CHAPTER SIX
Taking Kit Featherton’s place as the gentleman hostesses most wanted was not at all bad. Rupert put down his wineglass and joined Serena Beaumont, who had beckoned him to dance with another lady. For years Featherton had avoided the popular young ladies by only standing up with those who found themselves without dance partners. No hostess worth her name would allow a young female to remain on the sides if a partner could be found.
A half hour later, he had just returned a young woman to her mother when Robert said, “Thank you for helping Serena.”
“Of course I’d be of service to her. She is my cousin. Although I find I like dancing with ladies who are not sought after.”
Robert grimaced. “If you say so.”
“No, truly.” Rupert grinned. Before falling for his wife, Robert had avoided ton events for years. “They are either extremely shy, in which case I can put them at ease, or so intelligent they overwhelm most men. In either case, it is much better than standing up with females who simper, bat their eyes at one, and have nothing of note to say.”
“Such as Miss Banks?”
Robert might be joking, but Rupert noticed the way her gaze had followed him and, with the exception of the one set he had danced with her, he would take care to steer clear of the lady. Not only was he not interested in her, he wanted her father’s support on a bill concerning former soldiers. “Precisely.”
“Watch yourself around her.” His cousin sipped his champagne. “I’ve seen her like before. One slip and you’ll have a quick trip to the altar.”
“Your warning is taken.” He searched the room until he saw Lady Beresford sitting with Phoebe and Lady Telford. Vivian was a puzzle he’d happily attempt to put together. Why, for example, did she dislike her husband’s cousin so much? That her marriage was not all it could have been, she’d said, but how had that affected her? “I am engaged for this dance. I’ll speak to you later.”
“One of the young ladies?” Robert asked.
“No, one of the older ladies.” Rupert didn’t even have to glance back to know his cousin was watching him. No matter how debauched Robert had been in the past, he’d always looked after his family. That was what had drawn Serena to him.
“My lady.” Rupert took Vivian’s hand, pressing his lips to it. “I believe this is my dance.”
She smiled up at him, her sapphire blue eyes shining with joy. “Yes, my lord.”
In a matter of minutes she was back in his arms again. For a few moments they said nothing. He spent the time enjoying the feel of her supple form and appreciating her grace as she followed his lead. Although she couldn’t be more than five years older than the young ladies making their come outs, she had an elegance about her none of them yet possessed.
He wanted Vivian, but more importantly, he wanted to know her. Her likes and dislikes, what she dreamed of, how she preferred to spend her days and her nights. His interest in her was different than anything he’d felt previously. Yet before he encouraged her affections, he must know that she wanted what he did. How would she feel about living much of the year on an estate and being a political hostess when in London? If their goals were not similar, then marriage to him would make her miserable, and he couldn’t bear that.
“You’re quiet, my lord.”
When he gazed down at her, no anxiety or trepidation showed in her countenance, merely curiosity. “I was enjoying how well you move through the steps.”
“It is easy when my partner is so skilled.”
“Oh no.” She was much more humble and reticent than the ladies he’d met before. Rupert wanted to draw her out, show her how special she was. “I refuse to allow you to throw my compliment back at me. You are by far the most graceful lady I’ve had the pleasure of standing up with this evening.”
He’d wanted to say forever, but something told him she would take that as mere flummery. The last thing he wanted was for her to think him capable of false flattery.
Unlike the other women he’d danced with this evening, Vivian did not blush, stammer, or simper. Her eyes glowed with a quiet pleasure. “In that case, I shall gratefully accept your accolade.”
“Why do some females find it so hard to allow praise?”
Her finely arched brows drew together as she paused for a moment. “I believe some of us are taught not to put ourselves forward. After all, a lady is supposed to be modest in thoughts, words, and deeds.”
Yet when Lord Stanstead closed the distance between them during the turn, as he always did, Vivian’s thoughts were not as modest as they should be. She wondered what he would look like without formal clothing, or any clothing at all. Her heart sped and she glanced away from his chest. She had to think of something else before she started blushing.
