To Love a Lord

by Michelle Pennington

  Patience blanched. It was no wonder he thought something must be wrong. Well-bred young ladies did not gallop through Hyde Park, especially without a groom. One word from him and her reputation would be in shreds. Deciding the damage was done, her pride was too great for her to let him think she was not perfectly in control of the situation.

  She forced a smile to her face and said, “I am better than I have been for weeks. Enjoy your ride, Lord Stanton, for I intend to enjoy the rest of mine.”

  Lord Stanton studied her, as if intrigued. “Do not let me detain you.” He neither moved forward, nor broke eye contact with her, just waited, his gloved hands loosely holding the reins of his horse.

  Silence hung between them for a moment, full of questions and surprise. Then with a nudge of her whip on the horse’s flank and a firm “Ha!”, Patience bent low as her horse plunged forward, breaking into a gallop again.

  Chapter Two

  Drawing up to the Albany on Piccadilly where he had hired a set of rooms, Lord Stanton gave his horse, Hermes, into the keeping of his groom and walked through the gate opened by the porter into the courtyard. A servant was already about the business of lighting the lamps around the courtyard, since the light was growing dim as evening drew nigh. Soon the place would bustle with the comings and goings of all the fashionable gentlemen who lived there as they went out seeking their preferred entertainment for the evening.

  Stanton’s mind was full of the startling memory of Miss Patience Wendover tearing down Rotten Row in Hyde Park. The lady’s command of her mount and excellent seat were enough to catch any man’s attention, but when she had drawn up and met his eyes, he’d been spellbound by the play of emotions on her face. Shock, dismay, and then fire.

  He was so preoccupied with his thoughts, in fact, that he did not at first see the gentleman awaiting him in front of the wide staircase in the entry hall. It was only when he went up two steps and heard a delicate cough that he turned and looked at the man. It was Mr. Viceroy, who had also hired rooms for the season, though in one of the stucco buildings that flanked the back garden, not in the main mansion, as he had.

  His few encounters with the man had been pleasant enough but not memorable. They certainly did not hold any great degree of acquaintance, so he raised an eyebrow slightly. “Good evening, Viceroy. I’m sorry. My thoughts were elsewhere.”

  “Of course, of course. You’re a busy man with a lot of responsibilities. I hesitate to intrude upon your time.”

  Stanton studied him. Nothing about the man’s demeanor spoke of hesitancy. No, there was a great deal of determination about him. “Not at all. May I be of service to you?”

  “Ah, your perception is keen,” Mr. Viceroy said, nodding his head in a very regal manner. “Might you, I wonder, be going to Almack’s this evening?”

  “I had planned to, yes. Will I see you there?”

  “No, that is just the trouble. My vouchers have been rescinded.”

  Stanton was surprised to hear that. Mr. Viceroy was neither wealthy or fashionable, but his connections were unsurpassed. His family was related to several of the grandest names in the ton. “How did that happen? Didn’t I see you there just last week?”

  “Lady Jersey is feuding with my mother, you know. And the devil of it is that I would give anything to attend this evening.”

  “Oh? There is a particular reason for that, I presume.”

  “Yes, a matter of some delicacy.”

  Stanton felt a great deal of compassion for a man caught between two feuding women. It prompted him to ask, “May I may be of service somehow?”

  “I had hoped you might. Your reputation as a man of unquestioned respectability is just what I need.”

  Stanton narrowed his eyes. Too often, his reputation was a source of amusement among society rather than something of merit. “You alarm me.”

  Viceroy laughed. It had a sort of calculating sound about it, as if no true mirth lay behind it. “No need to worry. It is only that I want an invitation to Lady Blakemore’s house party, and I thought perhaps you would be able to arrange for me to have one.”

  Stanton stared at him, trying—and failing—to determine how Viceroy had landed on him of all people to request such a thing.

  “It would be a favor I would repay with interest,” Viceroy said when Stanton didn’t answer, his eyes gleaming with a strange intensity.

