A Little Bit Sinful

by Adrienne Basso

  “That’s even more troubling,” she said grimly, before straightening her spine. “I acknowledge it is not my place to order Bianca’s life, but I feel the need to protect her.”

  “Understandable. You are determined to protect her from disaster. Namely, me.”

  She closed her eyes briefly. He wondered whether she was embarrassed or trying to maintain her patience.

  “My sister has a rather modest dowry,” Lady Eleanor said. She opened her eyes and turned them fully upon him. “If your expectations were of a vast fortune, I am afraid you will be sorely disappointed.”

  Ah, so now she thought him a fortune hunter, in addition to an unscrupulous rake. No wonder she was trying to scare him off. “My estates are amazingly sound. I say amazingly since I can claim no credit for their solvency beyond hiring an honest, competent steward. That’s not to say that I have piles of money to burn, but I am far from impoverished. Does that ease your mind at all, Lady Eleanor?”

  Her mouth twisted, but before she could reply they were interrupted.

  “Our carriage approaches,” Gwendolyn announced in a loud voice. “Time for afternoon calls.”

  Sebastian set his fingers to his temples, grateful for the interruption. His conversation with Lady Eleanor had gone in so many directions his head was fairly spinning. Additionally, her interference had taken time away from his pursuit of Lady Bianca, but worse, he feared her continued diligence was going to make it difficult to manipulate young Bianca into a compromising position.

  “May we give anyone a lift?” Dorothea asked. “Mr. Brommer? Ladies?”

  Brommer declined the offer. So did Lady Eleanor, explaining their carriage was also in view. After a general farewell that encompassed everyone, she took up a position beside her sister, a protective expression on her face.

  Ignoring the warning, Sebastian pushed himself forward. Singling Lady Bianca out, he boldly took her hand, delighted to see her color heighten.

  “I had a most enjoyable afternoon,” he said. “I look forward to seeing you again very soon.”

  “That is my hope also, my lord.” Lady Bianca’s smile was sweet and genuine.

  A breeze fluttered across Sebastian’s neck, but the chill of the air was nothing compared to the skeptical scowl he received from Lady Eleanor. Hell, she was a suspicious sort.

  With the earl’s daughters gone, Sebastian walked the Ellingham sisters to their waiting carriage. He braced himself for their merciless questions and teasing, but they were strangely silent. Deciding it was merely pure chance or dumb luck if he correctly predicted a woman’s mood, Sebastian took advantage of the quiet.

  Bowing low, he kissed each sister’s hand before assisting them into the coach. He waved as the vehicle rumbled away. Mounting his horse, Sebastian began the slow trek out of the park, once again weaving his way through the crowds.

  This time, the delay barely bothered him. He replayed the conversations he had with Hetfield’s daughters in his mind, concluding that caution was essential, especially where Lady Eleanor was concerned. Still, all in all, it had been a most enlightening and productive afternoon.

  Chapter 5

  Bianca chattered with breathless excitement on the carriage ride home from the park. Her delight was so great that she barely noticed when Eleanor did not join the conversation. By the time they walked through the front door of their townhome, a dull ache behind Eleanor’s eyes had begun. She had not wanted to squash her sister’s enthusiasm at this point by raising any objections to the viscount and the effort had resulted in physical discomfort.

  Bianca excused herself and hurried upstairs, explaining she was anxious to remove her new ensemble to prevent it from getting soiled. Eleanor watched her go with an indulgent feeling of affection.

  “The post arrived while you were out,” the butler, Harrison, informed Eleanor as he took her cloak. “I have left it on the front table, as you requested.”

  “Thank you.” Eleanor nodded cordially but did not smile.

  She did not care much for Harrison. He was a stiff, formal man in his late fifties who seemed ridiculously impressed with himself. Eleanor had a vague recollection of hearing that Town servants usually felt superior to their rural counterparts and Harrison had proved that statement correct. It was yet another reason she missed the quiet, uncomplicated country life.