A young lady with dark hair and eyes glared at Vivian. How strange. She could not remember even meeting the girl. “Who is the lady in the white gown two couples away?”
Lord Stanstead slid a quick look in the direction she had indicated. “Miss Banks. Why?”
“She was staring at us.”
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t let it bother you. She’s probably admiring the way we dance together.”
Vivian didn’t think that was it at all. The girl was more than likely interested in his lordship and wishing her in perdition. Not that it mattered. She’d decided not to attend many of the entertainments. Not only did she have a home to find, she should not let anyone think she was ready to marry again. The image of Lord Stanstead in shirt sleeves passed through her mind, and she swallowed a sigh. It would be lovely if she could bring herself to have an affair. If only there were a guide book or something equally helpful to tell her how to go about it.
“Tell me about your home.”
He smiled as if thinking of a particularly wonderful memory. “I have always loved Stanstead Court. It is beautiful, with extensive gardens, a natural stream and lake, which are always full of fish.”
“I take it Capability Brown did not design it?”
Lord Stanstead gave a dramatic shudder. “Gad no. Although my grandfather did have a few follies built in order to please my grandmother. She was too fond of her gardens to allow Mr. Brown to remove them. Some of my grandest memories are listening to her tell me about her plants. She had a story for each one.”
Vivian hadn’t known her grandmothers, and she had always missed what she never had. “She sounds like a wonderful lady.”
“She was.” He came out of his reverie and smiled. “I’m fortunate to still have my grandmother Beaumont. She is a pistol.”
Lord Stanstead’s good humor was infectious, making Vivian laugh. “I would love to meet her.”
He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. “I think you and she would get along well.”
As they danced, Vivian could almost imagine herself in a fairy world. Yet she must remember she was no longer a young girl, and she was definitely not desirable. Was it fair to take up his lordship’s attentions when some other lady would be his wife? Or could she simply enjoy this, the dance, their conversation, even though it would not last? She knew enough of the world to understand that in order to make a political career Lord Stanstead must marry, but if he was not ready to make the commitment, what was the harm in her spending time with him? After all, it had only been two sets. He was all that was charming, but it probably meant nothing to him.
Miss Cressida Banks stood with her closest friend from childhood, Miss Emily Woolerton, the daughter of Sir Bertin Woolerton, Member of Parliament. Having grown up on neighboring estates, as girls they had attended the same schools. Having a mutual interest in hunting and politics, their fathers were thick as thieves, and Emily was already betrothed to Cressida’s brother, Hector. Fortunately, they got on well and would wed when he returned from the Levant, which should be in the next few weeks.
“Doesn’t Lord Stanstead dance divinely?” Emily commented. “Not as well as Hector, of course.”
As far as Cressida was concerned, his lordship was a much better dancer, but Emily was besotted and loyal. No one was as good as Hector. “Did I tell you he asked me to dance with him?”
“He did?” Emily’s eyes widened only for a moment. “I mean, of course he would. You are beautiful. Any gentleman would be lucky to stand up with you.”
Not if Cressida hadn’t pushed him. “I practically had to force him into it.” She gave a frustrated huff. “Why didn’t Lord Stanstead ask me to dance again? I did my best to be encouraging. Instead he’s dancing with that older lady.”
“Perhaps because of your father?” Emily ventured.
“But Mama told him what she’d heard about him being more mature than his age, and made him promise not to interfere if Lord Stanstead took an interest in me.”
“It would not surprise me if your father has another match in mind.”
“Well, if he does, he hasn’t said anything to either Mama or me. I just think he’s being difficult.” A horrific thought came to Cressida’s mind. “I will not agree to wed an old man.”
“I doubt he would expect you to marry someone elderly. Give it some time,” Emily advised sagely. “If not Lord Stanstead, I’m sure another gentleman will come along. Besides, your dance card is almost full.”
“I’ve already had one Season with no offers at all! And he is so handsome.” She swung her fan around by the ribbon and stared at Lord Stanstead. He really was the best-looking gentleman at the ball.
