Lady Beresford's Lover (4 page)

Well, he was not a green young’un any longer. He’d served on Wellington’s staff and had commanded a battalion of soldiers. Perhaps he’d mention the fact to her. Then again, he’d probably be better served avoiding the shrew. Unfortunately for his peace of mind, that was something he’d never been able to do. If only he knew why she was so angry with him. His uncle, the old earl, and her father said they would explain why he could not take his leave of her. She should have got over any disgruntlement she’d felt about that.

Then again, his duty now was to attempt to wed his cousin’s widow. Having Silvia gaze at him with love, as she had a few years ago, would not help either of them.

He strode through the hall. As his butler opened the door and bowed, Nick said, “I’m on my way to the dower house.”

The butler opened his mouth, shut it. “Very well, my lord.”

Fifteen minutes later, he raised his hand to knock on the door when he noticed the knocker was not there.
What the hell?
He pounded on the black lacquered wood.

After what seemed like an inordinately long time, it was opened by the housekeeper. “What can I do for ye, my lord?”

He unclenched his jaw. “Do you happen to know where her ladyship went?”

“London.”

Just what he had not needed to hear. “When do you expect her ladyship to return?”

“She didn’t say.” The woman stood there with her arms folded across her large frame.

It would be easier getting a recalcitrant jackass to do his bidding than getting information from her. “Very well.”

Blast it all to bloody hell!
And not a word to him. Now what was he supposed to do? He’d never liked London, filthy place. Give him clean country air any day. And socializing with the
ton
reminded him more of going into a battle. It had never mattered what his father or cousin or even some of his fellow officers had to say, war was simpler.

He was half-way back to the abbey when he detoured to the family graveyard and his cousin’s place in it. The edifice that housed Edgar’s body was impressive. Constructed of marble, it had taken almost six months to build. Flowers had been planted around the stone and placed in a vase on top of it. Most likely Mrs. Raeford’s doing. The woman was still in black, while Edgar’s wife was in London. Well, good for Vivian! She deserved to have some fun; her marriage hadn’t given her any. Nick wondered if Mr. Raeford had minded. Probably not, the old earl had paid him a fair amount in coin and land to marry his son’s mistress.

“I made a damned mess of trying to keep my promise to you, Edgar. I told you I didn’t want to do this, but I’ll try again. The problem is that I must now travel to Town. I’ll see you when I return.”

Nick turned and started back to the house. With any luck at all, he’d convince Vivian Beresford to wed him and be back before word got around that he was looking for a wife. After all, he’d never lost a campaign yet. Still, a niggling feeling that he wasn’t doing what he ought to hung on his back like a Barbary ape, digging its claws into him. By doing this was he worsening an already bad situation? And what about Silvia? Despite the way she treated him, he still loved her. If only she would talk to him, tell him what he’d done wrong. Bloody hell, this was a fine pickle, and he couldn’t for the life of him see his way out of it and retain his honor.

R
upert tried not to grin as Wigman, his valet, plucked an invisible piece of lint from Rupert’s jacket. It was a ritual they had gone through every day since he was sixteen, when his grandfather Stanstead had insisted Rupert have a valet. Some gentlemen would probably become annoyed with such fussiness, but he believed in encouraging everyone to perform their duties to the best of their abilities. If that meant a few moments’ delay in dressing, so be it. “Am I presentable, Wigman?”

“None more so, my lord.” Wigman gave a small sigh. “I do regret that Mr. Brummell was allowed to hold sway over gentlemen’s clothing. There was nothing like a nice lace cuff or velvet jacket to show a gentleman to perfection.”

“I have no doubt you are correct.” Truth be told, Rupert thought the previous styles had some merit. “Though, I do have an aversion to wigs and hair powder.”

“I must agree with you regarding that particular affectation, my lord.” He handed Rupert his watch fob and quizzing glass. “You are fortunate that you do not require padding. One could more easily disguise additions to a gentleman’s physique before the styles changed so drastically.”

“Fortunate indeed.” Rupert clamped his lips together. If he didn’t depart immediately, he’d be subject to the litany of faults in Wigman’s previous employers. “I have no idea when I’ll return.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Rupert strode out of his Grosvenor Square town house to the waiting town coach. He’d considered walking to Robert’s home on Berkeley Square, but dark clouds had hung low all afternoon, and the scent of rain was in the air. Not to mention arriving at his cousin’s house for their first ball, soaked, was not a wonderful idea. Rupert settled on the soft brown leather seat, a footman closed the door, and his coachman started forward.

He attempted to tamp down the feeling that something momentous was about to happen. His parents and Robert were most likely correct that he wouldn’t meet anyone he didn’t already know. Still, he couldn’t help a surge of excitement when the carriage came to a stop. Somewhere the perfect lady was out there waiting for him. All he had to do was find her.

