To Love a Lord

by Michelle Pennington

  His words made her errant heart flutter. She reasoned it away and looked for Lord Aston in the crowd to anchor it back to its true devotion. But then the movement of the dance brought her close to Lord Stanton, and she found herself more breathless than the exertion warranted. When his hand held hers as part of an intricate step, a thrill washed over her. She had never previously felt such a sensation except when on horseback and jumping a fence.

  How was this possible? Did he feel it too?

  His eyes seemed always to be looking for hers, even when he was separated from her for a turn.

  How very odd.

  She continued to wonder over it throughout the evening and did not realize until later, in the carriage on the way home, that Lord Aston had not once approached her.

  Chapter Three

  The last thing Stanton had wanted to do after the evening at Almack’s was return to his estate. Morefield Park was situated near Leicester, a journey he could make in one hard day or two easy stages, but never before had he felt the greatness of the distance as he did at this time.

  He’d been raised at Morefield by his parents until he was shipped off for schooling at the age of twelve with his father’s injunctions to behave like a Stanton ringing in his ears. With decades of duty, thrift, and respectability bred into him—and as the only son of a kind but autocratic man— Stanton had merely watched the antics of his fellows at school and had participated only in the tamer schemes. Perhaps he was staid and circumspect to a fault, but he’d been bred that way. His family had never been heavily engaged in politics or society. Instead, they focused on their land and their people.

  When his parents had both died of consumption during the winter of 1798 and he’d been planted firmly into his father’s shoes, he hadn’t resented it at all. It was natural for him to see to his duty. But he was self-aware enough to know that contentment was not necessarily happiness.

  That desire for something more had led him to the city for the Season every year. He enjoyed the novelty of the metropolis in short visits, usually for no more than a month. He received more invitations than he could possibly accept and knew that he was considered to be a matrimonial prize. He was not at all adverse to the idea of finding a wife, so it didn’t bother him. After all, perhaps that ephemeral something he lacked was a family of his own.

  He had never yet been tempted to pursue matters with any female, however, and always looked forward to returning home again. The rain and soil and coming harvest were always of more interest for him than the newest rage in waistcoats or whichever scandal was currently raising eyebrows over the teacups.

  But today, for the first time, he regretted the end of the season—especially since he had to leave town before most of society. There were a dozen matters he needed to attend to before traveling to Sussex for the house party.

  For three days, he worked from sunup till sundown, looking in on his tenants, riding over his estate, and discussing plans for the hay harvest with his land manager. But all too often his thoughts turned back to London.

  When at last he was able to leave Morefield in the capable hands of his steward, he rode back to London with a sense of anticipation unsettling his usually placid nature. Riding hard and making only necessary stops to refresh himself and rest his horse, he rode through the city gates just before twilight. He left Hermes at the Reeve’s Mews, where he had hired a stable for the season, and walked the short distance to the Albany.

  Worn as he was from the day’s ride, Stanton wanted nothing more than to seek his bed. Once in the courtyard, however, he found Mr. Viceroy leaning against a lamppost. Almost as if he were keeping an eye out for someone.

  “Good evening,” Mr. Viceroy said.

  “Yes, good evening.” Stanton moved to pass him but was not so fortunate.

  “I was wondering, my lord, if you would care to have a drink with me.”

  Repressing a sigh, Stanton gave a slight bow. “Much as I would like to, ordinarily, I am just returned from the country and not fit company tonight.”

  “Nonsense. As if I cared for that. Come. A glass of brandy will do you well.”

  Stanton could not deny it, for he had planned to have one of his own before retiring. “Very well. Thank you.”

  Viceroy led the way to his door and held it wide for Stanton to enter. After following him inside, Stanton looked around the room, but there was little to draw his attention. There was very little furniture and only one small candelabra to light the room, but a tray with glasses was a welcomed sight.

  “Please, have a seat,” Viceroy said, gesturing to the more comfortable of the two chairs pulled next to the little table.