“It could be he is wary of your father and does not wish to antagonize him. I’ve heard he is trying to make a name for himself in the Lords.”
Politics! Is that the only thing gentlemen are interested in? “If that is the case, then I must somehow make it easy for him to approach me.” After all, he was single and Cressida was single. With her dark hair and his blond looks they would make a stunning pair. “I am positive that if I could contrive to spend a little time with him, he would like me.”
Emily lowered her voice. “I know that tone, Cressida Banks. What are you planning?”
“Me?” Cressida rounded her eyes, doing her best to appear innocent. “Nothing bad, I assure you.” Though if she happened to find herself alone with Lord Stanstead . . .
“I don’t believe you, and you had better be careful.” Her friend hid her frown behind her fan as she scolded. “We are not in the country where you can talk yourself out of mischief. Pull the same stunts here, and you will never receive another card for Almack’s again.”
The more Cressida thought about Lord Stanstead, the more of a challenge he became. If she could manage to be caught with him, she wouldn’t want to talk herself out of it, or care about Almack’s. It would be the best match she could make. No longer would she be treated like a child. As the Countess of Stanstead, everyone would have to take her seriously. All she had to do now was pay close attention to where he went, and put herself in his way as often as possible.
When the music stopped, Vivian had not been ready for the set to end. Lord Stanstead placed her hand on his arm, and they rejoined their little circle, as she now thought of it. The last time she was in Town, she had been forced to attend event after event, like a horse being shown at Tattersalls. This time, she was allowed to select her own friends and not be at the whim of others. Except when it came to supper with those selfsame companions. Although she discovered she did not mind at all. Perhaps because her new friends were interested in more than clothing and marriageable gentlemen.
It turned out Phoebe and Lady Beaumont were close relatives, and had decided they should all have supper together. Silvia was instructed to bring along the gentleman escorting her. He was a solid man of middling height who spent a great deal of time talking about his home county and appeared slightly in awe of the illustrious company he was now keeping.
It wasn’t long before Lady Beaumont was discussing various methods of farming with him, while the rest of them talked of the sights Silvia and Vivian ought not to miss. High on the list were the Elgin Marbles, which she’d heard of but had never seen.
Lord Stanstead leaned toward her, placing his lips close enough to her ear that his warm breath caused a shiver to skate down her neck. “If you’re not already engaged, I’d love to escort you to the museum to-morrow.”
“I thought you were taking part in the debate on the Corn Laws?” Lord Beaumont said.
Lord Stanstead pressed his lips together. “I’d forgot.”
“We can do it another day if you wish,” Vivian offered. That there was a debate she did not doubt, yet something, a hardness in Lord Beaumont’s tone, told her his cousin was not completely pleased Lord Stanstead wished to spend more time with her.
“Thank you.” For some reason he seemed to be sitting closer to her. “May I send a note to you suggesting a day and time?”
“Don’t be silly, Stanstead,” Clara interjected. “Of course you may. Though, after her success this evening, you might have to wait until next week or so.”
What was going on? First Lord Beaumont and now Clara seemed to be against it. Was merely having Lord Stanstead escort her to the museum such a bad idea?
He stared at his cousin for a moment, then turned to Vivian. “The day after to-morrow, if you are free, my lady. I’m sure my cousin is able to vote my proxy if need be.”
“I have nothing planned. Thank you. I very much wish to see them.”
A fleeting self-satisfied smile graced Clara’s face. So that’s what she’d been up to, attempting to goad Lord Stanstead into setting a date, not the other way around.
Not long after supper ended, Clara announced that it was time for her and her charges to retire for the evening. Vivian had had a wonderful time but was becoming rather tired, and poor Silvia, who had danced every set, was bravely stifling a yawn.
Lord Stanstead escorted them to the hall. “I look forward to our outing.”
“As do I.”
He looked as if he wanted to say more, but held back. That was for the best. Spending time together was one thing; expectations were something else entirely.
“Good night, Stanstead.” Clara inclined her head. “I must take these two home while they can still stand. It will take a few days for them to become used to the pace of life in Town.”
