An Invitation to Sin (27 page)

"Did he, then?" Melbourne eyed the girl. She looked healthy enough. "I shan't overset her delicate constitution," he continued. "Will someone show me to the conservatory?"

One of the other girls rose. "I will, Your Grace."

"Which one are you?" he asked, falling in behind her.

"I'm Anne. I don't paint, and I don't faint."

He reassessed his opinion of Anne upward a little. "Neither do I."

"Do you raise cattle?"

"I have cattle on several of my estates."

"I'll wager none of them give as much milk as Dimidius." Sebastian clenched his jaw. He would hear an opinion from Zachary, but he had no intention of listening to them from little girls of inferior breeding. "I don't wish to discuss cattle," he said, keeping his tone mild.

"Then you came to Wiltshire for a different reason," she returned promptly.

Obviously not all of the Witfelds were as dim as he'd originally thought. Interesting. "If I did, it would be my own reason," he said. People didn't question him or his motives; especially not chits half his age.

"We're actually in sheep country, you know," she continued, apparently unaffected by his tone. "Yes, I know."

"And bricks. Trowbridge is also known for fine textiles."

"So I've heard." He was beginning to think she was intentionally baiting him, which made for a select choice of scenarios. Either she was insane, which he didn't believe, or she was angry at his presence. That made more sense, especially if the Witfelds were set on Zachary marrying one of the daughters. Logic didn't always win out, however, and he preferred to know things for certain before he acted. "Given your county's fame for sheep and bricks and textiles, why did your father decide to breed cattle?"

"So you wish to discuss cattle again, now?"

Sebastian took a slow, controlled breath. "Yes, I do." "Very well. He didn't, really—decide to breed cattle, I mean. He had a theory about combining breeds, but Zachary is the one who realized how significant Dimidius could be. He has five or six local farmers and landowners using part of their land to help increase breeding stock."

So the Witfelds genuinely liked Zach. He wasn't surprised; his youngest brother was notoriously charming and good-natured.

"I'd wager all of you enjoyed having Zachary and Aunt Tremaine here in Wiltshire."

"Yes. If Zachary hadn't agreed to pose for Caro's portrait, she would have had to use Lord and Lady Eades." Anne slowed halfway up the stairs, looking under her arm at him. "They like to dress as historical figures, and I'm not certain how the art studio would have received a work like that."

"Indeed."

They stopped at a door just off the stairs, and Anne knocked. "Caro? The Duke of Melbourne wants to see your paintings."

After a moment the door opened. "Certainly," the slender, auburn-haired female said, stepping back so they could enter.

The conservatory had a solid oak floor, and half the room was taken up by a curving bow window with a low, padded seat running beneath it. On the far wall shelves and organized stacks of books and sketch pads and paintings filled every inch of space, while to his right he could barely make out the back wall for all the paintings covering it.

He walked closer, taking in family portraits, landscapes, paintings of dogs and cats and chickens, people he recognized from their visits this morning and more he didn't recognize who must be neighbors he hadn't yet met. As he put a thoughtful expression on his face he heard Miss Witfeld move up behind him, and he waited for her to make excuses for some of the less polished works or the rather odd subjects.

"Is this the sum total of your work?" he asked after a moment, when she didn't venture a comment.

"No. Some of it is in the hallway behind the drawing room, and a great many of the local families have the portraits I did of them."

"So these are the paintings you are the least proud of?"

"The paintings I'm the least proud of are in the fireplace," she returned smoothly. "My father wanted one of each of us in the hallway, and he chose a few of his other favorites to accompany them."

Still no simpering, no polite effacing of her talent that he would have expected to hear from most ladies with whom he was acquainted. Sebastian studied the paintings more closely. Most of the better-acclaimed artists of the generation had taken pains to become acquainted with him; they invariably seemed in need of a patron or a client. And he collected some artworks, painted by the finest British artists, as his contribution to the artistic community.

"You have talent," he said after a moment, moving slowly along the wall.

"Thank you."

Sebastian faced her, ignoring the other chit, Anne, still standing beside the door. "I'm not a large fan of paintings of animals, I'm afraid."

She tilted her head a little, her gaze meeting his with a fearlessness he noted. "I didn't paint them for you, Your Grace. Is there anything else you would like to survey?"

