Lady Beresford's Lover by Ella Quinn (9)

“Thank you, my lord.” Vivian took a bite of the pheasant he had Tput on her plate.

If Lord Stanstead had not said her name, she would still be daydreaming. She had never been around a circle of people with whom she had so much in common.

Her only problem was keeping her reactions to Lord Stanstead under control. From the moment he had entered the drawing room and caught her eye, her heart had throbbed painfully in her chest, and she’d had to remember to breathe. If only she would not have such a dramatic response to his mere presence, she could be perfectly at ease.

She held her knife and fork more tightly than necessary to keep her hands from trembling as he served her a piece of game pie from the tray. What she was feeling was ridiculous. She was no longer a giddy girl and would do well to remember how being attracted to a gentleman had turned out the last time. And this was much worse.

He grinned at her and his eyes lit up. The only time her husband had appeared that happy was when his mistress was present, never around Vivian.

“I take it you will attend the soirée this evening?” His deep, gentle voice washed over her, once more taking her breath away.

“Yes, with Phoebe.”

“It’s a shame there is no dancing.” Lord Stanstead angled himself closer to her. “However, the Framingham ball is on Wednesday. I’m sure Lady Telford received invitations.”

“I believe she did.” Head bowed, Vivian applied herself to her food.

“I would be honored if you would dance the first waltz with me.”

Her mouth dried and she reached for her glass of wine. She would never be able to eat a thing at this rate. “It would be my pleasure.”

The memory of being in his arms flooded her senses, and she yearned for him to hold her again.

“And the supper dance. I dare say our friends will once again take supper together.”

“Yes, of course.”

What was she doing? This way would only lead to heartache. Once he saw her body, he wouldn’t want anything to do with her. A pain started in the center of her heart and exploded. She must cease thinking of him and wanting him.

Vivian raised her gaze to his, and was shocked to see the warmth in them. She had to say something to distract him. “What of Miss Banks?”

He raised his brows in surprise. “Miss Banks? Why would you think of her?”

Vivian twisted her serviette. “She is young and seems quite interested in you.”

“Too young, and I have no interest in her.” His stare bored into Vivian, as if he could will her to understand what he was not saying. “She is here to catch a husband, and her conversation is full of inane chatter.”

If only she could trust her instincts, maybe then she’d know what he wanted. Perhaps he merely wanted an older woman with whom to dally. If only she could bring herself to have an affair, on her terms, but she couldn’t even do that. She would not take the chance of being seen leaving a gentleman’s house, she could not bring him to Clara’s home, and she must never forget that her body was anathema to the male sex.

Still, he did not turn away. “When I wed, the lady must be capable of helping me run several estates and be interested in being a political hostess as all the ladies here are.”

She allowed his voice to caress and tempt her again. That was the life she thought she was getting before, and it had all turned out to be a lie. A footman appeared with sole in butter sauce and almonds. “I would love some fish.”

Lord Stanstead studied her for a moment before serving her the sole. “Anything you wish, my lady.”

The problem was, he sounded as if he meant it.

On her other side, Lord Rutherford claimed her attention, giving Vivian a chance to stop herself from falling into Lord Stanstead’s gaze. “My wife tells me you are interested in orphans.”

“Indeed I am.” After her husband’s death, she had finally been able to set up a home for them. “As is Lady Rutherford.”

“Although we like to keep our children close to home, Anna and I have been discussing setting up more programs in London. I do not know if the subject was raised, but she, Phoebe, Lady Marsh, whose husband is my brother-in-law and a Member of Parliament, and Serena have already begun an orphan asylum. Those children are apprenticed out, and we have now turned to other children who live at home but whose families are desperately poor. Is that a project you would be interested in supporting?”

For a moment Vivian was startled; a gentleman had never before asked for either her opinion or her help. “Of course, I would love to be involved.”

“Mention it to my wife or any of the others, and I am sure they would be grateful for your support.”

She was more than thrilled with the way this evening was going. It had far surpassed her wildest dreams. “Thank you, I will.”

He glanced over her head for a moment, then grinned. “You’re welcome. I’m always happy to see another lady who is interested in the plight of the less fortunate.”

When the ladies retired to the drawing room, Vivian brought up the subject with Anna.

“How good of Rutherford to bring it up.” Her brow creased for the merest moment. “I think we should hold a meeting soon. One must never allow forward momentum to slow down.”

“I agree. Ideas such as this must go forward quickly, so that others do not have the time to back out.”

Anna gave Vivian a strange look she could not decipher. “Absolutely.”

