CHAPTER ONE
End of August 1817, Beresford Abbey, England
Vivian, the widowed Countess of Beresford, sat at her desk in the morning room of the dower house in which she’d been living for the past year, plotting her escape. A beam of bright afternoon sunshine shot along the gold and blue Turkey carpet, interrupted only by the supine form of her gray cat, Gisila.
In truth, plotting was probably too strong a word, though Vivian liked how it sounded. And she did feel as if she was escaping not only the dower house but Beresford Abbey itself. In a few short days her period of mourning would end.
Her hand clenched as if she could strike her dead husband and everyone else in this hellish place. Once gone, she vowed never to return to this estate and the market town where everyone had known of her late husband’s deceit and had pitied her, but had said nothing. Not that Vivian had ever been given the opportunity to be a real wife. Soon after her marriage, Edgar, who at the time was still the heir, couldn’t stand the sight of her, in or out of the bedchamber. Mrs. Raeford had that honor, if it could be called such, absent the ring and title, of course.
Vivian should not have had such great expectations of her marriage, but while their fathers arranged the union, Edgar had been attentive and charming. Father had assured her this was a good match and a dutiful daughter would trust her papa, like the good puss she was. After all, he had said in a kind tone, Vivian was no great beauty, too blond when the fashion was for dark hair, slender to the point of skinny when men preferred voluptuous ladies, and too bookish.
Although, if someone, anyone, would have told her about her future husband’s lover, Vivian was sure she could have brought herself to refuse the match, for among her many failures was too much pride.
She waited for the familiar rage to rise, but after a year of waiting to be released from her duty to her husband, there were no more tears, and the pains in her stomach had finally ceased.
She would never again allow herself to be so naïve, or so trusting.
Giving herself a shake, she opened the weekly letter from her mother.
My darling Vivian,
I am so pleased to hear you are going to Town with
Cousin Clara. As you are aware, your father and I had not planned to arrive for another several weeks. However, there has been a new development. Your father has taken it into his head that he needs a new hunting bitch, and nothing will do but he must have it immediately. All else has been forgot in his search. You may well imagine my frustration, but Papa will have his way. Consequently, it appears we will not attend the Little Season at all.
Have a wonderful time. I look forward to your letters concerning the entertainments.
Give Clara my best.
With much love,
Mama
VB
Poor Mama. Did reasonable men even exist?
“My lady—” Hal, who’d been her personal footman since her come out, hovered in the open door. “The new Lord Beresford asks if you’ll receive him.”
What could he possibly want? Since the reading of the will, Vivian hadn’t had much to do with her husband’s cousin and best friend who’d come into the title.
Well, whatever it was, she would not allow it to stop her from leaving.
“I’ll see him. Please bring tea and ask Miss Corbet to join me.” Silvia Corbet, the vicar’s eldest daughter, had been Vivian’s companion for the past year, and during that time Vivian had come to love Silvia like a sister.
“Yes, my lady. I’ll get her first.”
“Thank you. That would be best.”
Vivian was not completely conversant concerning the rules of being a widow, but she could not think they would allow her to be in the same room with a gentleman who was not a close relation. Or perhaps that was incorrect. She had heard that some widows took lovers. Still, she did not want to be alone with the man. In any event, he could have nothing to say that would interest her.
A few moments later, Silvia entered the room. “Hal said we have a visitor.”
“Indeed, the new Lord Beresford.” Vivian moved to the sofa. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”
“I was on my way to you in any event.” Silvia’s demeanor had changed from her normal friendliness to barely suppressed anger upon hearing his lordship had come. She chose a chair in the corner of the room near one of the windows, took out her embroidery, and gave a short nod.
As soon as Vivian’s companion had settled, his lordship was announced. At the same time, Hal brought in the tea tray, setting it in front of her and obviating the need for her to stand and greet the man. “Good afternoon, my lord.”
