Vivian sat at the small table drinking her morning tea and scanning the park. She had not seen the gentleman with the blond hair in the two days since she had arrived. Of course, she hadn’t spenteverymoment watching for him. Even if she’d been inclined to haunt the balcony, Clara had kept Silvia and Vivian very busy purchasing gowns, bonnets, stockings, and other items required for a proper Season.
She did not understand why she was so intrigued by a man she’d only seen walking through the park. Although he hadn’t been merely walking. He’d been striding as if he needed to be somewhere quickly, commanding her senses in a way that had never happened to her before.
Vivian dipped the corner of her toast into the baked egg. What would she do if she saw him? Even if they were standing next to each other, she couldn’t very well introduce herself. That wouldn’t be at all the thing. There was also the possibility that he did not travel in her, or rather Cousin Clara’s, circles. Also, she was stupid even to think of a man. Vivian sighed, and glanced once more at the park.
A light patting on her skirt let her know Gisila wished to taste the egg. “Just a moment and I’ll give you some.”
“Did you say something, my lady?” her maid, Punt, called from the bedchamber.
“Nothing at all.” Vivian ate more of her meal before sharing with her cat. “Do you happen to know what is planned for today?”
“The first of your gowns has arrived.” Punt stood at the door. “The soft gray becomes you, but just the same, I’ll be glad to see you in colors again. I was told you’ll have morning visits to-morrow.”
“I remember now. We are to be introduced to some of her ladyship’s other relatives. I suppose they are also connections of mine in one way or the other.” Vivian sat up straighter and smiled. “It will be nice to meet people already well disposed toward me.” Or rather, she hoped they would be.
An hour later, she, her former companion, and her cousin were in a bright red town coach headed to Grosvenor Square. The conveyance drew to a halt in front of a large, freestanding building. Two liveried footmen jumped to attend to them. Within a few moments, they were ushered into a cozy morning room done in light yellows and greens with views to the garden beyond.
A petite lady with red-gold hair and dressed in the latest fashion glided toward them. “Aunt Clara.” The woman smiled as she held out her hands. “I’m so very happy to see you.”
“Phoebe, my dear.” Clara bussed the lady’s cheek. “Allow me to introduce you to my cousin Vivian, Countess of Beresford, who is also connected to you by marriage, and Miss Corbet, the granddaughter of a dear friend of mine. Miss Corbet is the rector’s eldest daughter. Her mother was the Duke of Granville’s youngest child. Vivian has just ended her year of mourning, and it is time she embraced life again. Vivian, Silvia, meet Phoebe, Countess of Evesham, my great-niece.”
Vivian and Silvia were embraced by the countess and shown to seats on the sofa across from where her ladyship sat with Clara. “I’m so glad to meet you. Vivian, may I call you by your first name? Since we are related, I’d like it so much more if you called me Phoebe.” Slightly stunned by the informality, Vivian could only nod. Phoebe continued, “And Miss Corbet, I know we are not related, but it would be very awkward for everyone to be referring to the other by their first names, or, heaven forfend, constantly calling each othermy lady.” Vivian had never seen a smile so bright. “May I call you Silvia?”
Silvia nodded mutely. She was probably as astonished as Vivian was.
“Well then.” Phoebe directed the tea tray that had just arrived to be set on the table between them. Once the door closed, she went on as if they’d not been interrupted. “I imagine you’ll wish to know which entertainments shall best suit you.”
Clara took a cup of tea. “I knew you’d be able to advise us.”
Once Silvia and Vivian had their tea, Phoebe passed biscuits and small iced cakes. “My cousin Serena, Viscountess Beaumont, is having her first ball to-morrow evening. I know she would love for you to attend. I’ll make sure to have cards sent to you.” Phoebe paused, as she nibbled on a ginger biscuit. “If, that is, you are ready for a ball?”
