Lady Beresford's Lover (8 page)

As they strolled down the street, Rupert turned to his father. “I thought we were going to your house for luncheon.”

“We were until I realized it is your mother’s at home day.”

He certainly didn’t wish to face a bevy of ladies, especially after the promise he’d made Banks. “I see. The club is a much better option.”

If Rupert had known he would meet Vivian, he never would have complained to his mother. It was too late to do anything about that now. He’d just have to stay as far away from Miss Banks as possible. Most families with daughters to fire off would likely arrive on time to the entertainments. He would make it a point to arrive a bit later, but not so late he would not be able to stand up with Vivian. Better yet, he would reserve his dances with her before he arrived.

Marcus led them to their regular table in the back of the large dining room. Taking the chair next to him, Rupert asked, “I offered to escort Lady Beresford to the museum, but failed to ascertain her address. Do you think Phoebe would know?”

“You
are
desperate if you’re willing to involve my wife.” Marcus grinned. “But you don’t have to go that far; I know where she is. Lady Beresford is residing with Lady Telford at Ninety-Six Mount Street. She and my mother had a long discussion regarding the benefits of living next to a green area.”

That made perfect sense. The houses in the middle of the street were the closest to the walking path. Perhaps it was Vivian that Rupert had seen when he’d strolled through the gardens. A waiter came with a bottle of wine and took their orders.

“Thank you.” He took a sip of the club’s excellent claret. “I felt more than a little foolish for not having asked for the address.”

“I had a devil of a time discovering where to find Phoebe when I was attempting to court her. What is your interest in Lady Beresford?”

He set his wine-glass down. “I would very much enjoy getting to know her better. More than that, I cannot say.”

Not precisely the truth, but until he knew how strong his feelings were for her and if she returned his regard, that was all he was prepared to say.

Marcus nodded. “Keeping your plans to yourself will stand you in good stead.”

Rupert hoped so. He couldn’t afford to make a fool of himself yet again.

“We’re having an informal gathering on Wednesday evening with Lady Telford and her charges. Would you like to join us? All our friends are getting married so quickly, Phoebe is having to search for unmarried men to round out her numbers.”

That would kill two birds with one stone, spending time with Vivian and avoiding Miss Banks. “There is nothing I would like better.”

 

Cressida pretended to apply herself to her embroidery while she waited for her father to return home. Tea came and went, and he still had not returned.

When the clock chimed seven, her mother laid aside her correspondence. “It’s time to dress for dinner.”

She tucked the fabric and thread into her bag, and did her best not to show her frustration. “When will Papa be home?”

“Soon, my sweet. He is to join us for dinner.” Her mother smiled. “I am sure he’ll have good news. He can be very persuasive when he wishes to be.”

But did he wish to be? He wasn’t at all happy that she was interested in Lord Stanstead. Cressida could not bear being unwed for another Season. Most of her friends from school had married in the spring; now even Emily would soon be married. One would think Papa would have arranged a match, yet apparently he couldn’t be bothered.

“Be on time and no matter what the answer is, don’t pout or argue with him. You must show him you are mature enough to know your own mind.”

Cressida sighed. “Yes, Mama.”

“Remember, where there is a will, there is a way. I already sent a card to Lord Stanstead for our ball.”

That was what Cressida was counting on. She kissed her mother on the cheek. “Thank you. I’ll show Papa he can trust me to know what I want.”

Three-quarters of an hour later, as she watched her maid dressing her hair, a light knock came on the door and Emily entered the chamber wreathed in smiles. “I wanted to be the first to tell you! Hector has landed in England. He has some business to attend to, but he hopes to be in Town by the end of the week.”

Cressida started to jump up, but her maid placed a restraining hand on her shoulder. “That is wonderful! You’ll be able to wed soon!”

“Yes.” Her friend clasped her hands together. “Oh, he also said he’s bringing something for you!”

“Probably some of that pretty silk.” She frowned. “I wonder that Papa hadn’t heard from him.”

“If he’s anything like my father”—Emily cast her gaze to the ceiling—“the letter is lying on his desk unopened.”

“He has been gone all day.” Cressida’s maid finished fixing the ribbon to her hair and she rose. “Did you come over just to tell me you heard from Hector?”

