A Lady's Virtue

by A. S. Fenichel

  “I don’t think that will be a problem, my lord. Who were you thinking of inviting?”

  “Just a few friends. You may include your sister and mother in the party if you please. I would be happy to have them here.” He sounded a bit desperate, and it didn’t appeal to him. “If this is too much to ask, just say so, and I’ll speak to Lady Jane.”

  She took a step back and frowned. “Are you dissatisfied with my work thus far, my lord? I have barely begun, and I think once you see how well the dinner party goes, you may change your mind. However, if you wish for another lady to take my place, you need not trouble yourself. I can speak to Lady Jane this evening and see who else is available.”

  Something was wrong with him. It was the only explanation for his idiotic behavior. Perhaps he needed to rest and forget all this earl business. Shaking his head, he tried to clear away the stupidity floating inside it. “Forgive me. I only meant that I might be asking too much of you. I am sure you will continue to do an excellent job.”

  “Perhaps you might give us a tour of the house now, my lord.” Her smile didn’t reach those eyes that entranced him more than he wanted to admit.

  Making things uncomfortable between them was the last thing he’d wanted to do, but there was something about her that turned him into an imbecile. Taking her advice, he led them to the front door, where a footman waited. “I haven’t hired a butler here yet. However, this house does not require redecorating. The furniture has been covered and is of a more casual design than the other houses. I’m quite comfortable here at Riverdale.”

  The French country style appealed to him with the lighter woods, blues and whites. One could breathe there. And if he wanted to flop down on a settee and stretch out his legs, he did so without worry that the piece wouldn’t support his weight. It was a sturdy home with good light and warmth. Eight bedrooms, two parlors, a small card room, dining room and gentleman’s smoking room brought them back to the foyer.

  “It is a very pretty house, my lord, and if you want to host a few guests for a week, we can make it a happy party. I wonder, if you like this so much more than the townhouse, that you don’t live here instead. It’s close enough to town, after all.” She walked out the front door.

  A maid and two footmen were setting up a picnic to the right of the drive, where several trees offered shade.

  “Lovely,” Mrs. Horthorn said as she strode over to where a blanket had been placed on the ground for them to sit and eat.

  At a slower pace, he strolled with Sylvia. “I had thought of it, but Momma insisted I reside in London and act the proper earl. Since I have no clue how to be an earl, I agreed for the time being.”

  “You are very malleable where your mother is concerned.”

  “Italian men have a very close relationship with their mothers. I can’t tell you why, but I’ve never met one who wouldn’t throw himself on a spike for his momma.”

  Her laugh sang on the breeze. “You admit that rather freely. English men would hide this from public ridicule.”

  “There is little point. I adore my mother. You will too. Angelica is an angel, but with teeth. She is the main reason I haven’t gone through with my plans to escape England.” He stopped so they wouldn’t get to the servants and Mrs. Horthorn too soon.

  Stopping and facing him, she smiled. “I’m sure she is wonderful. Still, if you love it at Riverdale, I think you should consider making this your home. But perhaps, once I’ve changed the Collington townhouse, you might like that just as well. If they are both not enough to hold you here, then you can follow your heart to the vineyards. There is no need to decide anything today, Tony.”

  It must be a bout of insanity, but he craved hearing her asking him to stay. He shook off the desire to be wanted by Sylvia. She had her own life and it had nothing to do with him.

  “Would you like to invite your sister here?” He longed for her to say yes.

  Shaking her head, she sighed. “Perhaps we can invite my family to the ball in London. My sister comes with my mother, and I am not ready to spend a week in public with Mother’s censure.”

  “Are the two of you going to eat? This chicken is wonderful.” Mrs. Horthorn had already dug into the basket and was happily nibbling her food.

  He sat, and they all watched a butterfly flit around the longer grass. “I thought after that terrible wine at the ball yesterday, I would treat you to a good Italian wine.”

  The footman struggled with the cork.

  “Give it to me, John. If you’ll get the glasses, I’ll open the bottle. Remind me to give you a lesson before the house party.”

  “Yes, my lord. I would like that. I’m afraid my experience is limited.” John blushed and stared at the ground. Then he rushed to a small table where they had staged various things for the picnic.

  With a few quick turns of the steel worm and a firm steady pull, the cork was freed from the bottle.

  John returned with three glasses, and Anthony poured the wine. He didn’t drink his while he watched Sylvia take a sip.

  A drop of the rich red beaded on her bottom lip before the tip of her tongue peeked out and licked it away. She closed her eyes and a low hum rumbled in her throat.

  Body on fire, Anthony had to close his eyes for a moment but couldn’t resist looking at her again. The satisfaction on her face was enough to keep him aroused for a week.

  “Can I assume you like it?” He tasted his wine and let the fruits and spices awaken his palate.

  She opened her eyes, and there was wonder inside. “Is this your family’s wine?”

  “Yes. My cousin in Italy had several cases sent to me as a gift when I became an earl. It is the only good thing to come of the title thus far.” He meant it as a joke, but truth was truth.

  “It’s wonderful. Much more flavorful than the glass you brought me at the ball. I had no idea wine could be so warm and spectacular. I think they always water it down in ballrooms.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” he agreed.

