She halted and turned to face him. “Because what I would like most in all the world is to start a publishing company. Clearly, I cannot do as much on my own, for such ventures are established by men. But as marriage is a partnership, such a firm might be established by a married couple.”
Whatever Arthur might have expected of her, it was not this. “But your father is a publisher.”
“And Carruthers & Carruthers will be inherited by my male cousins.” Her eyes shone with a conviction he found most attractive. “I would build a business that could not be taken from me in the event of your demise, one that might provide a legacy for my children, one that might make a difference to others with its choice of offerings.”
Arthur left the question of his demise for the moment. “I do not understand.”
“I would cater to the tastes of ladies,” she said as if she had thought all of this through before his appearance at Bettencourt’s home. Arthur had the unexpected sense that she had been waiting for him to make her dream possible. “And they would frequent my lending library, and buy my books.” She smiled, triumphant and more alluring than she evidently guessed.
It was not madness. Arthur thought of novels, naturally, for Lady Beckham was an avid reader and could not apparently consume her fill of them. Poetry, even. Ladies had great fondness for volumes of poetry. Lady Beckham was not the only lady of affluence in London. He knew enough of trade to recognize that one had to offer a product that was in demand, so he nodded agreement.
“If that is your term, Miss Carruthers, I would be delighted to consider our bargain made.”
She dropped her voice to a whisper, those eyes opening wide as she leaned closer. “Do you have sufficient funds for such a venture, sir?”
“If not, I will find them.” He raised her gloved hand to his lips, watching satisfaction dawn in her eyes. “I vow it to you, Miss Carruthers.” She truly had the most beautiful eyes and when she flushed just a little, as she did now, Arthur wanted to argue against her conviction that she was not pretty.
He thought she was lovely.
In truth, Arthur could not imagine a more satisfactory outcome to his uncle’s wager.
He kissed her hand, lingering over the gesture until she caught her breath.
“Have you any other expectations of matrimony, Miss Carruthers? Love everlasting, perhaps?” He shook his head, recalling her claims. “No, that would not be your request.”
“And it is not,” she said crisply, her expression becoming discomfited. “But there is one detail I would know, Mr. Beckham.”
Her cheeks were crimson and her gaze flicked from his to his driver then to the butler at her father’s door. Her face became impossibly more red and Arthur could not look away.
“I am at your service, Miss Carruthers.”
She eased closer, lowering her voice and her lashes. “I should like to know if I have a bewitching spot.”
Arthur blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“It was in the book, the one you returned, thewrongbook.” Her expression was fierce when she looked up at him. “It said of a specific lady: ‘neither has the too frequent use of the most bewitching spot rendered it the least callous to the joys of love…’” She inhaled, perhaps unaware that Arthur was astonished to silence. “I would like to know.”
“I find it very likely that you do,” he managed to say. “And I would be delighted to be of assistance in locating it upon our wedding night.”
She smiled with real pleasure, her eyes lighting as if he had hung the stars and the moon. “I thank you, Mr. Beckham. Then I accept.”
Arthur had a wicked thought. “I do not suppose that you would care to verify the content of this volume you wish to publish, the better to ensure that we do not provide false or misleading information to any clients.”
“But it is a book of amorous advice, by my understanding.”
He smiled. “And we will be wed.”
Her smile became mysterious. “Indeed, Mr. Beckham, I think that might be a prudent choice. I would like to be an example of a lady whose husband did not find such amusement elsewhere.”
He kissed her hand, holding her gaze, doubting he would ever find another woman of any interest at all. “Shall I call upon your father tomorrow, Miss Carruthers?” he murmured so softly that only she would hear.
She nodded quick agreement, then glanced toward his driver and footman, who appeared to be inattentive but most certainly were not. She squeezed his hand briefly before pulling her own away and her eyes danced. Better yet, she flushed slightly and he caught his breath at the sight. “Yes, Mr. Beckham. I would be most gratified if you do.”
“Then I will, Miss Carruthers.” He smiled as he watched her run up the steps. The butler swept open the door, sparing Arthur a disapproving glance that prompted the recipient of that glare to beam and bow.
Doubtless Miss Carruthers was right and he already knew their plans. The prospect made Arthur want to laugh aloud.
His goal had been achieved so easily as that. A publishing firm. She could have asked for the moon, a diamond coronet, a house in Berkley Square, a library as large as a palace, anything at all, but no, nothing so predictable would suffice to win the favor of Miss Patience Carruthers.