Not many minutes later, in fact, a great deal sooner than she had expected, the gentlemen joined them. Each man found his wife, and Lord Stanstead came over to her. That made sense as they were the only unmarried ones present.

“What did you and Rutherford discuss?”

She told Lord Stanstead about the program. “I think it is a wonderful idea.”

“As do I.” He took two glasses of wine from Lord Evesham, handing her one.

Vivian could still not bring herself to call Phoebe’s husband by his first name. There was something about his demeanor that made her think he didn’t quite trust her. “Thank you.”

For what was left of the evening, Lord Stanstead managed to remain with her most of the time. He’d placed her hand on his arm, cupped her elbow, and in small, seemingly insignificant ways, driven her to distraction. His large body seeming to hover, ever ready to refill her glass of wine, or bring tea to her when it was served. His fresh but masculine scent wended its way around her, and his presence made her feel protected.

By the time Phoebe’s carriage delivered Vivian home, her senses were raw. She was exhausted and more confused than she had ever been in her life. She knew she should arrange to stay as far away from Lord Stanstead as possible, but her heart and body longed to spend more time with him. If only she knew how to fulfill her wishes and protect her heart at the same time.

 

Rutherford came up to stand beside Rupert as Phoebe’s coach pulled away from the townhouse, carrying its precious passenger. “Thank you for the hint.”

“I thought you might need some help. Staring meaningfully at a lady is all well and good; engaging her interests and mind is, at times, more productive.”

“Is that what you did with Anna?”

“That was my mistake with Anna.” His friend’s lips tightened. “I almost lost her because I failed to understand that she required more than my love.” Rutherford paused for a moment. “Allow me to restate that: She required to be her own person as well as my love. At the time, I took it as a rejection of me instead of her need to be herself.”

Robert had also had to learn something of the sort, and that was exactly what Rupert had ignored about Miss Manning. By the same token, he loved how Vivian came alive when discussing social issues and politics, and he would not want to take that away from her. Rather, he wished to encourage her interests. “Thank you for telling me.”

His friend gave a sardonic grin. “I am merely attempting to keep a friend from groveling the way I had to.”

Surely, that wouldn’t happen to him. What did he have to grovel about? Thus far, he had done all that he could to attach Vivian’s feelings, and this time he was right: Her emotions were as engaged as his were. Each time he’d touched her, she had responded. Sometimes there was a quickening of her pulse, or an intake of breath. At other times, she leaned into him slightly. She blushed so easily when he caught her looking at him.

Now that he was certain of her, there was no time to waste in fixing her affections in a more permanent fashion.

To-morrow when he escorted her to the museum would be the perfect time to begin. More flowers were in order, but not roses this time. Something in light blue, as that appeared to be her favorite color. Hmm, the lupines would be almost gone, but his delphiniums should still be in bloom. Old Gregson wouldn’t throw a fit about them.

His town carriage pulled up and a footman asked, “My lord, do you plan to walk home?”

That was what he had intended, but riding would enable him to send to his estate for the flowers more quickly. “No”—before his footman could jump off the coach, he pulled open the door and climbed in—“drive on.”

In only a few minutes, the door to his residence opened and his butler bowed. “Good evening, my lord.”

“Evening, Harlock. Send to the stables and have one of the grooms awoken. I have a missive to send to Gregson.”

“As you wish, my lord.” The butler closed the door, took Rupert’s hat and cane, then spoke softly to one of the footmen still on duty.

Rupert strode to his study, pulled out a piece of foolscap, sat behind his desk, and wrote out his order for as large a bouquet as could be managed to be delivered to Lady Beresford in Mount Street no later than ten o’clock the next morning. He was about to ring for Harlock when a sleepy-looking groom was ushered into the room.

“Take this to Miss Gregson and have her give it to her father.” Gregson was an old fussbudget, but he wouldn’t go off on his daughter, who was the second housekeeper. She would have to read the letter to him in any event. Rupert handed his groom the missive. “Remain there for the rest of the night, and return with the flowers.”

“Aye, my lord.”

He poured a glass of brandy as Harlock closed the door, leaving Rupert alone. Although not as busy as the regular Season, the Little Season still had plenty of entertainments. Getting up a party for the theater or the opera shouldn’t be difficult. Unless he had to invite Lady Telford and Miss Corbet along with Vivian. That gave him pause. The number of single gentlemen he knew was rapidly shrinking. There was, of course, Hawksworth, but he needed someone older as well. What Rupert really wanted to do was find a way to have Vivian attend the masquerade. Yet how to arrange it escaped him at present.