“Not at all.” Emily looked bemused. “Your father invited us to dine with you. Did he not tell you?”

“As I said, he’s not been here.” Cressida pulled a face, funning. “I only wonder if he told Mama.”

“Well!” Her friend placed her hands on her hips. “How awkward. Gentlemen can be truly absent-minded. I do hope your brother is not similarly afflicted.”

Cressida took her shawl from her maid. “I dare say if he is, he won’t be for long once he is married to you.”

“Indeed.” Emily’s voice softened and a gentle light came into her eyes. “I shall be so glad to see him.”

“As will we all.” Cressida stifled a sigh. If only she loved someone as much as Emily loved Hector, and was loved in return. Even if Cressida didn’t love Lord Stanstead, he would be very easy to fall in love with.

A
t eleven the following morning, Vivian closed the book she had been attempting, not very successfully, to read. Against all her desires, her mind strayed from the romantic hero to Lord Stanstead. If only romances came true.

Laying the book aside, she glanced down at her cat. “Surely someone must be up by now.”

Gisila slowly blinked her eyes once.

“I do wish you were a bit more communicative.” That is what she got for having a silent cat. Bending down, Vivian stroked the soft, gray feline. “If nothing else, I’ll enjoy the change of scenery.” She stuck her feet into her slippers, left her chambers, and headed for the morning room. Maybe it was the lack of industry that had her feeling blue deviled. By this time of day, she would normally have completed a full schedule of meetings, and who knew what else. Being in the dower house had given her back the sense of competence she had lost while married to Edgar. She gave herself a little shake. That must be it, and when she had her own estate, she would be back to her usual good spirits.

Voices and laughter drifted down the corridor from the back of the house. Aha, her cousin and friend must finally be about.

When she ambled through the open door, Silvia was in the process of giggling over a note. “Have you ever heard of anything so absurd?”

Clara shook her head and had a self-satisfied expression. “I told you you would be a success.”

The room was filled with bouquets, posies, notes, and what looked like paper fans with verse written on them. “I’d say Clara was right. You certainly made an impression.”

“Oh, Vivian, listen to this. Lord Oliver sent it. After what I said to him, I thought he would hate me.

“‘Rose that you are, stab me no more with your thorns. I was but a fool who thinks himself wise. Please dance with me again and save me from my demise.’”

“Very droll.” Vivian grinned. “Shall you stand up with him?”

“Yes. I believe I will give him another chance.” Her friend jumped up. “We were going to send for you. I’ve never known you to sleep so late.”

“I didn’t. I was waiting for the two of you.”

Silvia plucked a card from an exquisite arrangement of pale pink roses. “This is for you.”

She handed the card to Vivian. The writing was strong, masculine, yet neat, unlike the scribbling of her father and brothers. Imbedded in the wax seal was a crest. Who would have sent her such lovely flowers?

“Open it.” Silvia practically bounced with excitement.

If only Vivian could take them upstairs to her rooms and read the note in private, but her cousin looked on expectantly as well. She carefully separated the wax from the paper.

He had found her. Warmth wound its way through her body as she bent to smell the flowers. “They are lovely.”

“I’ve never seen anything like them before,” Clara said.

The blooms were cup shaped with multiple layers, and although the first impression was indeed a pale pink, the petals ranged from almost white on the outside to a deeper pink in the middle. Vivian fluffed them and the scent became more prominent. “Neither have I. Where in the world could he have found them?”

“Who sent them?” Silvia asked as she sniffed the flowers.

“Lord Stanstead.” He must have gone to a great deal of trouble. These were not the usual hot-house blooms.

Vivian ruthlessly shoved down a sense of joy. He was not for her. She must remember that.

Her friend pointed to an arrangement of autumn flowers. “This bouquet is for you as well.”

On the card, Vivian’s name was scrawled in cramped handwriting. She opened it and cast her eyes to the ceiling. “Lord Bumfield.”

A fresh pot of tea and toast arrived. Clara poured a cup, handing it to Vivian. “Practical, but hardly romantic, although he probably thinks it is.”

