The Bluestocking’s Bargain (The Ladies’ Essential Guide to the Art of Seduction #5)

Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

A rthur Beckham was rapidly becoming convinced that proposing to Miss Patience Carruthers had been the cleverest choice he had made in considerable time. First, there had been that scandalous book, and then her recognition of it. Had he ever seen a young lady blush so becomingly? Yet even when she was obviously agitated, she remained adamant that the book must be returned. And she had the most curious habit of beginning a lecture when he teased her, as if she thought he was in need of education. She was unlike any young lady of his acquaintance.

Who else would have insisted upon a joint venture as the condition of her agreement? Any other lady would have tripped in her haste to accept his offer, but not Miss Carruthers. And those silvery eyes, so serious, so intently fixed upon him. He might have sworn she could read the secrets of his soul.

No wonder he was compelled to coax her smile. Though it might have been a ploy to distract her from her perusal, the reward was beyond measure. Her smile dawned slowly, honestly, gradually capturing her lips and then her eyes, as if each feature had to be persuaded to merriment.

He wanted to make her laugh aloud, just to prove it could be done.

In addition, he had been summoned to explain his choice by no less a personage than the Duke of Haynesdale and had been given advice for that encounter by the infamous courtesan, Miss Esmeralda Ballantyne. And their agreement had been made less than two days before.

His life promised to be one sequence of unanticipated adventures with Miss Carruthers by his side. Arthur could not wait to discover what surprise awaited him next.

He would have a surprise for Miss Carruthers by their wedding day, one that was guaranteed to win her approval. All he had to do was keep his quest a secret until the day they exchanged their vows.

That wound be nothing, compared to a ruse of twenty-two years.

The lady’s most recent blush was one that set his blood afire. Did she have any notion how alluring she was as the pink stole over her cheeks? Was she aware of how her lips parted, fairly inviting a kiss—and Arthur had a notion of just how he would kiss Miss Carruthers—or how her eyes shone, as brilliant as the shimmer of sunlight on a still sea? The prospect of exploring a volume of intimate advice with her was a most distracting notion.

It was a fine autumn day for a ride and he found himself particularly satisfied to have his betrothed seated on his left. Though she was careful to neither jostle against him nor even touch him, Arthur was keenly aware of her slender presence beside him. She smelled faintly of lily-of-the-valley and fresh linen. Her long coat was a deep blue that only made her eyes look more remarkable, and he could only admire her when he handed her into the carriage.

He knew Amelia was intrigued by Miss Carruthers and hoped they would find common ground. While his sister seemed to enjoy her lessons as he never had, he knew their mother wished she might have more companionship. Perhaps Miss Carruthers would not mind adding another sister to her collection.

For her part, Amelia frequently drew curious gazes. She was a markedly pretty girl and an heiress so he did not doubt that there would be interest in her hand when she had her season. Arthur was not in the habit of appearing with a female companion other than his sister, so he enjoyed the many inquisitive studies of his betrothed.

He felt fortunate indeed, a mood that suited him well.

“Does everyone always stare thus at you?” Miss Carruthers asked in an undertone when they were underway and Arthur laughed.

“I believe, Miss Carruthers, that they are staring at you.”

“Goodness. I had no notion I should wear my best for the day.”

“You look delightful,” he said firmly. “Never doubt that whatever you choose to wear is perfect, regardless of notice from those who have nothing better to do than gawp and gossip.”

“That is a lovely endorsement, Mr. Beckham, but I wonder if I can believe it.”

“Surely you do not accuse me of stating anything less than the truth?”

“Surely I do, for I was informed just this morning that you were in love with me.” She turned and gave him such a cool glance that Arthur was startled to momentary silence. “That was not my understanding of the basis of our arrangement.”

“You do not approve of marriages made for love?” Amelia asked, reminding Arthur of her presence.

“Whether I do or not is immaterial,” Miss Carruthers said crisply. “The issue is that I had no notion that Mr. Beckham’s heart was so engaged until my father informed me of that situation this morning. ‘You have made a conquest’ he said to me, as if that explained everything.” She granted Arthur a stern look.

“Then you are in agreement,” Amelia said happily. “For Arthur does not believe in love, and has sworn that he will never wed for such tender emotion and fleeting impulse.”

