Lady Beresford’s Lover

Book 7: Marriage Game

by Ella Quinn

Genres: Historical Fiction; Regency Romance

Synopsis

Ella Quinn’s bachelors are quite sure of what they want in life—and love—until the right woman opens their eyes… After a painful heartbreak, Rupert, the handsome young Earl of Stanstead, has decided that when it comes to love, avoidance is best. Until he meets a woman who makes him forget his plan—and remember his longing for a wife and family. Yet he senses that she too has been hurt, though she attempts to hide her feelings—and more—in the most baffling and alluring way. Intrigued, Rupert is willing to play along, if winning her is the prize… Crushed by her late husband’s scorn, Vivian, Countess of Beresford, believes she is monstrously undesirable. Sadly childless, she has moved to London resigned to a solitary life. Still, when she encounters Rupert at a masquerade ball, her disguise as Cleopatra emboldens her. Convinced he doesn’t recognize her, she begins an after-hours affair with him, always in costume—while allowing him to innocently court the real her by day. But when Rupert makes a shocking choice, will Vivian be able to handle the truth?...

Release date: July 21, 2015

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 268

Sample

End of August 1817, Beresford Abbey, England

Vivian, the widowed Countess of Beresford, sat at her desk in the morning room of the dower house in which she’d been living for the past year, plotting her escape. A beam of bright afternoon sunshine shot along the gold and blue Turkey carpet, interrupted only by the supine form of her gray cat, Gisila.

In truth, plotting was probably too strong a word, though Vivian liked how it sounded. And she did feel as if she was escaping not only the dower house but Beresford Abbey itself. In a few short days her period of mourning would end.

Her hand clenched as if she could strike her dead husband and everyone else in this hellish place. Once gone, she vowed never to return to this estate and the market town where everyone had known of her late husband’s deceit and had pitied her, but had said nothing. Not that Vivian had ever been given the opportunity to be a real wife. Soon after her marriage, Edgar, who at the time was still the heir, couldn’t stand the sight of her, in or out of the bedchamber. Mrs. Raeford had that honor, if it could be called such, absent the ring and title, of course.

Vivian should not have had such great expectations of her marriage, but while their fathers arranged the union, Edgar had been attentive and charming. Father had assured her this was a good match and a dutiful daughter would trust her papa, like the good puss she was. After all, he had said in a kind tone, Vivian was no great beauty, too blond when the fashion was for dark hair, slender to the point of skinny when men preferred voluptuous ladies, and too bookish.

Although, if someone, anyone, would have told her about her future husband’s lover, Vivian was sure she could have brought herself to refuse the match, for among her many failures was too much pride.

She waited for the familiar rage to rise, but after a year of waiting to be released from her duty to her husband, there were no more tears, and the pains in her stomach had finally ceased.

She would never again allow herself to be so naïve, or so trusting.

Giving herself a shake, she opened the weekly letter from her mother.

Poor Mama. Did reasonable men even exist?

“My lady—” Hal, who’d been her personal footman since her come out, hovered in the open door. “The new Lord Beresford asks if you’ll receive him.”

What could he possibly want? Since the reading of the will, Vivian hadn’t had much to do with her husband’s cousin and best friend who’d come into the title.

Well, whatever it was, she would not allow it to stop her from leaving.

“I’ll see him. Please bring tea and ask Miss Corbet to join me.” Silvia Corbet, the vicar’s eldest daughter, had been Vivian’s companion for the past year, and during that time Vivian had come to love Silvia like a sister.

“Yes, my lady. I’ll get her first.”

“Thank you. That would be best.”

Vivian was not completely conversant concerning the rules of being a widow, but she could not think they would allow her to be in the same room with a gentleman who was not a close relation. Or perhaps that was incorrect. She had heard that some widows took lovers. Still, she did not want to be alone with the man. In any event, he could have nothing to say that would interest her.

A few moments later, Silvia entered the room. “Hal said we have a visitor.”

“Indeed, the new Lord Beresford.” Vivian moved to the sofa. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“I was on my way to you in any event.” Silvia’s demeanor had changed from her normal friendliness to barely suppressed anger upon hearing his lordship had come. She chose a chair in the corner of the room near one of the windows, took out her embroidery, and gave a short nod.