  “Thank you. To what do I owe this honor?”

  Viceroy did not answer right away, taking a moment to pour Stanton a drink. As he handed it to him, Viceroy said, “Why, this is a celebration of sorts. I’ve received an invitation to the Blakemores’ house party. How did you manage to secure one for me?”

  “By my great good fortune of counting Lady Du’Breven among my friends.”

  Viceroy nodded thoughtfully. “A very useful connection to have.”

  Stanton leaned back and sipped his brandy. “I am not in the habit of rating my friends according to their usefulness.”

  The smile that lit the other man’s face then was the slightest bit condescending. “Then you do yourself a disservice. But while I am happy to avail myself of another’s good will, I dislike being in debt. Tell me in what way I may repay you.”

  Shrugging, Stanton put his glass down on the table at his elbow. “I don’t care a farthing’s worth if you repay me. As it turned out, I too desired an invitation to the house party. With Lady Du’Breven’s help, it was a simple matter to arrange.”

  “So you go to Sussex too. Well then, I shall have plenty of opportunities to pay my debt. Let’s drink to continued friendship.”

  Stanton held out his glass for Viceroy to fill again. “You mean: to useful connections.”

  Viceroy laughed. “Touché.”

  When his glass was empty again, Stanton relaxed back into his seat and studied his host. The man was not handsome, but nor was he unattractive. Of average height and slim build, he was precisely the sort of man one might overlook. Indeed, there was nothing at all about him to make Stanton’s instincts prickle with caution, but prickle they did. He thought it would do well to pry a bit more.

  “Tell me, why do you so wish to go to this particular house party?”

  Viceroy studied him a moment. “I suspect that neither of us is at present eager to share our reasons.”

  The man unnerved him, but at the same time commanded a measure of respect. “Well, whatever your reasons, I wish you success.”

  Setting his empty glass down on the tray, Stanton reached out to shake Viceroy’s hand, who stood quickly.

  “Will you not stay a while longer?” Viceroy asked.

  “No, I thank you. A night’s rest will do me more good than even your fine brandy. Perhaps I shall see you again before I leave London in a few days’ time, but if not, I shall see you at the Blakemores’.” Stanton turned and walked toward the door, but Viceroy spoke once more.

  “I would give you a word of warning before you go, Stanton.”

  He turned reluctantly, curious despite the warning clench of his stomach. “And what is that?”

  “She is infatuated with Lord Aston.”

  Stanton considered him closely, but answered nothing.

  Viceroy came up to him, at ease except for the slight stiffness in his shoulders. He wasn’t completely sure about the step he’d just taken into Stanton’s business, that much was certain. But even so, he continued, “You see, Lord Aston as been the subject of my…surveillance...for some time now. He has shown no signs of returning her feelings, but I thought you might wish to know the obstacle that lies ahead of you.”

  Stanton took a deep breath before responding, taking care to rein in his temper. “You are careful not to speak her name.”


  “To a man in love, a woman’s name is sacred. I understand that more than most. And yet, your mind flew instantly there though I did not say it.”

  “If this is an attempt to repay your debt, I do not care for the currency.”

  “Oh no. Rather, consider this a token of my well-wishes. I have eyes in many places, so you may consider my information credible. Do with it as you wish.”

  Stanton narrowed his eyes. “I cannot help but think that you have some personal advantage to gain from any actions I might take.”

  “Oddly enough, my lord, it is in some ways more advantageous for me to let her catch Lord Aston in her feminine wiles. However, I have a deep and abiding dislike for the man and will seem him brought low before I am done. This in no way includes allowing him such a delightful reward as that particular lady would be.”

  White-hot anger vied with restraint in Stanton’s chest as his imagination jumped to picturing such a scene. The audacity of the man to suggest it, or indeed consider such a thing at all, irked him beyond bearing. Fortunately for Viceroy’s nose, restraint claimed the upper hand. “Then I shall give you a warning of my own, Viceroy—one which is surely more well-intentioned than yours. Keep your distance from this particular lady. You will not embroil her in whatever schemes you are hatching, or you will know my wrath as intimately as you seem to know my business.”

