“Cressida, keep your voice down,” a hushed but equally young voice answered. “I’m sure you will see him soon.”
Apparently unable or unwilling to lower her voice, Cressida continued, “I can’t marry him if I cannot get him alone.”
Nick raised a brow, tilting his head toward the plant. Silvia did the same. She’d had no trouble recognizing Miss Banks’s voice and, despite teachings to the contrary, Silvia did not feel the tiniest bit guilty for eavesdropping.
“Maybe he’s decided not to look for a wife this year after all.” The speaker must be Miss Woolerton. The two were almost inseparable.
“Nooo! I want to be his wife. Next Season might be too late.”
Silvia motioned to Nick for them to leave. As they passed by the table, the two young ladies were still in close conversation. “We must find a way to warn Lord Stanstead.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Nick said in a grim tone. “First one, now another.”
She didn’t understand him. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” he grumbled, “that I am going to be your shadow until you have signed the register making you my wife.”
A lovely shiver danced through her. “I cannot think of anything I’d like more.”
Finally, she had Nick’s complete attention when she wanted it, and they were going to be married. Her thoughts turned to Beresford and the abbey. “Nick?”
“Yes, my love.” He tugged her a bit closer.
“As you know, I am not an extravagant person.”
“Silvia.” He sighed. “Just tell me.”
“The abbey must be entirely refurbished.”
“What the dev . . . deuce made you think of that now?”
A slow heat rose up her neck. “Mrs. Raeford has horrible taste.”
“Ah.” He was silent for a few moments as they climbed the stairs back to the ballroom. “We shall make a brief visit, whereupon you may make notes, and give instructions for the changes to be accomplished on our honeymoon.”
Leave someone else to supervise the work? Was he mad? “But Nick—”
“No, wewillhave a wedding trip, and if the changes are not to your liking when we return, you’ll have to do it all over again.”
“Oh, I suppose that will work.”
He gave her a wicked grin. How her life had turned out so well, Silvia did not know. She supposed much of it was due to Nick, who had refused to give up on her. Unlike her father, with whom she would have a discussion when she returned home.
The following morning, Vivian stared down at the letter on the tray. It lay beside the stack of invitations, isolated and most definitely unwelcome. The writing was neat, almost feminine, and it belonged to her father’s secretary. She was half tempted to consign the missive, unread, to the fire. Father never wrote her about anything pleasant, at least not pleasant for her. Normally she received at least one piece of correspondence a week from her mother, but, now that she thought of it, she’d not received anything since being in Town. What could have prevented her mother from writing?
Praying Mama wasn’t ill or worse, Vivian tore open the note. Her eyes narrowed as she read down the sheet.“Damn him to hell!”
“My lady, what on earth?” Punt rushed into the room. “In all the years I’ve served you, I’ve never heard you swear before.”
Vivian crumpled the letter, pitching it into the fire. Her hands clenched as the wadded ball blackened and shriveled. “I should have known he couldn’t let well enough alone.”
“Maybe I should ring for her ladyship?” Her maid tugged the bell-pull.
A chirruping sound caused her to glance down. Gisila stared up with unblinking yellow eyes. Vivian swept the cat into her arms. “Give me a moment to compose myself, and I’ll go to her.”
Punt nodded and left the room. Vivian sank onto a large French chair next to the fireplace, stroking the large furry beast as she forced her thoughts to focus on the problem at hand. With all her other troubles, she did not need to deal with her father’s interference in her life as well. Unfortunately, his meddling in her affairs was not unexpected. Although she had fooled herself into believing that since so much time had passed, he would leave her alone. Perhaps it was her fault Papa thought he could simply take it upon himself to arrange another match for her. Unlike Silvia, Vivian had never asserted herself with her father.
Nevertheless, legally, he could not force her to re-marry. Even if she hadn’t been of age, as a widow she was considered to have attained her majority. Yet while there was no legal force Papa could bring to bear, familial pressure was another matter. He might also be able to ruin her. If he and the other gentleman decided to tell their cronies or, heaven forbid, send a notice to the newssheet, she would, at the very least, appear ungrateful. At worst she would be labeled a jilt, and that would cause a scandal. The only positive aspect of this whole quandary was that she had full possession of her property. Thank God she had not yielded to her mother’s offer to go home.
