Lucy Muir Read online

  Lord Stanton noticed the change in Anne’s expression and prodded softly.

  “What are you thinking of, Miss Southwell?”

  “I was just thinking of Charlie,” she replied, her eyes losing their unfocussed look and meeting her companion’s.

  “Your brother?” Lord Stanton inquired, referring to an earlier part of their conversation. “You must have been very close. He was of an age with you?”

  “No,” Anne said, her glance slipping past Lord Stanton’s again and staring beyond him into the past, “he was older than I. Charlie helped Papa raise me after my mother died.”

  A smile touched Anne’s lips and she laughed softly. “I daresay some of the things Charlie thought it necessary to teach me were not quite proper for a young girl, but he and Papa never made many allowances for my being female.”

  She took another swallow of brandy and savoured the warmth it engendered in her body and mind. It made it easy to talk with Lord Stanton about her brother.

  “One time,” she said reminiscently, “I came upon Charlie and two of his friends betting which of two garden toads would catch a bug first, I insisted that I be allowed to make a wager too, and lost a guinea to them. Only I didn’t have a guinea.

  “Charlie was quite horrified that I had made a wager for which I did not have the stakes. After his friends left he told me that I had quite shamed him, and that I must come up with the money to settle my debt. The only thing I could think of was to give him my garnet necklace to pawn, which he did.

  “About a week later, our housekeeper was helping me dress for a dinner at Colonel Morehead’s and asked me where the necklace was. She was quite shocked when I confessed what I had done with it and went to inform Papa. He sent for me and told me to repeat the story. He looked very stern, and I was afraid both Charlie and I were going to be severely punished, but after he heard me out he told the housekeeper that Charlie had done the right thing to teach me that even a woman always paid her debts of honour.”

  Anne fell silent again, and her expression sobered. “Charlie was always so full of life.” She shook her head slowly. “I could not believe it when I was informed both he and my father had been killed in the action in Egypt.”

  To her horror, Anne felt tears forming in her eyes and blinked furiously to prevent them from falling. It was not the thing to burden another with one’s personal sorrows.

  Lord Stanton said nothing but looked at her sympathetically and allowed her time to regain control of her emotions.

  “But that was seven years ago,” she said, regaining her composure. “I sold our house and moved to Medford. I lived there quite contentedly until I found myself Melissa’s guardian.”

  Her moment of melancholy over, she went on to tell Lord Stanton of her ward’s circumstances and how her beauty and sweetness had moved Anne to change her plans to present Melissa in Bath and try instead to launch her into London Society.

  Lord Stanton listened with attention to Anne’s tale, careful to let his dark eyes betray nothing of his thoughts. He had been suffering from ennui, and here was a heaven-sent opportunity to relieve it. He took careful note of Anne’s words, storing the information away. Daughter of an army officer, well past the age of consent, with an unorthodox upbringing. Good—her background and age made this lovely woman before him fair game. His considerable experience told him the attraction was mutual, and he contemplated an enjoyable pursuit. She was certainly naive about Society, however, to imagine that she could marry an impoverished ward into the nobility, no matter how beautiful the girl might be.

  “My dear girl,” he said as Anne finished her recital and lapsed into silence, “you have set yourself an impossible task.”

  “Why? I realise it will be difficult. That is why we are on our way to London now. I shall have time to reconnoiter and plan my campaign before the Season begins in April.”

  “Spoken like the true daughter of Major Southwell.” Lord Stanton smiled and took another sip of brandy. “But it is obvious you have no acquaintance with London Society. Neither you nor your cousin has a fortune or a title. No matter how beautiful your cousin is, you would at least need to have a well-placed relative or friend to sponsor you into the ton, and if I understand you correctly, you have neither. You are not even travelling with a proper companion. You may be past one-and-twenty, but you are unmarried and therefore not an acceptable chaperone. Take my advice and introduce your cousin into Bath society as you originally intended. There you would have some chance of succeeding.”

