Lady Beresford's Lover (16 page)

He rang for his valet, who arrived with warm water.

“Send a message to Cook that I’ll want breakfast in a half hour.” He’d never seen the point of waiting until ten to break his fast. No matter what time he got to bed, he was always up early, and hungry.

Wigman stepped into the corridor. “It will be ready, my lord.”

Thirty minutes later, he went downstairs. “Harlock, have my carriage brought around. I want to leave as soon as I’ve eaten.”

Under an hour later, he hopped into his phaeton. “Let ’em go.”

“Aye, my lord.” Stuie jumped on the back. “Where we off to?”

“Covent Garden. I won’t be long, but I have an errand to run.” Once they arrived, he set the brake. “Keep a sharp eye out.”

“I will, sir.”

Rupert quickly found the flower ladies and began looking over their blooms. “Isn’t that a sea aster?”

“Dunno, I just sell ’em.” The woman yawned.

He cupped the flower with his fingers. Definitely a
Tripolium pannonicum
. “I’ll take all of them.” A yellow flower adorned with a purple pistol caught his eye.
Clematis tangutica
cultivars. That would go nicely with the white and yellow asters. “I’ll take the vine with the yellow flowers as well.”

A few moments later he paid for his purchase and headed back to his carriage. Two older men flanked Stuie. The boy’s chin jutted out in a belligerent manner, his stance was wide, and his hands curled into fists.

Rupert slowed, keeping his horses between himself and the ruffians, effectively shielding him from their sight as he approached. After carefully placing his flowers on the carriage seat, he cleared the team’s heads, putting himself on the same side as the others, but out of reach of the larger man. “Can I help you?”

The fellow jumped. “No, guv’nor. Nothin’ going on here. Jus’ askin’ if the young’un needed some help.”

Stuie spit on the ground. “Not likely, my lord.”

Rupert eyed the other man, who’d turned his head. “You’re a long way from Mount Street.”

“Bloody hell,” the would-be thief mumbled. “I would have to run into you ag’in.”

In the daylight, he was able to see the tattered remains of a uniform. “What unit?”

“Fifty-second foot.” The former soldier made a gesture with his hand. “Both of us. Ain’t been able to find work since we got back from Waterloo.”

“What did you do before you enlisted?” Rupert watched the men carefully. One never knew when someone might stupidly attempt to attack him. “Something tells me you weren’t thieves.”

“Nah, raised on farms, we were,” the other man said. “No place for us there now.”

“Don’t know where ta go but here.”

Rupert took out his card case and a pencil. He wrote an address on the back. “Go see this man. If anyone can find you work, he can. As long as you don’t mind leaving London, that is.”

The former soldier took the card. “Thank ye.”

“Where’d you send them?” Stuie asked as the men walked off.

“Fenniman.”

“Ain’t he the one that found you your last tenant after old Jerry died?”

“He is.” And if need be, Rupert would find a place for them. He needed to have his secretary scout around for more land for sale.

“You think they’ll go?”

“They headed in the right direction.” Rupert climbed into the phaeton. “All I can do is try.”

“Got your flowers?”

“Yes. I only hope the lady likes them.”

“She the same one you been sendin’ flowers to?”

Rupert raised a brow. “You’re full of questions today.”

His tiger shrugged and scrambled on to the back. “People are wondering if we’re going to see changes.”

By the time he got back to Mayfair, the morning had advanced sufficiently to allow him to stop in Mount Street. When he pulled up in front of the house, Stuie got down, taking charge of the horses.

The door opened as Rupert reached the top step.

“Welcome, my lord. The ladies are in the drawing room. It is Lady Telford’s at home day.”

Giggling came from behind a door, and he paused in the act of taking off his hat. “How many ladies are here?”

“It’s early yet; only about seven.”

There was no way in hell he’d enter that room. He’d made the mistake once at his mother’s at home. Clearing his throat, he indicated the flowers. “I’d like to leave these for Lady Beresford. Do you have a piece of paper I could write a note on?”

Rupert could swear he saw the slightest twitch of the butler’s lips. “Indeed, my lord.”

A few minutes later, he strode out of the house, but not before another carriage drove up.
Damn and blast it
. Lady Banks and her daughter. Before they could hail him, he drove off.