"I hear that you are going to Vienna in the next few days."

"I've applied for an apprenticeship there," she returned.

"How do your mother and father feel about your traveling to the Continent?"

"You would have to ask them, Your Grace."

"But it is your intention to be a portraitist in Vienna, whichever… offers or obstacles might land in your path?"

She hesitated, her color deepening a little. To Sebastian that alone spoke as loudly as an alarm bell, but he waited, unmoving, for her to respond. Cows, portraits, the army; he could deal with all of that. His concern was Zachary. And Zachary had a very open heart, despite his polished veneer of experience. Something had happened here in Wiltshire, something that hadn't happened in a dozen or so liaisons and short-lived affairs in which his brother had engaged previously.

"My sisters, my father, and even my mother will tell you, Your Grace, that my one aim in life is to be a successful portraitist. I'm not likely to be swayed by any conflicting obstacles or offers."

"And what—"

"Melbourne." Zachary stood in the doorway, an annoyed expression on his face. "That's enough."

"I'm inquiring about Miss Witfeld's plans," Sebastian returned, assessing his brother's expression. "You've been here for longer than I have; I'm catching up."

"You sound like the Spanish Inquisition." Zachary turned his attention to Miss Witfeld. "I'm going into Trowbridge to borrow that new book from Anderton and to order another shipment of feed grain. Care to join me?"

"Certainly," she said, sketching a curtsy in Sebastian's direction. "I have a few items to purchase for Vienna."

Nodding, Zachary gestured her out the door and followed behind her, slowing to send Sebastian another glare over his shoulder.
Hm
. Interesting.

"Would you like to visit anyone else, Your Grace?" the young one, Anne, asked. "You might enjoy seeing some of my father's other inventions. He has an egg roller that Zachary assisted him with."

"By all means," Sebastian said, beginning to find this all a little amusing. Apparently he'd stumbled on the infant Greek goddess of Chaos to be his guide. And he'd learned that whatever Miss Witfeld's intentions, Zachary's were much clearer. "Lead on."

Shay managed to wrangle an invitation to accompany the two of them into town, which of course meant that half the female population of Witfeld Manor then had to join them, as well. Zachary sent his brother an annoyed glance as the fully loaded barouche passed between them. He wheeled Sagramore back around, deciding he could at least ride beside Caroline even if he couldn't ride with her.

On his borrowed gelding, Charlemagne moved up beside him. "What's that sour look for?" his brother asked.

"What do you think?"

"None of this is my fault. Melbourne said to pack, so I packed. Had to pass on a very nice offer for shares in a porcelain manufacturer to do it. And if you think I was going to spend another second being mobbed in that house, you're mad."

"So now you can be mobbed out-of-doors."

"At least out here I more avenues of escape."

"I wish you'd escape back to London. You didn't even bring me any cigars, I'll wager."

Charlemagne looked at him. "You can hardly blame him for being concerned, Zach. From joining the army to breeding cows in the space of one month is a bit much even for you."

"It's not like that," Zachary shot back, trying to keep a rein on his temper. Yelling at Shay wouldn't do any good;as his brother had said, journeying to Wiltshire had been Melbourne's idea. And from the way the duke had been questioning Caroline, it seemed that Sebastian suspected he'd embarked on yet another frivolous venture for no better reason than to net a female's favors. For once his brother had no idea what was going on.

"Then explain what it is, Zach. I don't have a gypsy with me to tell your fortune."

Zachary glanced over at the barouche to see Caroline sending him a look of her own. Only three damned days until she would have her answer from Vienna, and she could be gone within a day after that. Only three days, and now his brothers were here to further complicate what was already an indecipherable mess. And with them present, his odds of arranging another private rendezvous had decreased considerably as well, damn it all.

"I figured some things out," he said quietly, dropping back while Shay slowed beside him. "I thought about the army, and I thought about
why
I wanted to join the army, and I realized what I wanted from life."

"And you can get that thing from cows."

"I can get that thing from developing a plan and following through with it, and working to see that not only this part of Wiltshire but perhaps even all of England will eventually be able to benefit from it."

"So you're a philanthropist now."

"If you're only going to make fun, I'm finished. You're not the one I need to convince of anything, anyway."