“How strange then that I should be told otherwise, and not a fine basis for a beginning, to be sure.” Miss Carruthers’ tone was icy. She waited, her steady gaze fixed upon him, and Arthur felt she would coax a confession from his lips.

He had done what was necessary to achieve the end they both desired, but he sensed she would not favor that explanation. What a remarkable lady he had chosen.

Perhaps she was the sole woman who would find fault with his choices. Arthur wished for her good opinion more than anything he had desired in a long time, which meant he had to pace his confessions. He guided the carriage through the throng of riders and conveyances while he thought, well aware that Miss Carruthers watched and waited, like a sphinx at a crossroads demanding the answer to a riddle before he could pass.

Despite his conundrum, he could only admire that she was both persistent and clever.

“That was well done,” she acknowledged softly, and perhaps with an increment of surprise, when they were free of the throng.

“At least I have not failed on all fronts already,” he said lightly, hoping for her smile. She lifted a brow, giving him a look of consideration, and he smiled at her. A welcome flush touched her cheeks and he dared to hope for the best.

“Arthur is an excellent driver,” Amelia said with approval.

“I suppose these tidings came from the Duke of Haynesdale,” he guessed, returning to the subject at hand, and Miss Carruthers nodded.

“I understood the confession was yours.”

Arthur nodded. “I was advised to do as much to earn his approval of the match.”

“You lied.”

He winced despite himself at the harshness of that word. “Are you certain of that?” he asked and felt her turn to study him. He dared not meet that steady gaze, but kept his attention fixed upon the horses. “Perhaps I confided the truth in him before surrendering it you.”

“You cannot be smitten with me!” The very possibility seemed to fluster her. “Not so soon as this.”

“And you cannot know the truth in my heart.”

“Oh, Arthur,” Amelia said, shaking her head. “You cannot tease Miss Carruthers over a detail of such import.” She gave him a poke in the arm.

“I fear you mock me, Mr. Beckham.”

Given her cool manner, Arthur pursued his point. “And I fear you fail to grant credit where it is due, Miss Carruthers. How many men have been smitten at a mere glance of the lady who will hold their hearts captive forever? Novels, poems and songs are filled with similar tales, implying that the situation is a common one.”

“But not outside of stories, surely.”

He risked a glance her way. “Can you be certain? Truly, Miss Carruthers, you are a young lady unlike any I have known. Surprise might surely gain a man’s attention, and intrigue might lead to admiration, even love.”

“So quickly as that?” she asked, ever skeptical.

“Who are we to fault Cupid’s efficiency?”

She smiled, just a little. “I think you tease me, Mr. Beckham, and strive to cover your falsehood with flattery.”

“I think, Miss Carruthers, that you have a woefully low opinion of your betrothed.”

She smiled outright at that. “Not so low as that, sir.”

He met her gaze, glad to find her eyes sparkling a little. “I am glad to hear it. Can I be faulted for wishing to win your smile?”

“Of course not, Mr. Beckham.” She sobered and concern lit those eyes. “But I do have a great affection for the truth, sir. I would have honesty between us, even if it means you must tell me truths I might prefer to evade.”

There was the rub.

Where to begin? His entire existence was a careful fabrication of falsehoods. Even though he yearned to dissemble it, to surrender his secrets and grant Miss Carruthers the honesty she desired, Arthur knew he had to proceed with caution.

They had gained the park and he pulled the horses to a halt that he could grant his lady his full attention. “How very bold of you. I knew from the outset that you were a most intrepid lady.” He wondered how much truth she truly desired, for he had bushels of it to offer.

She shook her head. “Not so bold as that, sir. Truth has a way of making itself known, particularly truths that are unwelcome. I would rather know than be subsequently surprised, perhaps in an unwelcome situation.”

“There is good sense in that,” he agreed, studying her. “And I suspect, an increment of experience.”

She flushed crimson and dropped her gaze. “It is of no importance.”

Arthur put a fingertip beneath her chin, compelling her to meet his gaze. He found shadows in her eyes and was surprised by his ardent need to defend her cause, and see the damage repaired. “You may trust in me, Miss Carruthers.”

A tentative smile lifted the corner of her mouth. “As surely as I may trust in your undying love?”

