The Incomparable Miss Compton

by Regina Scott

  “I am not ready to discuss my relationship with Lord Breckonridge,” Sarah replied stiffly.

  Anne sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. It is simply obvious to me that you would make him an excellent wife. I know he shares that belief. Yet I sense you doubt it. Is it being a viscountess that disturbs you? I know I would have feared it, had I known Chas was an earl when I accepted him.”

  “How could you not know?” Sarah asked with a frown.

  “I did not know his brother had died,” Anne explained. “When I accepted him, I thought I would be marrying an impecunious second son. Imagine my chagrin to find myself a countess.”

  Sarah smiled. “Somehow I doubt you would have refused him had you known.”

  “Oh, no,” she replied with a firm shake of her head and a smile of her own. “I adored Chas, from nearly the first moment we met. My only hesitation in marrying him was that I feared he did not love me.”

  Sarah could not have changed the topic if she had tried. “Why were you in doubt? Was he too cool?”

  “Cool? Chas?” Lady Prestwick laughed. “My dear, I thought his exploits were legendary. My husband had a tendency to enact the most charming escapades. He is an avid racer. At one time he held the record for curricle and pair to every spot within a fifty-mile radius of London. He once recited a scandalous love poem to me in front of two hundred of London’s finest. Oh, no, Chas is most assuredly not cool, Miss Compton. That wasn’t what I feared. No, I was afraid he married me out of honor. You see, we caused a bit of scandal.”

  “Really?” Sarah breathed, trying to imagine this elegant little woman doing anything as wild as her husband.

  “Really,” she replied with a fond smile. “But he was able to convince me to my satisfaction that he loved me.” She cocked her head to eye Sarah. “I take it Lord Breckonridge has not been so satisfactory?”

  “Not nearly so,” Sarah admitted. “In fact, he has never claimed to love me, and he has only once stolen a kiss.”

  Anne shook her head. “The cad. I had no idea he was being so lukewarm. Perhaps you should kiss him first next time.”

  Sarah stared at her, feeling her color rise. “How can you suggest anything so forward?”

  “So, you are just as unwilling to show your feelings,” she surmised before calmly shaking her head. “What am I to do with the pair of you? I think I must invite you and your cousin to Prestwick Park for a fortnight.”

  Sarah put a hand to her head. “I’m sorry, Lady Prestwick, but I’m having a difficult time following your line of reasoning. You berate me for not being forward and then invite me to visit?”

  She smiled. “Precisely. London moves too quickly, and Parliament is a persuasive mistress for men like Lord Breckonridge. A few weeks in the country will allow you both some time to reflect. Please say you’ll come.”

  Was it that simple? She gazed at the little countess, who sat contentedly smiling at her. Could she just whisk Malcolm away from the bustle of London to get him to declare he loved her? Would her heart unbend away from the town where it had permanently stiffened? Wasn’t it worth the chance to find out?

  “I would have to ask my aunt and uncle,” she realized out loud. As soon as she said it, she knew they would not approve. While Lady Prestwick was becoming a renowned hostess, it did not sound as if there would be any eligibles at the estate. It would be a waste of Persephone’s time. Surely her aunt and uncle would forbid the visit.

  “Let me write them,” Lady Prestwick begged, rising. “They are in Suffolk, are they not? I’ll send a note this afternoon. I’m sure I can persuade them to let you come.”

  Looking at her, Sarah somehow thought she could. She nodded her agreement, rising as well.

  Anne Prestwick reached out to give her a quick hug. “Wonderful. This will all work out beautifully, you’ll see. Now, I must go. I need to tell Chas we’ll have company.”

  “He doesn’t know?” Sarah asked in surprise as they separated.

  She laughed. “Of course not. I only just thought of the idea. Don’t look so worried. I told you, Chas thrives on excitement. He’ll be delighted to have company, particularly when he hears who. We generally keep any entertaining to a minimum at Prestwick Park; it upsets the dowager countess. Luckily, Lady Prestwick is visiting my aunt Millicent for the summer. So, we’ll have the place all to ourselves. I promise you, everyone will be pleased with the arrangement.”