The last thing he wanted was to jeopardize the support Lord Banks was giving Rupert in the Lords.

After having joined his friends for luncheon, he finally arrived home in the late afternoon. Once again a letter from Vivian lay on the hall table. He picked it up, popping off the seal as he strode to his study. Half-way down the corridor he came to an abrupt halt.
She wants to do what?

What the devil was she about and how the hell had she found that house? He raked his fingers through his hair. The only thing she could be planning was an affair, although she hadn’t struck him as the type of woman who would have relations outside of marriage. Or had he seen only what he wanted to, yet again?

No, he was right about her. This latest start must have something to do with her husband.

He glanced once more at the missive. Eleven was a deuced odd time. Why not earlier or later? Well, he’d find out soon enough, today if he could manage it. Who was this woman who intrigued him so much?

“W
ell,” Mama said, “he must not have seen me wave.”

Oh, Lord Stanstead had seen them and run, but what had he been doing at Lady Telford’s house? Cressida pasted a polite smile on her lips. “Probably not. In fact, we haven’t seen him at any of the entertainments for a week or more.”

“Your father said the Lords have been extremely busy.”

The door opened and the butler bowed. Mama handed him her card. “Come this way, my lady.”

When they entered the drawing room, the other ladies were exclaiming over a bunch of beautiful yellow and purple flowers Lady Beresford held.

“They are perfectly lovely! Who sent them?” one of the women asked.

Lady Beresford shook her head, smiling. “Barnes, please have these placed in water. I shall arrange them later.”

“Oh, pooh!” Another lady pouted. “I cannot believe you are so cruel as to keep us guessing.”

“Everyone must have their secrets.” Lady Telford did nothing more than add an inflection of scolding in her tone for the subject to change to a bonnet seen on Bruton Street, but Cressida knew.

Lord Stanstead must have brought them over himself. Yet for the life of her, she didn’t know what he saw in Lady Beresford. Her face was pretty in an older sort of way, but she was much too thin to be fashionable.

Fortunately, Mama must have made the same connection as Cressida had. As soon as they could politely excuse themselves, they did.

Once they were back in the carriage, Mama gave her sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, my dear. It appears Lord Stanstead’s interests lie elsewhere.”

“Yes, Mama.” Clearly, there was no point in discussing the matter. Her mother was ready to give up, but Cressida knew that Lord Stanstead was meant to be with her. She would simply have to find a way to show him that. “Where has Papa been in the evenings?”

“There have been political entertainments he was required to attend. However, he will be accompanying us to Lady Jersey’s ball. Everyone will be there.”

Including Lord Stanstead, Cressida hoped. If she could be found alone with him there, he’d have to marry her.

 

Silvia stood still as her maid laced her gown. Despite racking her brain all day, she had found no way to thwart Nick’s plan to dance with her. She might as well give in gracefully. She’d had to stand up with other men she hadn’t cared for; all the young ladies did. At least he danced well, and she would not end the set with sore toes.

“There you go, miss. Do you want the pearls?”

“Yes. They will do nicely.” Because she was the eldest, most of her mother’s jewelry had come to her. Much of it was not suitable for an unmarried young lady.

Though it did not matter, she had no desire to show off any wealth. She and Cousin Clara had agreed that there was no need to mention the amount of Silvia’s portion. It would only attract fortune hunters, and she was determined to ensure whoever she married wanted her, not her money. Mama and Papa had wed for love, as had her sisters. She would as well.

When Silvia reached the drawing room, Lady Telford and Vivian were enjoying glasses of wine. Silvia poured one for herself. Normally she didn’t drink much, but to-night she required a bit of help to face what was coming.

She took a seat on the sofa next to her ladyship, and only then noticed that Vivian had not dressed for the evening. “Are you not feeling well?”

“I have a little bit of a headache and thought to remain in. I’m sure it is nothing to be alarmed about.”

“I agree, my dear, taking a few days to yourself is an excellent idea,” Lady Telford said. “You’ve been up late and out early.”

Vivian appeared flushed. “Do you have a fever?” Silvia asked. Not that Silvia wanted her friend to be ill, but then perhaps she could remain home to nurse Vivian, and put off the inevitable for a while longer.

