by Darcy Burke
It was, thankfully, a temperate afternoon as they walked into the park at nearly a quarter past four. They were a trifle early, but still within the realm of fashion. Or so Lavinia’s mother said. She’d also said that Lavinia was not to speak of rocks, dirt, or anything to do with science.
Still wishing the Duke of Seduction a series of misfortunes, Lavinia had managed to dash off notes to Sarah and Fanny earlier that afternoon asking them to meet her in the park.
They waited just inside the Grosvenor Gate, and Lavinia was eager to go to them. She expected her mother to chastise her for immediately joining her friends, but the countess was quite busy with her own group of women, who, given their frequent looks toward Lavinia, were assaulting her with questions about the Duke of Seduction.
It had already begun.
“Let us walk,” Lavinia said, wanting to leave the vicinity as soon as possible. She was permitted to walk with her friends along the footpath to the Serpentine and back.
Sarah fell into step on Lavinia’s left and Fanny on the right.
“So my prognostication came true,” Fanny said, but without pride or excitement. “He did write about one of you.” She looked at Lavinia with concern, her brow creased in straight, neat pleats. “Clearly you are not pleased.”
Lavinia gritted her teeth. “I don’t want to be interesting because some anonymous man says I am.”
“But his motives seem pure,” Fanny said, though her voice held a bit of question.
“How do we really know?” Lavinia asked as a cool breeze stirred the ribbons of her bonnet beneath her chin. “Perhaps if he made himself known, we could understand his true reasoning. This anonymity lends a rather sinister air, don’t you think?”
“Sinister?” Sarah laughed. “Lavinia is being dramatic, Fanny. She does that sometimes. She can also be rather fearless, and I guarantee if she knew the identity of the Duke of Seduction, she’d call him out on his behavior posthaste.”
“Indeed I would. Which is why I’d like to find out who he is.”
“Of course you would,” Sarah said. “We all would.”
“But I have reason to, beyond curiosity. He is meddling in my affairs, my life.”
“Yes, dramatic,” Sarah murmured.
Lavinia scowled at her dearest friend. “How would you feel if he wrote a poem about you? You may be next, after all.”
Sarah cocked her head to the side. “I’m not sure how I would feel, but if it meant I might dance more or perhaps meet the man of my dreams, I would appreciate the assistance.” She turned toward Lavinia. “Maybe you’ll meet the man you’re destined to fall in love with.”
“Or maybe I’ll meet someone my parents will marry me off to who won’t support my endeavors.”
“Your geology, you mean,” Fanny said.
Lavinia had shared her interests with Fanny yesterday when she and Sarah had called on her. They’d solidified the friendship they’d started the night before at the Evenrudes’ ball.
Sarah exhaled. “You oughtn’t be pessimistic. Why not see what happens?”
“My parents have forbidden me to speak of geology or anything else I find interesting. How am I to ascertain if a gentleman and I will suit?”
Wincing, Sarah ducked her head. “I see what you mean.”
Lavinia linked her arm through Sarah’s. “I know you’re trying to find the bright side of this, and I love you for it. I shall try to do the same. I’d like to speak with Miss Pemberton.”
“Why is that?” Fanny asked.
Lavinia took Fanny’s arm so they were all linked as they moved toward the Serpentine. “I’m curious what this did for her marriageability, whether it’s been a help or a hindrance.”
“But we already know it’s been a help to at least two of his subjects, if not three,” Fanny said.
“So it seems. But do we know if they’re all happy?” Lavinia planned to withhold judgment until she spoke to one or more of them.
“Well, that wouldn’t necessarily be the Duke of Seduction’s fault, would it?” Sarah asked. “He merely elevated their visibility. What happened next could be due to a number of influences.”
“I’m beginning to agree with Lavinia,” Fanny said. “It’s a dangerous game the Duke of Seduction has started. Even if his motivation is charitable, who’s to say a young lady wants to be managed in this way?”
Lavinia nodded sharply, smiling. “My point exactly!”
“This looks like trouble.”