"Ouch," Shay returned, scowling. "And to think, I might have been purchasing table crockery right now."

Zachary snorted. "And you think
my
plans are idiotic? At least if the milk production part fails, I can still eat the cows."

"Fair enough. If it makes any difference, I don't think Seb's opposed to your project. He just wants to know more about it."

"And about whether I'll follow through with it. I will. And I don't particularly care whether he approves of what I'm doing or not." How could he explain it without sounding like a Bedlamite, anyway? How could he tell his cynical brothers that he'd never been as excited or as enthusiastic about anything before, and that if he could only convince Caroline to stay, he would consider that he'd found a perfect moment and a perfect life?

"I'll pass that along. But I do have another question."

"And what might that be?"

"You've been here for four weeks," his older brother said, pitching his voice even lower. "Which of the Witfeld chits are you plowing? I don't want to step on your toes."

It was too direct to be a question from Sebastian, but the suggestion of it might have been the duke's. "Become acquainted with them and you might decide not to be so insulting," he commented, evading the question with every ounce of skill he possessed. "Parents of limited means have managed to raise seven charming girls. I admire them for that. It can't always have been a pleasant prospect."

Shay grimaced. "Consider me chastised. Aunt Tremaine wouldn't allow you to get away with anything, anyway, I suppose."

Charlemagne could suppose all he liked; Zachary wasn't about to tell him how important Caroline was becoming to his life. Not when letting her go seemed to be the best thing he could do for her.

"However much you think it will elevate our status with our neighbors, Mrs. Witfeld, we cannot afford another party simply because a duke has arrived—uninvited, by the way—on our doorstep!"

Caroline stopped halfway through her father's office door and turned around again.
Don't notice me
, she prayed fervently as she edged the door closed. If there was one thing she didn't want, it was to be caught in the middle of an argument between her parents. Especially now, when she was already arguing with herself.

"Caroline!"

"Damnation," she muttered, swinging the door open again. "Yes, Papa?"

"Your mother thinks we need to hold another soiree to welcome the Duke of Melbourne to our household. What is your opinion?"

"I don't think the duke or Lord Charlemagne means to stay in Wiltshire long enough to attend a party," she said.

"They can hardly be comfortable staying in Grace and Violet's rooms. And I know Anne and Susan aren't happy to be sharing with Grace and Violet."

"But if we hold a party, they will have to stay!" her mother broke in, twisting a handkerchief in her hands and ignoring the rest of her daughter's commentary. "No one else has ever had three such gentlemen under their roof all at one time."

Her father, though, was looking at Caroline. "How long do you think they mean to stay, then?"

"I think the duke is only here to look at Zachary's plans and to be certain he's not being coerced into remaining in Wiltshire."

"'Coerced'? How?"

This was going to be the difficult part. She might not have had much experience with powerful patriarchs of powerful families, but she knew precisely what the Duke of Melbourne suspected, and she knew that he suspected her of being the cause of Zachary's interest in cattle and in Wiltshire. And apparently he wouldn't be entirely wrong. "We are a family of seven attractive daughters, Papa," she said with a smile she didn't feel.

"Yes, we are," her mother broke in. "And you and your sisters have had a month to make Lord Zachary fall in love with one of you, and what do we hear? He's more interested in a cow!"

"Mama, this program of his could be so beneficial to our family that I can't even begin to state it. And its success will raise our status in Wiltshire."

"With whom—farmers?"

"Don't bother, Caro," her father commented, flipping open his ledger book. "I've been trying to explain it to your mother for days. She wants a son-in-law, not a plump purse."

"No, I want both!" Harumphing, her mother stalked out of the room.

"I'm sorry you had to witness that, Caro," her father said, obviously unconcerned. "What can I do for you? And I've set aside twenty pounds for any miscellaneous traveling expenses you might have—and in case you'd like to purchase a new gown to impress your new employer."

"I don't have the position yet, Papa," she said, sinking into the chair opposite him. "Thank you so much for the offer, but I can't ask you to do that."

"You don't have to ask."

She blinked back unexpected tears. She knew precisely how dear even twenty pounds could be to the family. And it made what she needed to tell him even more difficult. But it also made it more important. "Papa, I think I know why Melbourne is here."

