Worse, it had never occurred to him that he might be deemed deficient in any way, particularly for the office of marriage. Debutantes and widows and ambitious mothers pursued him constantly, and his own mother was always making introductions to young ladies she deemed suitable. He was always hunted, it seemed, which surely implied that he was desirable prey.
Rather than lacking in substance.
The question of course was whether he truly was so superficial or whether it was only his disguise as Arthur Beckham that would not be of interest to his intended bride.
Miss Ballantyne set her glass aside. “I see that I have caused offense, though that was not my intention, Mr. Beckham. I simply do not see you as a philosopher or a man of ideas, though there may be more to you than anticipated.” She leaned a little closer and dropped her voice. “Or is there, perhaps, more to this match than meets the eye?”
In a way, Arthur was relieved that she had guessed the truth. “The lady has a quest, which I have sworn to assist. We deemed it best to formalize our partnership with marriage as it will be a lengthy venture.”
“Now I am intrigued,” the courtesan murmured, and Arthur wondered whether he might have found a patroness for Miss Carruthers’ project. More financial contributions than his own could only help—and given the topic of the volume in question, Miss Ballantyne might be a powerful ally.
He moved closer and lowered his voice. “There is a book, you see, or the manuscript of a book. It is not yet published, and Mr. Carruthers declines to publish it, despite the endorsement of his eldest daughter. The baroness confided in her sister, who is determined to publish the book.” He straightened. “We intend to establish a publishing firm to do precisely that.”
“For one book.” Miss Ballantyne considered him. “It must be a work of tremendous interest to your intended.”
“It is. She says it will change the lives of women everywhere.”
Had something flashed in the courtesan’s eyes? “Indeed?” she murmured, dropping her gaze as if to hide that reaction. “Do you know more of this volume?”
“Only that it is a work of intimate advice for women, intended to aid married women in maintaining the amorous attention of their spouses.”
This time, he could not mistake it. Miss Ballantyne caught her breath. “And Mr. Carruthers has declined to publish such a work?”
“Evidently, he thinks the content inappropriate.”
Miss Ballantyne took a deep breath of indignation, and Arthur could only imagine the matter was close to her heart. Would she prefer that women had the information to beguile their own husbands? Or would that interfere too much with her own trade? He could not guess.
“How laudable that you would undertake such an endeavor,” she said.
“Miss Carruthers is very certain of its importance.”
“I find I must agree with her.”
“Then perhaps you might?—”
Before Arthur could make a request for her patronage, Miss Ballantyne sat forward, her manner intent. “You must not tell the duke of this venture,” she said, her voice low and hot, her gaze boring into his own.
“But…”
“No. He will consider such an agreement unacceptable as a basis for your match. An arranged marriage is one thing, and a love match another, but I am convinced that you will never persuade the duke of the merit of this negotiation.” She smiled. “I, however, find myself reassured of your prospects for a happy union.”
“Oh!”
“Tell him that you are smitten,” Miss Ballantyne said with urgency. “Tell him that Cupid’s arrow has found its mark and you wish only to spend your life with Miss Carruthers. Convince him of your ardor and all will be well.”
Arthur might have argued but there was the thump of a cane from outside the box, and the duke himself appeared. His expression was grim and his eyes narrowed slightly as he surveyed the two of them. He seemed more imposing than Arthur recalled, but perhaps that was because the future hung in the balance, based on his grace’s conclusion.
“You look to be making mischief, Miss Ballantyne,” the duke said in a low grumble then entered the box. He nodded at Arthur. “Beckham.”
“I simply make a scheme to locate more orgeat lemonade, your grace,” she said with a smile. “Alas, the heat has caused it to evaporate and there is none left for you.”
“How disappointing,” the duke said in a tone that made his lack of disappointment abundantly clear. He smiled a little, his eyes gleaming. “But your will must be done, Miss Ballantyne.” He bent over her hand and kissed the back of it, then called for a servant to fetch more of the beverage, along with a brandy for himself.
He sat, putting aside his cane as he eased into the seat beside the courtesan, then turned an incisive gaze upon Arthur. “And so, you would wed Edward Carruthers’ daughter, Patience,” he said without preamble. “Why?” The last word snapped like a whip, a query demanding an immediate response, the duke’s manner indicating that very few answers would suffice.
Arthur decided in that moment to take all of the courtesan’s advice.
Who knew a man better than his lover, after all?