A loud masculine voice drew Lavinia to squint down the path at three men coming their way. Due to the setting sun and her myopia, she wasn’t able to identify them right away.
Sarah, bless her, knew of Lavinia’s nearsightedness and leapt to the rescue. “Trouble,” she scoffed. “You’re the trouble, Anthony.”
Anthony was her brother, so Lavinia knew at least one of them. The space between them lessened, and she recognized the one to his left—the bloody Marquess of Northam.
“Good afternoon, dear sister,” Anthony said with a bow. “You know Felix, of course.” He gestured to his right to the Earl of Ware. Lavinia had met him before too.
“Of course.” Sarah gestured to Fanny, and Lavinia unlinked her arms from theirs. “Allow me to present our new friend, Miss Frances Snowden, sister to the Duchess of Clare.”
Anthony’s dark brows climbed up his forehead. “Auspicious company, sister.”
“No more than you.” Sarah inclined her head toward Northam.
“Have you not met Northam?” Anthony asked. “I presume he doesn’t really require an introduction. This is the Marquess of Northam.”
The marquess gave a sweeping bow directed at all three of them, but his gaze landed solely on Lavinia. “I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Her name hadn’t yet been mentioned, but she was certain he knew it already. How? Had he asked after her? Had Anthony told him as they’d approached along the path? Oh bother, did it really matter? She’d only withheld her identity from him the other night to be contrary. Because he’d kissed her neck thinking she was his paramour. A shiver danced along her spine. She blamed it on the decreasing temperature.
“This is my dear friend, Lady Lavinia Gillingham,” Sarah offered.
“Lady Lavinia.” Northam’s eyes glinted, and though Lavinia couldn’t see the color from the distance, she knew from their encounter in Lord Evenrude’s library that they were a gray green. Like moss on a tree hidden deep in the forest. A secret-keeping tree.
A secret-keeping tree? Good heavens, she was the recipient of one flattering poem and suddenly she was waxing romantic.
“Where are you ladies headed?” Anthony asked.
“The Serpentine,” Sarah said, glancing at the dimming sky. “Though I wonder if we ought to turn back.” Clouds had moved in, and, coupled with the sun setting, twilight was coming quickly.
“May we escort you?” Northam asked politely. He’d thankfully directed his attention toward Sarah for the question. Lavinia took a moment to relax—and reflect upon why he set her on edge.
Sarah exchanged looks with both Lavinia and Fanny before agreeing to his offer.
They turned and started along the path. Somehow, Lavinia ended up in the rear with the marquess. She refused to let him rattle her. Or think about his lips on her flesh.
“May I apologize again for the other evening?” he asked.
“You can apologize every day for eternity if you like. You don’t owe me any explanation or excuse. There was, thankfully, no harm done.”
“Save the book you left on the settee,” he murmured.
She turned her head toward him. “Why bring that up?”
“I was interested in your selection. The Geologic History of Cornwall?” He tipped his head. “I replaced it on the shelf for you.”
“That was the least you could do after interrupting me.”
His mouth split into a grin. “So it was.”
Lavinia ignored the way her stomach tilted when he smiled like th
at. “Were you able to meet with Lady—I mean your paramour later?” She shook her head and fixed her gaze forward. She’d meant to tease him, but realized it was an inappropriate question. “Never mind.” Why was she trying to tease him? To put herself at ease?
“I was not, alas. In fact, I haven’t seen her since.”
The urge to taunt him took over. “Careful, you’re going to lose your rake status.”
He laughed, too loud at first, drawing the attention of the others who turned their heads. Quickly stifling his mirth, he waved his hand. “I made a bad pun. Not worth repeating.” He flashed a smile for good measure, which Lavinia suspected would distract just about anyone from pressing him.
They walked in silence for a moment as conversation flowed in front of them. At last, he whispered, “Are you teasing me, Lady Lavinia?”
He’d moved a bit closer. The timbre of his voice, and his proximity, sent another shiver along her flesh—this time across her shoulders. If she closed her eyes, she was certain she’d feel the touch of his mouth on her neck.