  Sarah wasn’t so sure that would be the case. However, Persephone was delighted with the idea.

  “It’s like extending the Season,” she declared. “How very clever of you to achieve it, Sarah!”

  Sarah hardly felt clever, but Norrie was nearly as effusive in her praise of the idea as Persephone had been.

  “How wonderful!” her friend had proclaimed. “You will have Lord Breckonridge all to yourself, and you can come visit me every day if you wish.” She handily ignored the fact that Sarah could hardly do both at the same time. “I shall have to send a card round to Lady Prestwick thanking her for her kindness.”

  Even Sarah’s uncle and aunt acquiesced. Aunt Belle went so far as to praise Lady Prestwick’s condescension. Sarah wasn’t sure what to make of it.

  But, like it or not, she was on her way back to Somerset.

  And maybe into Malcolm’s heart.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rupert could not imagine how Persephone Compton had inveigled her way into Breckonridge’s heart. He crossed his arms over his chest as he waited for her in the shadow of the mews behind the house on Curzon Street. The spinster had wanted to go shopping, and Persephone had promised to plead a headache so that she might meet with him instead. Yet the carriage and grooms had been gone for over a quarter hour, and still he waited. Really, the chit was becoming tiresome.

  He stiffened as he heard the kitchen door of the townhouse open. But the whisper of fine silk told him who approached. In a moment she was at his side, rosebud lips parted breathlessly. He swept her into his embrace, crushing her mouth beneath his own. He had found she preferred his caresses just the least bit impetuous. He suspected it made their little game seem more dangerous to her, showing the desperate nature of what she called their forbidden love. Even now she trembled in his arms. How much more would she tremble if she knew how very little she meant to him?

  He raised his head at last, and she snuggled against his chest with a satisfied sigh.

  “How I shall miss you while we’re in Somerset,” she murmured.

  Rupert frowned. “Somerset? When are you going to Somerset?”

  “At the end of the week,” she replied. “Lady Prestwick invited Sarah, so of course I must go along.”

  They were removing her? Did they conspire against him? Had he given himself away so badly? No, he thought, his grip on the girl tightening involuntarily. More likely she had given him away.

  She obviously mistook the pressure. “Do not fear, my darling baron,” she murmured, tilting back her head to gaze up at him. “I will not forget you. I promise.”

  “Is that what they intend?” he demanded, jaw tightening. “Have we been discovered?”

  “No, no,” she protested. Her violet eyes were clear, her expression fervent, and he had no choice but to believe her. “I told no one, as I promised you. Only my maid knows of our trysts, and I am convinced she would not betray us.”

  “You pay her well then,” he mused, relaxing.

  She giggled. “I have no doubt my father pays her adequately. But Lucy serves me well for another reason. There is great prestige in serving a titled lady.”

  “And you think to be one soon?” he probed.

  She had the good sense to drop her gaze to his waistcoat, toying with the top silver button. “Perhaps. But the gentleman has yet to ask me.”

  She could have meant Breckonridge, or she could have been angling for a proposal from him. He knew enough to take the bait without being hooked. Besides, marriage was not in his plans. She had caused him enough trouble that he had de
cided she must be ruined along with Breckonridge. At least that added a little spice to the deception. He could certainly follow her to Somerset and finish his seduction -- it would be so much easier to get her alone in the country. But Breckonridge might never know of it. The man covered his interest in the girl behind this ridiculous courtship with her cousin. Why else invite the girl along at every opportunity? Yet she could not bring him to heel in the country.

  “One day out of my sight is too much,” he avowed, and she rested her head against his chest again. “You cannot go. If you will not think of me, think of your other devoted followers -- Barrington, Cotell, Breckonridge.”

  She gave another of her gossamer giggles. The sound grated on his nerves.

  “I will leave a hole in Society, won’t I?” she said, complacent in her overblown self-worth. “But I am convinced you will survive somehow until my return. Besides, I understand Lord Breckonridge is coming with us.”

  Despite himself he stiffened. “Breckonridge plans to rusticate? When?”

  “He leaves when Parliament recesses,” she replied smugly. “So, you see, I shall have him all to myself. Who knows what can happen in the country?”

