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

Chapter 14

Patience was honored that Arthur shared his story with her. An earlier promise had kept him from surrendering it sooner, and doubtless, Lady Beckham had some influence in that choice as well. She was surprised to realize how little she cared what his true name was or what his origins had been. The man before her had claimed her heart completely. His nature was the reason she loved him, not his name. “Tell me about Viscount Meadstone,” she invited, because he seemed to be lost in his memories.

He stirred and took a breath, his gaze fixed on the coals of the fire again. “I expected him to chastise me for failing to raise the alarm sooner, thinking that might have saved Arthur.”

“You did not expect a reward?”

The quick flicker of surprise was the clearest answer she could have been given.

“Not from the viscount. From the cook, I had my bit of beef.” He shrugged, his gaze drifting to the distance as he remembered. “I found the viscount terrifying but knew better than to show my fear. I met his gaze and told my tale without wavering. I remember how he turned to study me when I said that his son was the one who could not swim. He lied, you see, about his abilities, and the others smelled it. His lie was the reason for the challenge, for they taunted him to prove he spoke the truth. He could not back down and admit he had lied, and so he jumped first into the river and he died.”

Patience shivered.

“I soon realized that the viscount did not mourn his son overmuch. In later years, he confided that Arthur had always been a brash fool and one he feared would never overcome his early inclinations. On that day, I stood, wondering, until the viscount turned to study me. ‘Do you not fear me?’ he demanded and I shook my head, well aware that the schoolmaster lingered in the shadows, listening. The viscount indicated that I should speak. ‘Why should I fear a father who grieves for his son?’ I asked. ‘What of your own father?’ he demanded. ‘Would he grieve for your early death?’ I wager he had guessed that I was an orphan within those walls, or perhaps he had been told as much. ‘He grieves for my mother and has forgotten his son,’ I said without thinking. ‘Charlie is one of many lost children,’ the schoolmaster said. ‘But more biddable than most.’

The viscount walked toward me, I can see him yet, as he crouched down before me. ‘Your hair is dark, like his,’ he said but I shook my head. ‘No, sir, my father is fair. I favor my mother.’ And he smiled for the first time, then shook his head and fixed me with a look. ‘Do you like it here?’ I had no notion what the correct reply might be, a startling realization for one who lived by his wits. The master was watching me in silence, which did not help. ‘Cook is kind to me,’ I ceded and the viscount straightened, folding his arms across his chest as he looked down at me. I feared a pronouncement of some kind, but his question astonished me. ‘What if I were kind to you?’ he asked softly. ‘What if I gave you everything Arthur had?’ The master caught his breath, understanding before I did. ‘You must want something in return,’ I said, thinking he made a joke at my expense. He nodded. ‘Your name,’ he said in a murmur, his gaze clinging to mine, even as the schoolmaster caught his breath. ‘Your promise until your dying breath that you will never admit the truth.’

Patience caught her breath. What a demand to make of a child! “How wicked,” she murmured.

“The schoolmaster protested at this point, but was reminded of the scandal that would erupt at the revelation that the grandson of the Earl of Fairhaven had died while under his care. He paled then and retreated, his agitation so clear that I knew a rare opportunity was before me. ‘I will take you,’ the viscount said to me. ‘I will make you into Arthur Beckham. You will become my son and whoever you are now will cease to be forever. You will not write to your father ever again. You will not reveal yourself to anyone, for this will be a secret you and I take to our graves.’ I looked at the schoolmaster. ‘As will he,’ the viscount confided. ‘If he has his wits about him.’ I was tempted, sorely tempted, but had to ask. ‘Someone will know,’ I said. ‘His mother will know.’ The viscount smiled. ‘Leave his mother to me.’ And he offered his hand, as if I were a man and not a ten-year-old boy.”