  She shifted her attention to the aforementioned mail and her heart sank when she saw the woefully small number of invitations waiting for them. The earl was doing little to launch Bianca in society and his lack of interest was taking a toll. Given half a chance, Eleanor knew her lovely, kindhearted sister would be a great success, yet she worried that the chance would not materialize.

  Eleanor crossed the hall to the drawing room. The scent of beeswax and lemon assaulted her nostrils, a welcome change from the smells they endured on the afternoon of their arrival. The house the earl had secured for his daughters had been run-down and neglected. The furnishings were hardly new or fashionable. Several chairs were missing from the dining room, sections of the carpets were worn in places, the fabric on the armchairs was stained and faded.

  Eleanor would not have minded the tired atmosphere half as much if it had been clean. Everything seemed to be weighed down by a layer of dust and grime. It had taken the grumbling servants a full week of dusting, washing, and polishing to bring the place to Eleanor’s standards, but the results had been worth the effort.

  They could sit comfortably in the drawing room without sneezing from the dust, feel the warmth from the fireplace without breathing in sooty smoke, and see the outside world through the now clear window glass. And as she did just that, Eleanor noticed with some surprise that a carriage passing along the street drew to a halt directly in front of their door.

  Visitors? It was late, yet still within the proper time frame for making afternoon calls. But the earl was away from home. Who could be calling on them?

  Eleanor’s questions were answered soon enough when the trio of sisters Viscount Benton introduced them to earlier in the day were brought into the drawing room.

  “Do forgive our boldness, Lady Eleanor,” Mrs. Gwendolyn Barrington said as she extended her hand in greeting. “We barely had an opportunity to converse with you and your sister at Hyde Park and were vastly disappointed that we did not have the chance to get to know you better.”

  “Yes, you were far too busy with Viscount Benton to bother with any of us,” Miss Emma interjected in a sour tone.

  “Emma!” Mrs. Barrington let out a nervous laugh. “This is no time for your sarcastic sense of humor. We barely know Lady Eleanor. She will think you abominably rude.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Miss Emma replied. “I meant no offense.”

  Eleanor glanced over at the youngest sister, expecting her to look embarrassed or even chastised and was surprised to see the edge of hostility reflected in her gaze.

  “Well, there is no denying that Benton does command everyone’s attention when he is around,” Lady Dorothea said with a forced smile. “Except of course when my husband is in the room.”

  “Now, Dorothea, I take exception to that remark,” Mrs. Barrington said with a teasing grin. “‘Tis usually my Jason who has the ladies all aflutter.”

  The women laughed and the tension eased slightly. They settled into the chairs Eleanor indicated. She was debating whether to ring for tea and worried that Cook would have nothing appropriate ready. Visitors were not a common occurrence, indeed, this was the first time anyone had come to call.

  Deciding it was safer to forgo refreshments, Eleanor instructed Harrison to summon her sister. A smiling Bianca arrived and they were soon discussing the upcoming events of the Season.

  Eleanor deliberately contributed little to the conversation, wanting instead for Bianca to take the lead. She was a bit hesitant and awkward at first, yet thanks to the friendly, open manner of their guests Bianca tackled the challenge admirably.

  Eleanor was surprised to learn that the ladies were all
fairly recent arrivals in London and even more shocked to hear they had been raised in the country. They had no noble connections to speak of, being granddaughters of a baronet. Yet somehow Mrs. Barrington had managed to marry into the family of an earl and Lady Dorothea, already a marchioness, would someday assume the title of Duchess of Hansborough.

  Eleanor studied the two older sisters covertly as they talked. These country girls had risen far in the world. More important, they seemed happy. Their smiling, teasing references to their husbands bespoke of stable, loving relationships.

  Thanks to her sisters’ connections, the youngest, Emma, would have her pick of any gentleman when she decided to marry. Eleanor felt a deep pang of envy at her good fortune. Dear Bianca would not have such an easy time.

  A social friendship with these women would be advantageous. But Eleanor’s hopes that Bianca might form a genuine friendship with Emma, who was closest to her in age, were soon dashed. Beyond the absence of any additional rude outbursts, Emma’s manner was not in the least approachable.

