The Temptation of Lady Serena (4 page)

“Serena, you’re garnering a great deal of notice.”

“Phoebe, you wouldn’t
believe
the number of gentlemen paying morning calls during the last couple of days!” Serena had trouble believing all the attention she’d received. “And they’re leaving all sorts of gifts. I wanted to return them, but Aunt Ester and Aunt Catherine tell me they are quite unexceptionable, and it would be wrong of me to do so.”

Phoebe laughed. “You’ll become used to it. I predict when it comes to a husband, you, my dear, may be as picky as you choose. Is there anyone whom you like better than the others?”

Clutching her gloved hands together nervously, Serena responded. “I did think Lord Beaumont very nice, though I’ve not seen him since the play.”

Phoebe’s tone was ambiguous. “Yes, he is handsome.”

“Yes, very.” Serena sighed. It appeared as if every other gentleman had called on her, why hadn’t he? He was not in the Park that morning either, she’d looked.

Soon they were stopped again, this time by Mr. Ned Carver, a long-time friend of Phoebe’s, who asked for an introduction.

He bowed. “Lady Serena, I would be most honored if you would walk with me.”

Phoebe fixed him with a jaundiced look. “Ned,
do
look around. Do you see a groom hidden anywhere on this phaeton? Lady Serena cannot walk with you alone. It wouldn’t be proper, and I can’t leave my horses. If you wish to stroll with her, you will have to arrange to do so when she is not driving with me.”

“Lady Evesham,” Mr. Carver exclaimed in frustration, “what has Evesham been doing to make you act like an archwife?”

Phoebe gasped. “Oh! I am not a virago, and I am very happy with Marcus. You know the proprieties as well as I. Go to St. Eth House and do the pretty. You may console yourself with the knowledge that no one else will be able to walk with her to-day either.”

Mr. Carver lost his place to Lord Huntley, who also demanded an introduction. The ladies were stopped so often that it took an hour to travel the short distance between the Park and St. Eth House.

Serena fought her laughter as Phoebe made more pithy comments to the gentlemen wishing to stroll with her.

When Serena and Phoebe drew up in front of St. Eth House, Phoebe heaved a sigh of relief. “Serena, do you drive?”

“I have only ever driven a gig and a wagon. Though I’m told I drive well.”

“Have you thought about buying a curricle or a phaeton while you are in Town?”

Pursing her lips, Serena gave the suggestion some thought. “The idea had not occurred to me, yet I can see it might be very useful. Though I’d miss hearing your masterful set-downs.”

Her cousin chuckled. “Let’s talk to Uncle Henry.”

Phoebe knocked on the door to his study and walked in. “Uncle Henry, Serena needs her own carriage.”

He did not appear at all surprised. “Serena, do you know what type you would like?”

“Well, I would like to—to cut a dash. But I am not sure my driving skills are up to Phoebe’s. Is there something between a gig and a high perched phaeton?”

Henry gave a shout of laughter. “Yes indeed, my green girl. We shall plan to visit Longacre and find something suitable. To-morrow if you’d like. Soon you’ll be the envy of the
ton.
”

 

The next morning they visited one of the coach-makers. Serena couldn’t believe all the different carriages on display and had a great deal of fun perusing them. “Oh, look, Phoebe, Cinderella’s carriage.”

The carriage resembled a double-perched chariot slung between large wheels. It was painted a bright yellow with gold scrollwork. The cushions were in a light blue velvet.

“Yes, it certainly does look like Cinderella’s carriage.” Phoebe grinned wryly. “But wouldn’t one look a quiz in it!”

In the end, Serena settled on a very smart-looking curricle, painted a dark brown with gold-on-tan piping. “What shall I do about horses?”

“Ladies are not allowed at Tattersall’s.” Henry asked, “Will you trust me to select a pair for you?”

“Of course.” Serena glanced at Uncle Henry. “I trust you. What do I need to know to drive the curricle?” She could scarcely contain her excitement. This was much more fun than buying clothes. “I do think I should practice before I drive during the fashionable hour. Don’t you? Do you have time to teach me?”

“For that,” he said, “you want Phoebe. She is the best whip in the family.”

“I’d be happy to take you out to practice,” Phoebe replied.