Arthur shook his head. “That was the first time I had the sense that Dame Fortune rode with me, that opportunity was within reach and that if I did not seize the chance, it would slip away forever. I can still see his hand. His nails were trimmed short and clean beyond anything I had seen before. In that instant, I wanted to live a life in which my hands were always smooth and clean, a life in which I was always warm and never hungry, a life in which my clothes fit and I knew I would be safe all the night long while I slept, and I wanted it enough to surrender whatever the viscount asked of me. I put my hand in his and I remember his nod of satisfaction, then my life changed forever.”

He fell silent then, perhaps reliving the details of that moment, and Patience studied him while his attention was diverted. She hated to imagine him alone and hungry, a boy with only his wits to rely upon, a child who did not hold his own name to have any merit. She could understand why he would make such a choice—indeed, she could not imagine anyone making a different one.

She wondered what it was like to know with such certainty that no one valued you for your own self.

“Charles Arthur Leighton,” she repeated.

His smile was sad. “That was the ironic detail. I had been christened Charles Arthur, though I had always been called Charlie. The viscount took that as a sign that his idea had divine approval.”

“Was he religious?”

“When it suited him.”

“What happened next?”

“We left in the night, the tale being that the viscount would not leave his son in a place so careless with the boy’s welfare. ‘Charlie’ was doubtless buried in the potters’ field with no one to miss him.”

“Save the cook,” Prudence insisted, giving him a little poke. He smiled, to her relief.

“She had to set her own fires until she found another urchin, to be sure.” He cleared his throat. “We went to the viscount’s country house, which Arthur and his mother had not frequented, where the servants were loyal and of long service to the family. And there my education began.” His brows rose. “I was scrubbed and trimmed and tutored seemingly all day and half the night. I had to learn to ride properly, not to sling myself across a horse’s back like a peasant, to eat, to dress myself, to dance, to make conversation, to remember names and titles and family history. It was grueling, but it was also a challenge beyond anything I had ever done before.”

“You loved it,” Patience guessed and was rewarded by his grin.

“Truth be told, I did. Languages. Mathematics. I could not get enough of it. The viscountess soon arrived, took one look at me, and retreated to a private chamber with her husband. Their battle was spectacular, noisy and furious, doubtless tinged by a mother’s grief. They raged all the night at each other, the servants exchanging glances as they went about their tasks. I did not sleep that night, for I believed all had been for naught and that they would cast me out.” He frowned. “It is curious how fearful I was that I should lose what I had only recently gained.”

“You liked affluence. I cannot blame you.”

“But such a gift creates an uncertainty in the heart that would not be there otherwise,” he said. “I sometimes feel I have lived that night over and over again for twenty years.”

“What is given can be taken away.”

He nodded, meeting her gaze. “And one tires of the possibility. One yearns for resolution, one way or the other, instead of the endless prospect of loss without warning.”

Patience nodded understanding. How curious it was to realize that so many envied Arthur Beckham while no one knew his truth or his torment.

“I was summoned after breakfast to her chamber. Lady Beckham was more terrifying than the viscount, for it was clear this notion had only been granted her approval with reluctance. ‘My husband decrees that my father, the earl, cannot be without a grandson,’ she said without preamble. ‘I do not like it and I see no reason to disguise that truth from you. You have not a drop of decent blood in your veins. Disappoint me and I will defy him, without a single regret.’ And I was dismissed.”

“Goodness,” Patience found herself whispering. “She was never soft, was she?”

“Lady Beckham is formidable, to be sure, and it was whispered that she did not welcome the viscount again to her bed for almost a decade. She blamed him for the loss of her beloved boy, though the more I learned of Arthur, the more I became convinced that he had disappointed his parents.”

Patience turned to look at him. “Did you think you might one day be earl?”

“I did not care. Truly!” he added when her skepticism must have showed. “I lived the life of a prince. I could do whatsoever I wished, go wherever I desired, spend what I wanted. My life was finer than I might ever have hoped it to be and I was more than content with my lot. The viscount, though, often commented upon the possibility.”