  And on those words, Stanton left. He could feel Viceroy’s eyes on him as if two cinders from a hot fire had landed on his shoulders.

  ***

  The next morning, restless and filled with anxiety, Stanton set out to restore order to his mind. After a hasty breakfast, he took a hack to the corner of Park Lane and Piccadilly and walked the short distance to Tattersalls. There he could be sure to find noise and distraction.

  As he strolled under the covered walks that ran around the three-sided courtyard, he viewed the various thoroughbreds being paraded up and down its length for the consideration of the gentlemen fortunate enough to be in a position to purchase horses instead of being forced to sell them after settling up their gaming debts.

  But even here in this masculine domain, he could not completely free his thoughts from their new fascination. He knew not whether Viceroy was right about Miss Patience Wendover, and he certainly did not know what he meant to do about it either way. He did know that she deserved better than Aston.

  And thus, when a fine grey gelding was led in front of him, he couldn’t restrain his imagination from placing Miss Wendover upon his back. The horse she had ridden in the park that evening had been well enough, but not worthy of his rider. Here was an animal worthy of her.

  Compelled by the image in his mind’s eye, Stanton followed the horse to the auctioneer’s podium. When the auctioneer began proclaiming the horse’s virtue, which included being trained to a lady’s sidesaddle, he found himself bidding. Possessed by a fervor unnatural to his usual prudence, he soon found himself the owner of a lady’s mount.

  He dared not meet the curious stares he felt around him, gentlemen who wondered what use he might have for the horse. No doubt they assumed it would be for a mistress or, less-likely, for a sister. All he could think was that he was a fool.

  After arranging payment for the horse and its stabling at Tattersalls, he sent for his groom. It took time for Silas to be fetched from the mews, so Stanton spent the time acquainting himself with the gelding, whose name was Tempest.

  When Silas arrived, he ran his knowing eyes over the new horse and pronounced him a fine bit of blood and bone and added, “I ‘spose we’ll have to hire a man to take him to Morefield for you.”

  “No,” Stanton said. “I intend to take him to Sussex with me in a few days.”

  Silas gaped at him. “You’re never leaving Hermes behind?”

  Stanton laughed. “Of course not. No, I am taking Tempest for someone else to ride. Do you suppose the stables at Oakcrest will be able to provide a sidesaddle?”

  “No doubt they will, milor’.”

  Stanton nodded, but one look at the stupefaction on Silas’s face made him laugh. “No need to worry, Silas. I haven’t gone mad yet—no matter the evidence to the contrary.”

  Chapter Four

  Patience watched the passing West Sussex landscape through the carriage windows. Aunt Wendover and Amelia dozed on the forward-facing seat opposite her. The movement of the carriage had lulled them to sleep, but Patience was too enraptured by seeing new country to be anything but exhilarated.

  If only she could ride over it on horseback. She longed to race along the grassy pastures, explore the dips and hollows of the rolling hills, and hide herself in the ancient woods that crowned many of the slopes. It was a green world, fresh with sun-washed wildflowers and tall grasses undulating in the wind. An image of Lord Stanton in the park flashed through her mind. She had seen in just that brief meeting, his mastery and skill in the saddle. She imagined herself riding with him, bending low over her horse’s neck as she gave it free rein and reveling in the speed and power of her mount.

  But then Aunt Wendover began to snore.

  Patience sighed. Would she ever be free of her current life? No doubt Aunt Wendover would see her engaged to some dull gentleman by the end of this house party. Indeed, before they had left, Aunt Wendover had told her, “Patience, I expect you to make yourself agreeable at this party. Lady Blakemore has assured me that there will be several gentlemen who would be just the right sort for you.”