“No, I might be a bit warm, but that happens sometimes.” She set her glass on the small square end table. “You two run along and have a good time. I’ll be fine with a night’s rest.”

They chatted a few minutes longer before her ladyship rose. “It is time we leave. You should know, Vivian, Lord Beresford has asked Silvia to stand up with him.”

Vivian’s brows knit together for a brief moment, then her brow cleared and the corners of her lips tugged up. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?” Silvia wanted to sink right through the floor, run back home, or in some other way disappear.

“He never really wished to marry me. I have no doubt my husband put him up to it. Edgar had a great many regrets as he was dying.”

“Harrumph.” Lady Telford snorted. “A pity he didn’t have them sooner.”

There was that. Maybe Silvia standing up with Nick would stop him from distressing her friend. “If my dancing with him means he’ll stop bothering you, then it will be worth it.” Neither of her friends needed to know that Nick Beresford’s only objective was to irritate Silvia to death.

She placed the back of her arm across her forehead, assuming a suitably tragic pose. “I will suffer in your place.”

Vivian chuckled. “You do not believe me, but you will.”

If they knew the truth about her history with Nick Beresford, neither Vivian nor Cousin Clara would be so light-hearted about the situation.

“Let us be off.” Her ladyship moved toward the door. “We’d better get there if you’re going to sacrifice yourself on the altar of duty.”

 

The ballroom was already crowded when they arrived.

“Miss Corbet, you are finally here.” Lord Bumfield rushed up to her. “I was so afraid you would miss our dance.”

“I’m sorry, Lady Beresford is not entirely well, and I did not wish to rush off and leave her.”

“No, of course you would not.” He bowed. “It is nice to see a young lady who cares about the travails of others. What a true friend you are.”

She watched her toes carefully as they went through the steps of the country dance, but she needn’t have worried. Lord Bumfield had vastly improved since the first time she had stood up with him. She merely wished he had not transferred his affections from Vivian to her.

“After I trod all over your feet at the last ball, I hired a dancing master.”

“You are doing extremely well, my lord.”

He grinned. “Yes, I believe I am.”

Her card was full, and Silvia did not sit out one set, yet all too soon, Nick was bowing to her. “Miss Corbet, my dance, I believe.”

Although it was what almost every gentleman said, from him it sounded smug, as if he was claiming more than a dance. “It is, my lord.”

Silvia vowed she would have no reaction to him. She would go through the motions as if he were no one special and never had been. Yet the second his gloved palm rested on her waist and his hand engulfed hers, shivers of sensation raced through her, the same as the last time he’d touched her.

This was not good. Silvia couldn’t breathe and the sparrows in her stomach were making her ill. She couldn’t do this. “Nick.”

Silvia’s voice was so low Nick could barely hear her. He searched her face. She had paled. “Silvia, what’s wrong?”

As the music began, he wrestled with what he should do. Then she took a large gulp of air, and her color improved. Quickly he started twirling her around the floor. “What was it?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. I don’t know why you’re doing this to me.”

After leaving her the way he had a few years ago, he deserved that. He should have said adieu himself instead of leaving it to another. Despite his hopes, Silvia had apparently never forgiven him. Nick supposed his first hint should have been when she failed to answer the letters he’d received permission to send her. How was he to respond to her now, though? Tell her in the middle of a ball that he still loved her?

“Is this part of a wager?”

What the devil was she talking about? “A wager? Is that what you think of me? That I’d wager on you?” Wonderful, now he was growling at her in the middle of the bloody ballroom. “No, it is not part of any stupid wager.”

“Then what?” She gazed at him warily.

“I—I want to make it up to you.”

“Well, you cannot.” Silvia practically spat the words. “And I refuse to have this discussion here.”

“No, not here.” He glanced around. “On the terrace.”

“You must be mad. We haven’t even finished the dance yet. You would create a scene.”

Damnation.
She was right. “After supper.”

“I have another dance partner.”

Why the devil had he thought standing up with her was a good idea? Carrying her off would have been much more efficient. “Then you name a time.”

“Never.” Silvia’s voice was hushed but fierce. “Don’t you understand? I do not ever wish to see you again.”

