Lady Beresford's Lover (10 page)

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.