Either not understanding Clara’s dismissal, or ignoring it, Lord Stanstead escorted Vivian to their coach. “Have a good evening.”
“You as well.”
After Clara, Silvia, and Vivian were all in the coach and the pair had started forward, Clara said, “A good first event. I predict the house will be flooded with flowers and other mementos by to-morrow afternoon.”
In no time at all—Mayfair was quite small compared to traveling around the countryside—they were back at Clara’s house.
Barnes opened the door. “My lady, would you like tea delivered to your parlor?”
“Thank you, Barnes. You always know exactly what I need.”
Vivian, her cousin, and her friend made their way up the stairs to the landing and then into the wing in which Clara and Silvia had their apartments. Silvia seemed as if she could barely keep her eyes open.
Clara must have noticed, as she bussed Silvia’s cheek. “My dear, you did wonderfully well this evening. It’s a shame to-morrow isn’t my at home. Nevertheless, I expect to see an assortment of posies, poems, and other nonsense all dedicated to you. Take yourself off now and feel free to break your fast in your chambers.”
“Thank you, I am tired.” Silvia hugged Clara, then Vivian. “I had a wonderful time. Thank you so much for wanting me to join you.”
“Silly miss.” Clara smiled fondly. “Your mother and grandmother would have been pleased. Off to bed now.”
Vivian felt her eyes closing as well. It had been much too long since she’d even stayed up so late. “I shall seek my couch as well.”
Her cousin linked arms with her, guiding her into Clara’s parlor. Perdita ran out from under a table, and danced around her skirts. “Yes, my sweet.” She picked up the dog and gave her a kiss before setting her back on the floor. “Sit with me for a few minutes. There are some small details I’d like to discuss.” The tea arrived, and Clara served. “Did you have a good time?”
“I did. Much more than I thought I would.”
“I wasn’t sure how you would like being out among the ton again.”
“It hasn’t changed much.” Truth be told, Vivian would have been just as happy to have remained home with a good book . . . except for Lord Stanstead, of course. She had enjoyed meeting him.
“Stanstead is a good young man, and I know you will not fall in love with him.”
The tea was half-way down her throat and she choked. “I beg your pardon?”
“You may not have noticed the attention all the younger ladies were paying to him, but I did. He’ll be wed before the Season is finished.”
“I have no intention of . . .”
“Yes, yes, I know, and who could blame you?” Clara smiled. “Enjoy him while you are able.”
How was it that she could say the most outrageous things in a completely conversational tone? “He danced with me and is only accompanying me to the museum. I hardly think it shows interest on his part. He is only being kind to a newcomer to Town.”
“Of course, my dear. I’m sure you are correct.” Clara nibbled on a biscuit. “In any event, he will probably marry for political reasons. His star is on the ascendant.” Clara paused, staring at something on the wall. “Most likely that Banks girl. Her father is a powerful political figure.”
That ill-behaved child who had been glaring at Vivian and his lordship? Was it possible Lord Stanstead was trying to ensure the lady noticed him by dancing with her? “Indeed.” She carefully placed her cup on the table, resisting the urge to slam it down. “If you do not mind, I’m extremely fatigued. I shall see you in the morning.”
“I only ask that you not fall in love with him,” Clara called after Vivian. “He is exceedingly handsome.”
Half-way through the door she stopped. “You exaggerate, and I am not going to fall in love with anyone.” Ever again. “Good night.”
Vivian closed the door behind her. She had fallen in love with Edgar when he’d courted her. On their honeymoon he had been charming and attentive until the night he had finally decided to consummate the marriage. Bile rose in her throat as she remembered her humiliation when he had stripped off her nightgown. Even if he had not said the words then, his revulsion had been writ on his face. His attentions during the act had been so painful she had not been able to stop her tears. She had begged him to stop but he had not. When he’d left shortly afterward, she had felt more alone than ever.
Even if Stanstead was exceedingly handsome, and attentive, and kind, and had a wonderful sense of humor, she had it on good authority she was not what men wanted.