  During his speech Anne found her previous good opinion of Lord Stanton dissipating. He was being like Charlie in his less endearing moments—condescending to her and finding fault with her plans. She put her brandy glass down on the table beside her and sat up straight.

  “I am nine-and-twenty, Lord Stanton, far old enough to serve as a chaperone to an eighteen-year-old girl, whether I have been married or not. Thank you for your kind advice, but I feel I would not be doing justice to Melissa were I to marry her off to some elderly noble in Bath. I shall continue to London.”

  “Then I wish you every success in your endeavour,” Lord Stanton replied mildly.

  Anne relaxed her hostile posture, and he smiled at her again, pleased to see his smile returned. She had spirit as well as beauty. Better and better. A plan began to take shape in his mind, but it was too early to put it into operation. He rose and tugged a bellpull.

  “I know you would like to see how Miss Amberly fares and to have the opportunity to rest before dinner,” he said to her. “Gates will escort you to your rooms. Dinner has been set back to eight o’clock. Until then…” He bowed over Anne’s hand as she rose to leave the room.

  Henry Stanton watched Anne follow the footman from the room with a half smile on his lips. Yes, he was very glad he had chosen to remain behind at Longworth after his holiday guests had gone on to Headley Hall for more festivities. He poured himself another brandy and returned to his seat before the fire.

  At forty years of age, Lord Henry Stanton was one of the few members of his set who remained unmarried. Not that marriage slowed the others down in their pursuit of pleasure. But Harry had no desire to encumber himself with a wife, no matter how compliant she might be. Each Season he watched cynically to see which mamas would allow the draw of his title and money to overcome their repugnance of his reputation and throw their daughters in his way. He carefully gave them a wide berth and confined his pleasures to married women and women of the demimonde.

  He contemplated Miss Southwell with a stirring of desire. She was the kind of woman he found most appealing—attractive, intelligent and old enough to have formed opinions of her own. The fact that she had been brought up by a father and brother who were army officers would be to his advantage. They had evidently exposed Anne to more of life than was usual for a gently bred woman. Still, he would have to go carefully in his plans to seduce her. She was obviously untouched despite her upbringing. He wondered why she had never married. Probably she had lacked suitors of acceptable age and status in Medford. He briefly debated the ethics of what he planned to do, but again came to the decision that her age and station in life made her fair game. Or else he was making excuses so he could seduce the most desirable woman he had come across in years with a clear conscience, he recognized cynically. Well, no woman had ever lost through an association with him. He was unaccustomed to denying himself anything he wanted, but he also prided himself on his considerate treatment of his mistresses. It was fortunate that his sister had not come to Longworth for the holidays. Her presence would have made his plans impossible.

  He shifted in his chair at the thought of his sister, Lady Caroline Brookfield. Although she never presumed to lecture him, he knew she never gave up hope that he would settle down and abandon his rakehell ways. Perhaps someday, he mused, when he had three score years to his credit and wanted someone to care for him in his old age. But now there were still too many pleasures to be had, such as Anne Southwell.

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nbsp; Gates showed Anne into a bedchamber on the next floor where she found a young girl unpacking her clothes. The girl stopped her work at Anne’s entrance and curtseyed.

  “I’m Mary, miss, and I’m to be your maid while you’re here, if you wish it.”

  “Thank you, Mary,” Anne replied, looking about the room with interest. The walls were covered in paper painted with delicate flowers and leaves in soft hues. A bed with peach-coloured tent-style hangings was against one wall, and two patterned carpets of silk graced the floor. A small writing desk was placed conveniently, a wash table stood in the corner, and several chairs upholstered in peach damask were set about the room.

  “What a beautiful room this is,” she said appreciatively.

  “Isn’t it, miss,” Mary answered shyly. “It’s called the Chinese Bedchamber, miss.”

  Anne removed the worst of her travel stains at the delicate toilet table, and Mary helped her into a burgundy gown suitable for dinner. Anne surveyed herself critically in the gilt-framed glass, frowning slightly. She must get some new gowns when she arrived in London. Hers were sadly out of fashion. Well, it would have to do, she decided as she pinned a half handkerchief on her head as befitted her age and unmarried status.