He lowered his voice, making sure no one but Silvia could hear him. “I’m not sure what you heard, but it didn’t happen the way you must think it did. Just hear me out.” Her eyes flashed, but her countenance was frozen in a polite smile. Christ, he was going to have to beg. “Please, Silvia.”

“Very well. Day after to-morrow in the morning. Come to Mount Street. I’ll give you ten minutes.”

“I’ll be there.”

And Nick would make her listen to him. It could not merely be that her father had said good-bye on his behalf. There must be something more. For better or worse, he’d discover what the hell had happened to make her so angry with him.

 

The next day, after returning from morning visits, Vivian had gone to find the bouquet Lord Stanstead had sent. She looked first in the rooms the other bouquets had been placed, searching in the family drawing room and the morning room. She finally found them in her parlor. What did it mean that someone had placed them here?

The vase was large, and she set about arranging the blooms to take full advantage of the color contrast. How he had found sea asters in Town, she didn’t know, but they were beautiful and one of her favorites.

Half-way through last evening, she had almost regretted remaining at home. Although, it was not as if he would have told her if he had received the letter she’d sent him. Her stomach clenched. Would he come? Part of her hoped that he had been a little mad when he was kissing her in her disguise and now regretted his behavior. That it was the dark hair he could not resist. Yet the other part wanted desperately to be with him and wished he would have kissed her when she was not disguised.

As for tricking Clara and Silvia, guilt had pricked at Vivian’s conscience when she’d lied about feeling poorly. Still, if she had seen Lord Stanstead last night, she could not have trusted her reaction to him. Better to wait until to-night.

She stroked the soft petals of the clematis, and its light, sweet fragrance wafted into the air. He certainly knew how to please a lady.

Shortly after she completed the arrangement, Punt entered the parlor. “It’s all ready. The cook won’t be able to start until to-morrow.”

One worry fell from Vivian’s shoulders, only to be replaced by another. What would she do when Lord Stanstead arrived this evening? “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“There is still time to back out.” Her maid’s tone was hopeful, as she busied herself packing items into a bag.

“No, I have to go through with it.” Otherwise she would never know what it was like to be with a man who seemed to want her.

“As you will, then.” Punt straightened. “I’m going to take these things over to the house.”

“Perhaps you could arrange a bottle or two of wine and something to eat as well.”

“Already done, my lady.” She turned, her hands on her hips. “The other servants will be gone when we arrive. I won’t pretend to know why you’ve taken this start. It seems to me there was another way, but I promised your mama to protect you as best I could, and that I’ll do.”

Vivian’s throat closed as tears blurred her sight. “Thank you. I do not expect this to last for long.”

Her maid gave a curt nod and left the room, bag in hand.

The plan was for Vivian and Punt to depart the house shortly after Clara and Silvia did. Vivian had told her cousin she had an engagement, but did not fully answer the question of which one it was. If Lord Stanstead arrived at the appointed time, she could be home by midnight at the latest.

Although the day had been filled with shopping, morning visits, and a walk in the Park, the clock seemed to move at a snail’s pace. Finally it was time for dinner. She dressed in a silk evening gown, which she would change once she arrived at the house on Hill Street.

“Vivian, dear, are you still ill?” She lifted her head to find Clara and Silvia staring at her with worry.

“I am well.” Vivian’s stomach cramped, but she had better eat or her cousin would insist she remain home. She dipped the spoon into her soup. “I am a little preoccupied with what I will do after the Season ends. I’ve been thinking of setting up my own household.”

“You may reside with me if you wish,” Clara said without expressing censure. “I have invited Silvia as well.”

“Thank you.” Vivian tried to smile but had the feeling she wasn’t quite successful. “I wish to have my own home.”

“I do understand. You are aware you will incur censure due to your age. Still, my offer is always open. The best advice to give you now is to enjoy the Season.” One corner of her mouth tipped up. “I certainly intend to. Which reminds me, Lord Sudbury has invited all of us to the theater next week.”

“Oh, how lovely of him.” Silvia clapped her hands. “I have never attended a play in a real theater before.”

“I’m sure we shall have a wonderful time.” Vivian drank a sip of wine. That went down better than the soup had. She’d have to be careful not to over imbibe. Going to Lord Stanstead on the go would
not
be a good idea. “It has been a long time since I’ve had the opportunity to enjoy the theater as well.”