“We are indeed,” Clara replied in a bracing tone. “It is time and more for my charges to make their curtseys to Polite Society. Not that Vivian hasn’t already made hers, though it has been a while. Silvia was taking care of her widowed father, then offered to keep Vivian company during mourning. This will be her first Season.”
Silvia’s eyes had gone wide, in the fashion of a scared rabbit. She might have a case of nerves now, but she’d be fine once she settled down. Vivian’s palms grew damp. It had been a long while, and she really did not know what she was doing here, other than escaping Beresford, the place and the man. All the rushing around purchasing clothing and other items seemed rather pointless. She was not going to re-marry, and couldn’t take a lover. The image of a tall blond man passed quickly in front of her eyes. Preposterous. She didn’t even know who he was. Perhaps she could find another purpose for being in Town, such as searching for a small estate to buy. There, that was a good idea. She’d ask her cousin for a recommendation to a land agent.
“Silvia, there is no reason to be concerned. Serena did not make her come out until she was six and twenty. I can tell you are much younger than that.”
“T-twenty. Almost twenty-one.”
“You see, there is nothing for you to worry about.”
They had finished tea and Clara rose. “Phoebe, we shall see you to-morrow evening. Lady Beaumont’s ball appears to be the perfect place to acquaint my young ladies with theton.”
They bid Phoebe adieu, and as they left the room, Silvia leaned close to Vivian. “I thought that was what all the morning visits were for.”
“Be thankful it is the Little Season,” she whispered. “Otherwise you’d have to be approved by the patronesses of Almack’s for a voucher. You’ll like the ball. It sounds as if it will not be much different from the ones I held at Beresford Abbey, albeit the company will be a good deal grander.” And she would not have to act as if she enjoyed having her husband’s mistress around.
Silvia’s lips tightened. “I’ll take your word for it.” She sighed. “I truly thought I’d be like my sisters and not have to go anywhere or do anything to find a husband. Then I expected I would just remain with Papa. Ah well, there are times Fate intervenes.”
“Very true.” And not always in the way one wants it to.
Nicholas, Eighth Earl of Beresford, glanced at the gilded-cased clock on the mantel. It was eleven in the morning. Time to visit the dower house again. He’d made a muddle of his proposal. Not that he’d wanted to do it in the first place. He had also managed to anger Silvia. He hadn’t thought so before, but it might be for the best that she had not given him the time of day since he’d returned. This was something he could never explain to her. Damn Edgar for going and getting himself run over by a horse.
Nick had given Lady Beresford three days to calm down. In truth, he’d been licking his wounds getting his courage up again. His cousin had always said she had a mild disposition and was not prone to outbursts. Perhaps he, Nick, had approached her in the wrong way. He’d try once more to keep his promise to his cousin . . . and ensure that this time Silvia wasn’t around to interfere. Stubborn, out-spoken female that she was. Though at first glance, or even second glance, no one would expect her to be so difficult. Her glossy sable curls danced around a perfectly heart-shaped face. She was petite but had lush curves, and she moved so gracefully one could swear the air merely parted for her. On the other hand, she never could take advice or even a direct command. She always thought she knew what was best, stating her opinions in a forthright and almost regal manner, her dark brown eyes flashing with indignation that anyone would think she was wrong. He pinched the bridge of his nose. The problem had always been she was frequently right. And there was a time when he’d thought they would make a life together.
Well, he was not a green young’un any longer. He’d served on Wellington’s staff and had commanded a battalion of soldiers. Perhaps he’d mention the fact to her. Then again, he’d probably be better served avoiding the shrew. Unfortunately for his peace of mind, that was something he’d never been able to do. If only he knew why she was so angry with him. His uncle, the old earl, and her father said they would explain why he could not take his leave of her. She should have got over any disgruntlement she’d felt about that.
Then again, his duty now was to attempt to wed his cousin’s widow. Having Silvia gaze at him with love, as she had a few years ago, would not help either of them.