Patience had to believe that her husband would make a better earl than the man he called his uncle, but she knew her loyalty had been fully claimed.

Arthur frowned. He was more serious than she had ever seen him. “Every person has something he or she cannot abide, and thus that person cannot be blamed or chastised for acting in accordance with something key to their nature. The viscount, for example, had an aversion to a title passing out of use. He was a great advocate for the merit of the aristocracy and I believe he felt it as a personal blow when a nobleman died without issue. His wife’s younger brother was notoriously unhealthy as both a child and youth, but was the sole male issue of the earl. Arthur was the earl’s only grandson, and thus, by the viscount’s reasoning, no price was too high to pay to ensure that there was an heir and a spare. In time, I am proud to say, he came to favor me, the spare, over the heir.” He smiled a little. “I liked him well. He was a better father than my own had been.”

There was a hint of more than he had thus confessed in that last declaration.

“Did you ever return to the village where you were born?”

“Once,” he admitted heavily. “I made a detour on an expedition, and asked after Charles Leighton. I offered a tale that his services were recommended to me by an ostler of no name.”

“Your father tended horses?”

“When he was sober. He had a touch with them.” He cleared his throat and straightened. “They said he had died some years before, just after his wife.” He looked away, blinking back tears that seemed to have surprised him.

“I am sorry.”

“As was I.” He stirred himself. “But, to return to the tale and its import.” He met her gaze, his own solemn. “We were speaking of faults that people cannot tolerate. You, by your own admission, cannot abide deception. Whatsoever you did in response to learning of a falsehood told by someone within your acquaintance would be completely justified, especially as you make no attempt to hide your feelings about dishonesty.”

She parted her lips to speak, but he silenced her with a touch. “Patience,” he entreated. “This confession is long overdue. Let me finish it.” His gaze was so intense that her mouth went dry, but she nodded. “I would not blame you for spurning me now that you know the truth,” he continued with quiet heat. “You are wedded to a man long dead, and if you chose to step away from me now, all fault would be mine. If it is of any import at all, impulse led me true, for I soon fell in love with you.” He smiled wryly. “Perhaps it is a kind of justice for me to lose my heart to a woman who thinks love a folly for others. Know that I would do whatsoever is in my power to ensure your every happiness.”

Patience’s heart contracted so hard that it hurt. She wanted to reassure him in the most fundamental way possible, but there was a crisp knock at the door to her chamber before she could speak.

“Sir?” Stevens said from the corridor. “Lady Beckham requests your presence in the breakfast room with haste.”

Patience met Arthur’s gaze. He placed his lips against her ear and murmured. “Go.” The single word was filled with insistence. “Go to your father’s house. Take the book manuscript and go as quickly as you can. I will tell Stevens that you mean to make a visit and will order the carriage.”

“But what is wrong? Why does she summon you at this early hour?”

“The earl granted me this injury,” he said with quiet resolve. “That was the beginning and this will be the end. Arthur Beckham is finished.”

Patience wanted to argue with him but he rose with purpose and strode toward his own chamber. “Go,” he mouthed from the threshold of the adjoining door and Patience could not ignore his urgency. He closed the door behind himself and she heard him ring for Taylor.

Go. Patience would leave this house without regrets, but she would not abandon her husband.

She loved him, no matter what his name, and she knew they would find a future somehow.

Patience donned her coat and bonnet with haste, shoving the book manuscript into the bag Catherine had given her. She took the gems Arthur had given her, too. She was tugging on her gloves when she noticed the two pairs of eyes watching her from the rug before the fire, one pair green and one pair golden.

If Arthur was to be cast out of this house, Patience must take everything of import to him. She could only hope that Lady Beckham would send her books to her, for they were too heavy for her to carry. If not, Amelia would cherish them in her absence.

The satchel was a generously proportioned one. Patience put a shawl on top of the book manuscript and beckoned to the cats. They seemed to understand for they leapt into the bag, one after the other. Patience stroked their heads, urging them to lie down. “Quiet for just a moment,” she urged them, then strove to carry her bag as if it weighed nothing at all.