As soon as Vivian’s companion had settled, his lordship was announced. At the same time, Hal brought in the tea tray, setting it in front of her and obviating the need for her to stand and greet the man. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

Lord Beresford glanced at her, bowed, and smiled, apparently not even noticing that Silvia was in the corner. “Good day. I hope I find you well.”

“Yes, thank you, quite well.” And she’d be even better when she left this place. What she did not understand was how the man could fail to notice Silvia; however, he hadn’t glanced her way. What could he want that had him so focused on Vivian? “Would you like some tea?”

“Please. Two sugars and milk, if you would.”

The Queen Anne sofa opposite her groaned as he lowered his large, muscular frame onto the delicate piece. Vivian winced, expecting it to splinter at any moment. Nothing in this parlor was made for persons of his size and weight. Finally satisfied the sofa would not break, Vivian handed him the cup.

He took a sip, focusing his solemn brown gaze on her. “Have you made plans for what you will do after your year of mourning is over?”

Vivian glanced up, then lowered her eyes. By any standards, he was a handsome man with thick sable hair, a straight nose, and well above medium height. However, his resemblance to her late husband was too strong for her to be comfortable in his presence, and she had no intention of telling him of her cousin Clara’s invitation. “Have you need of the dower house?”

“Of course not,” he assured Vivian hastily. “You are naturally welcome to remain as long as you wish.” He set his cup down, clearing his throat. “There is, however, a proposition I’d like to place before you, if I may?”

He probably wanted her to act as his hostess until he married. She would tell him she was not interested. Vivian wanted no more dealings with anyone by the name of Beresford. Unfortunately, curiosity had always been another one of her faults. She raised her brows and returned his gaze, praying she presented the image of a calm, composed widow, when in fact her stomach churned as it had when facing her husband. “Go on.”

“I’d like to propose a marriage between us.”

Marriage!

In the year Lord Beresford had been at the abbey, he hadn’t once sought her out, and now he proposed marriage? Did he think she was simply to be a piece of property to be traded at will? Fury pierced her like lightning during a summer storm. After what his cousin had put her through, he must be mad. It was all she could do to maintain her countenance. How could he think she would exchange one Lord Beresford for a newer version? She would never even consider such a suggestion. And if she did, she’d be made a laughingstock among the servants and the villagers. If his expression weren’t so serious, she would have thought he was playing a sick joke.

When she didn’t respond, he continued. “You are, after all, familiar with the abbey and the area. It would not be a love match, but neither was your union with my cousin. I believe I can promise I will never embarrass you or cause you any distress.”

As her husband had done when she’d discovered his long-standing affair with a local farmer’s wife. She took a few shallow breaths, attempting to gather her wits and find a way to end this conversation civilly. “We barely know one another.”

For some reason, that seemed to hearten Lord Beresford. “A state which may be easily remedied. The fact remains that I am in need of a wife, and you fit the bill. I can give you children.”

Vivian’s cup rattled. She was that close to throwing cup, saucer, and pot at him all at once. The next thing she knew, the delicate china was taken from her hands. Silvia put her arm around Vivian’s shoulders and sat next to her.

Beresford jumped to his feet as if a bee had stung him. “What are you doing here?”

“Why am I not surprised?” Silvia replied in a voice of icy disdain. “Apparently you have forgot I am Lady Beresford’s companion. Now, my lord”—her tone took on the manner of a queen—“I believe you’ve said quite enough, and it is time to take your leave.”

He flushed as he stood, strode to the door, opened it, and fixed his fierce look on Silvia. “You may leave. I wish to speak with her ladyship alone.”

“Over my dead body,” Silvia mumbled just loudly enough for him to hear.

He opened his mouth, and Vivian decided to step in before all-out war could ensue. She knew nothing about his lordship’s manner, but, as much as she appreciated her companion’s championship, she’d never seen Silvia so exercised or rude.

In a calm but unapologetic tone, Vivian said, “I asked Miss Corbet to remain with me.”

