CHAPTER THREE
The side of Rupert’s neck prickled as if someone was staring at him. He glanced up but could see no one. Unsurprising at this time of day, when the outside was much brighter than the insides of the houses. Still, he’d grown used to trusting his senses. It had been a useful trait over the years, particularly when he’d been on his Grand Tour.
He searched the houses on Mount Street. A door to one of the balconies closed. It was probably nothing. Merely someone gazing at the park. He rubbed his neck and continued on in the direction of South Audley Street, where his parents lived during the Season. A few paces later, something made him glance at the houses again. That was when he saw it. Light blue skirts hovering just inside one of the French windows. A woman. Not that it mattered. He couldn’t possibly know who she was. Rupert shrugged, attempting to rid himself of the feeling of being watched. For once, he’d let Fate take over rather than attempting to control every aspect of his life. Still . . .
Not many minutes later, he rapped on the door of Malfrey House, the door opened, and Whitsun, the Malfrey butler, bowed.
Rupert handed the servant his hat, gloves, and cane. “I hope I’m not late.”
“No, my lord. Her ladyship has not come down yet.”
“No need to announce me,” he said as he strolled into the hall, continuing on to the drawing room. His father smiled as he entered the room. Closing the door firmly behind him, he turned. “Papa, I have some questions to ask you.”
“Very well,” he replied, raising a brow. “Will this call for brandy?”
“Probably not, but I would like a glass.” A few moments later they were seated in front of one of two fireplaces. Rupert stared into the flames as he enjoyed the burn of the fine French cognac. “You and Mama were very young when you first met.”
“Yes.” His father nodded. “She was barely sixteen and I was not much younger than you. Why?”
“What would have happened if my grandfathers had not torn you apart?”
Papa took a sip and his brow furrowed. “We would have wed as we’d planned to do. I thought you understood that.”
“I’m putting this badly.” Setting down his glass, Rupert stood and ran his fingers through his hair. “What I really want to know is, did you miss marrying her, or were you glad you could be out on the Town?”
His father’s face became serious. “Even after your mother left, I was never one to be enticed by gambling and brothels.” Papa rolled the goblet between his hands. “For one thing, I was studying law and didn’t have the funds. For another, no other lady could compare to your mother.”
That was very like what Robert had said about his wife, although he had spent years acquiring a well-deserved reputation as a rake, and had known an array of women. “But you married another.”
“Yes,” Papa said with a grimace. “It was arranged. I—I did my duty by her, but was never able to love her as she should have been loved. Fortunately, she was content. She had affection for me, but nothing more. She believed strong emotions were for people of lower status.” He stood, placing his hand on Rupert’s shoulder. “I never for a moment stopped loving your mother. Have you met someone? Or are you being told you are too young to marry?”
“No on the first account, yes on the second. Twice since the Season began I’ve been asked not to fix my attentions on someone’s daughter.” And he was getting damned sick and tired of it.
“I was advised I was too young as well. If it helps, I think they were wrong.” His father’s lips formed a line. “When you find the woman you’ll love, keep fighting for her.”
The way Papa had wanted to fight for Mama. If only he’d known what her father had done, but he’d been at Oxford and hadn’t found out until she was already married.
“Thank you for your help. I shall do as you say.” Now all Rupert had to do was discover who she was.
His father slapped him lightly on the back. “I am glad I can assist you. I missed seeing you grow up.”
Rupert’s throat tightened as it always did when the subject came up. “If only I had known you were mine, I would have ensured I could see you.”
“What has the two of you looking so solemn?” Mama asked as she strolled into the drawing room. Her gaze sharpened. “Has anything happened that I should know about?”
“Nothing at all.” Rupert strode to her, picked her up, and swung her around.
“Put me down, you silly boy!” She laughed. “I forbid you to teach Daniel any of your nonsense.”
“But you’re my favorite mother.” Grinning, he set her on her feet and bussed her cheek. “We’re just having a father-son talk. You are lovely as always.”
She gave him a dubious look, but said nothing else about it. He had no doubt she’d get it out of his father later.
“Have you decided,” he asked, “which entertainments you’ll attend this week?”
