An Invitation to Sin (28 page)

She took a seat, and her father set the box in her lap, bending to kiss her on the forehead before he sat in one of the chairs close by. Whether they'd all supported her dream or not, she felt deeply that her family should be present when she opened the box, and she waited as singly and in pairs they hurried into the room. The wait gave her the few moments she needed to compose herself, anyway.

That composure faltered a little as Zachary slipped into the room, Charlemagne on his heels. Her sisters made more of a fuss when the Duke of Melbourne arrived, but though her gaze was on the box, half her attention remained on Zachary. He looked like he hadn't done much sleeping, either.

"Oh, goodness," her mother tittered, sweeping into the room like a grande dame entering a ballroom, "I'm positively shaking with anticipation. Open it, Caro my dear, at once!"

Caroline took a deep breath and let it out again. "Very well."

She pried open the box with the crow her father had provided. Beneath the layer of padded cloth she'd originally provided lay Zachary's portrait, a folded letter on top of it. As she removed the painting and set it to lean against the chair beside her feet, she heard a murmured comment pass between Melbourne and the middle brother. It sounded like a compliment, but she was too nervous to pay any attention.

Setting the box aside, she slid her finger beneath the wax seal of the letter and unfolded the stiff paper.

"Read it out loud, Caro," Anne urged, bouncing on her toes.

Caroline cleared her throat. " 'Dear Miss Witfeld. When you submitted your application we were under the impression that you were a man. This studio is not in the… habit of hiring females.'" Her voice faltered, but the slow, dark feeling of nightmare sank into her, making her feel as though something, someone else entirely was forcing her to continue.

" 'Your style is admirably clean and skillful, but with a typical female's lack of sensibility you have idealized your subject beyond what is generally tolerated. We have returned said work. In our estimation you have a fair amount of skill, and we suggest you seek employment teaching painting to children as more befits an artist of your sex.

With regards, Monsieur Raoul Tannberg, Tannberg Studios, Vienna.'"

And so it was over. No fanfare, no drama, no hope for a future acceptance. The only studio that had asked for her application, and they'd thought she was a man. In truth, she had applied as M. Witfeld after twenty-six rejections. Perhaps in the back of her mind she'd done it on purpose, thinking, hoping that they would be so impressed with her work that her sex wouldn't matter. Obviously it did.

"Oh, Mr. Witfeld!" her mother cried, and fainted.

In the ensuing chaos, Caroline sat where she was, reading the letter over and over again. She felt numb. After the first stab, nothing seemed able to touch her. In a sense she understood why the studio wouldn't wish to hire a female; their success rested on having clients, and if clients disapproved of her, they would go elsewhere. But they'd asked to see her work, and she hadn't actually lied about her identity. If they'd looked for clues, they would have found them.

But as for saying that her portrait of Zachary was idealized, that was simply ridiculous. She'd drawn and painted him precisely as he was. It wasn't her fault if he was exceptionally handsome, and it wasn't her fault if his expression inspired admiration and confidence.

A hand touched her shoulder. "Caroline?"

She jumped at the low voice.
Zachary
. What was she supposed to say? That faced with the reality of having to work for Lord and Lady Eades, she
would
rather be married to him? The wording, the timing, sounded in her mind as awful as it felt in her heart.

Zachary sat beside her, taking her clenched fist between his warm hands. So now he wasn't even trying to hide that he favored her. Did he think she'd been backed into a corner? Did he want her to be forced into marrying him? Her thoughts flew so quickly that she couldn't slow them long enough to compose a sentence. She wanted him to go away, and she wanted him to stay right there.

"I'm so sorry," he said quietly.

"Are you?"

"I know how much you wanted this. Of course I'm sorry. I could write to Tannberg again, and see if the Griffin name could influence him to change his m—"

"No," she said, standing. She still had too much to think about, but she did know that getting a position because Zachary threatened someone wasn't anything she wanted.

"You still have an alternative to taking a governess position at Eades's manor, Caroline. I haven't changed m—"

"If I may," the Duke of Melbourne broke in, "after seeing Miss Witfeld's work in the conservatory the other day I took the liberty of writing a friend of mine about her considerable skills." He pulled a letter from his pocket and walked forward, handing it to her. "That is his answer."

Wonderful. He probably had a more prestigious governess position lined up for her in northernmost Yorkshire. Anything to keep a Witfeld from marrying a Griffin. She unfolded the missive. And froze as her eyes caught the signature line.

"This is from Thomas Lawrence," she breathed, numbness turning to a shaking buzz beneath her skin.