  “I can’t promise anything, but I will see if anything may be done for you.” Stanton bowed and turned again to go up the stairs to his rooms.

  When he arrived at Almack’s later that evening, he had very little intention of putting himself out for Viceroy. The only ambition he held was to dance with Miss Patience Wendover. How could two such opposite sides of one woman exist? Was she the retiring shadow at her aunt’s side or the fearless, intrepid horsewoman flaunting society’s strictures?

  Though the refreshments at Almack’s were most often considered shabby, the company within its hallowed walls were the finest display of wealth and breeding to be found in England. In the sea of jewels and silks that filled the long ballroom, his eyes searched for one particular face. With the brilliant gleam of light from the enormous chandeliers overhead, he could easily see from one end of the room to the other, but the crowd was pressed too closely together to make out one young woman.

  “Have you lost someone?” a sharp, elderly voice asked him.

  Stanton turned and saw one of the dowagers seated along the wall, regarding him carefully. Her eyes were bright with interest, something which did not surprise him. The Countess Du’Breven was just the person to help him. She was as observant as she was discreet.

  “You cannot lose someone you have not yet found,” he said, bowing low over the hand she extended. “Good evening, Lady Du’Breven.”

  “Stanton,” she said, bowing her head slightly as befit their difference in rank. “Come sit beside me. I’ve longed for better company all evening.”

  Stanton looked to her right and saw that the fat gentleman seated beside her took as great offense as she likely intended him to. The man stood, bowed, and ambled away, wheezing indignantly. Stanton’s eyebrow twitched faintly upward.

  The lady looked not at all ashamed. “Poor Bernard. But I couldn’t take another moment of his prosy wind-baggery. Sit down and I’ll help you find her before she sees you acting like a great looby over her.”

  His lips twitched, but he was too accustomed to her way of speaking to bother protesting. “I would be honored to join you.”

  As he sat down, his eyes had gone directly to the dancers before them, watching the weaving figures for a glimpse of Miss Wendover.

  “Thinking of getting leg-shackled, are you?” she asked.

  “I suppose most men think of it at some point, but I have not yet gotten that far.”

  “Mucking up the courtship, are you? Well, I’m not surprised.”

  Stanton shook his head. “You are laboring under a misapprehension. I have not yet begun to court any young lady. Indeed, I have not made up my mind at all.”

  “Ignore your mind. If you don’t, you’ll end up with a genteel wife who pops out three girls before giving you an heir, spends all your money on feathers for her bonnets, and insults your neighbors.”

  With great perplexity, Stanton tried to sort out what had inspired such a grave and outrageous foretelling but gave up. “If I’m not to be logical about this most important of undertakings, how am I make a decision?”

  “Follow one of your more instinctive organs, dear boy. I suggest your heart, but men rarely show such good sense.”

  He somehow contrived to keep his jaw from falling to the floor, but only barely. “Lady Du’Breven, I beg you to spare my blushes.”

  “Then tell me who you are looking for.”

  Clearing his throat, he asked, “Have the Wendovers come tonight?”

  “I have not seen them yet. Is it the heiress or the beauty?”

  “I have no need of a fortune.”

  “Ah. W
ell, I admit I am disappointed. I expected that you would be after a girl with some wit and spark about her.”

  Stanton laughed. “What’s this? Do I know more than the Countess for once? How shocking.”

  “You have reason to believe differently?”

  There was a note of pique in her voice that made him smile. “Oh, yes.”

  The Countess straightened, a feat indeed, since her posture was already very correct. “Lord Stanton is smiling. Mercy.” She looked around the room. “Then come along, dear boy. We have work to do.”

  She held up her hand, clearly requesting his assistance in standing, so he rose and gave his support. She straightened her skirts, adjusted the blue silk turban on her head, and took his arm. “Let us find Lady Blakemore.”

  “As you wish, but how…”

  “Don’t be daft, Stanton. The Wendovers are invited to her house party in less than a fortnight. You’ll want to be there, of course.”