He glared at Silvia as if he’d argue.

“However,” Vivian continued firmly, “I do not believe I need to hear any more of your proposition, my lord. My answer is no. I have no desire to wed you. In fact, I have no desire to marry anyone ever again. Once was quite enough, thank you.”

As he stalked out of the parlor, he glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll speak to you again when you are in a better frame of mind, my lady.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Silvia hurled at his retreating form.

His shoulders hunched, then the door snapped shut behind him.

“What gall!” Vivian picked up her tea-cup and took a sip of the now tepid liquid. “That was as unexpected as it was unwanted.”

“He’s an impossible, arrogant man.” Silvia fumed. “And always has been. He hasn’t changed at all. Having inherited the earldom has probably made him worse.”

“I’d forgot you and he were acquainted.”

“Unfortunately.” She scowled at the door. “He spent much of his childhood at the abbey, and was always trying to tell my sisters and me what to do. How dare he stroll in here and think he could make a proposal like that!”

Vivian’s lips twitched. Suddenly the whole preposterous situation was humorous. After all, he couldn’t make her marry him. “I do recall that he did not call it a proposal, but a proposition.”

“Who made whom a proposal?”

Standing just inside the room was a tall woman past middle age, with bright red curls, dressed in a gown the same color as her hair. Her large bonnet appeared to hold a nest of birds. Although her clothing was in the latest fashion, the hat, although new, was clearly from the style of the previous century.

“Cousin Clara!” Vivian jumped up and rushed to hug her relative, almost tripping over the Italian greyhound hovering next to her cousin’s skirts. “I didn’t expect to see you until next week. We didn’t even hear you arrive.”

“It’s all right, Perdita.” Clara picked up the dog and soothed it, petting and cuddling it. “I told your footman not to announce me.” Setting Perdita down, Clara returned Vivian’s hug. “I assume this has something to do with the young man I saw stalking out of the house in a rage.”

“The new Lord Beresford apparently thought I’d make a good wife for him as I’m used to being Lady Beresford. Silvia sent him away with a flea in his ear. Oh, pray forgive my manners.” Not that Vivian had had much of a chance to use them in the past six years. “Cousin Clara, this is Miss Corbet, who has been acting as my companion. Silvia, my cousin, the Dowager Marchioness of Telford.”

Silvia curtseyed. “I’m so glad to have finally met you. Vivian tells me you have great plans for her for the Little Season.”

“And for you as well.” Lines fanned out from Clara’s eyes as she smiled. “I understand that without your company, this past year would have been unbearable for Vivian.”

“I don’t know about that.” Silvia glanced at Vivian. “We’ve always got along well, and I was happy to help her. Since my father’s remarriage, he was pleased I was out of the house.” Silvia’s fine dark brown brows furrowed. “Yet, I cannot accompany you to Town.”

Clara’s eyes opened wide. “Why ever not? I sincerely hope it is not because of your father. I already have his permission, and now that Vivian’s year of mourning is completed, you are no longer acting as a companion. Therefore there is no reason you should not have a come out.” She waited a moment for the news to sink in. “Besides which, I’ve made all the arrangements. We shall have such fun. I’ve never had the opportunity to bring a young lady out. Sons are not at all the same.” She removed her bonnet and sat down on the same sofa recently vacated by Lord Beresford. “I wish to leave in two days’ time.”

“That soon?” Silvia gasped. “I don’t even know what to bring with me. I’ll require new gowns—”

“There is nothing to worry about.” Clara picked up her dog, placing the small animal on her lap only for the dog to jump down and duck under her skirts. “From what I see, both you and Vivian need new wardrobes. In fact, I think we shall leave in the morning. There is no need to waste time. Besides, Perdita is ready to be home. All this traveling has upset her nerves.”

Or, Vivian thought ruefully, no need to give her former companion time to find an excuse not to go. She, on the other hand, was more than happy to quit Beresford as soon as possible.