The coach door opened, and he caught a glimpse of pale blue skirts moving up the steps before they disappeared into the house. The urge to chase after her, whoever she was, was almost too strong to resist. Rupert could feel his pulse beating a tattoo against his cravat; still, he forced himself to calmly take his place in the line. What were the chances it was the same woman who had watched him as he traversed the Mount Street Gardens? Surely she wouldn’t wear the same gown to a ball, yet he had noticed that when a lady favored a certain color, she wore it more often than she did others.

He was being absurd. Even a bit mad. Rupert knew absolutely nothing about the woman, not how old she was, or if she was married, or what she looked like, or if it was indeed the same female. In addition, there were a great many people between him and the lady in blue. Yet there was some force pushing him forward, necessitating that he follow her.

Perhaps this would be an eventful night after all.

“Lord Stanstead.” A soft giggle accompanied his name.

Who the devil . . . ah, he saw her now. The young lady who’d spoken was with Lord and Lady Banks. His lordship frowned, and her ladyship smiled.

Mama had apparently begun her campaign.

“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” Rupert asked as he bowed over Lady Banks’s outstretched hand.

Her smile deepened. “It is indeed, my lord. I think you have already met my daughter, Miss Banks.”

“I have. In the Park.” She curtseyed prettily as he bowed and took her hand in his. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Banks.”

Rupert straightened and nodded to her father. Lord Banks still appeared none too happy, but his wife had apparently won the argument, at least for now. Miss Banks fiddled with the dance card hanging from her wrist and glanced up at him hopefully.

Taking the hint, Rupert asked, “Would you do me the honor of the first country dance, if it is not already taken, of course.”

“It would be my pleasure, my lord.” She blushed and extended her arm so that he could write his name next to a reel, the third set.

He was happy to note that she had only a few dances free. The fact remained, even if her mother approved of him, her father did not, and Rupert did not wish to alienate such a powerful ally. On the other hand, he could not be rude to the young lady. One dance with her would be sufficient to attain both goals.

As they reached the head of the receiving line, the Banks’s attention was claimed by another couple with a daughter.

Rupert greeted Serena and Robert. “This looks to be quite a crush.”

“I know.” She grinned. “I’m so pleased it will be a success. Phoebe and Marcus are already here with one of her aunts and two other ladies.”

“I’ll look for them.” Rupert moved on, allowing the next group to greet his cousins. Although he had been in the house several times since Robert and Serena’s marriage, Rupert had not been to the formal areas before. The change was remarkable. It was fresher and had the look of a female hand. Stanstead, Rupert’s estate, and his town house could use updating as well. His mother was the last lady to have resided in either place. Unfortunately, she’d hated both houses so much the only rooms she’d touched were the nursery and, later, the schoolroom.

When he found a wife, he would make sure she loved him and wanted to make their house a home. He’d also give her free rein to do as she wished.

Rupert entered the ballroom and was announced. The roar of voices barely lowered. Across the way, Marcus leaned casually against a pillar, fondly grinning at something or someone Rupert couldn’t see, most likely Phoebe. He made his way through the already crowded room. Snagging a glass of champagne, he wove around clusters of ladies in brightly colored silks, which made a stark contrast with the darker colors the gentlemen wore. He knew most of those present and exchanged greetings as he came upon a circle of acquaintances. It took several minutes before Rupert was finally close enough to Marcus and Phoebe that he could see the other ladies.

He sucked in a breath. One of the women wore a pale, almost ice-blue gown. Her curls were silvery, much like he’d imagined the color of the snow maiden’s hair in a fairy tale his mother had read to him. When the lady glanced at him he could see her eyes were of the same deep blue as the trim on her gown, and the color of the deeper waters he’d seen in the Mediterranean Sea. Not in her first blush of youth, her cheeks were no longer plump. But not that old, perhaps close to his age. She had turned her head toward her neighbor, and her determined chin firmed. God, she was even more beautiful than he’d imagined. Who was she? Rupert was quite sure he’d never seen her before.

He gave himself a shake. Standing there like an idiot wouldn’t do him any good at all. He’d never been shy about meeting a lady, yet he couldn’t stop himself from staring at her. What would happen when they were introduced? Would she be as fascinated by him as he was by her?

He prayed she wasn’t married.

Vivian had the strangest sensation she was being watched. She glanced up and fought to control her countenance. It was him! The gentleman from the park. She was sure of it, and he was staring at her. Their gazes met, and he held hers as he strode forward, apparently not seeing either the footmen who darted out of his way or the other guests attempting to draw his attention.

He was taller than she’d thought, had a strong face with lean cheeks and strong bones. His aristocratic nose was blade straight, reminding her of an ancient Greek or Roman. He carried himself with ease, as if he was the master of his life and the world around him. At first he appeared to be in his early thirties, but when he came closer, she could see no lines bracketing his well-defined lips or marring his smooth brow. The gentleman appeared good-natured, as if a grin hovered permanently around his mouth. In time, she imagined his eyes would have smile lines.

When he reached her small coterie he bowed to Phoebe. “My lady, always a pleasure to see you again.”

Phoebe smiled at him. “You will soon rival Kit and Robert in your address, my lord.”