Mama took a glass of wine from Papa. “You do remember Serena is having her first London ball? Naturally, we shall be there. The Eveshams and Rutherfords have balls planned as well.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t miss them.” In fact, Rupert intended to attend a great many balls and other events this Season. “Now that Featherton has married, I shall offer my services to partner any lady my hostess wishes.” How better to meet females than by dancing with them.
“That is extremely kind of you,” his mother said dryly. “Now do you wish to enlighten me as to what’s going on?”
So much for not being questioned. Wasn’t it past time for dinner to be served?
His father glanced at him. “We may as well tell her. She’ll have it from one of us in any event.”
“Indeed I will,” Mama said, sinking gracefully onto a chair. “You have all my attention.”
By the time Rupert had got to the second request from a father to stay away from the man’s daughter, her eyes were shooting fire. “How dare they!” Not a question. “One would think your being a respected peer—an earl, nonetheless—would count for something.”
“I actually did consider that to be to my benefit,” he mumbled. “But apparently that won’t be until a few years have passed.”
“Devil a bit.” She took a large swallow of wine. “How dare they insult my son in such a fashion? I’ll guarantee you”—she narrowed her eyes—“that their wives don’t know about this. It appears I have some visits to make.”
Rupert debated saying she needn’t bother, yet it occurred to him he required all the help he could get. After all, he didn’t want to fall in love, have his feelings returned, and have to run off to Gretna Green. That wouldn’t do at all.
Whitsun announced dinner, saving Rupert from having to respond. Not that anything he said would have made any difference. His mother was well on her way to preparing for all-out war.
Vivian sat at the small table drinking her morning tea and scanning the park. She had not seen the gentleman with the blond hair in the two days since she had arrived. Of course, she hadn’t spent every moment watching for him. Even if she’d been inclined to haunt the balcony, Clara had kept Silvia and Vivian very busy purchasing gowns, bonnets, stockings, and other items required for a proper Season.
She did not understand why she was so intrigued by a man she’d only seen walking through the park. Although he hadn’t been merely walking. He’d been striding as if he needed to be somewhere quickly, commanding her senses in a way that had never happened to her before.
Vivian dipped the corner of her toast into the baked egg. What would she do if she saw him? Even if they were standing next to each other, she couldn’t very well introduce herself. That wouldn’t be at all the thing. There was also the possibility that he did not travel in her, or rather Cousin Clara’s, circles. Also, she was stupid even to think of a man. Vivian sighed, and glanced once more at the park.
A light patting on her skirt let her know Gisila wished to taste the egg. “Just a moment and I’ll give you some.”
“Did you say something, my lady?” her maid, Punt, called from the bedchamber.
“Nothing at all.” Vivian ate more of her meal before sharing with her cat. “Do you happen to know what is planned for today?”
“The first of your gowns has arrived.” Punt stood at the door. “The soft gray becomes you, but just the same, I’ll be glad to see you in colors again. I was told you’ll have morning visits to-morrow.”
“I remember now. We are to be introduced to some of her ladyship’s other relatives. I suppose they are also connections of mine in one way or the other.” Vivian sat up straighter and smiled. “It will be nice to meet people already well disposed toward me.” Or rather, she hoped they would be.
An hour later, she, her former companion, and her cousin were in a bright red town coach headed to Grosvenor Square. The conveyance drew to a halt in front of a large, freestanding building. Two liveried footmen jumped to attend to them. Within a few moments, they were ushered into a cozy morning room done in light yellows and greens with views to the garden beyond.
A petite lady with red-gold hair and dressed in the latest fashion glided toward them. “Aunt Clara.” The woman smiled as she held out her hands. “I’m so very happy to see you.”
“Phoebe, my dear.” Clara bussed the lady’s cheek. “Allow me to introduce you to my cousin Vivian, Countess of Beresford, who is also connected to you by marriage, and Miss Corbet, the granddaughter of a dear friend of mine. Miss Corbet is the rector’s eldest daughter. Her mother was the Duke of Granville’s youngest child. Vivian has just ended her year of mourning, and it is time she embraced life again. Vivian, Silvia, meet Phoebe, Countess of Evesham, my great-niece.”
Vivian and Silvia were embraced by the countess and shown to seats on the sofa across from where her ladyship sat with Clara. “I’m so glad to meet you. Vivian, may I call you by your first name? Since we are related, I’d like it so much more if you called me Phoebe.” Slightly stunned by the informality, Vivian could only nod. Phoebe continued, “And Miss Corbet, I know we are not related, but it would be very awkward for everyone to be referring to the other by their first names, or, heaven forfend, constantly calling each other my lady.” Vivian had never seen a smile so bright. “May I call you Silvia?”