"He is willing to offer you an apprentice position with his studio in London," the duke said, his gaze on Zachary rather than her, "with the proviso that you begin by the end of the month."

The end of the month. That would give her three days to pack and make her way to London. "I sent Sir Thomas a letter before," she said, fighting to keep a grasp on reality,"and his secretary's reply was only that Sir Thomas did not take on apprentices, and certainly not females."

"I'm more persuasive than you are," Melbourne said succinctly.

"But—"

"Miss Witfeld, didn't you tell me several days ago that your quest to be a professional artist wouldn't be swayed by any obstacles or conflicts? I've recommended you to Lawrence; it is still up to you to impress him. But you have three days to journey to London if you wish to prove your conviction."

"Melbourne, that's very generous of you," Zachary said, anger deep in his voice, "but I would like to know why you've decided to use your influence to aid Miss Witfeld."

"You're the one who's been so supportive of her efforts," his brother returned smoothly. "I'm doing my part as well."

"Like hell you are. I won't—"

"Enough!" Caroline snapped.

Melbourne was practically daring her to decline the offer, to admit that all of her talk about marriage as a last resort for females when they had nothing else available to them was just that—talk. And then there was Zachary himself, ready with his consolation prize of marriage with someone who would at least tolerate her if she continued to dabble with painting. Except it wouldn't be merely consolation: She could imagine that for a while she would be very happy. Until she wanted to pick up a paintbrush again, that was.

So she had three choices now—two more than she'd expected. Governess to the earl's son, marriage to Zachary, or an apprenticeship with Thomas Lawrence. And either of the first two meant admitting that her dream was finished, unattainable, and never to be realized.

She looked at her parents' expectant faces. Her mother didn't know for certain what Zachary offered, but she would prefer a good marriage for one of her daughters over anything. Her father would want her to take the apprenticeship, to succeed at realizing a dream when he'd never had the chance to do so.

"Caroline," Zachary whispered from her shoulder, "please take time to think about th—"

"I'd best pack," she broke in, clenching Lawrence's note to her chest. "I need to be in London in three days."

Her sisters began cheering, but her gaze was on Zachary. With a stiff nod, his jaw clenched, he turned and left the room.

"Lower your voice, Zachary," Melbourne returned from his seat in front of the library fire.

He certainly hadn't lost any time in making himself at home in Witfeld Manor, Zachary noted, but then his brother always found himself lavishly welcomed wherever he went. "So you want me to be gentlemanly about this?" he growled. "To maintain a calm demeanor and sit down for a nice chat? Perhaps we could discuss our differences over a game of chess and a brandy."

The only thing that enabled Zachary to speak in a half-reasonable voice at all was the fact that Melbourne had banished Shay from the room. If nothing else it told him that the duke took the situation seriously. And he'd damn well better.

"Pardon me if I'm wrong," his oldest brother said in the same even tone he'd used previously, "but I thought you were encouraging Miss Witfeld's artistic endeavors."

"It's not about that."

"Then enlighten me. What is this about?"

Hell, Melbourne knew anyway, or he wouldn't have taken the steps that he had to remove Caroline from Wiltshire in general and from Zachary's grasp in particular. "You don't even know her," Zachary growled. "You might have made an attempt to do so before you stepped into the middle of my affairs."

"Your affairs? I assisted Miss Witfeld. Your present affair is cows, is it not?"

"Play your little games all you want, Sebastian, but eventually one of them is going to bite you in the ass. I want to marry that woman. I love her."

Sebastian looked at him for a long moment, something undecipherable touching his eyes and then sliding away again. "Does she know that?"

Zachary sputtered. "Of course she does."

"Then I don't see why you're blaming me for anything.
She
accepted that position with Lawrence. I didn't force her into it."

No, his brother hadn't. And that was the reason Zachary didn't feel calm enough to talk with Caroline just yet. Taking it out on Sebastian was easier. If he became any angrier, he was simply going to boil. No doubt, though, bloody Melbourne did own a share of the blame. He'd swept in with his usual insight and razor-sharp timing and overturned the turnip cart.
His
turnip cart. "You might have given her time to think before you surprised her like that and then practically dared her to refuse the offer."

"I'm not apologizing for anything, Zachary. I've spoken with Aunt Tremaine, and under the circumstances she would like to travel on to Bath. You'll accompany her."

"I will not. I have an obligation to these people. I've begun a breeding program, and I'm going to see it through. I told you that."

The duke paused again, eyeing him. "I'll contribute five thousand pounds if you can write up a proposal and prove to me how much this program could be worth."

