An Invitation to Sin

by Suzanne Enoch

  “I haven’t spoken with you in a month. I’m catching up.”

  “Yes, well, I have some work to do, so I’d rather you got to the point.”

  Melbourne stopped. “What are you so angry about?”

  Zachary kept walking. “I’m angry because both you and Shay are here, without bothering to send word first so I could prepare a decent plan for you to see, and I’m angry because you decided to reject whatever it was I was proposing without even seeing it first.”

  “I’ve seen it before, Zachary. A hundred times. What kind of conclusion am I supposed to come to?”

  “People bloody change, Melbourne. Why don’t you take a minute to look around before you hand down your damned proclamations?” Zachary turned around, clenching his fists to keep from going after his brother. He couldn’t remember ever being this frustrated and angry with Sebastian before, and they’d had similar disagreements twenty times. Maybe it was because this time he meant his side of the argument. “And by the way, I only asked if you wanted to participate. The project goes on with or without you, Your Grace.”

  “Zachary—”

  “Bugger off, Sebastian. You’re uninvited from being involved.”

  Apparently word spread on the wind in Wiltshire County, Sebastian noted. He and Shay hadn’t been there for two hours before nine additional visitors from the town of Trowbridge and the surrounding area came calling at Witfeld Manor.

  Some grocer’s son named Williams sat in the morning room sending moon-eyed looks at one of the girls while Sally Witfeld chattered in Sebastian’s ear. Across from him two more of the daughters, twins, obviously, whispered and giggled to one another while batting their lashes at him and Shay.

  Charlemagne sat forward to pick up his cup of tea. “What the devil are we doing here again, Melbourne?” he murmured. “And where in damnation is Zachary?”

  Considering the reception he’d received from Zachary, Sebastian wasn’t entirely certain of the answer to either question. But he was certain that something other than plans for cattle breeding was going on, and with Witfeld’s seven unmarried daughters all apparently pursuing every single male in the county, he wasn’t leaving until he was satisfied that Zachary was out of danger. “We’re looking into things,” he returned under his breath. “And he’s about somewhere.” He wasn’t about to admit aloud that he had no idea where Zachary had stalked off to.

  The most obvious source of information would be Aunt Tremaine, but he hadn’t yet managed a moment alone with her. Nor did that seem likely to happen until sometime this evening. Very well, then. He’d turned patience into an art form.

  In the meantime, he didn’t think Mrs. Witfeld would object if he asked to speak with one of her daughters. Motioning Charlemagne to stay where he was, he stood. “Where might I find Miss Witfeld?” he asked. “I would be interested in seeing some of her paintings.”

  “She’s probably in her conservatory,” Mrs. Witfeld answered, flipping her hand. “But you don’t want to speak with her; she’s going to Vienna in a few days, and doesn’t want to marry. You should chat with Joanna, here. She’s very pleasant, and fainted this morning. Your brother saved her.”

  “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.

  Chapter 22

  “But Mr. Witfeld!”

  “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 duk
e 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.”