Lucy Muir (2 page)

“One should never make wagers on things of which one has insufficient knowledge. If you will notice, the figures are less robust and the background less distinct than in a Rubens.” He made a graceful bow as he came up to her. “Henry Stanton, Marquess of Talford. Do I have the pleasure of addressing Miss Amberly or Miss Southwell?”

“My lord,” She curtseyed, trying again to place the familiar-sounding name, “I am Anne Southwell. Thank you for giving us shelter here.”

“It is a pleasure to be of assistance. I am glad I decided to remain at Longworth after the Christmas festivities.”

Very glad, he thought to himself, frankly admiring the woman before him. Even the outmoded brown merino dress she wore could not conceal her beauty. She was something below middle height, but held herself with an erect yet easy posture that made her seem taller. He appreciated her regular features and candid green eyes, but it was her heavy honey-blonde hair dressed in classical coils that his glance stayed on longest. He had a sudden desire to see that hair loose and flowing over her shoulders and back.

Anne felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the heat of the fire at the marquess’ frank appraisal of her person. Up close, the marquess was even more disconcertingly handsome, although silver glints in the black hair casually arranged
a
la
Titus indicated he was older than she had first thought. A memory suddenly clicked into place. Lord Henry Stanton, “Hell-born Harry.” Of course! Her brother had often admiringly recounted the escapades of the famous rake. He was a member of the Prince’s set and had been infamous for his duels, deep gaming, and the many dashing high-flyers with whom he had been associated. The more respectable members of the ton had predicted that he would come to a bad end, but instead he had increased his already considerable wealth.

Lord Stanton saw the gleam of recognition in her eyes and said with amusement, “I see you have heard of me, Miss Southwell. No doubt you are wishing yourself still safe in your carriage. Death by freezing would be preferable to being snowbound in Hell-born Harry’s home.”

Perhaps she
should
think that, thought Anne, but instead she felt intrigued. After all, this was her first meeting with a real rake. Charlie’s rackety friends had not merited such a distinction.

“Indeed not, Lord Stanton. I am not so missish to prefer frostbite to the warmth of a fire simply because that fire is in your home. Although perhaps I should be concerned on behalf of my cousin,” she added.

“Let me set your mind at ease, Miss Southwell. I have been informed that your cousin is quite young, and I have no taste for cradle robbing, no matter how beautiful the occupant of the cradle.”

“I wager you may change your mind after you see her,” Anne said, not believing any man could remain immune to her cousin’s beauty.

“You would lose again,” Lord Stanton replied. “My taste runs to more mature women,” he added, looking at her meaningfully.

Lord Stanton found himself becoming even more attracted to this woman by her common-sense acceptance of a situation that would have sent most gently reared ladies into a fit of vapours or spasms. He smiled at her again and she returned the smile spontaneously.

A footman entered and set a tray with two glasses and a decanter on a table. Lord Stanton poured a small measure into one glass and offered it to Anne.

“Brandy, Miss Southwell? It will help to stave off a chill.”

Anne hesitated a moment before accepting the strong spirits, then decided her ordeal in the storm made it acceptable to have some. Their fingers touched slightly as she took the glass, causing a tingle to run from her fingertips up to her spine. She sensed the touch had been intentional, although perhaps she was unfairly judging him because of his reputation.

“Please be seated if you have warmed yourself sufficiently, and tell me how you came to be travelling in such inclement January weather,” he said. “Miss Amberly and your servants have been attended to, so you need not concern yourself on their account.”

Anne sat down in a red velvet chair near the fireplace and Lord Stanton seated himself across from her, his legs stretched out casually, booted feet crossed. Anne found that his relaxed attitude put her at ease, as well. The brandy was already taking effect, warming her insides and making her receptive to his charm. Before long she was freely relating to him something of her’ life in Bath as the motherless daughter of an army officer. A small voice in her mind cautioned that she was telling too much to a relative stranger, and a rake at that, but Anne ignored the voice. The brandy had loosened her tongue, and she discovered that she was starved for masculine company—someone to listen to her and give advice the way Charlie had.

A wistful look came over her face at the thought of Charlie, and she stopped speaking a moment, remembering her devil-may-care brother. He hadn’t looked anything like Lord Stanton—Charlie had been of very slender build, with merry hazel eyes and wavy golden hair—but they both had the same indefinable masculine charm.

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.

* * * *

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.