To Love a Lord Page 7

  Chapter Nine

  When all the guests had gathered in Lady Blakemore’s drawing room on the second evening of the house party, Patience was disappointed that music would not be a part of the evening’s entertainment. Instead, several card tables had been set up around the room.

  Patience was an excellent musician and an accomplished rider, but she could never work up any enthusiasm over card games. This led to her being an indifferent player. Since she never had any money to wager, she usually just made her excuses. Perhaps she and Harriet could sit together somewhere and talk over the events of the night before.

  Not that she would confess that she had been the one to drop the love note, in case Harriet slipped and revealed her secret. As a girl with no parents and no fortune, being linked in such a way to a rake like Aston would be ruinous for her. Not that Aston meant anything improper in the note she was sure, but she also knew how others might interpret it.

  Looking about for Harriet, she was surprised to her aunt addressing Lord Stanton.

  “My lord,” she said after catching his attention, “I’m sure you would find that my Amelia is a delightful partner in any game of chance.”

  “I’m certain I would, if I should ever be so fortunate.” he said, in a brilliant feint that won Patience’s respect. “However, Lady Du’Breven has already requested that I partner with her.”

  Patience, looking quickly in surprise to the elderly lady, caught a flash of unholy amusement in her expression before the Countess said, “I have indeed. I never chance being partnered with someone who would not appeal to me.”

  Lord Stanton did not betray by so much as a twitch that he found the Countess’s comment amusing, but Patience thought she could detect it in the depths of his eyes. It was all she could do to repress a chuckle of her own.

  “Very well, perhaps Mr. Stanley can partner with Amelia and join you for a game of whist.”

  “We play picquet,” the Countess said, her tone such that no one would dare argue with.

  There was a stunning silence for a moment, since picquet was a two-person game. Lady Blakemore, however, did her best as hostess to smooth out the awkwardness. “Well, I’m happy you will be so entertained, Lady Du’Breven. Miss Wendover, er, Amelia, you may join my game and partner Mr. Viceroy.”

  To Patience’s surprise, Amelia looked quite cheerful at this invitation and moved across the room to sit at Lady Blakemore’s table. While the other guests sorted themselves out, Patience looked about for Harriet.

  “Where do you think you’re going, my dear?” asked Aunt Wendover in a silky voice, stopping her by moving her walking stick in front of her feet.

  Patience turned. “Do you need me, aunt?”

  “Why yes, dear. Sir George lacks a partner.”

  Patience leaned toward her and murmured, “But you know I have no pin money for wagers.”

  “Nonsense. I shall cover you, of course.”

  With a sinking heart, Patience realized there was nothing she could do but acquiesce. As she seated herself across from Sir George, an elderly crony of Lord Blakemore’s, she glanced around the room—anything rather than meet that gentleman’s eager gaze.

  Harriet was playing silver loo, perfectly happy with her intended helping her choose her cards. Lord Aston never looked up from his game of whist with Lord Blakemore, Lord Anthony, and Mr. Stanley. Certainly, he did not concern himself with anything but his cards. She was beginning to think his avoidance of her was a bit too pronounced to be merely a cover.

  But when she looked to the last table in the room, she found Lord Stanton’s eyes fixed firmly on their table. Not on her, but on Sir George. There was a firm set to his jaw that made her feel even more in charity with him. Then Aunt Wendover called her attention to the fact that the cards had been dealt and it was time to play.

  She and Sir George lost the first rubber, but he did not seem to mind. He continued to smile jovially upon her.

  As Lord Wyndham, who was her aunt’s partner, shuffled the cards, Patience wanted to scream. Another rubber of whist would mean three more hands had to be played, with thirteen tricks to be won or lost in each. She truly did not know how she could bear this torment much longer. Certainly not with Sir George staring at her throughout as if she were a work of art displayed for his personal enjoyment.

  “I have been wondering, my girl,” he said, “If that is not your note sitting up on the mantle.”