Phoebe and Serena met two days later to begin her lessons. She learned the correct way to hold her ribbons and the whip, and how to feather a corner and tickle the wheeler’s ear.

They were in the Park after breakfast and Serena was thankful there was no one around to see her. “I had no idea driving a curricle was so much more involved than driving the gig.”

“If it were only the driving, we would not have much to do. You have a nice light touch. In London, you must learn to drive with style, or open yourself up to being branded a mere whipster. I wouldn’t worry. You’re learning quickly and will soon be able to drive during the Grand Strut without embarrassment.”

In a few short days, the fashionable in Hyde Park were greeted by the sight of Lady Serena tooling an elegant curricle drawn by a matched pair of bays. She saw Phoebe and hailed her.

“You look very smart, cousin,” Phoebe said.

Serena grinned. “Well, I certainly feel it. This was a wonderful idea!”

They chatted for a few minutes before Serena’s attention was demanded by a gentleman waving at her.

“Now remember,” Phoebe said primly, “you may only take up gentlemen to whom you’ve been introduced.”

“I’m not so green as that.” Serena shook her head. “Phoebe, this is a great deal of fun.”

Taking Lord Wivenly up beside her, Serena bid her cousin farewell.

“By gad, Lady Serena, you do drive well.” Lord Wivenly sat back.

“Thank you, my lord. I am pleased you think so.” Pretending to pay attention to her horses, Serena looked in vain for a tall man with blond curls. The only man who’d captured her attention.

 

Midway through the following day, Serena giggled as her uncle peeked into the morning room before opening the door.

“Is the knocker never still?” he asked with an air of frustrated amusement. “We’ve not had so many young men in this house since Phoebe’s come out.”

His wife laughed with delight. “Yes, my love, isn’t it wonderful? We are enjoying it immensely. We have had gentlemen here on the slimmest of pretexts, and more than one mama has been induced to meet Serena.”

Catherine’s voice quivered with enjoyment. “And the poetry, my dear brother, from odes to her eyes down to her feet, not to mention budding couplets.”

He shuddered. “What a paltry set of fellows. Odes. Ester, did I ever write poetry to you?”

She grinned. “No, my love, and I thank you for it. I wonder if any young man has married on the strength of his poetry. Well, other than Byron, of course.”

Serena sat on the sofa set between two tall windows. “Uncle Henry, I’ve received so many gifts, I don’t know what I shall do with them. All this attention is making me feel giddy.”

He smiled warmly. “Serena, I think it is safe to say you have taken the
ton
by storm. Ester, did Phoebe procure the vouchers to Almack’s?”

“Yes, Sally Jersey dropped them off last week. She is very impressed with you, Serena.” Ester turned back to her husband. “I don’t know if you remember, Henry, but Maria showed such kindness to Sally when she made her come out, that Sally wants to help launch Serena.”

Serena’s expression grew wistful. She glanced at her Aunt Catherine. “I wish I had more memories of Mama when she was—oh, how can I put it—still herself. For most of my life she was . . .”

Catherine smiled a little sadly. “Your mother would have loved to see your success. Do you drive out this afternoon?”

Serena knew her aunt was right. Her mother would have enjoyed this immensely. “Yes, with Lord Huntley. It seems as if I am never at home.” Serena sighed. “Aunt Catherine, you were correct when you told me I would need all the clothes we bought and more. I’ve already had to call upon Madame again, and Phoebe took me to Pantheon’s bazaar where I could find all manner of things for a pittance.”

“Ester,” Henry asked, “when do we hold our ball for Serena?”

“At the start of the Season in two weeks.”

“Won’t London still be a little thin of company?” Catherine asked.

Ester shook her head. “No, you should see the invitations we have already received. The wet weather in the shires seems to be driving people back to Town. The Season will begin at St. Eth House. Phoebe’s ball will be a couple of weeks later. You have no idea the work she has had to do to put that ballroom back in repair. It’s not been used since Marcus’s sister, Amabel, married.” Ester glanced at Serena. “It wouldn’t surprise me at all if we have a marriage to celebrate this Season.”

Serena looked at her aunt and sighed. Yes, she must marry, but whom?

R
obert arrived at his estate on the outskirts of Newmarket the day after the disastrous theater visit. He’d pushed his horses so hard, he’d had to change them. But no matter how fast he drove, he was unable to outrun his growing attraction to Lady Serena.

