“From the first time I saw her on that huge roan of hers, I couldn’t get her out of my mind.” His cousin grinned. “It was a damn good thing too.”
From what Rupert had heard, Serena had put his cousin through his paces before she’d agreed to marry him. Even Grandmamma had supported Serena’s flight to France to avoid being forced to wed Robert before he admitted he loved her. Robert had been right about Rupert’s mother and father. His parents had been separated for years before they could finally wed, only a little over a year ago. Grandfather Beaumont had married Mama off to old Lord Stanstead’s only son when she was pregnant with Rupert. Papa’s uncle had arranged a marriage for him, and the fact that Mama was increasing was kept from him. Not that Rupert, even now, was able to acknowledge his father as anything more than a step-father, but at least now he knew and was grateful that he’d not been the get of his mother’s first husband. He was also glad the title had come directly from the gentleman he had loved as his grandfather, bypassing the man who was legally his father. Although there had been a time last year, after the truth came out, when he would gladly have planted both his grandfathers facers if they’d been alive.
Now that he gave it some thought, perhaps love wasn’t something one could dictate or maneuver to occur when one wished it. Still, what was he supposed to do? Wait around until Cupid shot him with an arrow? Arrange for fairy dust? Surely, there was some way to hurry the process along.
When they arrived at Berkeley Square, the door to his cousin’s house opened, and the butler bowed. “Welcome home, my lord. Her ladyship and Miss Elizabeth are in the morning room.” The man took Rupert’s hat and cane. “It’s good to see you again, my lord. Lady Malfrey and her son are also in the morning room.”
Rupert wondered how much the butler, an old family retainer, knew about his birth—most likely the whole thing. Fortunately, Robert’s servants never gossiped outside of the house.
Rupert quickened his step. All his life he’d wanted a real family, including a brother or sister, and now he had one.
Robert opened the door, and Serena glanced up from the floor where baby Elizabeth, Rupert’s mother, and his brother, Daniel, were playing. The children had been born less than a month apart. Rupert held out his arms.
Daniel pushed to his knees and rocked, then latched on to the low round table, and pulled himself up.
Rupert sat on the floor next to his brother and the baby made one step before falling into his arms. “You’re growing much too quickly. The next thing I know, you’ll be walking.”
“Rup, Rupie,” Daniel chortled.
“When did he start that?” The last time Rupert had seen his brother he’d only just said “mama.”
His mother beamed. “You were starting to talk as well as holding on to tables and walking around them when you were his age. I expect he’ll be the same.”
Activity was not the only way in which they’d be alike. Daniel had the same pale blond curls Rupert, his mother, and Robert had. The mark of a Beaumont. But each also had their father’s gray eyes.
Tea was brought in, and a half hour later, Edward, Baron Malfrey—Daniel and Rupert’s father—entered the room. Papa’s gaze went straight to Mama. “I’m sorry I’m late, my sweet. I was held up in a meeting.”
She smiled softly, love shining in her eyes. “It’s no matter. You are here now.”
Daniel quickly switched his allegiance to Papa. “Papa, Papa.”
Edward swung the baby into his arms and laughed. “I’ve returned. Were you worried I wouldn’t?”
That was exactly what Rupert wanted. The only question was, how long would he have to wait until the right lady entered his life? He hoped it wouldn’t be past this Season.
After an early breakfast the following morning, Vivian and Silvia were handed up into Clara’s huge, opulent traveling coach. The vehicle was painted cherry red, piped in gold, with her crest on both sides of the body. Inside it had deep blue velvet seats and squabs. Extra cushions were tossed around as well. Neatly folded blankets were strapped to overhead racks, as well as a picnic basket. Silvia’s and Vivian’s trunks had been added to the baggage carriage. Gisila lay quietly in her traveling box, and Perdita lay on a cushion at Clara’s feet.
Vivian gave a prayer of thanks that she hadn’t heard from Lord Beresford again before they left. Although considering she’d given him no notice of her departure, and, against all odds, Clara had managed to shove them out the door before ten o’clock, that was scarcely surprising. He had not said anything about coming to Town, and Vivian hoped he would not. Or at least not for her. Still, the more she considered it, the greater her conviction that Silvia would make a good match for him. If he showed up in Town, Vivian would have a word with her cousin. Unlike Vivian, who had always felt like an outsider at Beresford, Silvia would be perfect. She already commanded a great deal of respect in the area.
Their first night on the trip, Vivian noticed a couple at the inn her cousin had chosen. The two were obviously in love. Although there was nothing untoward in their behavior, it was clear they could not wait to be alone. That was what she had thought she would have in her marriage. She longed for a lover’s touch, yet she’d be devastated if another man looked at her with the same revulsion her husband had. The only way such tenderness would ever come her way was if the man never saw her body. Yet how would she ever arrange such a thing?
She stifled a sigh. If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride. There would be no lover and most definitely no husband.
She would take advantage of this visit to Town. The important part was it took her away from Beresford Abbey and gave her time to find other living arrangements. Thanks to her father’s insistence on a generous settlement, she was far from destitute.
“Is something wrong, my dear?” Clara had apparently stopped talking to Silvia.
“Not at all.” Vivian smiled brightly. “I’m just so very happy to be visiting London again. My late husband”—she did like saying thelatepart—“insisted I remain on the estate to run it in his absence. As a result, I have not been there since I married.”
There was no point in mentioning that instead of allowing her to accompany him to London and actually attending the Lords as he said he did, he’d given his proxy to another peer and taken his mistress to Town. Posing as husband and wife, they had lived in Marylebone, an area catering to middling merchants. Not that Vivian had known about the deception until just before he died.
What she should do was swear off all gentlemen, forever. Other than her father, when he wasn’t out looking at dogs, and her brothers, they were not to be trusted. Maybe not even them. She could recall some rousing rows between her parents and a time when her eldest brother walked on egg shells around his wife for several weeks. Her husband hadn’t cared at all when she’d discovered his perfidy. In fact, he had been relieved he need no longer hide his behavior.
Vivian removed her gloves, folded them tidily, and placed them in her reticule. Clara was telling Silvia about the entertainments she could expect to attend during the Little Season, and Vivian listened. The plans terrified her. Surely she could find some society of ladies doing good works, or something to become involved in that could be her excuse for not attending the parties.
Two days later, they drew up in front of a large town house on Mount Street. Even though they had stopped along the way, and found their lodgings well before sunset so that Vivian and Silvia could walk, they were all tired of being cooped up in the coach.
Perdita and Gisila had formed a friendship of sorts, sometimes sleeping next to one another in the coach or in a private parlor. Each animal was still happier to remain with her own mistress than anything else.