  The conversation dwindled as they drank and ate. He liked watching her expressions with each flavor, and the way she noticed how the wine changed with a bite of food and the food with a sip of wine.

  Before his thoughts took him over, he changed direction. “I read an article in the Whisper this week. Did you see it? It was about how Lady Abernathy’s scolding of young ladies in their first season had grown to sinister proportions. Yes. That was what the author said, sinister. I laughed for ten minutes.”

  Pink cheeked, Sylvia popped a berry in her mouth.

  Mrs. Horthorn dabbed the corners of her mouth with a linen napkin. “I saw her attack two sweet girls in the park just three days ago. She’s a menace, and it’s no surprise she’s been called out on her bad habit. Perhaps she’ll think twice before she ruins another girl’s day or makes them feel small in the ballroom. Not even Nelda Abernathy wants to be thought of as a villain in the public eye.”

  “What do you think, Miss Sylvia?” he asked.

  “Sometimes people get what they deserve, my lord. Usually, among the ton, nice women are ruined by stupid gossip. Occasionally, it’s nice to see one of the gossipers take a fall. Of course, that is just my opinion.” She ate another berry and lifted her chin.

  “Yes. I thought you might say so.” It was impossible for him to hide his amusement.

  She narrowed her eyes at him and gave her head a shake.

  “I wonder if you might like to walk to the creek, Miss Sylvia? Mrs. Horthorn would still be able to see us. It’s just across the meadow.” He pointed across the green meadow to where the trees marked a gentle stream.

  “Oh, yes. You young people should get some exercise. I’ll help clean up our picnic and enjoy the shade.” Despite saying she would tidy up, she pulled her sewing from her large bag, composed of fabric scraps, and settled against the tree.

  Anthony offered
Sylvia a hand up. She had removed her gloves to eat, and her flesh was warm and soft in his hand. A jolt of energy shot from his palm down his body from the moment the pads of her fingers met his skin. Only their hands had met, but he felt the touch to his toes, and in places between that he quickly had to control.

  Her sharp gaze met his. Had she felt it too? Was desire the same for a woman? Yes, it had been desire. She was a beautiful woman. Of course, he desired her. Many men would. It didn’t mean anything, and nothing would come of it even if it did. He had no desire to marry, and Sylvia was not a woman to dally with. She was a lady in every sense of the word. But perhaps if he were older and ready to settle down, she might be just the kind of woman he would choose.

  Pulling her hand away, she frowned and crossed her arms.

  They walked toward the trees.

  “What is it you want to say, Tony? I know you have something in that mind of yours that was inappropriate for Mrs. Horthorn to hear. If it’s about Lady Abernathy, she got exactly what she deserved. I’ll not apologize for it.” She unfolded her arms and put her fists on her hips.

  “I didn’t think you would. What I’m after is another secret.” He should leave this alone, but it was too delicious to know her secrets. He wanted more.

  “You already know more than you should.” She’d lowered her voice, speaking more to herself.

  “Tell me why you and March didn’t marry.” He noted her flinch and regretted any injury he might do her, but his desire to know the answer outweighed his good sense.

  “I thought you already knew. I thought everyone in London knew. Despite my publicly calling off the wedding, it seemed everyone assumed Hunter had abandoned me when he became a viscount.” The sharp bite in her voice was a contrast to her usual melodic tones.

  “That is the gossip, Sylvie. I want to know what really happened.” He inched closer as they walked. The bubbling stream grew closer and sang a higher tone than the breeze through the grass.

  She clutched her hands behind her back. “Why do you want to know?”

  “We are friends. At least I believe we are becoming friends. I think you keep things pent up inside, and that does you harm.” He took hope from the fact that she didn’t move away.

  “There is no sense talking about the past or wanting things that are never to be.”

  “The past colors our future,” he said.

  She stopped at the edge of the stream and sighed. “This is very pretty. This place suits you.”

  “Are you changing the subject?”

  She gazed at him, her blue eyes swimming with memories. “The gossip is all true. Hunter came to me to ask me to end our engagement because he felt himself too good for Miss Sylvia Dowder now that he’s a viscount. It was a terrible day, and I don’t know why you insist I relive it.”

  Checking back toward the picnic, he confirmed the servants had gone and Mrs. Horthorn was engrossed in her sewing. Anthony pulled her into his arms. “I never want to hurt you, Sylvie. I’m sorry the man you loved turned out to be an ass.”

  She’d relaxed against his chest for a moment before pushing away. “I was lucky he did. I could have ended up married to a man who thinks more of his social status than his honor. Hunter Gautier is no gentleman. He made my mother cry, caused a hideous amount of gossip, which I pray does not hinder my sister from finding a husband, and destroyed any faith we had in love.”

  The mention of love caused something in Anthony’s chest to tighten. “Then you did love him?”

  Whenever she gave a question a lot of thought, she tipped her head to one side while pulling her bottom lip through her teeth. She was adorable. The urge to nibble that lip himself was dangerously needy.

