Despite all that, she did keep up with the current issues and had some definite opinions of her own. Perhaps she might have something to contribute to the discussion this evening and, hopefully, issues in common with the ladies here. Yet as this was a morning visit, after the prescribed fifteen minutes, she, her cousin, and her friend said their good-byes.
As they were leaving, a lady even more flamboyantly dressed than Clara entered the house.
“Lady Evesham, how lovely to see you again!” The woman was wearing an elaborately embroidered silk robe, the like Vivian had never seen before. Atop her head was a turban made of different colored silk strips.
“Lady Thornhill, how wonderful that you’ve returned.” Phoebe took the woman’s outstretched hands, kissed her cheek, then turned to Vivian. “Her ladyship has been traveling in the Far East for the past two years.”
That probably explained the fantastical garments. “I envy you, my lady.”
“We have missed her drawing rooms greatly. No one was able to replicate them.” Phoebe quickly made the introductions and the talk turned to Lady Thornhill’s travels. Unfortunately, Clara ushered them out, but not before they received an invitation to attend any of the lady’s drawing rooms they wished.
Finally, Vivian was finding entertainments and people she would enjoy being around, and she had not thought of Lord Stanstead for at least ten minutes. That had to be progress.
Rupert’s secretary, John Milford, handed him a letter with the Evesham seal on it. He opened it, quickly perusing the contents. “I am dining with Lord and Lady Evesham this evening if I have nothing else scheduled.”
“You are not otherwise engaged, my lord.” Milford reached into the top part of a stack of cards, extracting one. “You have an invitation to Lord and Lady Thornhill’s drawing room on Thursday.”
“I saw him at my club. He has brought several interesting artifacts back with him. Accept it.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“You had the roses sent?”
“Indeed, my lord. They should have arrived sometime this morning. Your gardener brought them from the estate and had words about taking so many from the plants. He almost insisted on taking them to the lady herself. However, Cook was able to convince him he should eat.”
“I’ll bet he did.” Rupert smiled. “I don’t suppose you reminded him that I found the things and braved the hazards of bringing them back from Persia, and therefore should be allowed to do as I wish?”
“I am not so bold.” One side of John’s mouth turned up in a crooked grin. “He still hasn’t forgiven me for stealing daisies when I was eight.”
John was the third son of Rupert’s rector. They were of an age and had been together almost constantly until Rupert went off on his Grand Tour. He wouldn’t have gone at all if John hadn’t been at Stanstead to oversee the estate while he was away. “If I recall correctly, you did not steal them, I told you to pick them for your mother.”
“Unfortunately, you didn’t get your gardener’s permission first,” his secretary responded in a dry tone. “The back of my legs still hurt.”
“I couldn’t sit down for days.” And he’d discovered just how much weight his courtesy title held. None at all.
“My hand was cramped from writing out over and over again that I would receive permission from a responsible party before accepting an invitation to take anything.”
“Someday,” he grumbled, “I’ll be in charge of my own gardens.”
“I wish you luck.”
“If you need me, I’ll be in my study until it’s time to dress for dinner.”
“And if you require me, I shall be right here.”
Rupert gave a short laugh. “Where you always are, unless I’ve sent you haring off somewhere.”
He took the stack of invitations from the desk and opened the door to his study. There were times that he still thought he could see his grandfather, or the man he’d thought of as his grandfather, from the corner of his eye as he entered the paneled room.
He separated the invitations into two piles, one for acceptances and the other rejections. A richly engraved card caught his eye. The Marquis of Sudbury was having a masquerade. Rupert didn’t know the man well. Sudbury never married and carefully cultivated his reputation as a rake, but they had more than a passing acquaintance, his lordship being a friend of Rupert’s grandfather Stanstead.
In England, masked parties still had a rather risqué reputation, but in Venice they had been all the crack. Even if it turned out to be “not quite the thing,” as his mother would say, the party might be fun. Rupert put the invitation on the acceptance pile.
A few hours later, he strolled into the drawing room of Dunwood House in Grosvenor Square, and stopped. Vivian was here, looking even lovelier than he remembered. His heart-beat grew more rapid. As if she could sense him, she glanced at the door and smiled. His ears rang as if they’d been boxed. He had definitely never had that kind of reaction to any female before.
“Rupert, come in.” Marcus shook his hand, tugging him into the room. “We have sherry if you’d like some.”
“Yes, please.” Rupert dragged his eyes from hers. “Sherry would be perfect.”
