seemed to be on good terms with Wyvern—she had even named him friend—and Eveline could not think that the forthright Miss Clairmond would not quickly find a defect of character in her escort had it existed.
Indeed, it seemed Miss Clairmond found no defects at all in the earl, for when she looked up at him, her smile was warmly friendly … and perhaps there was a little more. Certainly Lord Wyvern was very attentive to the viscount’s sister. It seemed to Eveline that the earl was wont to accede to Miss Clairmond’s every wish, and when his gaze fell upon her, the stern cast of his face softened a little. Eveline smiled to herself. Perhaps it was because she, herself, loved Lord Clairmond that she believed she saw the emotion in every glance between other ladies and gentlemen. Whatever the case, it was a pleasant fancy, and she was not adverse to indulging in it for a while.
Lord Clairmond’s expression, however, was a little more difficult to decipher. He poured her a little wine, then looked into her eyes for a long moment afterward, his expression serious. Then he smiled, but she could not decide whether it was warm, friendly, or civil. It seemed to be all of these, and she knew it was part of his charm, and an alluring trait. She smiled at the thought.
The viscount’s brows rose, and he said, “And what has caused that wry little smile?”
“Oh, only that it is not always easy to tell what you are thinking from your expression.”
“I see I have improved. It means I have become a better cardplayer, and can hope to win the next time.”
“Hmm. Rather like negotiating a sale of property. You cannot reveal what you know or have guessed of the deal or the property, lest your opponent gain the advantage.”
“Very like vingt et un.” Clairmond chuckled. “It is a card game,” he said in response to her questioning look.
Eveline looked at him curiously. “Do you play much at cards?”
This time there was no mistaking the look on his face: grim. “I used to. I do so rarely now.”
This was clearly an unpleasant subject for him, so she went on smoothly. “I have not played cards much, perhaps silver-loo at most. I think making investments is safer. It has risks also, but these are well-informed, calculated ones. It is far easier to know the history of a company or business and base your decision on that than it is to discern the cards in a game.”
“True.” He smiled again. “You sound knowledgeable. I suppose your father has spoken of such things to you many times.”
Eveline smiled. “That is what most people would think, is it not? But my father has spoken only of general business principles; I assure you, much of my knowledge is from experience.”
“From experience?” The viscount’s brows rose again. “He has allowed you to decide on investments for him?”
“He had no choice.” She made her voice light. “He was seriously ill at the time.”
“I am sorry.”
She cast him a quick look from under her eyelashes. “You need not be. He is much better now, and I believe it was a valuable thing for me to do. I learned much, I think, about whom to trust, and how to assess a man’s character.” She chuckled. “I have found it to be an advantage to be a woman in such negotiations. Few men assume a woman knowledgeable or well-advised in her dealings.” She widened her eyes mock innocently. “ ‘Oh, dear sir, I simply am not conversant with such matters as you are. Perhaps you can enlighten me?’ ”
“Is that what you say?” The corners of Clairmond’s lips quivered upward.
“Oh, yes! And I am ever so grateful when they give me the information I need to buy and sell at an excellent profit.”
He let out a shout of laughter. “You are a minx, Miss Seton!”
Eveline cast down her eyes. “You are so kind, my lord,” she said demurely.
He laughed again and took her hand to his lips. She looked up at him then and saw the shadows had fled his eyes, replaced by laughter and a definite warmth. She felt an answering warmth through the hand he held, and it flowed into her heart and became joy. This is why it is worth it. It matters not if he marries me; it is enough that I have made him laugh for a time and for me to remember it. A whole loaf was impossible; did she not hear for herself how proud the Clairmonds were of their lineage? But she could make do with the half and be happy with it, for if there was anything she prided herself on, it was her practicality.
She glanced away briefly and caught sight of Miss Clairmond’s and Miss Grey’s interested eyes. Hastily, Eveline pulled her hand from the viscount’s grasp. She wondered if they could discern her
feelings for him and resolved to put a stronger control over her features, just in case it were so. They talked of other things then, and occasionally the other guests would drift by and contribute to the conversation, fanning their faces lazily in the heat.
Sir John sauntered over, his collar wilting, and looking even more untidy than ever. He caught Lord Clairmond’s eye and jerked his head toward the western sky.
“Ought to pack it in, Hawk, in my humble opinion. Those clouds look deuced nasty. A bad thing to have the ladies drenched by rain, eh?” His mischievous grin, however, somehow gave Eveline the idea that he wouldn’t think it a bad thing at all if it did happen.
Eveline looked up at the sky, and her smile faded, for the clouds did indeed look very large, very black, and very threatening. Good heavens! She wondered if it would be possible to get back to Bath without ruining her dress.
The viscount gazed at the sky as well, then nodded decisively. “Quite right, Jack.” Quickly, he signaled to the servants and ordered the luncheon remains to be taken away. None of the guests protested, for they, too, could see the dark clouds and feel the increasing humidity that signaled rain in no uncertain terms.
The first to leave were Miss Clairmond and the earl; it seemed Wyvern had been very aware of the impending storm for quite some time and had ordered his horses to be ready. Sir John and Miss Grey were next, as Clairmond still had to shout a last few orders to his servants.
At last Eveline was seated in the curricle. A gust of wind nearly blew her hat from her head, and she looked anxiously at the sky again. Though the wind was a welcome relief from the earlier still heat, it also clearly pushed the clouds closer overhead. The viscount took the reins, and they were off.
The Devil's Bargain Page 8