  Patience had been carefully avoiding even a glance at it all evening, but now her eyes were drawn toward it as if compelled. Calling on her hard-won self-mastery, she did not blush or blink or flinch. “We have all of us been wondering whose it is, but I assure you, it is not mine.”

  “Of course not,” her aunt said. “My niece’s respectability is unquestioned. She knows very well that an untarnished reputation is her greatest asset. Excepting, of course, her considerable beauty.”

  “Well, now,” Sir George said, “At my age, I dare say I would be forgiving of a young girl’s first romance.”

  With each inference passed between her aunt and Sir George, a cold, terrible understanding swept over her. Shocked to her core, Patience could only stare at her aunt. Surely, she was not intending for her consider Sir George as a potential husband. He was corpulent, older than herself by more decades than was decent, and reeked of spirits and unwashed linen.

  But of course! Why wouldn’t she? Her only aim was to be rid of Patience, not ensure her happiness—or even her comfort. And really, with her prospects, Aunt Wendover surely had few options.

  “Shall we, perhaps, focus on our game again?” Lord Wyndham said, displeased with the distraction.

  “Yes, please,” Patience said, relieved for an end to the conversation, even if it was to play cards.

  But in her bed later that night, she found herself wide awake, tormented by the silken trap closing all too surely around her.

  Chapter Ten

  “Miss. Miss, wake up.”

  Patience cracked one eye open and saw Dora hovering at eye-level. The room was still dim, as if the sun was just coming up, but there was enough light to see the excited smile on her maid’s face. “Dora?”

  “Miss, Lord Stanton’s sent his man over to ask if you wanted to go riding.”

  “Riding?” Patience tried to sift through the fog in her brain.

  “Yes, riding, miss. Right now. Said he thought you’d like a good gallop before the rest woke up.”

  Sitting straight up, Patience looked at the maid with wide eyes. “Fetch my habit, Dora.”

  Dora grinned. “I have it ready, miss.”

  Soon, Patience was following Dora down a hallway and a back staircase to a door that opened into the courtyard behind the house. Across the way were the stables. The faint glow of sunlight on the horizon did nothing to dispel the shadows, but lantern light shone from the stable doors. Inside, Patience found Lord Stanton watching over the grooms as they rushed about readying horses.

  Lord Stanton looked at Patience and smiled. “Good morning, Miss Wendover.”

  Patience stepped up to Stanton’s imposing stallion and held up her hand for him to sniff. After a few puffs from his large nostrils, she reached up and stroked his long, aristocratic nose. “What a handsome fellow you are,” she crooned.

  Lord Stanton smiled. “My dear Miss Wendover, cannot you see he is arrogant enough without you going into raptures over him?”

  But Patience heard the pleased note in his voice and only laughed.

  Just then a groom came forward, leading an elegant grey gelding out into the stable yard, already fitted with a lady’s sidesaddle.

  Lord Aston led her over to him. “Miss Wendover, let me introduce you to Tempest. Do not be alarmed by his name. It comes from his coloring, not his temperament, I assure you. Hermes can be a bit…impudent…but Tempest is a perfect gentleman. He was trained to the sidesaddle and my groom swears he has the smoothest gait imaginable.”

  Patience ran her eyes over Tempest. “What a beautifu
l creature. Is he yours?”

  Lord Stanton turned slightly to direct the grooms to lead the horses out into the yard. “Yes. My groom arrived with him yesterday evening, alas too late for the riding party yesterday morning.” He held out his arm to her. “Now, no more questions. Let’s ride out and meet the day, shall we?”

  Though her brows were still slightly pinched in confusion, Patience nodded and took his arm. He led her over to Tempest, where he put his hands together to toss her up into her saddle. As she got settled, Lord Stanton received her riding crop from Dora and handed it up to her. “Are you well-situated?”

  “Perfectly,” she assured him.

  Lord Stanton mounted, and after Hermes pranced about a bit, he took control and nodded to her. As they rode out of the yard into the dim morning, Patience glanced behind to see a groom following behind. She might have been daring to agree to this, but trust Lord Stanton to attend to the proprieties.