“Did his grace say that?” Arthur feigned outrage and was rewarded by the blossoming of her smile. Then he sobered. “I tell you this in all honesty, Miss Carruthers. You surprise me. You confound me. You fascinate me. And though I exaggerated the tale of my feelings last night, I did it to gain the duke’s approval of our match and the furthering of our mutual objectives. I was advised by one who knows him well that if I told him the truth of our agreement, he would advise most strenuously against our match, and that was a situation I wished to avoid. Can you blame me?”

“No,” she confessed softly.

He let his gaze drop to her lips. “I also feel there is something of a portent in my claim. Though I may not be smitten as yet, I could very well be and soon.”

“Oh, Arthur,” Amelia said, this time with a rapturous sigh.

“You are incorrigible,” Miss Carruthers said beneath her breath and Arthur smiled at the glint in her eyes.

“Guilty as charged,” he admitted and when she laughed at him, he felt triumphant. “But I tell you this, Miss Carruthers. I too desire honesty between us and agree with you of its merit as a foundation to a marriage.”

“Then you pledge to never tell me a falsehood?”

Arthur managed to hide his grimace. That horse was long out of the barn. “I cannot make such a sweeping pledge.” The lady’s disapproval was evident. “But I vow that whatever I do, it will be for the benefit of our union, just as last night with the duke, and not with any intent of doing you injury.”

She studied him, her expression solemn. “That is rather less than I asked.”

“And yet it is the most possible at this time.”

“Will you tell me the truth when I ask for it?”

“Yes.” He touched his jacket over his heart. “You have my oath upon that, and my promise that all truths will be surrendered to you in time.”

“You have many secrets then, Mr. Beckham?”

“More than you might imagine.” He spoke as if making a jest, but Miss Carruthers’ survey did not waver. He knew he was being judged and could only hope for the best result. When she smiled and shook her head slightly, he dared to be relieved.

“You are a most unusual man, sir,” she said quietly and Arthur grinned as he urged the horses to continue.

“Dare I hope the fascination is mutual?”

“You know it is,” she said beneath her breath, as if admitting a detail she would have preferred to keep to herself.

Arthur laughed aloud. “That is a triumph, my lady, and one that must be celebrated. You have seen the Serpentine in the sunlight,” he said to Amelia. “Dare I suggest a visit to the Exeter Exchange?”

“Arthur!” Amelia crowed with delight, while Miss Carruthers caught her breath. He had no doubt that her concern was for the possible cost as the shops and merchants in the exchange were reputed to be expensive.

That was why he would shop for her there. Let the Beckham fortunes see his new wife with a new wardrobe in case the purse strings were to be drawn taught in future.

“Fear not, Miss Carruthers,” Arthur said, his own affection for his notion growing with every step. “Amelia and I are most discerning of customers, and I will pay the bill.”

* * *

Shopping!

Truth be told, Patience had never shopped with the enthusiasm of this pair. She and her sisters had always been careful with funds, handing dresses down one to the next, adding bands of embroidery themselves, and strategically choosing when to add items to their wardrobes. They could spend half a day selecting a pair of gloves upon which they agreed and which could be shared between them.

It was immediately clear to her that the Beckham siblings had not learned the same restraint. En route, Miss Beckham demanded details of her wardrobe, undoubtedly with an eye to her future commitments, and Patience had to think of which shared items she would leave behind and which she might take. It was resolved that she possessed four day dresses, two more plain than the other, a velvet Spencer that could be worn with all of them and a long coat of good wool. She possessed no dress suitable for formal parties and balls though she expected to choose one for her wedding, and she was forced to cede that the riding habit fit Prudence better than her. At least she rode. She was glad of that when Mr. Beckham granted her an appreciative nod.

How much was her life going to change? Prudence would have loved the prospect of stepping into the life of an aristocrat, but Patience was less enthusiastic. She had always hoped that money would grant choice and opportunity, not restriction. She had no desire to call upon ladies and discuss trivialities, to compare the merit of one dress over another, or to be always attending parties. There was work to be done that could make a difference and that was what she hungered to do.

Mr. Beckham regarded her with a sparkling eye as the dressmaker cast lengths of silk over her shoulder. “I fear my betrothed is a most uncommon lady, one who does not enjoy the task of choosing a new dress or two.”