  Mary showed Anne into a bedchamber directly across the hall where she found Melissa sitting up in a gilded bed with blue-and-white curtains. Sanders was folding clothes into a large wardrobe.

  “Where have you been so long, Anne?” questioned Melissa eagerly. “Have you met Lord Stanton yet? What is he like?”

  Anne seated herself on the bed next to Melissa, anxious to impart her news.

  “Yes, I met him. That’s what detained me so long. You’ll never guess who he is—‘Hell-born Harry’! Charlie used to tell me stories about him. He thought Lord Stanton was quite a nonpareil.”

  “Hell-born Harry? Who’s that?” Melissa asked.

  Sanders halted her work and interrupted their conversation. “Ha! I feared as much when Mr. Upton first told us his name. We had best leave as soon as possible. Should it become known you stayed here your reputations would be quite ruined.”

  “Fustian, Sanders,” Anne said heatedly, her brief pique at Lord Stanton’s discouragement of her plan over. “He behaved in a most gentlemanly manner. And I am here to chaperone Melissa.”

  “Who is here to chaperone you, miss?” Sanders asked shrewdly. She sniffed pointedly. “Drinking brandy alone with a rake is not the thing for a gently bred lady.”

  “A rake? Who is Hell-born Harry?” Melissa repeated.

  “It’s not fitting you should know about him, a young girl not yet out,” Sanders said. “It’s enough for you to know that he should not be encouraged in any way by either of you. Although,” she added fairly, “he seems to have mellowed somewhat in the past several years.”

  A new thought occurred to Anne, a strangely unwelcome one. “Is he married?” she asked Sanders.

  “Married? That one?” snorted Sanders. “What need has he to marry? Besides, no properly brought up young lady would have him.”

  “Well, I think his reputation is grossly exaggerated. What would you wager…” Anne’s voice trailed off. She looked sheepishly at Sanders and hurriedly changed the subject. “Melissa, do you feel recovered enough to go down to dinner?”

  “Yes. The warm bath and short rest revived me completely. I wouldn’t miss meeting Lord Stanton.”

  Anne took another bite of the tasty haricoed mutton, enjoying the best prepared meal she had had in ages. Lord Stanton evidently employed a very good cook. She looked at Melissa to see if she were enjoying the meal and was amused by the expression of disappointment evident on Melissa’s face. Anne knew it did not reflect upon the food but on Lord Stanton. She had been most diverted to see the expression of apprehension on Melissa’s face when she first met Lord Stanton change to one of chagrin when he displayed no obvious signs of rakishness but behaved quite as any other gentleman of their acquaintance.

  Lord Stanton caught Anne’s eye and smiled, and she knew he was sharing her amusement. Not for the first time during dinner Anne wished she had on a more fashionable gown than her plain cambric round gown. She felt quite dowdy next to her companions: Lord Stanton was impeccably clad in a claret coat with a quilted white marcella waistcoat and kerseymere breeches, and Melissa looked very modish in a tunic of printed rose muslin over an underdress of white muslin.

  Surprisingly, though, Lord Stanton had not appeared to be overcome by Melissa’s beauty when he was introduced to her. Indeed, Anne felt that he was unaccountably drawn more to her. She glanced at Lord Stanton again and once more found his eyes upon her. Anne had an uncomfortable feeling that every time she looked his way he was aware of her regard. She felt herself blush and looked down, concentrating her attention on the mutton and the beautiful Derby tableware.

  Lord Stanton saw the light flush staining Anne’s cheeks and knew her awareness of him was a good sign. She was looking absurdly young in her simple burgundy round gown, a half handkerchief pinned over her magnificent hair. Miss Amberly was as beautiful as Anne had indicated, but he appreciated the younger woman’s dark beauty without being drawn to it. He preferred fair women.

  A question from Melissa recalled him to his duties as host, and Lord Stanton turned his attention to the younger woman. For the rest of the meal he exerted himself to amuse both his guests with stories of Town and Court.