Silvia nodded mutely. She was probably as astonished as Vivian was.
“Well then.” Phoebe directed the tea tray that had just arrived to be set on the table between them. Once the door closed, she went on as if they’d not been interrupted. “I imagine you’ll wish to know which entertainments shall best suit you.”
Clara took a cup of tea. “I knew you’d be able to advise us.”
Once Silvia and Vivian had their tea, Phoebe passed biscuits and small iced cakes. “My cousin Serena, Viscountess Beaumont, is having her first ball to-morrow evening. I know she would love for you to attend. I’ll make sure to have cards sent to you.” Phoebe paused, as she nibbled on a ginger biscuit. “If, that is, you are ready for a ball?”
“We are indeed,” Clara replied in a bracing tone. “It is time and more for my charges to make their curtseys to Polite Society. Not that Vivian hasn’t already made hers, though it has been a while. Silvia was taking care of her widowed father, then offered to keep Vivian company during mourning. This will be her first Season.”
Silvia’s eyes had gone wide, in the fashion of a scared rabbit. She might have a case of nerves now, but she’d be fine once she settled down. Vivian’s palms grew damp. It had been a long while, and she really did not know what she was doing here, other than escaping Beresford, the place and the man. All the rushing around purchasing clothing and other items seemed rather pointless. She was not going to re-marry, and couldn’t take a lover. The image of a tall blond man passed quickly in front of her eyes. Preposterous. She didn’t even know who he was. Perhaps she could find another purpose for being in Town, such as searching for a small estate to buy. There, that was a good idea. She’d ask her cousin for a recommendation to a land agent.
“Silvia, there is no reason to be concerned. Serena did not make her come out until she was six and twenty. I can tell you are much younger than that.”
“T-twenty. Almost twenty-one.”
“You see, there is nothing for you to worry about.”
They had finished tea and Clara rose. “Phoebe, we shall see you to-morrow evening. Lady Beaumont’s ball appears to be the perfect place to acquaint my young ladies with the ton.”
They bid Phoebe adieu, and as they left the room, Silvia leaned close to Vivian. “I thought that was what all the morning visits were for.”
“Be thankful it is the Little Season,” she whispered. “Otherwise you’d have to be approved by the patronesses of Almack’s for a voucher. You’ll like the ball. It sounds as if it will not be much different from the ones I held at Beresford Abbey, albeit the company will be a good deal grander.” And she would not have to act as if she enjoyed having her husband’s mistress around.
Silvia’s lips tightened. “I’ll take your word for it.” She sighed. “I truly thought I’d be like my sisters and not have to go anywhere or do anything to find a husband. Then I expected I would just remain with Papa. Ah well, there are times Fate intervenes.”
“Very true.” And not always in the way one wants it to.
Nicholas, Eighth Earl of Beresford, glanced at the gilded-cased clock on the mantel. It was eleven in the morning. Time to visit the dower house again. He’d made a muddle of his proposal. Not that he’d wanted to do it in the first place. He had also managed to anger Silvia. He hadn’t thought so before, but it might be for the best that she had not given him the time of day since he’d returned. This was something he could never explain to her. Damn Edgar for going and getting himself run over by a horse.
Nick had given Lady Beresford three days to calm down. In truth, he’d been licking his wounds getting his courage up again. His cousin had always said she had a mild disposition and was not prone to outbursts. Perhaps he, Nick, had approached her in the wrong way. He’d try once more to keep his promise to his cousin . . . and ensure that this time Silvia wasn’t around to interfere. Stubborn, out-spoken female that she was. Though at first glance, or even second glance, no one would expect her to be so difficult. Her glossy sable curls danced around a perfectly heart-shaped face. She was petite but had lush curves, and she moved so gracefully one could swear the air merely parted for her. On the other hand, she never could take advice or even a direct command. She always thought she knew what was best, stating her opinions in a forthright and almost regal manner, her dark brown eyes flashing with indignation that anyone would think she was wrong. He pinched the bridge of his nose. The problem had always been she was frequently right. And there was a time when he’d thought they would make a life together.
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.