  Patience had grown inured to the idea of her aunt forcing her to accept the engagement of some man she didn’t love. Indeed, her only hope was that the man would have a few good mounts in his stable and a pianoforte in his drawing room. Perhaps she could speak to her uncle about making those requirements part of the marriage contract.

  It was early in the day, but they were not far from Oakcrest, the Blakemores’ country estate. They had stopped overnight only a few hours away from their destination so that Amelia might look her best when they arrived and not appear travel-stained and weary. Now, the carriage passed through a small village and then down a long drive with arching trees standing as silent sentinels on either side.

  As the carriage slowed, her aunt and cousin woke up and looked around.

  “We are there?” her aunt asked. “Gracious, I meant to spend the drive giving you girls final instructions. Why did you let me sleep?”

  Patience bit her lip to keep from laughing. As if anything would have induced her to wake her aunt for the sake of being lectured. “I was glad to see you getting some rest, Aunt,” she said meekly, glad this was not precisely a lie.

  “Well, listen closely now. Amelia, under no circumstances will you have anything to do with Lord Aston. I do not know what possessed Lady Blakemore to invite him. It isn’t as if he’d be an eligible parti for anyone. I’d bet my last groat she did so for her own amusement. Well, just mind yourself around him. And there will likely be many fortune hunters only too willing to get you in a compromising situation. These house parties are notorious for such things. Let me guide you, girl, and we’ll see you with a grand attachment within a week.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Amelia said.

  Patience glanced at her, narrowing her eyes slightly. Amelia’s biddable manner grated on her nerves. She knew her cousin was not the milk-and-water miss her parents thought her to be. Well, that was Amelia’s business not hers.

  “And you, Patience, you will behave in a seemly manner and be pleasant to the gentlemen I approve. I’m determined to finish this business with finding you a husband. You will make a respectable match or find yourself shipped off home to your mother in disgrace.”

  Patience was glad she knew her uncle’s intentions for her future, but her aunt truly did hold considerable power over her prospects. For after all, she must marry someone, and if it could not be Lord Aston, she’d prefer it not be someone she held in aversion. With her aunt set to arrange an engagement for her, the weeks ahead of her were fraught with treacherous waters.

  “There�
�s the house,” Amelia said, a note of excitement in her normally dull voice. Facing forward, she had an advantage over Patience, who would have loved to see the much-admired seat of the Blakemore family.

  But it wasn’t until Patience was being handed down out of the carriage by a footman that she was able to look around and admire it. Though the day was hot, the shade beneath the portico on the front of the house was welcoming. Carved Ionic pillars lined the front of the stately home which rose six stories over the manicured lawns and gardens. The main part of the house was flanked by wings on either side, and the number of windows glinting in the sun left her awestruck.

  As they were ushered inside, Patience saw that they were not the only new arrivals. Bandboxes and trunks filled the marble hall while an army of servants scurried about. Their own servants and trunks would arrive soon in another carriage.

  After being shown to their rooms to refresh themselves, they were led to the drawing room, where Lady Blakemore received them with a smile and warm welcome. She poured them each a cup of tea and invited them to help themselves to the pastries, fruits, and cold meats set out on a table for the sustenance of the arriving guests.

  To Patience’s delight, Harriet was already there, seated next to her mama. As she sipped her tea, she turned her head to see who had arrived. Patience laughed softly when Harriet’s eyes landed on her and widened over the rim of her cup. She instantly rose, set her cup down on a table, and hurried to Patience’s side. Looping their arms together, she drew Patience over to sit on the window seat, where they would have some privacy from the rest of the room.

  Patience smiled at her friend’s beaming face. “You have never been quite so happy to see me before. What news are you so anxious to tell me?”

  “Adlington proposed, right when we arrived. He met us at the carriage door and pulled Mother and I into a sitting room as soon as we came inside He had already met with Father before leaving London, he said, and was determined to make sure of me before any other gentlemen arrived.” She giggled. “Mama hoped that coming to Lady Blakemore’s house party would induce him to hurry things along.”