Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (10 page)

A twinkle of amusement and some disarming sympathy sparkled in the duchess's blue eyes. "Yes," she said. "The de Vaux men are irresistible, are they not, my dear? Tell me now, am I permitted to call you Elizabeth?"

In the circumstances it was impossible to refuse. Next Beth had to face the duke.

"I echo my dear wife's sentiments, Elizabeth. It is a delight to have you here." He smiled at her benignly as if he had never forced her into this. Beth clenched her teeth on unwise words. Offending the duke would achieve nothing.

Beth was directed to a seat on a sofa where the duchess joined her. The duke sat opposite while the marquess stoked the fireplace, watching Beth sardonically. The footman served wine and the duchess asked Beth about the journey. For half an hour Beth found herself skillfully drawn into conversation and entertained by amusing and relevant anecdotes. It was terribly hard not to like this charming lady with her French accent and warm smile.

The duke played his part in the conversation, and Beth noticed how the duchess even drew the marquess in with charming implacability. No plodding topics here, no awkward silences. Beth could not help but be impressed by their proficiency.

In due course the meal was announced, and the duke offered Beth his arm while the marquess escorted his mother. It was only one short corridor to the dining room, but it was a moment of privacy.

"Now that you have met the marquess, Elizabeth," asked the duke, "are you more reconciled to your fate?"

"I am as reconciled as he, Your Grace."

The duke met her cool look with a touch of surprise. "That is a pity, Miss Armitage. He is a man, and proud. I can rule him, but he does not take it gently."

"I am a woman, and proud, Your Grace," retorted Beth. "I do not take it gently either."

"Very well," he said, irritatingly unimpressed. "But remember, Elizabeth, your rancor is against me and me you cannot hurt."

"I do not seek to hurt anyone, Your Grace," said Beth with a hint of desperation. "I strive merely to keep myself intact."

"This is the family dining room," said the duke, smoothly switching subjects as they entered a large room hung with tapestries. The ceiling was painted with half-naked deities.

The family dining room, thought Beth dryly. The dining table was of a size to comfortably seat eight, but there were three other sections against one wall, and the room would certainly hold a "family" of twenty. The duke and duchess took their places at either end and the marquess and Beth sat facing each other at the sides. Service was
a la Russe
with a footman behind each diner and other servants bringing in dishes and taking away remains. Beth thought it utterly ridiculous.

Seeing clearly how it would be, she took only tiny portions of the many courses and still had trouble towards the end of the meal. She noticed that the marquess ate more heartily, but the duke and duchess also ate little and passed many courses by entirely. What on earth was the point of all this? It was obvious that everyone would have been more suited by a simple meal in privacy.

The proficient conversation recommenced, but now the talk was of the war, exhibiting depth of knowledge of international affairs and considerable shrewdness from all parties. Beth reflected that the servants were gaining a first-class education as they performed their duties, but it was as if it were all a performance put on for an audience.

The marquess and his parents must do this every day of their lives. The thought horrified Beth, and she found her tongue frozen. For a little while she managed to hold her silence but then she was implacably woven in again by easy questions directed her way. Short of the worst kind of ill manners, she had no choice but to play her part.

Despite the superficial ease and graciousness, Beth could feel the room pressing in on her, the words and occasional laughter squeezing at her temples. Soon she was going to say something unpardonable, and she didn't want to. Mere rudeness would not set her free, and she hated to think of the servants tittering below stairs about that silly little body who didn't know how to behave in a big house.

Was she to perform this ritual every day for the rest of her life? She would go mad.

Chapter 5

When the duchess rose to take her back to the small drawing room, Beth felt some relief. Once they were settled with the tea tray before them, the duchess dismissed the servants.

She handed Beth tea in an exquisite china cup. "You find this hard, Elizabeth," she said as a simple statement.

"I find it unendurable. Why do you dine in such state?"

The duchess smiled. "It does not seem so to us, I suppose. It is just the family."

"But what of all the servants?"

"I suppose they are family, too. What would you have us do? It is impossible to run this place without an army of servants. Should we pull it down? But it is very beautiful, and the staff loves it as much we do. They feel privileged to share it with us."

"What of the footmen standing idle in the corridors hour after-hour?"

The duchess laughed. "When the day comes you need something at the other end of the building or a message sent or someone found, you will be grateful, I assure you, Elizabeth. Actually, I recently suggested an improvement. I wanted to give the men chairs to sit on and books to read as they wait. They were most indignant. They felt it would lower the dignity of the house. But they are not ignorant, you know. One of them told me that he always stations himself in front of a good picture and enjoys the time to study it. We have compromised. They have agreed to be changed upon the hour. They are mostly from families who have served Belcraven for generations."

Beth put down her cup untasted. "Perhaps it is necessary to be born into this life, at whatever level."

The duchess looked at her. "From what little I know of you, Elizabeth, you pride yourself on your education and your ability to handle your life. Why then can you not handle this?"

Beth stiffened under the attack. "I did not say I
could
not. I said, I think, that it is pointless."

The duchess's eyes were kind as she said, "First prove you have the courage to face it, my dear, and then change things if you can."