"It's not because of Dimidius?"

"I think it's because of me."

He closed the ledger again. "Do you know that Melbourne's yearly income is rumored to be somewhere over a hundred thousand pounds?"

Caroline blinked at the figure. "Wh— No, I didn't. But what—"

"However valuable Dimidius and her kind might turn out to be for us and for the finer tables of England, a yearly investment of a few thousand quid is not enough to ruffle that man's feathers."

"I don't—"

He leaned forward, putting his hand over hers as she fiddled with his letter opener. "I may have been a bit preoccupied lately, but I'm not blind, my dear. I know His Grace isn't here because of the cows." Her father gave her fingers a squeeze and released her. "Now. Tell me whatever you will; I promise to listen quietly and be reasonable."

Oh, dear
. She'd tried to think of her conversation with Zachary in academic, logical terms: He'd offered her an alternative to the path she'd chosen for herself, and she'd declined. Logic, though, couldn't explain the ache in her chest at the thought of never seeing him, never chatting with him again. It didn't explain much of anything so much as it seemed to provide an excuse. "Zachary asked… well, not precisely
asked
, but suggested…" she stumbled, her voice shaking, "he intimated that he would perhaps like to marry me."

For a moment the entire house seemed so quiet that she swore she could hear the grandfather clock ticking up in the library. "Good God," her father finally said, his face paling. He cleared his throat. "I see. And your reply was?"

Oh, was he disappointed? Even a tiny portion of a hundred thousand pounds would make life in Wiltshire so much easier. She reached for the level, logical part of herself she'd been leaning on so heavily today. "I told him that I wanted to be a portraitist, and that I couldn't do that as any man's wife, and I asked hint not to ask me."

After a long moment her father nodded. "And he complied, I assume?"

"Yes. But I wanted you to know that… that His Grace probably suspects something, and that he wants to make certain one of the precious Griffins isn't going to wed someone of inferior standing."

"Caroline, I would set you up against any noblewoman in England, and you would come out the better," he returned. "But I wouldn't have you miserable in even the most advantageous marriage."

That was the thing. She hadn't merely been speculating about her future if she married into the Griffin family, and the appearance of the Duke of Melbourne made that even more certain. He wouldn't allow a female painter who insisted on having a studio and clients and her own income into the family, and she had no intention of giving up her dream.

The problem, though, was that her waking dreams and her sleeping dreams were drifting further and further apart. And the idea that one day Zachary would marry someone else—someone
not her
—hurt almost more than she could stand. "You're not angry, Papa?"

"You have a dream, Caroline. I wouldn't have you turn your back on it for anything in the world." He leaned across the desk and squeezed her fingers. "But I want you to be certain. Marrying Zachary could open a great many doors for you."

"But it would close one very important door, wouldn't it?" she returned, at the edge of begging him to agree with her—or to disagree with her. Oh, she didn't know.

He smiled. "The frustrating thing about doors, my dear, is that it's difficult to know precisely what you'll find on the other side until you've stepped through."

She stood. "I was afraid you were going to say that."

"It's an interesting problem, to have too many choices. And I don't think I can advise you to do anything but discover which path makes you happiest, and follow it."

Goodness. "Thank you, Papa. You've given me more to think about." Her heart and her mind both full, Caroline mumbled something and escaped. She felt very much in need of a long, long walk. On her way down the hall, however, she spied Zachary lurking in the morning room next to the window. She stopped, debating whether she could face talking with him again. It would have been so much easier, if she didn't like him, admire him, trust him so much. But maybe he had the answer—no one else had ever caused her to ask herself such questions.

"You're looking very thoughtful," she said, quoting his earlier lessons on how to impress a man and trying very hard to make her heart stop beating so hard before he heard it banging about. "Is something troubling you? I'd very much like to know what it is. Or I could fetch you some pie."

"Very amusing." He gestured at her. "Come here and look at this."

Frowning, she joined him at the window. For a moment, she couldn't move beyond the sensation of his solid warmth behind her, close enough to touch, to lean into, to lose herself inside.
Steady, Caro
. This wasn't about losing herself; it was about finding a logical solution to her dilemma. Then, following the point of his finger, she spied her sister Susan leaning against an oak tree while Martin Williams stood speaking to her adamantly.