Patience could not take offense for he regarded her with what could only be approval.

“It seems frivolous to expend much attention upon such fleeting details,” she confessed and the dressmaker’s eyes narrowed.

“No doubt you would prefer the companionship of a good book,” he said easily and she could not entirely hide her approval of that notion. He laughed, untroubled. “Then let me hasten the endeavor to its conclusion,” he said, setting aside his walking stick with purpose.

“Oh good,” his sister said with undisguised delight and Patience wondered what she was about to witness.

What she saw was practiced good taste in action. Mr. Beckham was decisive and quick, each selection unerringly perfect. He chose the cloth and the cut, conferring with the dressmaker about the length of the sleeves. He picked the ribbon for the sash, the embroidered tulle for the overskirt—the blue matched the ribbon perfectly—the satin for her slippers and the perfect hue of gloves, neither white nor cream, to finish the ensemble. A deep blue, but not one as dark as the ribbon, was his choice for the evening coat, its trim in the same cream, its delicate buttons in gold. He added gold ribbon flowers to the slippers and requested snippets of all for his sister to ensure the hat matched.

He bent his attention to the riding habit with the same focus upon detail. Patience much admired the deep dove grey velvet he selected, the pewter buttons and silvery blouse. These gloves were black leather, the hat of black felt with a silver tumble of a veil, and he informed her that she must have black boots from the bootmaker. Patience could only nod in awe as his sister swept through the array of delicate fabrics, choosing petticoats and stockings with as unerring a hand as her brother, adding a glorious shawl when Patience confessed that hers was better left to her sister, another pair of gloves and two purses.

“Goodness, Mr. Beckham, you are generous,” she whispered and he bent to kiss the back of her hand.

“Every gem must be given the setting it deserves,” he murmured and her heart fluttered when he looked up at her, his gaze dark with something she could not name.

Then the door of the shop opened, a group of ladies spilling into the space. Patience was aware of their arrival but could not look away from Mr. Beckham. She heard Miss Beckham catch her breath, then a swish of silken skirts announced the arrival of another.

“You cannot make a silk purse of a sow’s ear, Mr. Beckham, regardless of the weight of your purse.” The lady’s voice was light, as if she made a jest, but it was clearly one at Patience’s expense. She saw Mr. Beckham’s lips tighten, then he straightened and turned, his smooth gesture leaving Patience’s hand neatly tucked inside his elbow.

They stood together as a couple as she faced her competition and she felt the steel in him as he inclined his head to the lady. “Miss Grosvenor. What an unexpected pleasure.” His tone indicated otherwise in a most gratifying way.

“Mr. Beckham,” that lady replied, hunger in her eyes as she studied him and ignored Patience.

Miss Grosvenor was not an unattractive young lady. Her figure was good, a little more curvaceous than Patience’s slender curves, but more fashionable for that. Her dark hair was set in a volley of curls; her lips were ripe and rosy; her green eyes sparkled and altogether she was a fetching sight, attired in the latest mode to the last detail. Perhaps she was a little too embellished. Perhaps there was a sharp gleam in her eyes and a petulant curve to her lips, but few would have found fault with her appearance.

One could not see at a glance that a person was in the habit of defacing books, of course.

“I am certain you are acquainted with my sister,” Mr. Beckham said smoothly to Miss Grosvenor, who was glaring at Patience, and the two curtsied to each other. “But not perhaps to my betrothed, Miss Patience Carruthers.”

“Charmed, I am sure,” Miss Grosvenor said, her tone indicating she was anything but.

“You should be,” Mr. Beckham said softly, and her gaze flew to him as Patience watched. He turned to smile at Patience, his expression softening for the first time since the other lady had arrived. “Never have I encountered a lady of such grace and wit as Miss Carruthers. Much of society could take a lesson from her manners, if not her other charms.” He smiled down at her, looking so much like a man smitten that Patience found herself blushing—and that only made his smile broaden. “Come,” he murmured to her. “We will be late.”