  “I thought I loved him. Perhaps I loved the idea of being married, leaving home, and having my own life. I used to dream of a house in the country and filling it with children. Hunter was my way to make my dreams come true.” Kneeling, she reached out and let the water run over her fingers.

  “You could still have all of those things. Being an Everton lady is a choice. You are lovely and not very old. You could find love, Sylvie.”

  She stood and backed away from him. “Love is for fools, Tony. Anyone who tells you differently is lying. My sister recently reminded me of that fact, which our mother has tried to instill in us for years.”

  It cut him deeply to hear her say it, even though it was a sentiment he had believed from time to time in his life, until he saw his sister’s happy marriage and thought about what his parents had shared. “I will not try to convince you since I can see your mind is set. Though, I know you are wrong.” He held up a hand to stop her from expounding on her beliefs. He was sure she could give a dozen examples of miserable marriages, which he couldn’t bear to hear her tell. “Let us agree to disagree on this point for now.”

  She shrugged, and the fire went out of her. Maybe she’d wanted him to try to prove her wrong, or perhaps she was just ready for a good fight.

  He liked a good debate too. “Tell me something else.”

  As they walked along the stream, the sun illuminated golden streaks in her hair. The urge to feel if it was as soft as it looked forced him to grip his hands behind his back. Every moment with her was an exercise in restraint. Though he wouldn’t give back one instant of her company.

  “Yes?”

  “What did you do when that ingrate March told you he wanted you to break off your engagement?” Anthony would have beaten him soundly.

  “I tossed him from the house after a sound setting down.”

  He faced her. His heart ached for her as much as it would for a member of his family. She had become important to him in a very short time. He wanted to be her friend, have her trust him. Though, it made little sense to push the issue. “Did you cry, Sylvie? Did that pig make you cry?”

  “No. Once he was gone, I fainted.” She laughed but there was no humor in the hollow sound. “It was the first time I have ever done so. Very embarrassing. I’m glad only my mother and sister were present.”

  Giving in, he brushed a stray curl behind her ear. It was like fine silk. He trailed his knuckle along her cheek. “I have an unnatural urge to go this moment, find March, and whip him until he faints.”

  This time the smile reached her eyes. “You are being silly.” She took his hand away from her face but didn’t release it immediately. “I am not your responsibility. In fact, I am only your employee for a few months. Perhaps soon, you will flee England, and live your Italian dream. I will be nothing more than an odd memory.”

  Standing by the water with his hand in hers, he wanted there to be more between them. More than that, he wanted her to want more. He shook off the ridiculous notion and let her hand fall away. Forcing his voice to a light bantering tone, he said, “But we are friends, and I do not like for my friends to be wronged. Besides, you will always be much more.”

  “Thank you.” She curtsied and walked toward where Mrs. Horthorn continued with her sewing.

  Anthony followed. “Do you think we might escape here for the house party after the ball? I should love a few days with close friends much more than a large party of people I hardly know.”

  She nodded. “But let’s get through the dinner party first and see how that goes. I will send the invitations tomorrow. Your cook seemed very competent, and the entire staff was looking forward to entertaining. It seems Lady Collington has not had a large group at the house in some time.”

  “Aunt Daphne tends to have a very busy schedule of parties to attend. She didn’t need to throw balls and dinners. Perhaps someday, when I am of an age, I can do the same.”

  There was that laugh again, and his heart beat a bit faster. Damn.

  Sylvia said, “If you live as long as your aunt and become as influential, you will be a lucky man.”

  “Indeed.”

  Mrs. Horthorn rose when they approached.
“You have a fine place here, my lord, but I think you had better be taking us back to town. We told Lady Jane we would return for supper.”

  “Of course.” Bowing, he strained to think of some reason to detain them longer. He would have to settle for seeing her again the day of the dinner party.

  A sweet sigh pushed from Sylvia’s lips. “I like it here very much, but of course you’re right, and we should get back. I will come by early on Wednesday and see that everything is in order for dinner. I have no doubt it will be a success.”

  “With you at the helm, my mother can have no complaints.”

  A wicked grin lifted her lips. “And of course, it is she that we are trying to impress. I keep forgetting that.”

  “Don’t tease. My momma is tiny yet formidable. You will see. She is not a woman to be disappointed.” His attachment to his mother was normally a subject of embarrassment, but he enjoyed the teasing coming from Sylvia. “I’d better call for the carriage.”

  When he dropped the ladies at Everton House, it pained him to watch her go. Ridiculous. White’s Gentlemen’s Club was just the distraction he needed.

  The club was crowded. Since receiving his earldom, Anthony had been avoiding White’s. Too many well-wishers who often wanted something else.

  From the corner of the room, Miles Hallsmith waved him over. “Grafton, you look like you would rather be somewhere else.”

  “I think maybe I would. Since I became an earl, everyone wants something from me. At least it seems so.” He sat in the chair adjacent and waved at a footman for a brandy.

  “I was about to have some dinner. Would you care to join me? I promise you if I wanted something from a man with a title, my brother is higher on the list than you.” He laughed. Miles’s brother, the Viscount of Thornbury, was a complete imbecile who would have spent all his family money and alienated all of England if it wasn’t for Miles.

  “Thank you, Hallsmith. I would like that.”