Vivian didn’t know how her cousin had arranged everything or why, but she was happy Silvia would finally have the Season she’d never had. Her younger sisters were already married. One to a wealthy young man of good lineage and the other to his friend, the heir of a viscount. Although Silvia’s sisters had offered to sponsor her for a Season, she had declined, stating that someone must remain with Papa and take care of him. An excuse she no longer had.

More tea arrived, and she busied herself fixing a cup for Clara. Vivian’s thoughts turned to Lord Beresford’s reaction to her companion and Silvia’s behavior in response. Sparks had definitely flown, and he had seemed not only angry but embarrassed that she was present. Was there something between them other than childhood animosity? If so, why had he proposed to Vivian?

Perdita remained close to Clara, peeking out every once in a while from under her skirts. “Cousin Clara, when did you get a dog? I’ve never known you to have one before.”

Clara stroked the small animal. “We always had hunting dogs, but one of my nephews brought her back from the Peninsula and asked me if I wouldn’t mind keeping her until he found a new owner. They stayed with me for a few weeks while he sorted out his business. She and I just took to each other. I don’t know why I never had a house dog before. She’s an excellent companion.”

“I hope she likes cats. You know I’ve had my Gisila for years and cannot go anywhere without her.” Speaking of her cat, Vivian glanced around and found Gisila under the desk.

“I’m sure they’ll be fine. Perdita normally remains under my skirts. It’s amazing I don’t trip over her.” She turned her attention to Silvia. “Miss Corbet, as you will be residing with me, I believe I would prefer to address you as Silvia, and you may call me Cousin Clara.”

Silvia appeared slightly startled, not a state that happened often or easily. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You may think this is a strange start on my part.” Clara smiled gently. “But I knew your mother when she was a child and your grandmother was a close friend of mine.”

“I had no idea there was even that much of a connection.”

“There is no reason you would have known. Your grandmother died many years ago.”

While her cousin and Silvia chatted, Vivian strolled to the window seat. For the past few months, just the idea of going to Town again had occupied her mind. She had not attended a Season since her first one, and was both excited and frightened. It had been much too long since she’d been around the haut ton. At first, she thought merely to attend the smaller entertainments and the theater; now, with Silvia coming out, Clara would insist on their being present at the large balls. Perhaps Vivian would be better served by remaining with the chaperones and older matrons. That would be easier and less fearsome than worrying about dance partners.

The other business she must be about was finding a small estate. Her mother had offered to bring Vivian home after her husband died, but she’d had a feeling then that she could not go back to her parents, and nothing had occurred to change her mind. It was time to strike out on her own.

To have a home where what she said was the law, and the sooner the better. After all, that was the most she could expect from her life.

Departing on the morrow was easily done and for the best. She stepped into the corridor and found one of the maids. “Please tell my maid and Miss Corbet’s maid that we shall require our trunks packed immediately. Also, have Lady Telford’s bags placed in the green room, and inform Cook we’ll have a guest at dinner.”

The maid bobbed a curtsey and hurried off.

Vivian slipped back into the morning room.

If only she was the type of widow who could take a lover, but what sane man would want a lady with a deformed body? Her husband’s cousin could not possibly know about her problem; otherwise he would never have suggested marriage. She supposed she should be glad Edgar had not discussed it. Thankfully, her clothing covered the worst defect. No, other than as dancing partners, gentlemen had no place in her life; or, rather, they would not want her in theirs.

September 1817, Palace of Westminster, London

“Rupert.”

Rupert, Earl of Stanstead, turned as his cousin Robert, Viscount Beaumont, caught up with him. “I thought you were coming home with me. Elizabeth has been asking for you.”

“Elizabeth is only six months old,” Rupert pointed out. “She is much too young to ask for anyone.”

“Nonsense, she’s extremely advanced for her age.” Robert’s whole demeanor changed when he talked about his family. It was as if he had entered a land where nothing could make him sad or angry.

“Sorry. I was waylaid by Lord Banks.” Rupert ran his palm down his face. “I’ll go with you now.” Before Robert had met his wife, Serena, he’d been the worst rake in England. Now his world revolved around his wife and baby daughter. Rupert had never before seen such a sudden and permanent transformation.

His cousin’s gaze sharpened. “What did Banks say to you to put you in such a foul mood?”