  She sat silently, a decidedly prudish expression on her pretty face. Eleanor was unsure what they might have done to offend this young woman. Was she jealous of Bianca’s beauty? Or was it something else entirely that had put her out of sorts?

  Whatever the reason, Eleanor thought it poor manners to act so peevishly when among company. And it seemed rather strange that while the two older sisters were trying hard to be agreeable, the younger one was not especially easy to like.

  The clock struck the hour and the visitors stood. “Thank you for a lovely visit,” Lady Dorothea said as she tugged on her gloves. “I know the invitation is rather last minute, but my husband and I are hosting a small dinner party on Thursday evening. Nothing elaborate or fancy, just some family and close friends. If by any chance you are free, we would like you to join us.”

  “I am unsure if my father has any specific plans on Thursday evening,” Eleanor replied.

  “Gracious, forgive my rudeness,” Lady Dorothea muttered. “Of course the earl is included in the invitation.”

  Eleanor smiled noncommittally. She could not fault Lady Dorothea for not knowing the inclusion of the earl hardly sweetened the invitation.

  “Oh, do say you will come,” Mrs. Barrington pressed. “After all, country girls must stick together.”

  “I will consult our social calendar and let you know,” Eleanor said.

  She and Bianca remained in the drawing room after their guests had departed, just in case any other callers arrived.

  “You will accept Lady Dorothea’s dinner invitation, won’t you?” Bianca asked as they waited. “I’d really like to attend.”

  “Would you? I didn’t realize you’d taken such a shine to Lady Dorothea. Or was it Mrs. Barrington?”

  “How unkind of you to tease me,” Bianca said with an airy laugh. “Tell me truthfully, do you think Viscount Benton will be there?”

  Eleanor let out an inelegant snort. “I imagine it is possible. He claims a close friendship with the family.”

  “I know you won’t believe me, but I would like to go even if he is not in attendance.” Bianca twirled the end of the satin ribbon twisted through her hair, her expression thoughtful. “Of course, if the viscount does come, well, all the better for me.”

  Oh, Bianca. Eleanor’s heart tripped with worry. Having Benton in attendance was the reason Eleanor had been reluctant to accept the invitation in the first place.

  “The earl might have already made plans for you on Thursday evening,” Eleanor said, wondering if that would be even worse.

  Bianca’s face fell. “No matter. If we cannot attend, I feel certain I shall see Lord Benton again somewhere else.”

  For Bianca’s sake, Eleanor tried to smile, but she couldn’t. With the roguish viscount and his unclear intentions looming on the horizon, it seemed that this trip to Town was going to be far more of an ordeal than Eleanor had originally anticipated.

  For Sebastian, distractions had always been the essential element to leading a peaceful existence. Keeping busy with the daily nonsense of life helped one avoid facing its true difficulties. Yet ever since he set his course of revenge against the earl, distractions were harder to find.

  A morning with his tailor or bootmaker, an afternoon looking over the latest crop of horses at Tattersall’s or boxing at Jackson’s Salon, an early evening spent lounging about his club or playing cards were no longer comfortable, easy ways to pass the time. The notion of revenge consumed his waking hours, making everything else seem trite. And he feared it would not be long before it also affected his sleep.

  It seemed rather peculiar that having a strong purpose and direction in his life left him feeling restless and edgy, but that was the result. Truthfully, he had never felt quite so off balance.

  The solution, he decided, was to break his usual routine. To that end he made his way from his bachelor apartments across town to the fashionable section of Mayfair and the new townhome of the Marquess of Atwood.

  His intention was not to visit his friend, though he’d be pleased to have a chat with him. Rather, the purpose of the visit was to see Emma. Though their conversations were always spirited, Emma’s presence usually had a calming effect on him, something he needed now more than ever.

  Sebastian dressed with his usual care, ignoring his valet’s fussy comments, ate a hearty breakfast, and called for his horse. Even though the day was cloudy, he set off at a leisurely pace. His mood improved with each block until Sebastian turned his mount down Atwood’s street and caught sight of a familiar residence. A sudden knot clutched in his stomach.

