A country reel began and Silvia went off with a young gentleman who’d come to fetch her.
Clara was speaking with Phoebe and an older woman who’d joined them. Vivian shrank back, trying to make herself invisible. Just as she had done for six years.
“What is it?” Lord Stanstead’s calm tone acted like a balm to her jumbled nerves.
She bit her lip and swallowed. “Nothing.” Lord Stanstead raised a brow. “My late husband’s cousin. I did not expect to see him here.”
He began to turn, and she laid her hand on his arm. “Please, don’t. I do not wish him to see me.”
Lord Stanstead gazed down at her, his eyes taking on a hard metal sheen. “Has he injured you?”
Oh dear, she had to get herself under control. “No. It is only that I do not wish to—”
“Lady Beresford.”
Drat it all.She raised her chin. “My lord. I’m surprised to see you here. I had assumed you did not find London to your taste.”
“I normally don’t, but I believe we have some unfinished business.” Nick Beresford glanced at Lord Stanstead. “Will you dance the next set with me?”
Before she could think of a response, her companion replied in a bored drawl, “Her ladyship has agreed to stand up with me during the next set.”
She let out the breath she’d been holding. “Indeed I did, and I am quite sure whatever we have to discuss will wait until a more opportune time.” Beresford’s friend took his arm, and tugged him away. Once they were out of hearing, she smiled at Lord Stanstead. “Thank you. I won’t hold you to the dance. It is a waltz, and I imagine you have already promised it to another lady.”
“There is no one in this room I’d rather stand up with.” His eyes searched her face. “Besides, you can’t very well sit it out when his lordship is still present.”
That was true enough. “Thank you, again.”
What would it be like to be held by him? Not that it would matter. Nothing could come of it.
“On the contrary, I was about to ask you in any event.” He grinned again. “I am honored to be the first.”
Heat rose into her cheeks. “I am a bit out of practice, I’m afraid.”
“You have only to follow my lead. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
Vivian glanced at him, looking for any sign of false flattery, and could find none. “It will be nice to dance again.”
“Do you not have assemblies where you live?”
“Yes indeed, but there was never a waltz.” Nor had she ever remained past the first hour. Edgar would not publicly shame her by dancing with his mistress, if Vivian made an excuse to leave early.
“Then you shall have a treat denied you at home.” Lord Stanstead’s countenance had not changed, but she had a feeling he was watching her carefully.
“It is not my home, at least not any longer.” Her tone was sharper than she’d wished. “I must apologize. You cannot be interested.”
“You are not the only woman to wish to move away from . . . her deceased husband’s home. My mother decamped as soon as she was able and has been happier for it.”
Vivian was stunned. She had rarely known such sympathetic feeling from a gentleman. “Thank you.” It was more than time to change the subject. “Do you make your home in Town?”
His warm gaze told her he knew exactly what she was doing. “Only during the Seasons and for legislative sessions. My main estate is in Kent. I spend a good deal of time there, and I also travel to my other properties.”
“I thought most peers allowed their stewards to manage their holdings.” Her father and husband had.
A smile pulled at his lips. “I’m sure you have heard the expression, when the cat is away, the mice will play. My grandfather was a great believer that a man must manage his own property. Even the most honest fellow can be tempted to laziness if he thinks no one is looking over his shoulder.”
“Stanstead.” Phoebe’s husband, Marcus, Earl of Evesham, came to stand with Vivian and Lord Stanstead. “I thought you would be making the rounds.”
In other words, why was he still conversing with her instead of meeting other ladies?