“He warned me away from his daughter.” Not that Rupert had any clear idea who the girl was, but apparently she’d been part of a bevy of young ladies walking in the Park yesterday. “I am too young to have serious intentions, and he’d thank me not to raise her hopes. He has five other daughters and needs to marry this one off as soon as may be.” Robert’s lips tightened, and Rupert went on. “He did say that the girl he has coming out in about six years might do. By then, I’d be of sufficient age and maturity.”

“Damn,” Robert swore softly.

“My thoughts precisely, even if I can’t remember her. I expect to hear similar warnings from other fathers. He suggested I find a mistress.”

“You have one already.” Robert linked his arm with Rupert’s as they strolled down the street toward St. James’s Park.

“I had one.” Rupert paused, selecting his words. “It is not what I want. After seeing the arrangements my mother and father and you and Serena have, as well as our other friends, I desire nothing more than a wife.”

His cousin was quiet for a few moments as they strode through Green Park. “I don’t wish to dissuade you. Quite frankly, I don’t think I could. You suffer what I now call ‘the Beaumont syndrome.’ ”

“I beg your pardon?” Rupert wasn’t sure if it was an insult or not. “What do you mean by that?”

“Don’t get on your high horse. It means when we want something we go after it and damn all else to hell. I did it with Serena. Even your mother did it with your father when she was young.”

Robert had compromised Serena. If it had not been for their grandmother and Serena’s family whisking her off to France, he might never have admitted he loved her. Rupert could hardly blame only his mother for engaging in relations with his father when they were young. There had been no way for them to know the part her father would play.

“You found partners.” Rupert shrugged, not understanding what his cousin was saying. “Someone with whom you could have an affaire de cœur. Which is what I desire above all else.”

“You must look at how we went about pursuing our loves.” Robert’s brows drew together. “I almost lost Serena, and your mother did lose Edward for years.” He paused again. “Ever since my wedding, you’ve been intent on marriage. What I think you should consider is whether or not you are giving yourself the time to find the right lady. For the better part of a year you pursued Miss Manning, even after she’d made it clear that she wanted a different sort of life from what you offered. One cannot have a successful marriage when one’s goals are not the same.”

“I hadn’t thought of it in quite that way.” Rupert had to give the devil his due. He had been so focused on gaining Miss Manning’s hand in marriage, he’d failed to even notice her interest in Lord Peter and that gentleman’s interest in her. They both wanted nothing more than the life of a diplomat. She would have been miserable living in England all the time.

As for being too young, Rupert felt much older than his years. He had come into his title at an early age, and even when he’d been on his Grand Tour he had missed his estate and his seat in the Lords. Now that he had returned, and despite his age, he was becoming influential in political circles. “What do you suggest?”

“Stand back a bit.” They had been strolling in the general direction of Berkeley Square when Robert stopped walking and faced Rupert. “At some point, there will be a lady whom you cannot ignore. She will dominate every waking thought and haunt your dreams. You’ll want to fight every man who asks her to dance or accompanies her during the Grand Strut.”

“You make it sound like an obsession.” Rupert had used a light tone, trying to lessen his cousin’s seriousness.

“In a way, it is.” Robert nodded slowly, and glanced away. “Yet it’s vastly more confounding. When you meet the lady you truly love, you would gladly lay down your life for her.”

“Is that what you felt for Serena?”

His cousin gave a harsh laugh. “All that and more. Nothing could compare. Later, after I’d almost lost her, I realized that what I’d thought was love, before her, was a weak imitation.” He glanced over at Rupert. “Did you feel that way about Miss Manning?”

He shook his head. “No.” After what his cousin had just said, it was clear he had never experienced that type of strong emotion. “She was beautiful, and I thought I was in love, but when she told me she had formed an attachment to Lord Peter, I felt nothing but sadness that it hadn’t worked out.”

They turned off Piccadilly onto Berkeley Street, which would lead them to Robert’s residence in Berkeley Square.

“Then I’d say you have not yet met the woman you were meant to be with.”

“How did you know Serena was the right one?”

“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. . .