She met Arthur in the corridor and he lifted the bag from her hands gallantly. He wore his navy jacket and buff breeches, his boots polished to a gleam once more. She could not help but note his eye, but otherwise, he looked as perfectly groomed as ever. He certainly showed no lack of confidence. “Stevens, my wife will consult with her father this morning. Please have Morris take her to Golden Square in the coach.”

“But, of course, sir.”

Patience drew him to a halt and met his gaze steadily. “I hope you will join us shortly,” she said and saw his slight inhalation.

“I would not impose…”

“But you must. My father will so enjoy your company.” She pressed his arm when he did not reply. “Promise me.”

Their gazes locked and held for a potent moment, then he smiled and nodded. “As you know, madame, your wish is my command.” He spoke lightly but she trusted him to keep his pledge.

Within moments, Patience was on her way out of Berkley Square. She placed the bag on the seat beside herself and opened it, so both cats peeked out.

Arthur had said she would consult with her father. That had been an excuse but it was precisely what she would do. She would tell her father everything, and together they would seek a solution.

He loved her. Patience gripped her hands together and felt her cheeks heat with pleasure.

There had to be a way.

* * *

Lady Beckham was not alone.

She sat at the head of the table, her brother standing behind her. There was no doubt what the earl had told her, for his eyes gleamed with anticipation for this interview. Lady Beckham’s features might have been carved of stone. It did not appear that either of them had eaten, although there were two full cups of tea on the table.

“You summoned me?” Arthur asked as soon as the door was closed behind him. He did not sit down for he suspected his audience would be short.

“You have defied me,” Lady Beckham said in a low voice. “You have disregarded every principle you have been taught in this house, and you have done as much at the instigation of that common chit.”

“I have challenged only one of your edicts, in wedding a bride whose family are in trade. To be sure, Uncle Reynaud was determined to wed me to another such bride a mere fortnight ago.” He met the other man’s gaze. “How fares your courtship of that lady, Uncle?”

The earl’s eyes flashed but Lady Beckham waved him to silence before he uttered a sound. “I am not interested in Reynaud on this day, but with you. You are my son. You are my heir. You are to be my pride and my joy, but according to my own brother, you have dishonored me by choosing, secretly, to abandon your birthright and become a tradesman.” She almost shuddered at the last word.

Arthur took a chair in that moment, crossing his legs as he regarded her. “Forgive me as I consider which detail to challenge first.”

Lady Beckham’s lips tightened. “We will not speak of origins,” she said and the earl frowned in confusion.

“But I believe we must,” Arthur said. “You fear that my natural tendences overwhelm all of my education and the influence of your example, do you not?”

The earl’s frown deepened as he looked between his sister and her supposed son.

“And perhaps you are right,” Arthur continued. “I find myself with the very good fortune of a lovely wife, one who is much enamored of honesty, and admires those who make an effort to improve the world around them, rather than simply entertaining themselves. I find her views persuasive. In fact, the lady is a delight, and there is little I would not do win her happiness.”

“Do not confess that you are in love,” the earl muttered.

Arthur smiled. “But I am, and I believe, Lady Beckham, that you know as well as I how love can change one’s view of the possibilities.” The lady in question flushed a little. “I believe that you might best understand how such affection might persuade one to defy convention.”

“But you cannot do this. I forbid it!”

“And it may not be done, but not because of your disapproval.”

“You are defiant and ungrateful,” Lady Beckham said. “You would discard all that has been given to you, all the dignities that have been bestowed upon you, and you would stain the honor of my name and my household…”

“Never that,” Arthur said. “Such a stain lies entirely within your own power to bestow or withhold.”