  The horses left a green trail in the silver dew, and a delicate breeze wafted the sweet, young air of morning across her face. Once through the stand of trees that bordered the lawn, the large, open park of the mansion spread before them, flat and open. Best of all, the only eyes to see them were those of a few deer grazing in the quiet dawn.

  Keeping his horse close to hers, Lord Stanton seemed to keep a careful eye on her for some time but then turned to her and said, “You may give him his head, if you wish, Miss Wendover.”

  “I do,” she answered back.

  Soon, she and Tempest were flying, his hooves thundering beneath them, but his body as steady as an arrow streaking through the sky. Her slightest direction brought an immediate response from the obedient horse, and even though she could feel his willingness to run forever, he immediately slowed to a trot when she pulled up on the reins. She wheeled him around, and bent forward to pat his neck appreciatively as Lord Stanton cantered toward them.

  “You do not gallop yourself, Lord Stanton?”

  Smiling, he shook his head. “Not today. I wouldn’t have missed that sight for anything. Did your father teach you to ride like that?”

  “Of course. My father was mad after horses. In the end, they were his downfall.”

  “An accident?”

  “No, races—though the doctors said it was a coronary that took him from us. And his debts have left Mother and I most uncomfortably situated.” Then, bending forward, she patted Tempest, almost caressingly. “If only humans were as steady as horses.”

  “You may find that some of us are.”

  Patience studied his expression, thinking that he certainly looked steady, as if the storms of life would be nothing for him to weather. And certainly, he had proven trustworthy with her secrets.

  Unsure how to respond, she set Tempest moving forward again. “I have missed this. How funny it was that you saw me that morning in Hyde Park. I assure you, it was the only time I dared borrow Amelia’s horse.”

  “It is criminal that such a splendid horsewoman as you should not be able to ride. Please, feel free to ride Tempest whenever you wish.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that. Though I can’t imagine why you brought a lady’s horse.”

  Lord Stanton met her eyes, his own unwavering. “When I saw him at Tattersalls, I wanted nothing more than to see you ride him.”

  Surely he could not mean that the way it sounded. That would be shocking for any man, but for Stanton it was utterly unbelievable. Puzzling this out, Patience tilted her head to the side, her brows drawing together. “But…”

  “Time is getting away from us. If you wish to return before curious eyes are awake to see us, we’d best turn back.”

  Patience nodded, content to leave a topic that unsettled her. Stanton soon urged Hermes into a gallop, and taking up the challenge, she spurred Tempest on to catch up to him.

  In the stable yard, Lord Stanton dismounted and came forward to catch her as she slid out of the saddle. He steadied her with his hands on either side of her waist, and she looked up at him with flushed cheeks and questioning eyes. His scent and warmth surrounded her, and his broad shoulders blocked out the now dazzling light spilling in from the east.

  “Will you ride with me tomorrow?” he asked, his soft voice gently breaking the pulsing silence between them.

  She nodded and slipped away. Her heart raced as she wondered at the whirlwind of emotions that raced through her––at the growing certainty that Lord Stanton felt something for her. Why else had he brought Tempest for her? Her heart pounded as she climbed the back stairs and all but ran to her room.

  Closing the door behind her as if she might shut out her unexpected and confusing reactions to the man, she looked up to see Dora smiling at her—and rather smugly, Patience thought.

  “If you utter so much as one word…” she said to Dora.

  “I wouldn’t dare, miss.” Dora’s shrewd eyes sparkled with humor. “Will miss be requiring her habit again tomorrow morning?”

  “Yes, I will. But only because I like his horse.”

  Dora nodded thoughtfully. “He’s an odd mix of fire and gentleness, that one. He has a good set of shoulders and well-muscled hindquarters. No doubt he’ll be good for breeding.”

  Patience felt her cheeks rage with the force of her blush.

  “Lord Stanton’s stallion,” Dora clarified, before she was consumed by giggles. “Whatever did you think I meant?”