  The stately white-stone mansion with the distinct royal blue shutters had belonged to his grandmother. It was now his property, the most substantial asset of her modest estate, fittingly bequeathed to him, her only grandchild. Yet he had not moved into the home upon returning to Town. His name might be on the deed of ownership, but in his mind it was still his grandmother’s house, a place where he had always been a welcome visitor.

  Whether it was to hear the latest gossip or to give him a scathing lecture on a whole host of subjects, Sebastian’s weekly visits were something that went beyond familial duty. They might not have always been pleasant, but they offered an odd sense of security.

  ‘Twas astonishing really to think how much he missed those visits. How much he missed her.

  As he rode by the house, he slowed his mount. The house appeared to be in good condition. The ornamental shrubs were neatly trimmed, the windows shining clean, the front steps newly washed. Yet the absence of the brass knocker on the front door indicating the family was not in residence rattled him.

  It was a stark reminder of the permanency of death and the changes it wrought. A reminder Sebastian hardly needed at the moment. He looked away and spurred his horse to a quicker pace.

  “Good morning, Hawkins,” Sebastian said cordially when Atwood’s butler answered the door.

  “Lord Benton.” The butler bowed respectfully but did not move aside to allow Sebastian into the house. “I regret to inform you that the marquess is not at home.”

  Sebastian raised his brow. It was the standard response given to callers when the family did not wish to be disturbed. But he was not a typical caller. In fact, he had never been turned away, unless no one truly was in the house.

  Sebastian glanced through the open door at the ornate clock majestically positioned in the marble foyer, confirming the time. Eleven o’clock. Far too early for Atwood to be out. Far too early also for callers.

  “Is Lord Atwood really away?” Sebastian asked.

  “The marquess is not at home,” the butler repeated in a low voice.

  Sebastian frowned in puzzlement, staring back at the stoic servant. His face remained impassive. “But Atwood is never away at this hour,” Sebastian pondered out loud, until suddenly the truth dawned. “Is that a blush, Hawkins?” he asked with a teasing smile.

  The servant’s eyes widened in horror, confirming Seb
astian’s theory. Atwood was still abed, more than likely with his lovely wife beside him. Or under him.

  “The marquess—”

  “Yes, yes, is not at home,” Sebastian interrupted. “Well, no matter. I’m here to see Miss Emma.”

  “She is painting,” the butler replied, a small sigh of relief escaping. He opened the door wider and Sebastian sauntered over the threshold. Hawkins signaled discreetly with his left hand and a footman materialized. “Show Lord Benton to Miss Emma’s studio.”

  Sebastian knew precisely where Emma did her painting, having been there numerous times. But he did not belay the command, deciding he’d already embarrassed the butler enough for one day.

  Emma gave him a friendly, albeit distracted greeting when he entered her studio. She was facing the door, positioned in front of an easel that held a large canvas. The paintbrush in her hand was moving at a frantic rate. Sebastian was disappointed he could not view the canvas from where he stood, curious to see what had so inspired her passion.

  “Obviously I’m disturbing you, but I’d like to stay anyway,” he said. “May I?”

  “Can you be quiet for ten minutes?”

  “I can,” he replied.

  She nodded and he settled himself in an overstuffed chair, one of only two pieces of furniture in the room. Silence descended, except for the sound of brush against canvas. It was a relaxed, undemanding noise.

  Sebastian closed his eyes, concentrating on smells of the room, evoking pleasant memories of the hours he had spent in the studio posing for his portrait. The portrait his grandmother had commissioned from Emma a few months before her death. The portrait he had not yet seen.

  After ten minutes or so, Emma heaved a sigh. Sebastian opened his eyes. Emma slowly lowered her brush. She gazed at the painting for a long moment. Finally, she removed it from the easel and gently propped it against the wall, facing inward.

  Sebastian glanced curiously at the back of the canvas. Emma had always generously shared her work with him. What was it about this particular painting that made her so secretive?