She was definitely not interested in Lord Bumfield. The man was nice, but a widower with several children, prone to flatulence, and stout. No, she’d do much better on her own than tied to a husband like his lordship. If she
were
to be interested in a gentleman, it would be Lord Stanstead, and there was no point in even thinking of him. Even if Vivian was in the market for a husband, he would choose a younger, better connected wife.

She glanced at her cousin. “What are our plans for the day and this evening?”

“We have morning calls and three entertainments this evening.” Clara placed her cup on the low oval table between the sofas. “Which means we must be dressing.”

Two hours later, after visiting several houses, Vivian was ready to return to Mount Street. Surely there must be houses where the rest of the company didn’t consist of young ladies who could speak of nothing but fashion, and giggled over who was to dance with them. Then again, neither did she have much in common with the women discussing children or people she didn’t know. She wondered if there was any way she could politely excuse herself from accompanying her cousin and friend without having to plead a headache.

The Dunwood House butler bowed them into Phoebe’s home.

“My ladies, please follow me.”

They were led to a large drawing room where, thankfully, all the women appeared older than eighteen.

Phoebe greeted them. “Welcome. I think you know everyone. We were just discussing the Worthingtons’ soirée. Will you be there?”

“Unfortunately, I was forced to decline,” Clara said. “I must do my duty by Miss Corbet and my cousin.”

“I understand.” Phoebe bussed Vivian’s cheek. “We will be discussing politics most of the evening.”

This might be exactly the escape she wanted. “Although I must confess to being a complete novice, I am extremely interested in politics.”

“I’d be happy to send a carriage to fetch Vivian.” Her hostess slid a glance at Clara. “She may dine with us as well.”

“Naturally, if she would enjoy that more . . .” Clara’s voice faded as she studied Vivian.

Goodness, it was past time to start standing up for herself. “I do believe I would prefer the Worthington event.” Vivian gave a rueful grin, more to apologize to her cousin than anything else. “My feet still ache from last night.”

“Very well,” Clara said. “That is settled. Vivian, you will be introduced to the leaders of our country’s liberals.”

“Wonderful.” Phoebe smiled. “I shall send the carriage for you at seven o’clock.”

“I look forward to it.” Vivian returned the smile. She had never been encouraged by her father to discuss politics, and her husband had let her know in no uncertain terms that he had no interest in her views.

Despite all that, she did keep up with the current issues and had some definite opinions of her own. Perhaps she might have something to contribute to the discussion this evening and, hopefully, issues in common with the ladies here. Yet as this was a morning visit, after the prescribed fifteen minutes, she, her cousin, and her friend said their good-byes.

As they were leaving, a lady even more flamboyantly dressed than Clara entered the house.

“Lady Evesham, how lovely to see you again!” The woman was wearing an elaborately embroidered silk robe, the like Vivian had never seen before. Atop her head was a turban made of different colored silk strips.

“Lady Thornhill, how wonderful that you’ve returned.” Phoebe took the woman’s outstretched hands, kissed her cheek, then turned to Vivian. “Her ladyship has been traveling in the Far East for the past two years.”

That probably explained the fantastical garments. “I envy you, my lady.”

“We have missed her drawing rooms greatly. No one was able to replicate them.” Phoebe quickly made the introductions and the talk turned to Lady Thornhill’s travels. Unfortunately, Clara ushered them out, but not before they received an invitation to attend any of the lady’s drawing rooms they wished.

Finally, Vivian was finding entertainments and people she would enjoy being around, and she had not thought of Lord Stanstead for at least ten minutes. That had to be progress.

 

Rupert’s secretary, John Milford, handed him a letter with the Evesham seal on it. He opened it, quickly perusing the contents. “I am dining with Lord and Lady Evesham this evening if I have nothing else scheduled.”

“You are not otherwise engaged, my lord.” Milford reached into the top part of a stack of cards, extracting one. “You have an invitation to Lord and Lady Thornhill’s drawing room on Thursday.”

“I saw him at my club. He has brought several interesting artifacts back with him. Accept it.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You had the roses sent?”

“Indeed, my lord. They should have arrived sometime this morning. Your gardener brought them from the estate and had words about taking so many from the plants. He almost insisted on taking them to the lady herself. However, Cook was able to convince him he should eat.”