  “I knew you were talking about the horse,” Patience said, haughtily, as she stepped forward to change her dress. “And in the future, please try to remember that you are now a lady’s maid and not the daughter of a stablemaster.”

  But the effect of her reprimand was lost as Dora failed, once again, to stifle her laughter.

  ***

  Stanton walked over to Tempest as a groom brushed him down. He patted the horse’s neck, smiling a little to himself as he remembered Patience’s wide eyes and pink cheeks as he’d held her briefly by the waist. He hoped it was a sign that she was growing less indifferent to him. “You did well, young fellow. Just remember who she’s supposed to be falling for here.”

  Tempest bobbed his head, and Stanton laughed, though he knew the gelding was after the lump of sugar in his pocket. “Very well. Here you go.”

  Exhilaration pumped through Stanton’s veins as he strode inside. He could barely suppress his impatience for tomorrow and another stolen morning alone with Patience.

  He went to his room and changed quickly and then hurried down the stairs, hoping to get to the drawing room and retrieve the blasted love note before anyone else came down for breakfast. He had tried to retrieve it before going out to the stable, but a maid and a footman had been busy about their duties in the main hall, and it would have been disastrous if either had suspected what he was about.

  Glancing around, Stanton paused at the bottom of the staircase, listening. He could not make out any footsteps or voices. Careful to keep his own tread light, he walked over to the drawing room door and slipped inside. To his surprise, Lord Aston was there before him.

  The man had just lifted the folded paper from its perch on the mantle. Before he could slip it into his pocket, Stanton said, “Good morning. What an interesting situation we find ourselves in.”

  Lord Aston spun. For a moment, he looked dismayed, but he quickly adjusted his expression to the mask of nauseating charm he habitually wore. “Really, Stanton. Must you go creeping about?”

  Stanton studied him for a moment. He considered the matter for a moment, and said, “It seemed the best way to retrieve Miss Wendover’s property for her.”

  “You have her confidence, then?”

  “To an extent,” Stanton replied.

  “Then you must know I’m the best person to have charge of this. Frankly, I am annoyed that Amelia was so careless with it.”

  Stanton’s eyes sharpened. Amelia? Knowing he must tread carefully, he said, “Perhaps she was trying to force your hand.”

  Lord Aston laughed. “She knows the only thing standing in
the way of our betrothal is her mother.”

  “Could it be that Mrs. Wendover is averse to marrying her daughter to a fortune hunter with loose morals?”

  Raising his eyebrow, Lord Aston said, “Have some interest in that direction, Stanton? I’ll warn you that you’re late to the race. Fortescue is like a hound at a badger hole over her, and as for Viceroy—well, if I could find a way to drop him down a well with no one being the wiser, I would. The battle has yet to be won, but I’ve been laying the groundwork of my campaign for months.”

  “Ever since your disastrous night at Crofton’s card party, I’d wager. You should remember that as I am in position of a fortune, my chances are better than any of the rest of you.”

  Walking to the door with the note still in his hands, Lord Aston said, “Ah, but I am an earl.”

  Stanton spoke quickly before Aston could leave the room. “You disappoint me, Aston.”

  He turned back. “In what way?”

  “Surely you see the advantage to be gained by leaving the note where it was.” Stanton shrugged for effect. “However, you may play into my hands if you wish and spare Miss Wendover’s reputation.”

  Then, satisfied that Aston stood still, considering his words, Stanton bowed to him and exited the room.

  Chapter Eleven

  Stanton lingered at the breakfast table as long as he could, under the ruse of reading the morning paper when Lord Blakemore had finished with it. He hoped to get a moment with Miss Wendover before the gentlemen were due to go out with their guns for a little sport, but he knew he had discomfited her, so he did not hold out much hope on the matter.

  Most likely he had made a misstep in alluding to why he had purchased Tempest, but if ever there was a time to take a risk, surely it was now. And by heavens, had she looked marvelous riding hell-for-leather across the West Sussex countryside.

  “Anything entertaining in the Times today?” Lord Fortescue asked as he served himself a large helping of kippers and eggs.