"Five thousand pounds? That's more of an insult than if you refused to participate at all." Zachary stalked to the window and back, for a brief moment glad he was too angry to feel hurt by the growing pile of insults. "I already told you not to participate. Stay out of it. This is my project, and I don't want you involved."

"My offer is five thousand pounds for the purchase of cattle this year," Melbourne said more forcefully, his calm veneer slipping for the first time in the conversation. "And I suggest you take it. In addition, if I approve your proposal, I'll contribute one hundred percent of expenses."

"Are you bribing me to leave Wiltshire, then?"

"There are six other daughters here. Your staying isn't worth the risk."

Zachary's fists clenched. "If you continue in this vein, Melbourne, I'm going to break some fences so badly they'll never be mended."

"If you're sincere about your breeding program, it will take up most of your free time. Caroline Witfeld wants to be a painter, Zachary. She doesn't want you."

"I didn't ask your opinion, and I bloody well didn't ask for your interference."

Melbourne shrugged. "I'm doing what I think is necessary for the sake of my brother and the family. Decide now, Zachary. Agree to
my
proposal, and I'll arrange for Miss Witfeld to have private transportation to London, and for her to find suitable accommodations there."

"And if I don't agree, she's on her own?"

"
You
can't find her a place to live without ruining her. The Griffin family, however, can."

"I want to talk to Caroline."

"Then talk to her. But it seems to me that she's already made up her mind."

"You're an arrogant bastard, Sebastian, and I hope that one day you'll get yours as squarely as you hand it out."

"I already have, I think," his brother said quietly, and picked up a book.

Sebastian meant losing his wife, of course. Under other circumstances Zachary would have apologized for the remark, but not today. Today he wanted to put his fist through something. Caroline had chosen, and it hadn't been him. It would have been one thing if she'd been accepted in Vienna—he'd known from the beginning that that had been her dream. It would have been hard, but he would have understood.

No, he'd lost to a last-minute ambush. And her unwavering dream wasn't something he could fight—if it had been another man, he would have called for pistols at daybreak. But this was all her. Melbourne was right about that; he'd merely seen it and used it to his advantage.

Zachary could see so clearly that what she was searching for wouldn't give her a complete life. Perhaps he could still make
her
see that—though the one weak point to her general common sense and logic seemed to be her art. And in truth it wasn't all for her sake; he wasn't certain how much longer he could stand the pain in his heart.

Sending Melbourne another glare, he slammed out of the library and went looking for Caroline. Her bedchamber door was half open, and he pushed through it without knocking.

Her maid, arms full of clothing, squeaked. "Miss Witfeld! It's Lord Zachary, ma'am."

Caroline turned to face him. "I'm a bit busy at the moment, Lord Zachary. Perhaps we'll have time to chat at dinner."

"Don't you dare," he snapped. "You, Molly. Out."

"But—"

"Out!"

Muttering something apologetic, the maid scurried out the door. Zachary shut it behind her.

"Don't order my maid about," Caroline said belatedly, her skin paling. "I need her assistance."

Zachary picked up another pile of clothes and threw it into a waiting portmanteau. "There. How's that?"

"Stop it, Zachary!"

He ignored her. "Here, how about some books?" He dumped a handful on top of the clothes. "Oh, wait, you don't need to read. You'll be painting." He pulled the tomes out and threw them on the floor.

She put her hands on her hips, her expression furious. "Zach—"

"What about a portrait of your family? Yes, that'll do. Then you can see their faces flat there on the canvas. What more do you need? That's how you see everything, isn't it? Flat on a canvas."

"Leave this room at once. I do not have to tolerate th—"

Zachary spied his portrait leaning against her reading chair and picked it up. "You can't have this."

"Put that down!"

"No. If you want to see me, you'll have to look up the real thing. You don't get to pretend to have a life, look at my painting and remember that we made love, and remember how alive you felt." He looked hard at her, willing her to understand. "On second thought, keep it." Setting it down again, he stalked up to her. "I want you to remember. I want you to discover that having one thing you want doesn't mean your life is complete. That when you seek something to the exclusion of everything else, you haven't found life at all. All you'll have is a portr—"

She slapped him. Hard. He curled his fingers against the sudden flash of fury and frustration, holding his muscles rigid.

"How dare you?" she bit out. "Until a few weeks ago you were going to join the army. What was it before that? The navy? Becoming a priest? Raising horses? Becoming a professional wagerer? Buying chickens? What makes you think you are the least bit qualified to tell me what a goal is, or what a life is?"