Vivian did not know who Kit was, but the only Robert she had been introduced to was Lord Beaumont. The grin Vivian had known was not far away graced the gentleman’s lips. “Ah, Featherton is the standard to which all gentlemen aspire. I am a mere pretender to his throne.” The man’s gray eyes twinkled. “As for my cousin, I trust I have surpassed his address already.”

He did resemble Lord Beaumont to a large degree. Both gentlemen had classic good looks, but this man appeared—Vivian searched her mind for the word . . .
vital
. He had an energy about him she did not see in most gentlemen of the
ton
. Even young men, such as he must be, contrived to appear fashionably bored.

“Please introduce me to your friends, my lady,” he said to Phoebe as he glanced at Vivian.

Phoebe’s eyes seemed to dance, but there was no indication of laughter in her voice. “Certainly. Ladies, may I introduce you to the Earl of Stanstead. My lord, the Dowager Marchioness of Telford, the Countess of Beresford, and Miss Corbet. Lady Telford is my great-aunt, Lady Beresford is her cousin, also a connection of mine, and Miss Corbet the granddaughter of my aunt’s friend.”

Lord Stanstead bowed over each of their hands. “My pleasure, ladies. We shall all be richer for your presence.”

Vivian tried not to let her heart flutter, but it was no good. She drew in a small breath. His voice was as deep and clear as his eyes.

“Does your husband not attend you, my lady?”

“My husband is dead,” she responded evenly.

The earl seemed to study her for a moment. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

It was all Vivian could do not to tell him she was happy for it, yet that might lower his opinion of her, and for some reason, she did not want him to think badly of her. “Thank you.”

Next to her, Silvia muttered something in an under voice.

Vivian looked in the direction her friend was staring. Beresford descended the steps with another gentleman. He paused and scanned the crowded ballroom. If only she could sink back behind the pillar. Perhaps Lord Stanstead’s large form would keep the man from seeing her.

A country reel began and Silvia went off with a young gentleman who’d come to fetch her.

Clara was speaking with Phoebe and an older woman who’d joined them. Vivian shrank back, trying to make herself invisible. Just as she had done for six years.

“What is it?” Lord Stanstead’s calm tone acted like a balm to her jumbled nerves.

She bit her lip and swallowed. “Nothing.” Lord Stanstead raised a brow. “My late husband’s cousin. I did not expect to see him here.”

He began to turn, and she laid her hand on his arm. “Please, don’t. I do not wish him to see me.”

Lord Stanstead gazed down at her, his eyes taking on a hard metal sheen. “Has he injured you?”

Oh dear, she had to get herself under control. “No. It is only that I do not wish to—”

“Lady Beresford.”

Drat it all.
She raised her chin. “My lord. I’m surprised to see you here. I had assumed you did not find London to your taste.”

“I normally don’t, but I believe we have some unfinished business.” Nick Beresford glanced at Lord Stanstead. “Will you dance the next set with me?”

Before she could think of a response, her companion replied in a bored drawl, “Her ladyship has agreed to stand up with me during the next set.”

She let out the breath she’d been holding. “Indeed I did, and I am quite sure whatever we have to discuss will wait until a more opportune time.” Beresford’s friend took his arm, and tugged him away. Once they were out of hearing, she smiled at Lord Stanstead. “Thank you. I won’t hold you to the dance. It is a waltz, and I imagine you have already promised it to another lady.”

“There is no one in this room I’d rather stand up with.” His eyes searched her face. “Besides, you can’t very well sit it out when his lordship is still present.”

That was true enough. “Thank you, again.”

What would it be like to be held by him? Not that it would matter. Nothing could come of it.

“On the contrary, I was about to ask you in any event.” He grinned again. “I am honored to be the first.”

Heat rose into her cheeks. “I am a bit out of practice, I’m afraid.”

“You have only to follow my lead. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Vivian glanced at him, looking for any sign of false flattery, and could find none. “It will be nice to dance again.”

“Do you not have assemblies where you live?”

“Yes indeed, but there was never a waltz.” Nor had she ever remained past the first hour. Edgar would not publicly shame her by dancing with his mistress, if Vivian made an excuse to leave early.

“Then you shall have a treat denied you at home.” Lord Stanstead’s countenance had not changed, but she had a feeling he was watching her carefully.

“It is not my home, at least not any longer.” Her tone was sharper than she’d wished. “I must apologize. You cannot be interested.”

“You are not the only woman to wish to move away from . . . her deceased husband’s home. My mother decamped as soon as she was able and has been happier for it.”

Vivian was stunned. She had rarely known such sympathetic feeling from a gentleman. “Thank you.” It was more than time to change the subject. “Do you make your home in Town?”

His warm gaze told her he knew exactly what she was doing. “Only during the Seasons and for legislative sessions. My main estate is in Kent. I spend a good deal of time there, and I also travel to my other properties.”

“I thought most peers allowed their stewards to manage their holdings.” Her father and husband had.