“I don’t think I’ll be up to it.” She made her way quickly to her apartment. She could not be around all those young ladies wishing to wed.
“You look as if a nice cup of tea wouldn’t be amiss.” Punt stepped out of the dressing room with an almost spritely gait.
Vivian removed her fine-grain kid gloves. “If I have any more tea, I shall drown in it.”
“Then a sherry.”
A few moments later, she was in a comfortable chair, her feet up, with a glass of wine. “Thank you.”
“Will you be going out with her ladyship this evening?” Punt asked almost cheerfully.
Either Vivian was more exhausted than she’d thought, or there was something different about her maid. Had Punt met a man she was interested in? It seemed to be going around this Season. “No. I don’t want to try to think of an excuse to leave early.”
“Probably for the best. You’ve been racking about a lot, and you don’t want to start burning the candle at both ends, as they say.”
Definitely different than her usual staid self. “You seem happier.”
“Me?” Punt glanced back at Vivian. “I’ve finally decided that this visit to London will be good for you.”
“Indeed.” She raised her brows. “And what brought that about?”
“The fact that you haven’t fretted once over your dead husband.” Her maid went back to the dressing room.
Until today, when Miss Banks had brought up her husband, Vivian had not given him as much thought as she had at Beresford.
No matter what Vivian had to do, she would be free of him, and when she had a house of her own, no one would be able to tell her she was doing something the wrong way and countermand her orders. Anger and embarrassment surged through her at the memories, feelings she’d hidden for years behind a polite and dutiful façade.
Did she even know who she was anymore? She had been so young when she’d wed; had she ever known herself? The only times she’d ever felt as if she had any power were when she’d moved to the dower house and now, with Rupert. He was the only gentleman who had ever done as she asked.
Vivian closed her eyes, willing the memory of his caresses back. Tonight she would experience even more, if she allowed herself to do so. Yet could she?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Shortly after leaving his parents’ home, Rupert arrived at the house on Hill Street. Vivian’s maid, Miss Punt, opened the door. This time she smiled. “Good evening, my lord.”
He handed her his hat, cane, and gloves. “Good evening, Miss Punt. How is her ladyship?”
“Nervous as a cat.” She didn’t lose her grin. “You’d better work fast.”
He had already heard from his mother that Vivian planned to go on a house-buying search. Although he’d like nothing more than to let her depart and follow, it might cause a great deal of speculation. Politically and socially, Rupert had put himself in a position where he could no longer move in the shadows. “Would it be possible for us to have a slightly longer conversation in the next day or so?”
“That would be best. During the middle of the day I can come and go without anyone taking notice.”
“To-morrow afternoon, around two o’clock. We may meet at the circle at the end of the gardens, where we cannot be seen from the house.”
The maid nodded sharply. “I’ll be there.”
“Thank you.” He took the stairs two at a time. By the time he and Punt met, he’d also have the next nightgown for Vivian.
Knocking once, he opened the door. She sat in front of the fireplace, which had been lit against the night chill. The glass of wine in her hand was full, as if she had just poured it. The white of the gown almost glowed in the dim light.
“Thank you for wearing my present. Do you like it?”
Vivian turned swiftly, one hand going to her throat as droplets of wine splashed over her other hand, to the rug. “Forgive me. I didn’t hear you enter.”
“No, it is for you to forgive me.” He snoodled over to her, approaching her as he would a frightened animal. Rupert drew out his handkerchief, wiping her hand and setting the glass on a small round table next to her. “I should have knocked more loudly. Will you?”
“Of course I will.” She smiled softly. “Thank you for the use of your handkerchief. If you leave it—”