Before Beth could point out that she wanted nothing to do with it at all, the gentlemen joined them. Though there were no servants present, the analysis of affairs on the Continent continued. Beth wondered whether anything might be achieved by an impassioned comparison of her own oppression and conquest with that of Europe, but guessed that it would not. This was the duke's plot, the duchess appeared to endorse it, and the marquess had agreed.

The marquess, therefore, must be her target. She took to studying him.

He held his own in the discussion, but she sensed tension in him. He was not warm or relaxed with his parents and at times seemed to take a point of view just to oppose the duke. Beth wondered if this was because of the present situation or typical of this family. It would hardly be surprising.

The duke was not Arden's father and they all knew it. She was the duke's bastard and they all knew that, too. Both she and the marquess were being forced into a distasteful marriage. When Beth considered the tangled relationships within the room she was surprised there was any elegance at all.

After a while, music was suggested, and they moved into a music room with a domed ceiling painted like the night sky. The duchess played beautifully on a harp and then Beth was persuaded to show her skill on the pianoforte. Next, to her surprise, the marquess took up a silver flute and played a duet with his mother. She would not have thought him a man to bother with music.

He must have noticed her surprise, for when he had finished he came over and said, "I have a poor singing voice. When we were all younger, my mother organized many musical evenings and insisted I do my part." His manner was pleasant. In no way was it loverlike, but then there was no reason here to act.

"You play very well," she said honestly.

"I enjoy it, but it's not a talent I advertise. It's not in fashion these days for young men such as I." There was even a touch of humor in that. "The French doors open onto the east terrace. Would you care to walk a little in the fresh air? The evening is quite warm."

After a slight hesitation, Beth agreed. For a moment she had begun to thaw, to react to his easy manner, and that would be fatal. The duke and duchess, the house and the servants, created such a solid fabric of decorum that it would take a cruder spirit than Beth's to rip it in public. She needed to be private with him.

"Perhaps you will need a shawl," he said, glancing at her bare arms. She would have sent for one, but the duchess indicated the one she had laid aside and he brought it for her. It was a beautiful Norwich silk which had doubtless cost more than Beth's entire annual expenditure on clothes.

As the marquess placed it on her shoulders, his fingers brushed against her nape. Beth shivered. Their eyes met and there was a moment of intimate awareness, a moment which frightened Beth to death.

She had to escape. She could never, never do this thing.

Beth hurried towards the doors, which he opened for her.

A three-quarter moon bathed the stone terrace, illuminating the sculpted urns set at regular intervals along the top of the balustrade. Ivy trailed from them and plants were poking up but there were no flowers as yet. The smell of the air was just the freshness of the country, and the sounds, too, were all natural—a few rustlings of small creatures and, once, the hoot of a hunting owl.

The air had a slight chill now the sun was down, but, as he had said, it was warm enough for her to be comfortable. She shivered all the same and drew the shawl closer around her shoulders.

He broke the silence. "It is a very beautiful house. Can you not find some pleasure in living in it?"

"How would you feel, my lord, living in the palace of an Indian maharajah?"

She saw his teeth flash white in a grin. The moon had turned his hair to silver. "I might be interested, at least for a while."

"So might I," said Beth coolly, "if this were a temporary diversion."

He broke a spray of ivy from an urn and twirled it in his long fingers. "I do understand," he said gently. "You have to stay here for a while, however. It shows clearly that you are accepted by my family. My mother will introduce you to the people hereabouts. You may find it easier when we move to London for the wedding—"

"I didn't know we were to be married in London!"

He shrugged. "My father... the duke is masterminding all this. His intentions are good. He wants you to be fully accepted by Society."

He was being so reasonable Beth was almost falling into the trap. She forced herself to fight. "But I do not want that, Lord Arden. I have a better idea. Why don't we elope here and now and live as social outcasts?" There. That should shock him.

If so, it was not noticeable. "Because I do not want that."

"And what you want will always come first?"

He turned sharply to her. "I give you fair warning, Miss Armitage. I have a temper. If you persist in snapping like a spoiled brat, I am likely to treat you like one."

"If there's a spoiled brat here," she retorted with a sweeping gesture of her arm, "it is not I, my lord. I am the poor working girl, remember?"

"You are a spitting cat looking for someone to scratch. Go scratch the duke and I'll defend you. Don't rake your claws at me."

Beth turned away. This bickering would never serve her purpose. "Your father said much the same thing," she admitted. "But it is you with which I am entangled."

"So it is with me you must negotiate," he said more moderately. "Let us find a middle path. I have no intention of having the world think me a fool. Let them wonder why I've chosen a poor woman of insignificant birth for a wife. I want no suggestion that I'm forced to this, or that you are displeasing to my parents, or that you are unsuited to your role."

His
wants.
His
intentions. She turned back to him. "Or that I am unwilling? How, Lord Arden, do you intend to make me show myself willing?"

She saw him suck in a breath, perhaps in anger. Then he walked slowly towards her, smiling. "Perhaps, Miss Armitage, I can seduce you into willingness."