  Stanton bowed. “I shall indeed. How clever of you to know everyone’s plans.”

  She sniffed. “I am invited there myself. Lady Blakemore is a lazy woman and knows I shall help to bring about a few matches. But she’s as pigeon-brained as she is indolent. I’ve had to manage her guest list, and I find it very taxing. I believe I would do better to hold my own house party next summer.”

  “And you will find that less onerous?”

  “Yes, for I shall have all my own servants to do the work. Ah, there is Lady Blakemore now.”

  Stanton led the Countess up to Lady Blakemore and watched with amusement as they exchanged the proper civilities. It was clear that Lady Blakemore resented the Countess’s managing personality, but did not know how to stand up against her.

  “I have brought Stanton to see you,” Lady Du’Breven said.

  “Good evening, Lady Blakemore. It’s a pleasure,” Stanton said, bowing over her hand.

  “Lord Stanton,” she answered, nodding regally.

  “You must send him an invitation to your house party.”

  Stanton raised an eyebrow at the Countess’s impropriety and felt distinctly uncomfortable. Lady Blakemore’s face had turned an alarming shade of red, and she began to babble.

  “I would be pleased to…have…Lord Stanton…of course, but—"

  “Do not distress yourself, dear lady,” Stanton interjected. “I know it would be the grossest imposition—”

  “What nonsense,” the Countess said, breaking in. “You have only to invite another lady. And her mama of course. Which leaves us needing another gentleman.”

  While Lady Blakemore looked on with popping eyes, the Countess looked over Almack’s ballroom for a likely candidate.

  Thinking of Mr. Viceroy and throwing his normally precise manners to the wind, Stanton leaned down and whispered that gentleman’s name into the Countess’s ear. She turned to meet his eyes, looking intrigued, and then turned back to Lady Blakemore.

  “I know just the gentleman. Mr. Viceroy will do very well to round out your numbers. Now come along, my dear, and let us discuss the details.”

  The Countess let go of his arm and took Lady Blakemore’s, leading her away. But she paused to wink at Stanton and point an imperious finger towards something behind him. When he turned, he saw the face for which he’d been searching all evening.

  The timing was perfect, as a new set was beginning to form. He stepped around a cluster of women gossiping and walked towards her. She stood next to her aunt and cousin, watching the couples forming around them for a waltz. As he got close, she looked his way, meeting his eyes. The look of apprehension in her eyes gave him pause. But his mind quickly found a possible answer.

  Many would consider her gallop through the park to be improper, if not downright vulgar. Considering his lamentable reputation as a pattern card of propriety, no doubt she wouldn’t understand that he considered it the most singularly enthralling display he’d seen in his life. He moved forward, searching his mind for a way to put her at ease.

  ***

  Patience’s heart fluttered like a wounded bird cornered by the kitchen cat. Was she about to be called out for her misconduct? What would her aunt do? Punish her or send her home in disgrace to live out a life of poverty?

  Lord Stanton bowed to her aunt but shot a look her way as he did so. Her chest rose and fell in agitation as his eyes pierced her with the same enigmatic stare he had directed her way at the park.

  After greeting her aunt, Lord Stanton turned towards her, tipping his head down towards her. Patience could not believe it. Nor, from the look on her face, could her Aunt Wendover. Usually when gentlemen of good breeding and fortune came up to them, Aunt Wendover was sure to make it impossible for the gentlemen to do other than to request Amelia’s hand. Indeed, as her aunt exchanged civilities with Lord Stanton, Patience could almost discern the calculations going on in her mind.

  And sure enough, before Lord Stanton could say another word, her aunt said, “I’m so glad you have come to ask Amelia to dance. You shall surely be one of the finest couples on the floor.”

  Lord Stanton’s expression was difficult to read as he bowed to Amelia and offered her his arm. The smug lift to Amelia’s eyebrows and the pleased smile on her face did not challenge her powers of discernment. Amelia resented her presence in their lives very nearly as much as her mother did. If only Amelia would understand how little she wished to compete with her.