  Who knew indeed? Rupert’s thoughts tumbled over each other like a troop of gypsy acrobats. If Breckonridge meant to rusticate in Somerset, it could only mean one thing. He was indeed serious in his pursuit of the girl and intended to spirit her away somewhere quiet to tell her so. Rupert had to time his seduction perfectly -- after the engagement but before the wedding. And the girl had to be willing; a rape would merely prove Rupert the scoundrel. Yet Somerset was so very rural. There’d be no audience to Persephone’s tearful betrayal. (He knew she’d cry -- he’d imagined it too many times.) He narrowed his eyes.

  “How many others go with you?” he asked.

  She glanced up coyly. “Are you jealous? I’m sorry to have teased you. Only Sarah and Lord and Lady Prestwick will be in attendance, besides Lord Breckonridge.”

  Only the Prestwicks? Ah, but that would mean their butler would be along. Rames was a noted jabbermouth, he knew to his pleasure. Between the Prestwick butler and Breckonridge’s fool Appleby, his own valet always had a story to relate. Appleby might protest aloud that Breckonridge was courting Sarah Compton, but the man’s money was on Persephone. With such a set of gossipers in attendance, news would reach London soon enough.

  “Surely Lady Prestwick can spare an invitation for a friend of Breckonridge’s” he said aloud.

  He could see her frown. “I’m sure I would not presume to ask,” she said primly.

  Wretch, he thought. It was clear she sought to punish him for not offering. She so much as flaunted Breckonridge in his face. It was a dangerous game. “And if I were to follow you?” he pressed. “Do you expect me to live off the crumbs of your affection?”

  “Crumbs?” She raised her head and broke from his grip. “Crumbs? I risk my reputation, my honor to be with you and you call it a crumb? Perhaps you would like to visit via the front door like the rest of my suitors, my lord.”

  She was as slippery as an eel and twice as cunning. He made his face penitent.

  “Have I not explained why we cannot be seen in public? Do you think I like the fact that the inheritance is not mine until October? Your father would never accept me as a suitor now. Would you have wanted me to be content to worship from afar? To see you go to another?”

  “Never!” she cried, throwing herself back into his arms. “Oh, Rupert, it is all so very tragic and romantic. Will you really follow me to Somerset?”

  “To the ends of the earth, if need be,” he assured her. Anywhere, just so long as justice is served, and Breckonridge is humbled.

  * * * *

  Malcolm had to admit that Anne Prestwick was a genius. First, she convinced Sarah to attend a house party where Malcolm could have her all to himself, and then she had the foresight to have her husband deliver the news to him.

  “Is she mad?” Malcolm had raged at first. “I can’t leave London. Parliament won’t recess until the end of the week, and there are any number of laws that must be moved forward in that time or languish until next session.”

  “If you don’t come,” Chas had replied, leaning against the door jam of Malcolm’s untidy library, “it will be you who languishes next session, Malcolm. Anne is adamant. If you wish to marry Miss Compton, you must come.”

  He had groused for some time but had eventually realized that the Prestwicks were right. Sarah would no doubt be returning to the country soon, and Persephone might agree to wed any day. Even if Sarah did not accept Lady Wenworth’s offer to teach, it was highly possible she would not be back in London next Season. If he wanted her, he needed to convince her of that fact.

  As he rode through the arched, wrought-iron gates that announced the drive of Prestwick Park, he knew he had made the right decision. In the green of the country, he felt the last vestiges of his London stresses slough off his shoulders like snow from a roof in a spring thaw. He hadn’t ridden in ages. There were any number of fine horses scattered among his various estates, but he seldom had time to ride during his rare visits. He found himself glad Prestwick had suggested riding from London rather than sitting in a stuffy carriage.

  Of course, he would likely pay for the ride for a few days. After the first night, he had been stiff and sore, envying Sarah and Persephone, who came behind them in a coach. On this, the third and final day out, he wasn’t sure his tailbone would ever be the same. Still, the day was warm and honey-scented, the sky a cloudless blue, and the rolling green hills of Somerset hugged him on all sides. Through the oaks that lined the drive he could see the red-brick great house, and beyond it, the rising gray mass that was the Mendip Hills.

