The Devil's Bargain

by Karen Harbaugh

  This last thought stopped him, and an odd, elusive feeling he could not identify settled in his mind. How was it that he could refuse to take advantage of Mr. Hartley and not have Teufel appear to chide him? Was Teufel not so perceptive as Richard had thought? He remembered, vaguely, stories he had heard as a child of bargains with the devil, and how some of the victims had escaped their bargains. Perhaps … perhaps there was a way he could fulfill his bargain with Teufel, yet not totally destroy the things he valued.

  Richard wet his dry lips, and his heart beat faster. He had done as Teufel requested, had seduced, then abandoned Eveline. Yet, Teufel had not said how long he was to do so. There was no time limit, no agreement had been made about it. If … if he went back to Bath, presented himself to Mr. Seton, and asked for Eveline’s hand in marriage—married her, in fact, would that not make amends? And he had abandoned her—for a time. Surely that would fulfill the terms of the bargain.

  Perhaps, also, the bargain was as he remembered it, and not as Teufel had said it was in their conversation. He shook his head. There was no way he could prove it, or show he was right. It was a useless hope, he was sure.

  He winced at the probable reception he would receive. Who could blame Eveline if she could not feel any tender emotion toward him for the way he had treated her. At the very least he could marry her and restore her reputation in that way. No doubt she despised him, but it was the least he could do. She could do as she wished, and he would not come near her if that was what she wanted.

  A new energy came into him, and he rose restlessly from his chair. He had come to London to sell his town house, but his supervision of the sale was unnecessary. That had merely been an excuse to leave Eveline, he knew. Surely she would see, however much she must despise him now, that accepting his proposal would give her at least a modicum of respectability. Richard grimaced. It was probably the only thing he could give her.

  Thoughts of her face, her form in the shifting shadows of that night when they had lain together in the cottage, came to him. He pushed them away. He would not defile that memory with regrets, but do what he could to make it right. To the world she was a ruined woman, but he knew in reality that it was he who was not worthy of touching her. At the very least, he could make the world look upon her with approval again.

  He would leave tomorrow for Bath.

  Chapter Eleven

  Eveline sat in her chamber, looking out of the window. Her hands were folded in her lap, her whole aspect calm—the calm of quiet anger and despair.

  He did not come. It had been a week since the day of the storm, and no bad weather could have prevented Richard from calling upon her. Indeed, she thought bitterly, it was not bad weather that kept any of her usual visitors from calling on her.

  For she had soon discovered that news traveled quickly in Bath. She had made a few friends in the two years she and her father had resided in the town. Now, other than one or two visits from the curious, no one came to their house.

  She was ruined. The idea was not foreign to her, but she had not quite understood the real consequences of her seclusion overnight with Lord Clairmond. She had never known anyone who had been compromised, and rarely paid any attention to gossip. At the cottage Richard had told her her reputation was in shreds, and while she had acknowledged it, it seemed oddly without meaning to her.

  Now, it meant a great deal. She was not used to slights or insults; the first time an acquaintance had stared at her, pulling her skirts away from Eveline’s shadow and passing without speaking, Eveline had gazed at the woman in astonishment. Then the whispers, the speculative looks came every day after that, in increasing numbers. Only one person had acknowledged her, a man whom she had met at one of the assemblies. Eveline had been in the circulating library, and he had looked at her and smiled. She returned his smile, glad that there was someone who did not think ill of her. But she had been quite wrong; he had come to her and whispered a foul suggestion into her ear. It was all she could do to clench her hands to keep from slapping his leering face in front of the library patrons. She had stalked from the building, leaving her selected books behind her.

  Then there was Papa. He spoke little to her; she doubted it was wholly from anger at her, but from anger at Lord Clairmond. Papa was pleasant to her, but would not meet her eyes. She had shamed him, and that was worse to her than any anger he could express.

