“Here we are,” Clara said as the coach came to a halt. “I shall send a note to my modiste immediately.” She continued talking as they climbed down from the carriage and entered the house. “Silvia, I’ll show you to your chambers. We shall meet in the drawing room at six o’clock. I know you are used to country hours, and I wish to be up early and out to-morrow morning. We have a busy day ahead of us.”
Clara had always reminded Vivian of a whirling dervish. She and Silvia exchanged glances and smiled. They followed Clara up to the landing where she turned. “Silvia, you will be near me. Vivian, dear, I thought you might be more comfortable in the other wing. Ah, here you are, Mrs. Murchison.”
A woman who appeared to be in her late thirties, with a pleasant but competent expression, bobbed a curtsey. “Welcome home, my lady.”
“Thank you, I’m glad to be back. Please take my cousin to the rose room. Vivian, feel free to treat my house as your home and order things as you wish.” Clara linked arms with Silvia. “Come, my dear, I think you’ll be exceeding pleased with your apartment. I just had most of the rooms redecorated.”
Vivian followed the housekeeper down a corridor to the back of the house as the woman chattered away. “I hope you like it, my lady. As her ladyship said, the rooms have all been refurbished. You’ll have a nice view of our garden as well as Mount Street Garden. The area is a lovely place to stroll if you don’t want the crowds in Hyde Park.”
“Thank you. I’m sure I’ll adore the room as well as the view.” She glanced around at the chamber. The walls were covered in a pale pink silk, and cream-colored panels. The curtains were deeper cream, almost yellow, and embroidered with a profusion of roses. “It’s lovely.”
Mrs. Murchison indicated a door. “Right through here is your dressing room and the door on the other side is a parlor. It has views of the park as well.”
Vivian strolled into the parlor. It was well appointed with walls and curtains matching the ones in the bedroom. On one wall, long windows flanked a French window which led to a small balcony where one had the promised views of the park. A chaise rested along the inside wall, two comfortable-looking chairs stood before the fireplace, and a writing desk was situated between two windows on the other outside wall.
“I’ve got the fire going in your bedchamber,” the housekeeper said. “If you want I’ll have the one here lit as well. Your bath will be up in just a bit.”
“Thank you.” Vivian smiled. “I don’t believe I will want a fire here until later. Do you know if my maid arrived?”
“Yes, my lady. I believe she’s pressing some of your clothes, and your cat’s around here somewhere. I saw a footman bring her up. Shall I send your dresser to you?”
“Not at the moment.” Vivian glanced at the balcony, wanting to get a better look at it. “I will not require her until my bath is ready. Could you please bring me some tea? I find I’m quite parched.”
“As you wish, my lady.” Mrs. Murchison bobbed a curtsey, then left the room.
Vivian opened the windows, stepping out onto the balcony. A small table and two chairs were situated off to the side. Gisila paced up to her and chirped. Vivian scratched the cat’s head, then placed her hands on the wrought iron rail and stretched, sniffing the air.
“What do you think, Gisila? It is not as clean as in the country but not as bad as the other parts of London we passed through.”
Gisila sat and stared up at Vivian with large yellow eyes.
“I’m sure Hal will have found a place for your toilet.” She sniffed. Actually what she smelled was roses. Sweet with spicy facets. Looking down, she spied a trellis of pink roses. If nothing else, she would enjoy these rooms.
Glancing over at the Mount Street Gardens, a tall man striding as if he would be late captured her attention. He stopped and removed his hat for a moment, giving her a glimpse of his curly, pale blond hair. Even at this distance, something about him was compelling. His dark jacket appeared molded to his torso, and a well-made torso it was. Tight pantaloons encased his muscular legs. She couldn’t drag her eyes away from him.
Then he looked up, almost right at her. Oh Lord, she’d been caught! Vivian ducked back into the parlor, hiding behind the curtains. Had he seen her? Inching forward, she peered out again, but he was gone.
Vivian gave herself a shake.Now you’re being silly. You’ll probably never know who he is.
Besides, you need to remember what you went through with a man before. Only fools allow themselves to be used twice.
CHAPTER THREE
The side of Rupert’s neck prickled as if someone was staring at him. He glanced up but could see no one. Unsurprising at this time of day, when the outside was much brighter than the insides of the houses. Still, he’d grown used to trusting his senses. It had been a useful trait over the years, particularly when he’d been on his Grand Tour.
He searched the houses on Mount Street. A door to one of the balconies closed. It was probably nothing. Merely someone gazing at the park. He rubbed his neck and continued on in the direction of South Audley Street, where his parents lived during the Season. A few paces later, something made him glance at the houses again. That was when he saw it. Light blue skirts hovering just inside one of the French windows. A woman. Not that it mattered. He couldn’t possibly know who she was. Rupert shrugged, attempting to rid himself of the feeling of being watched. For once, he’d let Fate take over rather than attempting to control every aspect of his life. Still . . .
Not many minutes later, he rapped on the door of Malfrey House, the door opened, and Whitsun, the Malfrey butler, bowed.
Rupert handed the servant his hat, gloves, and cane. “I hope I’m not late.”
“No, my lord. Her ladyship has not come down yet.”
“No need to announce me,” he said as he strolled into the hall, continuing on to the drawing room. His father smiled as he entered the room. Closing the door firmly behind him, he turned. “Papa, I have some questions to ask you.”
“Very well,” he replied, raising a brow. “Will this call for brandy?”
“Probably not, but I would like a glass.” A few moments later they were seated in front of one of two fireplaces. Rupert stared into the flames as he enjoyed the burn of the fine French cognac. “You and Mama were very young when you first met.”