“Of course,” she said, letting him lead her from the shop as Miss Grosvenor fumed behind them. Patience felt the other woman’s regard upon them as Mr. Beckham granted a coin to the urchin who held the door for them, as he handed his sister into the carriage, as he turned and fitted his hands around her waist, lifting her to the carriage but not with undue speed. “Mr. Beckham,” she whispered, scandalized that he should touch her thus in public and fearing her heart would burst.

“Every champion deserves a reward from his lady, does he not?” he murmured, that mischievous glint in his eyes.

“What reward would you desire? I have no token to tie upon your jousting lance.”

His grin flashed. “One kiss, Miss Carruthers, no more and no less.”

“Before everyone?”

“Before one person, to be certain.” His tone was grim and she knew he was angered by Miss Grosvenor’s remark.

She smiled and leaned toward him. “You are irresistible, Mr. Beckham,” she teased then kissed his cheek. His grip tightened on her waist and she caught her breath, savoring his proximity. “But wicked, to be sure.”

“I can be so much more wicked than you imagine, Miss Carruthers,” he said, turning his head so that his mouth brushed across her own, a fleeting but thrilling caress. “You have but to encourage me.” She caught her breath and felt his heat against her own. “How else am I to find and honor your most bewitching spot?” he asked.

Their gazes met, so very close, and Patience felt a yearning beyond any previous sensation. Mr. Beckham lifted a brow, his gaze falling to her mouth, and Patience did not dare to breathe.

This time, he kissed her upon the mouth, slowly and sweetly, and she hoped she was not the only one who had forgotten about their audience.

“Incorrigible,” she whispered as her heart raced and he laughed, then lifted her the rest of the way to the carriage.

“While you, my lady, are irresistible.” Without a backward glance, he swung into the vehicle, taking his place between Patience and his sister and gathering the reins with purpose. The boy who had held the horses was tossed a coin before they were off.

Irresistible .

Patience bit her lip, wishing she might truly be the kind of woman who might haunt the dreams of a man like Mr. Beckham. She was keenly aware of the brief taste of him and how his touch lingered, leaving a heat against her skin. His thigh was close to hers, his arm brushing against her own, the sound of his voice as he spoke to his sister making her happy beyond all. As much as she preferred to be tranquil, it was exciting to be with Mr. Beckham and she enjoyed that a good deal more than she might have expected.

And a kiss, virtually in the street! Two, in point of fact. Patience felt like a wanton.

Especially as what she wanted most of all was another longer embrace.

* * *

They halted at the milliner and Amelia darted into the shop with her handful of samples, bent upon her mission. Arthur took his time handing down Miss Carruthers, wanting a chance to speak with her alone.

“You are quiet,” Arthur said when she remained silent. Had he shocked her? Had he offended her? What he had wished to do more than anything else was ensure that Miss Grosvenor knew there was no hope of any scheme succeeding that was contrived to see they two wed.

Ever.

That she had spoken thus of Miss Carruthers was unacceptable. If she had been a man, there would have been pistols at dawn.

“Only because you startled me, Mr. Beckham,” she confessed with a sidelong glance that was almost coy.

Arthur dared to be encouraged. “Are you vexed with me?”

She flushed a little and her eyes sparkled. Her gaze danced toward Amelia, already in the shop, then back to him. She lowered her voice as she leaned closer and he wanted nothing more than to gather her close and kiss her properly. “Only that it was so short a salute,” she whispered, to his astonishment.

He feigned shock and she laughed. “Miss Carruthers,” he said and she laughed even more, a sound that eliminated his concerns. He offered his arm and she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Perhaps you should call me Arthur.”

The suggestion pleased her, he could see that immediately in the flutter of her lashes and her quick upward glance. She smiled again. “Then you must call me Patience.”

“Patience,” he murmured, savoring the sound of it.

“Arthur,” she echoed, glancing up at him. She shook a finger at him. “You must tell me the truth, sir. I expect all of your secrets surrendered in full before we are wed a year.”

That was fair enough. Arthur thought she would know them all within a month. “I give you my pledge upon that, Patience. Upon my word, you can rely.” He held her gaze for one last moment, then escorted her into the shop.

He leaned down as they crossed the threshold, his voice so low that only she would hear his words. “I thought that a fine start, Patience,” he murmured and she glanced upward, her expression surprisingly mischievous.

“As did I, sir,” she admitted. “Given the book we are to publish.”