  He had not visited Somerset before. His mind immediately went to cataloging those members of Parliament who came from the area. The reclusive Earl of Wenworth had his seat just north and west of the village of Wenwood, which Prestwick had said was a few miles along the nearby River Wen. They’d need his vote on that Marriage Act next session. As Sarah was a particular friend of the countess, perhaps she could introduce him. Then there was the American chap, the Earl of Brentfield, whose lands ran along the eastern boundary with Prestwick Park. He’d been quite vocal in his opinions; indeed, the radical reformers were rather hoping they could persuade him to join them. Perhaps it was time for a heart-to-heart chat with the fellow. He had a charming wife, if Malcolm remembered -- quite the accomplished artist. She’d taught the Duke of Emerson’s talented daughter, Lady Emily Southwell. Perhaps Sarah would enjoy meeting her.

  He shook his head at himself as he guided the horse up to the gleaming white-columned porch. Funny how he was beginning to see Sarah at his side in all his future dealings. It was a dangerous trait. He had less assurance that she would accept him now than when he had first proposed.

  But certainly more hope. He would not be the only one more comfortable here. Sarah had said she enjoyed the country. Though he suspected her home was more rustic than this, perhaps Prestwick Park would do. He glanced around at the house in front of him, as grooms scurried forward to take his horse. Eight windows faced the drive, wings stretched backward toward the hills. Likely there was a garden behind the house. It was a graceful place, a comfortable place. Surely he and Sarah could come to a meeting of the minds here. All he could do was try.

  * * * *

  Sarah was almost as certain when she and Persephone stepped down from the carriage some time later. Prestwick Park was larger than her aunt and uncle’s estate by some degree. Even Persephone blinked in wonder as they entered the rotunda and gazed up at the domed roof two stories above them. A carpeted corridor stretched away to their right, and doors led off to their left. Immediately before them swept the great stair, curling around the room to the upper floor. Sarah would never have known where to go first if a helpful footman hadn’t led them to Lady Prestwick, who welcomed them warmly. Her welcome was nothing, however, to the reception Malcolm gave Sarah after s
he had had a chance to change from her traveling clothes in the lovely bedchamber Anne had give her.

  She found him loitering in the corridor just down from her room. His aimless perusal of a painting of a cavalry charge made her wonder whether he was actually waiting for her to appear. His smile as she greeted him was tender, and he took her hand and brought it to her lips.

  “Thank you,” he murmured, “for agreeing to come and agreeing to give me this chance.”

  She was not sure how to answer him. As if sensing her discomfort, he turned her hand in his so that he could see her palm. “Such a small hand,“ he mused, stroking it with his thumb. She would not have thought it possible, but each movement seemed to be centered in her belly. “Do you know you hold my fate in it?“

  “Nonsense,“ she said, pulling back. Yet her own hand moved to touch the spot he had stroked. He smiled at her, head bending nearer.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Breckonridge,“ Persephone caroled, joining them. Malcolm stepped back and greeted her cousin kindly, and Sarah had no choice but to fall in with the two of them as they proceeded back to the main floor.

  She was not certain what to expect of their visit but was pleased to find that their lives immediately settled into a comfortable routine. Anne Prestwick proved herself as able a hostess in her own home as she had at Almack’s. The food was good, frequent, and plentiful; the companionship as close or removed as one could wish. Sarah rode with Persephone every morning after breakfast. Sometimes Malcolm joined them. Other times, she suspected, he cornered Lord Prestwick for a debate on matters from Parliament. When Lord Prestwick could stand no more, they played billiards or went hunting in the oak woods surrounding the house.

  However he had spent the early morning, Malcolm usually welcomed Sarah and Persephone back from their ride and spent the rest of the day with them. Lord and Lady Prestwick took them to see the famous caves at Cheddar Gorge and the sweeping golden cathedral at Wells. They drove through the surrounding vineyards and saw the waterfall behind Wenwood Abbey. Sarah was pleased to find Anne Prestwick a companion who actually took the time to seek her out and ask her opinion and advice. She was certainly not used to receiving such attention.