  Since there were no other guests present, Lord Stanton did not sit in solitary state with his port after dinner but chose to join Anne and Melissa in the drawing room that adjoined the dining room. It was smaller than the red drawing room Anne had been in earlier, but as opulently furnished and was decorated in shades of yellow and green. Anne quickly looked at the paintings lining the walls but saw none similar to the Fragonard in the red drawing room.

  “I do own more Fragonards, Miss Southwell, but they are hung in other rooms,” said Lord Stanton, correctly interpreting Anne’s searching look.

  Anne blushed again, and taking pity, Lord Stanton changed the subject, motioning to a beautifully cased chamber organ at one end of the room.

  “Do either of you play?”

  “I am only conversant with the pianoforte, but Anne plays very well,” volunteered Melissa.

  “Please honour us with a selection, Miss Southwell,” Lord Stanton requested.

  Anne agreed and, seating herself at the small organ, began a piece by Handel. Lord Stanton and Melissa sat quietly, enjoying the skill Anne displayed in her performance. When she finished the piece, Melissa rose and begged to be excused, pleading fatigue after the long day of travel. She waited for Anne to accompany her, but Lord Stanton intervened, asking Anne to play another selection for him. Anne acceded gracefully, and after bidding Melissa good-night, she reseated herself at the organ and played a short composition by Bach.

  “Thank you, Miss Southwell,” Lord Stanton said when she had finished. “You play beautifully.”

  “It is one of the few accomplishments I managed to acquire,” Anne said, smiling. “My father did not concern himself with seeing that I received adequate instruction in womanly accomplishments. However, we had a chamber organ that had belonged to my mother, and I begged to learn to play it.”

  She got up from the organ and crossed the room to Lord Stanton, who rose at her approach.

  “Please excuse me now. Lord Stanton. It has been a tiring day.”

  “Stay a moment, Miss Southwell,” Lord Stanton requested. He indicated a chair to her and rang for a servant. “Please join me in a glass of port before you retire. It will make you rest more easily.”

  Anne hesitated a moment, remembering Sanders’s warning. Anne sensed Lord Stanton was attracted to her, and he was Hell-born Harry, after all. Then, scolding herself for being missish, she sat down on the gold-and-yellow brocade chair he had indicated.

  Lord Stanton took the port from the butler when he entered, offered a glass to Anne and seated himself across from her. For a few minutes they sat in c
ompanionable silence. The window draperies had not been drawn, and a full moon illuminated a silvery frozen landscape. The contrast of the cold outside and the warmth she was sharing inside with Lord Stanton created a feeling of cozy intimacy. Anne thought again how she missed masculine company and relaxed into her chair, enjoying his presence.

  At length Lord Stanton broke the silence. “When I first met you this afternoon you were making a wager with yourself,” he stated, smiling at her but not shifting from his comfortable position. “Would you care to enter upon a wager with me?”

  “What is the nature of the wager?” Anne inquired, surprised, waking from a half-sleep induced by the warmth of the fire and the port.

  “You believe that you can succeed in launching your cousin into London Society and marrying her into the nobility. I don’t think you can succeed and would like to make a wager to that effect.”

  “What are the stakes?” Anne asked warily, remembering how her brother Charlie had often tried to trick her into impossible wagers. Lord Stanton had the same look of mischief in his eyes.

  Lord Stanton did not answer her directly. “I will even the odds by giving you two thousand pounds for your cousin’s dowry. This would allow you to use what monies you have to make a better appearance. However, you may not tell anyone of the dowry until a formal offer is made. The marriage must be to a member of the nobility, and it must take place before the end of July. If you win, I will give you another two thousand pounds, as well.”

  “And if I lose?” asked Anne, feeling dazed by the amount. Two thousand pounds! That was more than the total she and Melissa had for the Season combined.

  Lord Stanton looked straight into Anne’s eyes. “If you lose,” he said slowly, “you will become my mistress for as long as I choose the association to last.”