She ignored him and continued with barely restrained fury. “You insult me and the memory of my husband, and I will not stand silently while you do as much. You must choose before you leave this room. You must choose either to resume your former habits and remain my son, or you may leave with your humble bride and never cast your shadow upon my door again. I will deny you in every quarter if you choose her, and you may be sure that I will not relent.”

The decision was remarkably easy. Arthur had been impoverished before and he had survived. He had possessed nothing but his name, and survived in its absence. But he could not willingly survive without Patience.

If she denied him, that was another matter, but he would not surrender all chance of happiness simply for financial security—and the satisfaction of a person who had never truly valued him for himself.

He thought of Patience’s expression after his confession and he dared to hope that she felt some fondness for him. Perhaps her reluctant heart could be won in time.

He could think of no more noble pursuit.

As so often he did, Arthur made a calculated gamble.

“Alas, Lady Beckham, my choice is both evident and made.” He rose smoothly to his feet and bowed to both of them before stepping toward the door.

“Yvonne, you go too far in this,” the earl whispered. “He is your son!”

Arthur paused to survey the other man when Lady Beckham did not speak. “But I am not her son, Reynaud. And thus, you are not my uncle. Perhaps you finally understand why I would not cede to you arranging my nuptials for me. There was a limit to how much I was prepared to surrender for the good of the Tattingers, and you exceeded it.”

The earl opened his mouth and closed it again, his eyes so round that he resembled nothing so more than a gaping fish.

“You will regret this,” Lady Beckham insisted when Arthur reached for the door.

“No, I will not. I thank you for your generosity over the years, but I believe my balance to you has been paid in full.” He glanced toward the earl. “If you could see your way to returning the sapphire stolen from me last night, I would appreciate it. I have always been fond of it, and it will not sell for a sufficient sum to make a difference to your finances.”

“Reynaud? What is this?”

“You do not think I contrived to blacken my own eye, do you madame?” Arthur asked, then took his leave as the siblings glared at each other. Her heard their voices rise in argument when he was in the foyer, but he did not care. He claimed his hat and gloves, his walking stick, then nodded a farewell to Stevens. The butler’s expression was as impassive as ever, but there was a glint in his eyes that hinted at understanding.

Arthur smiled at the conviction that Stevens was likely the only one who had not been surprised by the revelation.

“I would speak to Miss Beckham before I leave,” he said and the butler inclined his head. Arthur hurried up the stairs to Amelia’s chamber on the third floor. Adjacent to her room was the nursery where she took her lessons. He tapped on the door and entered, finding her at work. The governess excused herself, a hint that all in the household knew at least part of what happened this morning.

“Is it true?” Amelia demanded, casting herself into his embrace. “Are you leaving?”

“I am, but I will send word to you of my circumstance.” He kissed the top of her head. “I could not abandon my only sister.”

“But they said…”

He lifted her chin with a fingertip. “And I say that you are my sister in deed if not in blood and that you always will be.”

She hugged him tightly in her relief, then studied him. “You look awful.”

“I thank you for that.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Less than it should for such a spectacular display.”

“I want to see it when it turns yellow and green.”

Arthur shook his head, then his gaze fell upon a book Amelia had been reading. He was certain it was the third volume of the novel that Patience had been reading, the one that he had borrowed and read himself. “Does that book belong to Patience?” he asked and Amelia nodded agreement.

“I had the first volume from Carruthers & Carruthers, then she loaned me the second one from her own collection on Saturday. I had to finish the story, though she was out yesterday, so I went into her room to exchange the second volume for the third one.”

Arthur looked down at her as he had a sudden notion. “Did you take anything else?”

Amelia smiled. “The lark sings at dawn,” she said quietly.

“The crow calls at sunset,” he replied in an undertone, looking around the nursery with apparent suspicion.

“The sparrow chirps at noon,” Amelia confided.

“And the owl hoots at midnight,” he concluded and she swatted him.

“You would make a terrible spy,” she said. “For you do not know the first thing about hiding anything of import.”

“You took it,” Arthur whispered, optimism rising hot within him.