He leaned back against the soft leather of his chair and swirled his brandy, watching as the colors changed from lighter to darker amber. The real question was who did he know who was closer to Sudbury than Rupert was, and old enough to be in a party with Lady Telford? He’d have to give that some thought. In the meantime, he would invite Vivian for a carriage ride during the fashionable hour in the Park and discover which entertainments she planned to attend.

He drained his glass, placing it on the desk. To-morrow couldn’t come soon enough. He could barely wait to see Vivian again.

A knock came on the door and Harlock entered. “This came for you along with a message that it was urgent.”

Rupert opened the sealed letter. “Is someone waiting for my answer?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Is it bad news, my lord?”

“No, quite the opposite.” Rupert glanced at the clock. By the time he got John Milford down here it would be too late. The missives must go out immediately. “I’ll need three or four footmen immediately.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“They will have to wait for answers, or, in a few cases, hunt the gentlemen down.”

“I understand, my lord.”

Rupert sat down at his desk and began writing letters to all his fellow peers who had already promised support for his bill. Once the notes had been sent, he wrote a message to Vivian explaining to her the situation and that he might be slightly late picking her up for their outing. Not exactly how he wished to begin courting her, but he prayed she would understand.

 

Vivian lay in bed listening to Punt hum as she went about her work. When the tune grew louder, Vivian knew it was time to get up, even though she would rather pull the covers over her head and hide. Some way or another she would have to survive the museum visit with Lord Stanstead without letting him know how much she was coming to like him.

She should have known how it would be after her first meeting with him. She had expected him to be a bit callow, like other young men his age. Yet he was not. Rather, men much older than he, listened when he spoke. His ideas were well thought out, and he knew to a nicety how far he could push a point without making himself appear foolish or too eager. At the same time, he had managed to keep her attention. He would make whichever lady he married a wonderful husband.

“My lady”—Punt stood next to the bed—“a letter was delivered for you, and I have your tea.”

Vivian pushed herself up against the pillows, took the missive, and opened it.

Laying the note down, she took a sip of tea. “When was this delivered?”

“I’m not sure. Sometime last night, I think. It was on the tray when I went down to the laundry at six.”

“Thank you.” Vivian wouldn’t be at all surprised if he had to cancel their trip. And she could not blame him; the bill was extremely important to him and to the poor returning soldiers.

She glanced at Punt and a tall vase with blue delphiniums caught her eye. “Where did the flowers come from?”

Punt picked up the card that had been set amongst the blooms. “Since I haven’t started reading your mail, you’d better see for yourself.”

Vivian opened it. Stanstead. They were beautiful and in her favorite color.

Oh dear, how was she to stop herself from caring about him when he was so . . . so wonderful? If only her body was not so horrible to look at. If it was as pretty as she’d been told her face was, everything would be fine, but it wasn’t, and she would not be rejected again. Spending her life alone was a preferable option.

She must get on with finding her own place to live, and resettle as soon as possible. “Please send a message to Mr. Trevor that I wish to meet with him after I break my fast.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Hopefully, the land agent had found some possibilities. If she was quick, she could find out what was available and be free when Lord Stanstead came to fetch her.

An hour later, after rushing through her toilet and having breakfast brought to her room, Vivian sat with her cousin’s secretary.

“I wrote Mr. Jones as soon as I received word you wanted news as to the progress.” Mr. Trevor tapped his pen on the desk, in a thoughtful manner. “I trust it will not be too soon to expect results.”

“I hope you are correct. The more I think of it, the more I wish to be settled in a house of my own. It will give me something useful to do.”

As well as get her out of London and away from Lord Stanstead.

“Indeed, you cannot be comfortable situated the way you are. Lady Telford is extremely kind, but every lady should have an abode of her own.”

Vivian twisted her handkerchief in her hands. She detested waiting. “Precisely. I’m so glad you see my point.”

A footman entered with a good-sized packet. “For you, Mr. Trevor.”

“Thank you, Corey.”

As Vivian sat as still as she could, Mr. Trevor cut the strings and smoothed out the sheets of paper. “We have some possibilities.” He frowned. “What is this? Obviously not for you.” He set aside two pieces of paper from the stack. “Now then. They are arranged by county. Shall we go through them together, or would you rather look at them by yourself?”

“By myself. I shall bring back the ones that appear most promising, so that you can arrange a viewing.” She rose and bent over the desk. From her angle she could read the information on the house he had rejected and saw the land agent’s name. Jones and Son. Not difficult to remember. “Thank you.”

Mr. Trevor had risen as well. “Not at all, my lady. It is always a pleasure to be able to assist you.”