No, she wasn’t going to think of that.
“Inappropriately.” She kept her voice low. “My apologies.”
“You must never apologize to me,” he said. “Remember, I am to beg your forgiveness until the end of my days.”
Now he was teasing her. Or flirting. Yes, flirting. That was what he’d done the other night. She peered sideways at him. “Are you capable of conversing with a woman without flirtation?”
“Yes, but I understood my rake status was in question, and I can’t have that.”
Oh, he was good. She’d give him that. Lavinia allowed a smile while she quashed a giggle.
“I’ve done it,” he said, rejoicing rather quietly, presumably not to draw the others’ attention again. “I’ve made you smile.”
“It’s not hard,” she said with more than a bit of sarcasm. “I am generally regarded as a jovial sort.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why do you want to make me smile?”
“I’m merely being friendly.”
“Are we to be friends?” She gave him a wry look. “Do you have many young, unmarried female friends?”
He laughed again, but softly this time. “No. You would be my first.”
“I’m afraid I don’t count any marquesses among my close acquaintance. And given your…reputation, I’m afraid a friendship between us wouldn’t be acceptable.”
“Because Society would frown on that.” The flat tone of his response surprised her.
“And you frown on Society’s rules?”
“When they don’t make sense, yes. Why can’t unmarried men and women be friends?”
He’d spoken that question too loudly, and it was far too provocative to ignore.
“Because something inappropriate will happen,” the Earl of Ware said. He stared at the marquess and shook his head. “Have you gone daft, Beck?”
Everyone laughed at this, except Lavinia, who stole a look at the man beside her. Beck. The name suited him. Strong, succinct, with an edge and also somehow charming. He was a dangerous man because of his reputation, and yet she couldn’t help find him engaging.
And it wasn’t because of the way his kiss had made her tingle.
Well, maybe a little.
The conversation continued as the Grosvenor Gate came into view, albeit fuzzily for Lavinia.
“Unmarried men and women can be friends,” Sarah said, shooting a haughty look toward Ware. “I’ve known you for years, Felix. Doesn’t that make us friends?”
Anthony scoffed. “No, that makes Felix my friend and you my sister.”
“I have to side with Miss Colton on this,” the marquess said. “If she’s known Ware for years and Ware is a good friend of her brother’s, doesn’t it follow that they are also friends?”
The earl glowered at Northam. “Shh! Don’t let anyone hear you. Just suggesting such a thing will see us married off before spring.” He sent an apologetic wince at Sarah. “Not that marriage to you would be horrible, but I think we can both agree that we wouldn’t suit.”
“God, no,” Anthony said. “Perish the thought.”
Sarah pursed her lips at them. “Lucky for both of you I agree. Otherwise, I might be gravely offended.”
“I’m beginning to think London is mad,” Fanny said quietly, her gaze moving over everyone.
Northam grinned. “Then you’ve got the right of it.”
“There you are!” Lavinia’s mother swooped in like a bird of prey. And Lavinia certainly felt trapped. “There are people who want to meet you.” She flicked a glance toward Sarah and her brother, whom they had, of course, known for years. It was clear Mother preferred Lavinia capitalize on her newfound celebrity than squander time with her friends.
“I was meeting new people, Mother,” she said sweetly. “Do you know the Marquess of Northam?”
It seemed the countess hadn’t even noticed him, for her eyes widened briefly. She quickly recovered and offered a curtsey. “I am not certain if we’ve been introduced. It’s a pleasure, my lord.”
He bowed in response. “The pleasure is mine.” He extended his bow to Lavinia. “Thank you for the promenade, Lady Lavinia.”
They exchanged farewells, and the trio of gentlemen departed, while Sarah retreated to her mother and Fanny joined her sister and some other ladies.
“You promenaded with the marquess?” her mother asked. “He must have read the poem.” She clasped her hands together and smiled widely. “It’s already working!”
“I don’t know if he read it or not, Mother. He was simply with Anthony when we encountered them on the path. It would have been rude for us not to be introduced. He also met Fanny.”