“I’ll bet he did.” Rupert smiled. “I don’t suppose you reminded him that I found the things and braved the hazards of bringing them back from Persia, and therefore should be allowed to do as I wish?”

“I am not so bold.” One side of John’s mouth turned up in a crooked grin. “He still hasn’t forgiven me for stealing daisies when I was eight.”

John was the third son of Rupert’s rector. They were of an age and had been together almost constantly until Rupert went off on his Grand Tour. He wouldn’t have gone at all if John hadn’t been at Stanstead to oversee the estate while he was away. “If I recall correctly, you did not steal them, I told you to pick them for your mother.”

“Unfortunately, you didn’t get your gardener’s permission first,” his secretary responded in a dry tone. “The back of my legs still hurt.”

“I couldn’t sit down for days.” And he’d discovered just how much weight his courtesy title held. None at all.

“My hand was cramped from writing out over and over again that I would receive permission from a responsible party before accepting an invitation to take anything.”

“Someday,” he grumbled, “I’ll be in charge of my own gardens.”

“I wish you luck.”

“If you need me, I’ll be in my study until it’s time to dress for dinner.”

“And if you require me, I shall be right here.”

Rupert gave a short laugh. “Where you always are, unless I’ve sent you haring off somewhere.”

He took the stack of invitations from the desk and opened the door to his study. There were times that he still thought he could see his grandfather, or the man he’d thought of as his grandfather, from the corner of his eye as he entered the paneled room.

He separated the invitations into two piles, one for acceptances and the other rejections. A richly engraved card caught his eye. The Marquis of Sudbury was having a masquerade. Rupert didn’t know the man well. Sudbury never married and carefully cultivated his reputation as a rake, but they had more than a passing acquaintance, his lordship being a friend of Rupert’s grandfather Stanstead.

In England, masked parties still had a rather risqué reputation, but in Venice they had been all the crack. Even if it turned out to be “not quite the thing,” as his mother would say, the party might be fun. Rupert put the invitation on the acceptance pile.

A few hours later, he strolled into the drawing room of Dunwood House in Grosvenor Square, and stopped. Vivian was here, looking even lovelier than he remembered. His heart-beat grew more rapid. As if she could sense him, she glanced at the door and smiled. His ears rang as if they’d been boxed. He had definitely never had that kind of reaction to any female before.

“Rupert, come in.” Marcus shook his hand, tugging him into the room. “We have sherry if you’d like some.”

“Yes, please.” Rupert dragged his eyes from hers. “Sherry would be perfect.”

After she’d gone back to her conversation with Phoebe, Anna, Lady Rutherford, and Serena, his head began to clear.

“I think you know everyone present?” Marcus poured the excellent sherry he and Phoebe were famous for keeping. It was rumored that her uncle had laid in a store of it before the war.

Rupert gratefully accepted the drink. He sipped carefully, resisting the urge to drain the glass and ask for more. He would really worry his friends and cousins if he did that. “Yes. I believe I do.”

“You know how things are when you take your pot-luck with us. Nothing formal, just mill around until dinner is announced.”

Rupert did know. Having lived in the West Indies for years, Marcus was never as ceremonial as many of their peers. He snoodled over to Vivian and bowed. “My lady, it is a pleasure to see you again.”

Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink, almost the color of the roses he’d sent. “Thank you, my lord, for the compliment and for the flowers. I’ve never seen such beautiful blooms.”

“I found them during my travels. That you enjoy them made it worth the trouble.”

She gave him her hand, and he lightly kissed her fingers. Straightening, he greeted the other ladies and gentlemen, which included his cousin and Serena.

Robert raised a brow, and Rupert shrugged in answer. As soon as he knew in which direction the wind blew, he would tell his cousin. “What are you discussing?”

“Anything and everything,” Vivian responded. “We are solving the country’s woes.”

“Or attempting to,” Serena added. “We ladies have some ideas that Vivian might be interested in.”

It pleased him that his cousins were now on a Christian-name basis with Vivian. That Serena felt comfortable enough with Vivian to be informal said much of the lady he was interested in.

Rupert made a point of remaining next to Vivian as they resumed their discussion. “I’m still bothered over the Seditious Meetings Act. It is much too broad.”

“Will you attempt to bring a bill to modify it?” Rutherford asked.