For reasons she would consider later, Vivian took the information about the house Mr. Trevor had rejected and pushed it under her stack of papers, picked up the pile, and left the room.

Twenty minutes later as she perused the estate offerings in her parlor, a light knock came on the door. “Enter.”

“Vivian?”

“Silvia.” Vivian placed the documents upside down on the elegant cherry desk. Once her plans were firm, she would tell her friend. “I didn’t expect to see you up so early. Would you like some tea?”

Silvia sank onto the small sofa next to the desk. “No, thank you, I’ve had hot chocolate.” For a few moments she fiddled with the silk belt of her robe. “I have a question for you.”

Vivian raised a brow. “Go on.”

“I know you were . . . unhappy in your marriage,” Silvia said haltingly, “but was there ever a time when you thought all would be wonderful?”

It was hard to remember, but... “Yes, before we wed and for a few weeks at the beginning.” If Vivian had known before she had married her husband what she’d learned later, she would have attempted to stop the match. Yet she had been so young and naïve, so full of hope. She’d known she wasn’t really pretty, even her father had told her that, but she had tried so hard for so many years to be a good wife. Until she walked in on her husband and his mistress during a fête at the estate.

Vivian had been looking for him to hand out some prizes when she’d heard noises coming from a parlor. She had opened the door. Her husband and Mrs. Raeford were half-dressed on the sofa. The woman’s chemise was tucked around her waist, and Vivian’s husband was on top, plunging into her. She should have left but her feet refused to move, as if they were stuck in deep mud. Finally they finished, but not before they had declared their love over and over again. And suddenly so many things she not understood made sense. Bile rose in her throat, and she thought she would be sick right there in front of them.

“My love,” Mrs. Raeford had said as she smiled smugly at Vivian. “We have an audience.”

Her husband had glanced over his shoulder. “So you finally know. It’s about time. I dropped enough hints, but you were too stupid to figure it out.”

She wished she had been able to make a retort. Instead she fled to her chamber and wept until she had no more tears left. She had wanted to leave, but her parents would not have taken her back. She had wanted to die, and if her husband had not had the accident, she might have taken her life. It might make her a horrible person, but she was glad he was dead.

“Before you married, did you have any feelings that you should not join with his lordship?”

“That is an interesting question. I’m not sure that I did. I think I was too young and excited to be betrothed, and my parents were so in favor of the match my wishes were likely to have been overridden. What I remember most was the shopping and wedding arrangements. Why?”

“I have a feeling Lord Oliver will propose, and I do not think I should marry him. He is all that is witty and engaging, but something is not quite right.”

Vivian reached over, taking her friend’s hands in hers. “Then my advice is to follow your instincts. You are wise beyond your years and have much more knowledge of mankind than I did when I wed.”

“Thank you.” A small smile trembled on Silvia’s lips. “I needed to hear someone else confirm my beliefs.”

Punt entered Vivian’s parlor. “Lord Beresford is downstairs waiting to see you, my lady.”

“Just who I do not need to see right now. I wish he would give up this mad idea. I’ve already rejected him once.” Vivian rubbed her hands over her face. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“No.” Silvia’s lips had firmed into a straight line, and she stood. “I shall tell his lordship that he is not welcome.” She glanced at Punt. “I won’t be more than a few minutes.”

Vivian waited until the door closed behind her friend. “If I did not think I would be caught out, I’d be tempted to listen in on that conversation. There is much more there than meets the eye.”

 

Silvia’s maid was waiting when she strode into her chamber. “I need to dress immediately.”

How dare Nick Beresford come around to bother Vivian? He never could take no for an answer. Well, he would now. Silvia splashed water on her face and brushed her teeth. She would send him away with a flea in his ear.

Less than fifteen minutes later, she entered the front parlor where he’d been put. “Lady Beresford is not available to see you. If you give me a message, I promise to see it is delivered. How did you find out where we are residing?”

He gave her such a smug smile she itched to slap his handsome face.

“It was not exactly a secret, especially after the way you’ve been gallivanting all over Town with Lady Telford.”

“Gallivanting indeed. How dare you! We are doing nothing that is not normally done during a Season.”

“Silvia—”

“Miss Corbet to you, my lord.” Rage at what he’d done years ago, and how he’d left her, burbled up inside, threatening to explode. “You no longer have any right to use my name.”

A lock of thick, dark brown hair fell over his forehead and he shoved it back. “Very well, Miss Corbet, I am not here to argue with you. I merely wish to put forth my proposal to her—”

“The same proposal as before?” She glared at him. Really, some men could be so thick, and he was the epitome of blockheadedness. “The one she already declined, and told you she would not entertain?”