  Leaving her room was an effort for her. She knew it was cowardly, but there was only so much of sneers, whispers, and snubs she could stand. Oh, she would go out again tomorrow to defy them all, but more than once a day made an angry heat seize her limbs, and she was not sure if she could keep herself from doing someone violence. She smiled grimly to herself. Of course she would not, but oh, she had come close to it.

  A knock sounded on the door. “ ’Tis Lady Brookland to see you, Miss Eveline,” came Laidlaw’s voice.

  Eveline froze. Lady Brookland! She wondered why the dowager countess had come. To castigate her? Eveline had not done the countess’s patronage justice. Lady Brookland had been everything that was kind and generous, but Eveline did not feel confident after being shunned by everyone she had known. She had not seen Lady Brookland since before the alfresco luncheon. She sighed. She did not want to face any more slights, not today. Going out once this afternoon had been enough.

  “Miss Eveline?” questioned Laidlaw. His voice sounded worried.

  She came to a sudden decision. “I shall be down directly; you may tell Lady Brookland it will be but a few minutes.”

  Quickly she tidied herself. She would look her best and take no insult from anyone, not even Lady Brookland. Eveline walked steadily down the stairs to the parlor, then paused at the door. She took a deep breath, put on her haughtiest expression, and entered the room.

  Lady Brookland stood near the window; Eveline could not tell her expression, for the countess’s back was to the sun, and her face was obscured in shadow. Eveline curtsied formally and gazed at the old woman with as much calmness as possible.

  “My lady, you are welcome.”

  The countess rushed forward and held out her hands. “Oh, you poor child!” She came out from the shadows, and Eveline saw Lady Brookland’s face, full of kind concern. Eveline could only shake her head, for she could not trust herself to speak without weeping. The older woman’s kindness struck Eveline’s heart harder than any of the sneers and snubs she’d received so far. Grasping Eveline’s hands, the countess pulled her to a chair. “Why did you not tell me? Oh, I wish I had been in town when it had happened!” She pressed her lips together in vexation.

  “There … was nothing anyone could do, my lady,” Eveline replied, glad that her voice shook a only little. “The carriage had gone into a ditch, and it was all we could do to find shelter.”

  Lady Brookland pressed Eveline’s hands again between her own. “I am sure there was no avoiding it.” She looked at Eveline carefully. “Of course, he is doing all that is proper.”

  Eveline turned her face away. “As soon as we found the cottage, he asked me to marry him.”

  “Well, then, I shall make sure that fact is well known, and soon!”

  “No, please, I … Not yet—”

  “Not yet!”

  Eveline looked up to see Lady Brookland’s astonished face.

  “No, ma’am. I … I am waiting to hear from him.”

  “Waiting! Surely he has talked with you and your father since that time.”

  “He has not. He left Bath the day after the luncheon a week ago.”

  Lady Brookland gazed at Eveline in consternation. “Impossible! Why, I knew Clairmond’s father since he was a youth, and Clairmond as well! Both of them had wild reputations, but neither of them have ever forsaken a duty. There must be some explanation for it.”

  “Perhaps duty does not extend to merchant’s daughters,” Eveline said lightly.

  “Nonsense!”

  Doubt clouded Lady Brookland’s sharp and clever features; clearly she was distur
bed. Eveline opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Laidlaw’s entrance.

  “Miss Seton, ’tis Lord Clairmond to see you.”

  The room suddenly seemed to spin in front of Eveline’s eyes, making her breathless, and she closed her eyes to gain some composure. He has come, she said to herself, and the relief she felt in those words was a pain almost too much to bear. She had thought she had borne her humiliation well, that she could shoulder her ruined reputation with a good grace. But the lifting of her heart at the sound of Lord Clairmond’s name told her it was not so; the crushing weight of her disgrace had made her think she felt nothing for him after he had left her.

  “Miss Seton?”

  Eveline opened her eyes and smiled at Laidlaw’s anxious expression. “Do bring him up to this room, Laidlaw.”

  “It was as I thought!” said the countess, clearly relieved. “Surely it was something of great urgency that took him from your side so abruptly.” She frowned. “However, there is little excuse for Clairmond not to have given you notice of it.”