  And in this instance, particularly, Patience felt only relief that her cousin had been the one to secure a covetable dance partner. She was grateful for the escape, in case the man should refer to her foolish escapade, but she was disappointed to see that her uncle’s words had not made any impression upon his wife. She would never promote Patience’s chances over Amelia’s. Of course, her aunt was also angry with her for having made them arrive so late in the evening.

  Her aunt’s voice was surprisingly cheerful now, however. “Well, Patience, we shall see what comes of that. He was great deal taken with her, do you not think?” her aunt asked.

  Because Patience could hardly point out that Lord Stanton had not even glanced at Amelia until forced, she simply said, “Indeed.”

  To her surprise, she felt oddly deflated as she watched Amelia dance with Lord Stanton. He was undeniably masculine with his tall frame and broad shoulders, but yet managed to maintain an air of elegance. Even with his somber eyes and grave expression, there was much about him to capture the attention of any woman. The though flashed through her mind that though her affections were very much attached to Lord Aston, it would be pleasant to dance with such an excellent partner.

  Her aunt gasped. “I cannot believe they have permitted such a man to have vouchers. What are the patronesses thinking to set such a fox among the pigeons?”

  Knowing she could not be speaking of Lord Stanton, Patience followed the direction of her aunt’s eyes. Lord Aston had arrived, looking like the hero from a gothic novel, his dark locks curling over his brow, his heavy-lidded eyes full of jaded boredom, and a carelessly tied cravat. “Perhaps he has charmed the patronesses.”

  “No doubt he has done more than charm them. If he dares approach Amelia, he will be firmly snubbed for such impudence.”

  With a flush on her cheeks that might give her away if her aunt should look at her, Patience said, “I don’t believe you need concern yourself. You snubbed him quite well the last time.”

  Now, how could she escape from her aunt so that Lord Aston might have an opportunity to ask her to dance? She had no doubt he intended to do so. “Aunt, there is Harriet. I am going to speak to her.”

  Her aunt nodded, keeping her eyes on Amelia and Lord Stanton as they twirled around the floor.

  Lord Adlington, Harriet’s most constant suitor, stood by her side. They were talking quietly, casting meaningful glances at each other. No doubt if they could, they would dance every dance together. She hoped they would not mind too much when she joined them.

  “Patience, my dear!” Harriet exclaimed, reaching ou
t both hands to her. “You look lovely this evening.”

  “You have seen me wear this gown on at least two other occasions.”

  “Yes, well, you look beautiful in yellow. I’m sure I would look terrible if I attempted it.”

  Patience smiled at her beautiful friend’s chatter and curtsied to Lord Adlington as he bowed to her. Behind them, the music came to a graceful close.

  “I am sorry to interrupt you two, but I am escaping from my aunt for a moment.”

  “Before she drives away any more potential dance partners? I saw what happened. Lord Stanton had me in raptures the way he approached you with such determined purpose. Why, the way he looked at you was so…revealing. And then your aunt outmaneuvered him.”

  Patience hated that the color of her cheeks would likely betray her. “Lord Stanton is guided always, first and foremost, by his perfect manners.” And indeed, she desperately hoped his manners and sense of fair play would prompt him to keep her secret.

  Just then, Harriet’s eyes grew wide, and she pressed her lips together as if trying to keep her own secret. She seemed to be looking over Patience’s shoulder. Curious as to what had caught her friend’s attention, Patience turned slightly and saw that Lord Stanton was approaching her. Taking a quick, sustaining breath, she turned to face him.

  “Miss Wendover, perhaps I may now have the honor of dancing with the lady of my choice,” he said, with a sideways twist to his lips. It was not quite a smile, but it gave her an odd, fluttery feeling just the same.

  Why did he affect her so?

  Nodding, she gave him her hand and allowed him to lead her away. As they took their place in the formation for a country dance, he said, “My only regret is that I did not have the pleasure of waltzing with you. I hope the future will better reward me.”