Mother pressed her lips together. “She is the sister-in-law of a duke. But it’s only her first Season.” Her tone turned cross. “It’s your turn, not hers.”
“It doesn’t work that way, Mother,” Lavinia said with a sigh.
Shaking her head and, seemingly, the irritation away, the countess forced a bright smile. “Come, there are some people who wanted to meet you and others who wanted to say hello. You are in demand now, my dear. And it’s about time.”
As Lavinia turned to walk with her, she could only hope that time would be short-lived. The sooner she could return to blessed anonymity, the better.
* * *
Two days later, Beck stood from his breakfast table feeling pleased. The third woman he’d written about, Miss Lennox, had just become engaged to Mr. Laurence Sainsbury. That made three women he’d helped secure matrimonial success. He could only hope Miss Pemberton and Lady Lavinia would enjoy the same outcome.
Beck went into his study, where his gaze immediately fell on the small portrait of his half sister that sat on his desk. With her dark hair and petite frame, Helen took after her mother, Beck’s father’s first wife. Helen’s solemnity was evident in the likeness, her green eyes dark and serious, her mouth set into a slightly sad tilt. Or maybe he attributed his own sadness to the image. Every time he looked at her, he felt a pang of sorrow and regret. If he’d been older, he could have helped her. He would have done anything to keep her safe and happy. But at thirteen, he’d been far too young to do anything but watch helplessly as she’d fallen prey to the cruelties of Society.
All he could do now was try, somehow, to help those who needed it. He didn’t want any young woman to endure what she had. And it seemed he was making a difference.
He missed those of his family who were gone—Helen, his father, his mother. He still had his oldest half sister, with whom he wasn’t terribly close, and her family, as well as his stepmother, Rachel, and his half brother. George was only eleven, but his education as the next Marquess of Northam was already well underway.
Bypassing the desk, Beck went to the corner where he kept his guitars—three of them. Picking up his favorite, he strummed his fingers over the strings, mindlessly at first and then plucking a tune. It was, in some ways, easier than words, whether verbal or written. Wi
th music, he could let loose of everything trapped inside him until he was empty.
He lost himself for a few minutes, or maybe it was an hour, playing whatever leapt to his mind, following a path of emotion and discovery. He felt much better when he finished, not that he’d felt bad to begin with. Music just made everything better.
A light rap on the door, which he’d left ajar, drew his attention. “Come.”
His butler, the exceedingly efficient and supportive Gage, stepped inside. “I’m not disturbing you, am I, my lord?” Gage was always careful to wait until there was a lull in the music.
“Not at all. You have today’s post there?” Beck met him near the door.
“Yes.” He handed Beck the stack of missives, and Beck continued to his desk.
Gage followed him, his tall, muscular frame moving with a grace that belied his fifty or so years. “I liked what you were playing at the end there.”
Beck moved behind the desk and looked up from sifting through his correspondence. “Thank you. A work in progress.”
“One of your finer pieces, in my opinion.”
Recognizing his solicitor’s hand, Beck opened that missive and found what he was expecting—another letter from the editor of the Morning Chronicle. He skimmed the missive and provided a summary for Gage. “He wants more poems. Apparently, circulation is up.” He dropped the letters on his desk and gave his butler a wry look.
“Unsurprising. The Duke of Seduction is quite popular, even among the servants.” Gage shook his head, which still sported a thick mane of dark hair shot with silver. “No, none of them realize you are him.”
For a moment, Beck had tensed. Now he blew out a breath in relief. Gage was the only person who knew of his secret identity, and Beck trusted him completely. “I can’t write them too quickly,” Beck said. “Each of them needs time to reap the benefits and hopefully make a match.” He’d worried that he hadn’t let enough time lapse before writing the poem about Lady Lavinia, but he’d been too eager to help her.
“You don’t have to write a poem about a young lady in need of attention,” Gage offered. “In fact, you needn’t write anything new at all. Your catalog of work is extensive.”