"Are they fighting?"

"She's smiling. I think he may be declaring himself."

"You mean he's proposing?"

Zachary glanced at her before returning his gaze to the scene outside. "It does happen in the world. Men and women marry fairly frequently in fact, from what I've observed."

"Zachary—"

"One sister out of six isn't wonderful odds, but it's early yet. I have high hopes that at least one or two other of your siblings might receive proposals in the next few weeks."

From Caroline's expression she wasn't sure whether to nod, flee, or yell at him. At the moment, though, Zachary didn't have a great deal of sympathy for her. He was the one who'd been rejected, after all. And despite that, he couldn't seem to stay away from her. He wasn't even angry as much as he was frustrated. True, if they married he couldn't see her going to Vienna, especially since his new business would obviously keep him in England, but neither would he expect her to stop painting once she put on his ring. How could she not feel the pull between them? And how could she ignore that, put it aside?

"I hope you're right," was all she said, still gazing outside.

He found himself wishing that he could paint her. He would have her posed just like she was now, still and thoughtful, her gaze out the window, to somewhere other than where she was. Would she be happy, he wondered, when she reached her destination? Thanks to her he'd reached his, and yet without her there, he found it lacking. "I love you," he said quietly.

Her face whipped up toward his, tears in her eyes. Then without a word she turned and left the room. For a long time he stood there, looking after her and wondering how his heart could continue beating with a gaping hole in his chest. He'd been rejected by chits before, but mostly because they'd found someone willing or eager to marry them, while he'd only been interested in some amusement. He'd never lost a woman to a bundle of paints and canvases before.

"That went well," he muttered, and headed for the liquor tray and the bottle of whiskey. It was definitely time for a drink.

"Good morning, Miss Witfeld."

Caroline looked down at the foot of the stairs, grateful that it wasn't Zachary who stood in the foyer looking up ather. The day before yesterday had very nearly been enough to kill her. "Lord Charlemagne."

"Zachary tells me there's some fine fishing hereabouts."

She nodded. "The Wylye River is a few miles away. Izaak Walton wrote his
Compleat Angler
about it. Every river and stream in the area is well stocked."

"Well, that sounds too splendid to pass by. Have you seen either of my brothers?"

"I believe His Grace is in the library. I haven't seen Lord Zachary yet today." She'd barely seen him over the past three days, though she could hardly blame him for that, since she'd been the one doing the avoiding. The last three words he'd said to her in private had kept her awake every night since then, tossing and turning in fits that swung from absolute euphoria to deepest despair. If only he'd been a penniless painter like herself. If only he lived in Vienna. If only he weren't a Griffin.

The front door slammed open, nearly sending Lord Charlemagne into the side table. "Caro!" Anne shrieked, doing a spin about the foyer before she bothered to look up the stairs.

"What in heaven's name is wrong?" Caroline asked, hurrying down to her sister as, with a graceful step, the middle Griffin brother moved backward, out of the way.

"It's here! It's here!"

"What's h—"

Her father came through the door, a box in his arms. "It's from Vienna," he said, his voice choked and his smile beaming.

Oh. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear
. Her hands shook so hard that she could only clench them together as she stared at the box. What could it be? The portrait? That made sense.

They'd returned the original works she'd sent, the ones that had won her an application. Zachary's portrait should go to Zachary, and the Tannberg studio wouldn't have space to keep the work of every applicant. They were a business, not a gallery. Except that she wanted to take the painting with her to put in her room in Vienna. If she couldn't have him, at least she could have his likeness. He hadn't paid her for it, after all, and—

"Shall we all go to the morning room?" her father prompted.

She shook herself. For heaven's sake, the most important moment of her life and she was lost in thoughts of someone else. "Yes, yes. We should fetch Mama."

"I'll do it," Anne said and bolted up the stairs, yelling.

Dazed, Caroline followed her father into the morning room. She'd been expecting an answer since she'd sent an application, and the fact that the response had come a day early shouldn't have thrown her so far out of her own skin. But it had, and now she was fighting her way back to reality so she wouldn't begin sobbing like a simpering fool when she read the letter from Monsieur Tannberg.