The book. Arthur had almost forgotten the details of the book. “Have you read it?”

“Not yet, but I will.”

He leaned closer again as she pretended to consider three different ribbons with the flowers Amelia had chosen already. “I hope you have not forgotten the plan of confirming all its details,” he said, hoping for a blush and gaining one that almost set him aflame.

“Incorrigible and outrageous,” she whispered, those eyes dancing.

He feigned solemnity. “I would not risk the reputation of a new firm by publishing a volume that had not been thoroughly reviewed by its owners.”

She appeared to be fighting a smile, and losing the battle. “I fear that I find myself shocked by your audacity, sir, and impressed by your determination to attend to detail.” She looked up, meeting his gaze steadily. “I accept your challenge.”

“Was it a challenge? I meant it as an invitation.”

“Either way, I agree to embark upon it.”

How soon could they be wed?

He strove to hide his impatience as Amelia embarked upon the hunt for the perfect hat. He knew she could spend a week in a milliner’s shop. Finally, having compelled Patience to try four different hats, Amelia pronounced one superior to all others—a matter that could not be disputed. The shape of it was perfect for his intended and Arthur would not have troubled her with the others. Another boy caught the copper Arthur tossed to him and they were shortly upon their way. He should stop at a bookseller to begin her father’s reading list.

“There are so many details to decide upon for the wedding,” Amelia said with enthusiasm. “I cannot wait to learn more of your plans, even to assist if I may. Which church and what date will it be, and what will be served for the wedding breakfast, and?—”

“Mother has claimed the wedding breakfast as her gift to us,” Arthur interjected firmly, seeing that the planning of this happy event could readily spin into months of deliberations. “The church will be that frequented by the Carruthers.” He granted Patience a glance and saw something that might have been relief in her eyes.

“St. Martin of the Fields,” she provided and he nodded.

“And the date will be at the discretion of Patience,” he concluded.

“The banns will have to be called…”

Arthur shook his head. “No. I will obtain a special license, so the date can be as soon as you like. My mother requests to meet you tomorrow afternoon at four, so I would suggest a week from Saturday.”

“Oh! So quick as that!”

“I see no cause to delay,” he said, granting her an intent look. “Do you?” He could not read her expression, which troubled him.

“I thought the details might take longer to arrange.”

Arthur was not entirely content with her hesitation. “Would you cancel our agreement before it is more widely known?” he offered, knowing that was the last possibility he desired. He would, however, be gracious to a lady.

Especially this one.

Miss Carruthers flushed crimson. “Of course not,” she said, a little hastily. “I was simply surprised. I was thinking, of course, that the banns would be called and it would be closer to a month before we pledged to each other.” She took a breath, seemingly to compose herself, and Arthur was not entirely convinced that she still wished to wed him.

He was surprised by the magnitude of his concern.

They rode in silence for a moment, Arthur’s thoughts spinning as he strove to identify his error.

“Were you aware that the Romans believed that only the month of June was auspicious for weddings?” Miss Carruthers said abruptly, her words falling quickly from her lips. “Its association with Juno, the goddess of marriage, women and childbirth, made it the most suitable time for the exchange of marital vows. Ceding to Juno’s authority over that month also offered a better prospect of earning her favor, thus ensuring both fertility and prosperity in the match.” She took a shaking breath.

“June is rather a long time away,” Amelia said after an interval of silence.

“Yes! Yes, it is, and that was not my suggestion. A week from Saturday it will be,” she said, as if girding her loins for an ordeal.

Arthur slanted a glance at her to find her watching him. She smiled pertly, but the expression was forced. He halted the carriage before her father’s house and moved quickly to help her down. Their gazes clung when her hand was in his, hers searching his, then she smiled again. “I apologize for my surprise, sir,” she said softly and he dared to be reassured.

“Less than a fortnight, and then you will be together for the rest of your lives!” Amelia said with delight.

Arthur bent to kiss the hand of his betrothed. “Tomorrow afternoon then? At three?”

He would not have blamed her for striving to avoid an interview with Lady Beckham but she straightened and nodded. “At three, sir,” she said with welcome resolve, then stepped past him. Arthur stood, watching her until she vanished into the house, wondering what truly was amiss.

And, of course, how he could find out.