  Eveline found herself wringing her hands and firmly stilled them. She did not know what she would say when Lord Clairmond came in; she clearly did not understand him as she had thought. He had said he would come to her again, and she expected it would be the next day; and now it was more than a week since their stay in the untenanted cottage. She had felt anger, then an aching grief, then confusion, and finally a dead calm. But now he had come to see her, and she did not know what she felt except relief, perhaps more, perhaps less. Did she not love him anymore? She did not know.

  The door opened, and she looked up. It was indeed Clairmond; she had not dreamed Laidlaw’s announcement, and she was not dreaming now. Something had changed in him; he had a grim expression, and his face was haggard with weariness. And yet, there was a feeling of unrest about him, as if there was some emotion barely suppressed beneath his surface calm. Eveline stood, and Clairmond came forward. He held his hand half outstretched, then dropped it.

  “Eveline …” he whispered, and there was such an ache of longing and hopelessness in his voice and eyes that Eveline felt a sharp pain lance through her chest. A pronounced clearing of the throat issued from Lady Brookland, and he turned toward the countess. He looked startled as if he had just noticed her presence, then bowed gravely, first to her then to Eveline. “Lady Brookland, Miss Seton.”

  The countess inclined her head coolly. “So you have returned, I see. I suppose you have come to rectify the harm you have done Miss Seton?” Her blunt words were clearly an insult.

  “Lady Brookland! I am sure I can deal with—” Eveline exclaimed, but Lady Brookland held up an imperious hand.

  The expression on Lord Clairmond’s face grew stiff. “Of course.”

  “Good.” She turned to Eveline, her expression softening. “You may be sure, my dear, that I shall do all I can to scotch any rumors about you and young Clairmond here.” She transferred her gaze to the viscount. “I shall expect to see the announcement of your engagement in the Gazette. Soon.”

  Lord Clairmond said nothing, but nodded curtly. He looked at Eveline, then said: “Is it possible to see your father, Miss Seton?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course, he has been expecting you for … That is to say, he is available at the moment.” Eveline could feel her face flame, and she hurriedly pulled the bell rope for a servant. “Laidlaw will take you to him.”

  “Thank you.”

  It was but a minute before the butler arrived, but to Eveline it seemed an age. She felt she could not look at Lord Clairmond, though she more than once felt his gaze upon her. How else could she keep from blurting out words she was sure would be disastrous? Eveline was glad of Lady Brookland’s presence; it gave her a measure of control over her riotous emotions.

  Then the door opened, and the viscount turned to leave. Eveline looked up at last and met his eyes. He smiled hesitantly at her, but there was an odd look of hope and defiance in his gaze. He bowed, and before she could speak, he left the room.

  Richard wished the butler would hurry, but of course that was probably not within the old servant’s ability. He reined in his impatience and acknowledged that though Laidlaw’s slowness did not suit his eagerness, it suited his trepidation quite well. For Richard well knew that the interview between himself and Mr. Seton would be unpleasant—and deservedly so.

  The butler halted before a door at the end of the hall and knocked.

  “You may enter.”

  “Lord Clairmond, sir,” Laidlaw announced, opening the door.

  Richard had expected a dim room with drawn curtains, as befit the room of an invalid. He stepped into an extremely large chamber instead, the windows clearly open to the sunlit sky. It seemed Mr. Seton’s chamber served two functions: At one end was a canopied bed; at the other a huge desk with quills sprouting from one of the boxes set into it, and papers scattered across the desk’s surface. As with the parts of the house Richard had seen, it was well-appointed: A clock of polished oak ticked the minutes away upon the mantelpiece; the curtains were of an elegant drape and color; nothing was out of place or ostentatious.

  Mr. Seton apparently noticed his gaze, for he said: “You must excuse the informality of my seeing you here; as you see, I have limited access to most places in this house—or out of it, for that matter—and find having my office and my bedroom combined most convenient.” Mr. Seton sat in a Bath chair at the desk, a quill in his hand. His tone was cordial, but Richard could hear an undercurrent of anger in it.

