Lord Beresford glanced at her, bowed, and smiled, apparently not even noticing that Silvia was in the corner. “Good day. I hope I find you well.”
“Yes, thank you, quite well.” And she’d be even better when she left this place. What she did not understand was how the man could fail to notice Silvia; however, he hadn’t glanced her way. What could he want that had him so focused on Vivian? “Would you like some tea?”
“Please. Two sugars and milk, if you would.”
The Queen Anne sofa opposite her groaned as he lowered his large, muscular frame onto the delicate piece. Vivian winced, expecting it to splinter at any moment. Nothing in this parlor was made for persons of his size and weight. Finally satisfied the sofa would not break, Vivian handed him the cup.
He took a sip, focusing his solemn brown gaze on her. “Have you made plans for what you will do after your year of mourning is over?”
Vivian glanced up, then lowered her eyes. By any standards, he was a handsome man with thick sable hair, a straight nose, and well above medium height. However, his resemblance to her late husband was too strong for her to be comfortable in his presence, and she had no intention of telling him of her cousin Clara’s invitation. “Have you need of the dower house?”
“Of course not,” he assured Vivian hastily. “You are naturally welcome to remain as long as you wish.” He set his cup down, clearing his throat. “There is, however, a proposition I’d like to place before you, if I may?”
He probably wanted her to act as his hostess until he married. She would tell him she was not interested. Vivian wanted no more dealings with anyone by the name of Beresford. Unfortunately, curiosity had always been another one of her faults. She raised her brows and returned his gaze, praying she presented the image of a calm, composed widow, when in fact her stomach churned as it had when facing her husband. “Go on.”
“I’d like to propose a marriage between us.”
Marriage!
In the year Lord Beresford had been at the abbey, he hadn’t once sought her out, and now he proposed marriage? Did he think she was simply to be a piece of property to be traded at will? Fury pierced her like lightning during a summer storm. After what his cousin had put her through, he must be mad. It was all she could do to maintain her countenance. How could he think she would exchange one Lord Beresford for a newer version? She would never even consider such a suggestion. And if she did, she’d be made a laughingstock among the servants and the villagers. If his expression weren’t so serious, she would have thought he was playing a sick joke.
When she didn’t respond, he continued. “You are, after all, familiar with the abbey and the area. It would not be a love match, but neither was your union with my cousin. I believe I can promise I will never embarrass you or cause you any distress.”
As her husband had done when she’d discovered his long-standing affair with a local farmer’s wife. She took a few shallow breaths, attempting to gather her wits and find a way to end this conversation civilly. “We barely know one another.”
For some reason, that seemed to hearten Lord Beresford. “A state which may be easily remedied. The fact remains that I am in need of a wife, and you fit the bill. I can give you children.”
Vivian’s cup rattled. She was that close to throwing cup, saucer, and pot at him all at once. The next thing she knew, the delicate china was taken from her hands. Silvia put her arm around Vivian’s shoulders and sat next to her.
Beresford jumped to his feet as if a bee had stung him. “What areyoudoing here?”
“Why am I not surprised?” Silvia replied in a voice of icy disdain. “Apparently you have forgot I am Lady Beresford’s companion. Now,my lord”—her tone took on the manner of a queen—“I believe you’ve said quite enough, and it is time to take your leave.”
He flushed as he stood, strode to the door, opened it, and fixed his fierce look on Silvia. “You may leave. I wish to speak with her ladyship alone.”
“Over my dead body,” Silvia mumbled just loudly enough for him to hear.
He opened his mouth, and Vivian decided to step in before all-out war could ensue. She knew nothing about his lordship’s manner, but, as much as she appreciated her companion’s championship, she’d never seen Silvia so exercised or rude.
In a calm but unapologetic tone, Vivian said, “I asked Miss Corbet to remain with me.”
He glared at Silvia as if he’d argue.
“However,” Vivian continued firmly, “I do not believe I need to hear any more of your proposition, my lord. My answer is no. I have no desire to wed you. In fact, I have no desire to marry anyone ever again. Once was quite enough, thank you.”
As he stalked out of the parlor, he glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll speak to you again when you are in a better frame of mind, my lady.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Silvia hurled at his retreating form.
His shoulders hunched, then the door snapped shut behind him.
“What gall!” Vivian picked up her tea-cup and took a sip of the now tepid liquid. “That was as unexpected as it was unwanted.”
“He’s an impossible, arrogant man.” Silvia fumed. “And always has been. He hasn’t changed at all. Having inherited the earldom has probably made him worse.”
“I’d forgot you and he were acquainted.”
“Unfortunately.” She scowled at the door. “He spent much of his childhood at the abbey, and was always trying to tell my sisters and me what to do. How dare he stroll in here and think he could make a proposal like that!”