She'd actually hit on a few of his earlier schemes. Despite his anger it shook him to realize how well she'd come to know him. But she didn't know everything. "At least I kept an open mind. And I learned my lessons. I've seen my future, and I want you in it."

"After what you just said to me? I wouldn't marry you if my alternative was making bricks. Go away. Now."

For a moment he stood there, shaking. "Fine." He turned his back on her, yanking open the door and nearly sending the startled maid stumbling back into the room. "Enjoy your damned life, Caroline. I hope it's all you've dreamed of."

He headed for Sally Witfeld's room, where his aunt was commiserating with her misery-turned-to-joy over Caroline's rapidly evolving future. "Aunt Tremaine," he said, when a servant admitted him, "I want to leave before dark."

Obviously Melbourne had informed her of her part in the play, because she nodded. "I'll be ready."

He had one last person to inform, though he was loathe to give Melbourne the satisfaction. By way of compromise he found Shay, playing whist with Joanna, Julia, and Grace. Apparently the girls had given up trying to mob every male in sight, but then he had been coaching them for a month on their tactics.

"Zachary," his brother greeted him. "I'm thinking we should teach these young ladies how to play faro."

"Oh, yes, please!" Julia urged, giggling.

Zachary shook his head. "Tell Melbourne that Aunt Tremaine and I will be on the road to Bath by sunset. And that I expect him to keep his word."

Joanna lurched to her feet. "But you can't leave!"

"My business takes me to Bath." He sketched a bow. "Excuse me. I need to finish packing."

He needed to begin packing, actually, but his valet would do the majority of that. Leaving instructions for Reed, he attached Harold to his leash and headed out for a long walk around the pond. It was more of an angry stalk around the pond, but even with his heart pounding and his breath harsh in his ears, nothing changed. He didn't feel better, didn't see that Caroline would be happier as a painter with her eyes on nothing but canvas and paint and people frozen in time than she would be with him.

If she didn't see it either, though, then perhaps he was expecting too much of her. If she never realized, if it never occurred to her, that more existed outside her little room with its pretty windows, then his pointing it out to her wouldn't make the least bit of difference. Obviously, it hadn't.

"Zachary," Edmund Witfeld's voice came, and Zachary looked around with a start. He spied Caroline's father seated on a boulder at the pond's edge. With a fishing pole in his hands and a bucket of fish beside him, he looked the very image of country serenity. Zachary envied him for it.

"I was walking," he said unnecessarily, giving Harold a short whistle when the dog started toward the fish. Immediately the pup dropped into a sit.

"So I see. Considering the ruckus in the house, I decided I needed a bit of air, myself."

"Aunt Tremaine and I are leaving for Bath," Zachary said stiffly. "My brother has professed an interest in the breeding program, and I'll be putting together a more detailed proposal for him." He hesitated. "It would be useful if I could correspond with you."

Witfeld turned around on the rock, facing him. "If you're continuing with this just to prove to Caroline or your brother that she wasn't the reason you decided to invest in Wiltshire cattle, Zachary, I wish you'd tell me now. I'm used to my neighbors thinking me peculiar, but I'd hate for them to think I led them into nonsense."

Zachary blew out his breath. "What do they call it when chance, fate, and common sense all have a moment of intersection? Serendipity? Whatever played into it, Edmund, I've found my serendipity, and I won't abandon it. I'll set up a ledger for keeping track of which cows are bred with which bulls, when calves are expected, and the rest, and I'll send it to you by the end of the week."

"Very well." Witfeld turned back to his fishing. "If it matters, lad," he said after a moment, "I think she wavered a bit. More than a bit."

"No. It doesn't matter."

With a last look at the pretty setting, Zachary headed back for the house. He didn't intend to be at Witfeld when Caroline left. It would tear his heart out to watch her ride away from him. The only thing he could do to survive was ride away first.

Two coaches stood in the drive, both large and black, and both bearing the red griffin coat of arms emblazoned on the door panels. One would be headed for Bath, and the other back to London.

Caroline watched through the conservatory window as her family swarmed out of the house, surrounding the three tall men in their fashionable clothes and their beaver hats and their compelling, commanding gazes. She didn't care if they were leaving. She especially didn't care if Zachary was leaving.

"Good riddance," she muttered as he handed Aunt Tremaine into the lead coach and then followed her inside.

For a moment she thought Joanna and Grace were going to try to climb in after them, but the servants managed to get the door closed and back her family out of the way. After a few seconds the coach rattled off.