  Richard felt there was little he could say to this. He bowed, then said abruptly: “I have come to ask for Miss Seton’s hand in marriage.”

  Mr. Seton raised his brows. “I see you wish to come to the point quickly. Very well then.” He set down his quill and pushed himself away from the desk. “Where were you a week ago?”

  “London.”

  “Which you deemed more important than my daughter’s reputation, or indeed, your honor,” Mr. Seton said coldly.

  Richard looked levelly at the merchant. “No, sir, I did not.”

  “You did not! Then I wonder why you are here so late as to have my daughter suffer as she has this past week! You damned bastard! Do you know what you have done to her?”

  Richard could feel his face grow cold, and he closed his eyes briefly. “I can guess.”

  “You guess!”

  There was silence, and Richard could see the rage and sorrow struggling on the merchant’s face.

  Richard clenched his teeth, then said: “You are right to be angry, sir, and I deserve any insult you care to give. However, I am trying to make reparations—as poor as they are.

  “Poor … Yes, that is it, is it not? I know of your financial condition; did you think to force my daughter to marry you so that you could extort money from us?”

  Rage and insult flared within him at Mr. Seton’s words. “I don’t want your money!” To his horror Richard found his hands closing into fists. He turned away from the older man and relaxed his hands. “Do you not think I would have returned long since if that were so?”

  “Then perhaps you could not swallow the thought of having a merchant’s daughter as your viscountess?”

  “No!” Richard stopped, and knew it was not true. He remembered his thoughts upon meeting Eveline, how he had tried to justify his seduction of her. He took a deep breath and turned back to Mr. Seton.

  “Yes,” he said. “I did, when I first met your daughter. And yes, I meant to seduce her.” He laughed bitterly at the surprised look on Mr. Seton’s face. “Did your sources not tell you that I was a rake?”

  “No.” Mr. Seton looked thoughtful. “My solicitors are more versed in financial matters than in society gossip.”

  “It is no wonder you are astonished.”

  Mr. Seton cast him a keen glance. “No. I am surprised that you would admit it.” He picked up his quill again, but only held it in his two hands.

  “At least you know I do not lie.”

  �
��I do not know anything of the sort,” the merchant said sharply. “What made you return?”

  “I love her.”

  “Don’t insult my intelligence, Lord Clairmond.” Mr. Seton sat back in his chair and ran the feathered end of the quill through his fingers.

  Again anger flared within Richard, but it faded to weariness. “Since you will not believe anything I say, what does it matter?” He sighed. “The fact remains that Miss Eveline’s reputation can only be redeemed if I marry her.”

  “He is quite right, Papa.”

  Richard turned quickly. Eveline had entered the room so quietly that he had not heard her. He glanced at Mr. Seton.

  Apparently, he had not heard either, for there was a look of surprised chagrin on his face.

  “Eveline!” her father exclaimed.

  “You have needled him quite enough. He has come back, and whatever his reasons for doing so, he wishes to make some reparation to my reputation. He has asked to marry me. Is that not enough?” Eveline did not look at Richard, but at her father. Her face showed only calm, but her hands were clasped together tightly.

  “No, it is not enough!” Mr. Seton cast her an angry look. “I tell you, Eveline, he will not see one penny of my money if he marries you!”

  Eveline gave a little gasp, but said: “Casting me off, are you?”

  The clock ticked too loudly in the quiet that reigned in Mr. Seton’s chambers, while Richard watched father and daughter warring silently with each other. Finally, Mr. Seton slapped his hand down on the desk, in an impatient gesture.

  “No, I am not casting you off, and well do you know it!”

  Eveline smiled slightly. “I thought not.”

  “However, I will not finance the rebuilding of his estates or any of his property if you marry him. You will have to live in his house, and I can guarantee you, my dear, it will not be in the style you are used to.”