“Yes, now would you please—”

“No. I will not.”

He let out a huff—actually it sounded more like a growl, but she chose to ignore it—and prepared to continue arguing.

His face flushed. “I would like to be able to finish at least one sentence.”

“Very well.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Go on.”

“I shall leave my direction.” She opened her mouth, but he held up one finger and she closed it again. “If she would like to contact me.”

“She won’t.”

“At least I tried,” he muttered more to himself than to her. Silvia Corbet was going to drive him to distraction.

Nick had to get out of there before he took her over his knee and spanked her, or did something infinitely worse, such as kiss her. God, she was beautiful when she had her ire up. The only problem was that she was standing between him and the door. “I’m leaving now.”

She swept aside, her hands now on her nicely rounded hips. Where the devil did they come from? She reminded him of a Portuguese fishwife with her chin jutting out, ready to do battle. He needed to keep that in mind and off her more pleasant attributes.

“I thought you said you were leaving.”

Fishwife. “I am.”

He grabbed his hat from the butler stationed in the hall. “Thank you.”

He strode down the street and was several houses away before he realized he was going in the wrong direction. That woman was a menace, and the sooner she married some poor unsuspecting man and moved away, the better off he’d be. Why the hell did he let her get to him? He wasn’t even sane when she was around. He slapped his hat against his thighs. Christ. He should be used to it by now.

Ten minutes later, as he was nearing his town house, he heard his name called.

“Beresford.” Hawksworth was standing less than two feet away. “I realize you haven’t spent much time around the ton, but even you should know giving your friends the cut direct is not at all acceptable.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”

“That was obvious. What has you so upset?”

“Not what—who.” He took off his hat again, this time raking his fingers through his hair, then set it back on his head. “I went to see Lady Beresford to renew my proposal, but Miss Corbet greeted me in her stead.”

“Ah, the lady at whom you were staring the other night.”

“Yes, and I was not staring at her. She merely happened to pass in front of my line of vision.”

Hawksworth linked arms with Nick. “You sound as if you could use a drink.”

“I’m not sure that would help.” Which was a sad state of affairs when one thought of it.

“Then perhaps this will. The betting at White’s has it Lord Oliver will be wed to the lady before the Season’s out.”

“White’s? I thought you belonged to Brooks’s.”

“I have membership in both clubs. Which is how I happen to be so knowledgeable.”

“Who the hell is Lord Oliver?”

“The gentleman you saw her dancing with.”

Nick wanted nothing more than to plant someone a facer. “That popinjay? She’ll run rings around him.”

“Don’t be so sure about that. The man has been known to have a nasty temper.”

Blast! “Then he’d damn well better keep it to himself. If he lays a hand on her . . .”

“Why do you care?” Hawksworth asked in an amused drawl.

“I don’t bloody care.” Nick glanced around hoping someone would do something deserving of being beaten. “I don’t hold with abusing women, any woman. Not even Silvia.”

“Silvia, is it?”

“I mean Miss Corbet. God blast it, I’ve known her all my life. Besides, it would upset her father.”

“Hmm, we can’t have that.”

Nick stopped and glared at his friend. “Would you stop sounding as if nothing matters?”

An amused gleam entered Hawksworth’s eyes. “My dear boy, one of us must maintain a fashionably bored demeanor, and you’re doing a miserable job of it. I would take you to my club, but I’m afraid you’d pick a fight. Come along to Jackson’s with me instead. At least if you hit someone there, they’ll be expecting it.”

“Good idea.” Pummeling someone was just what he needed. Nick allowed his friend to guide him to Bond Street. “I don’t understand why I allow her to needle me. You’d think I’d know better by now.”

“Just a thought, mind you, but is it possible that you wish to be in the lady’s good graces and never quite manage it?”

“Ridiculous. I couldn’t care less what she thinks of me.” That was a bald-faced lie. “I’d just like to be able to best her in an argument. Is that so much to ask?”

“Beresford, at some point someone must have told you never to argue with a lady. It is absolutely pointless. They will invariably talk rings around one and never make any sense while they are doing it. They end up getting exactly what they want, and the gentleman ends up at his club, wondering how it happened. No wonder you act as if you’re ready for Bedlam.”

The only problem with that line of thinking was that Silvia could not only talk rings around him but she could out-maneuver him as well. She needed a man who would stand up to her. But if Lord Oliver meant her harm, he’d have to go through Nick first. Someone must watch out for her. Not every man had his tolerance for her foolishness, or deserved her. If only he knew what the bloody devil was going on in her pretty head.