The minute his hand touched hers, he’d felt the connection and, what was worse, his customary aloofness began to slip. He’d loved once and chosen badly. Robert bore no desire to travel to those depths of misery with any lady again. Just the thought strengthened his resolve. His marriage would be one of convenience, where he could control the outcome.

He needed an heir, not another broken heart. All he had to do was to stay out of London for a week or two and regain his wits. By the time he returned, Lady Serena would have chosen the highest title that offered for her, or the one with the most money. She might even be betrothed.

For some reason, that thought didn’t comfort him.

Robert stalked out to the stable determined to erase her from his mind, but he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Lady Serena haunted his dreams, coming to him and offering her lips, then fading away when he tried to touch her. Last night, he’d awoken trying to stroke his pillow.

If that wasn’t bad enough, no one appreciated his help. His trainer said to Robert if he came to the track once more, he would quit. And his housekeeper had the gall to tell him to stop giving everyone orders without consulting with her first.

Robert stood surrounded by stalls. “Pitchley,” Robert said to his groom, “I want the brick in this floor taken up and replaced.”

Pitchley regarded him with a jaundiced eye. “My lord, give over do. The floor was done last year. It don’t do you a bit o’ good driving us all mad.”

Robert’s temper flared and he snapped. “I’m the master here, Pitchley, and I’d thank you to remember it. If I want to make changes, I shall.”

“Master Robert,”
Pitchley continued undaunted, “I’ve been with you many a year, and I ain’t never seen you so testy. I dunno what bee you got up you, but you’re ’bout to drive ’em all to Bedlam.”

Robert faced his long time henchman and growled, “Why is it whenever I do anything you don’t like I become Master Robert again?”

“Iffen you don’t like it, then don’t act like you was six years old ag’in,” Pitchley said, unrepentantly.

Robert ran his hands over his face. “I need to return to London. Be ready to leave in the morning.”

“Aye, my lord. They’ll be reet glad to see the backside o’ you this time, I reckon.”

Robert glared, his tone frigid. “Remind me, please, why I haven’t let you go?”

Pitchley met his eyes. “Ain’t no use a-telling me you’s going to let me go. Wouldn’t go iffen you did. Promised your da I’d stay with you.” The groom sniffed. “Serve you right if I did leave.”

Robert turned sharply on his heel and walked out of the stable.

“You’d better figure out what’s wrong with you, Master Robert,” Pitchley called to him, “afore somebody decides you need to be locked up.”

Robert stopped. Responding would only encourage Pitchley’s impertinence. Better to ignore him. “Pitchley, did I ask for your opinion?” A mistake—Robert knew it as soon as the words left his mouth.

“At least you ain’t a-kick’n and a-scream’n like you did when his old lordship wouldn’t let you sit his hunter.”

Resisting an urge to give as good as he was getting, Robert strode firmly to the manor-house door, his shoulders hunched against the advice Pitchley was throwing at him.

He could not understand why that
damned woman
insisted on staying in his head—he adjusted his buckskin breeches—and was affecting every other part of his blasted body.

 

The following evening, Robert arrived at his London townhouse in time to change and have dinner at Brooks, his club. What he found when he entered the hallowed, male-only sanctuary, was talk of Lady Serena. Her assured manners and informed conversation, sense of humor, skill with the whip, and, most irritating of all, how well she dressed and her beauty. Her creamy breast adorned with a curl floated in his mind.

After being asked several times if he had either made her acquaintance, or could he use his influence with Evesham for an introduction, Robert stormed back to his house.

Later that evening, he sat in his study staring into the fireplace—an untasted glass of brandy in hand. Damn the woman. Damn all women. He drained the glass and went to bed, only to be haunted, once again, by visions of her.

 

The next day did not begin any better for Robert than the previous one had ended. He was dressing when his butler brought in a note from his grandmother. His presence was requested to drive with her in the Park that afternoon, probably to discuss his need for an heir. Fate was laughing at him.

Robert took himself off to Manton’s Shooting Salon, then to Jackson’s Boxing Parlor, where he found Marcus and Rutherford emerging.

Rutherford looked at him closely and, although his friend clamped his lips shut, he could not keep them from twitching.

Beaumont fumed knowing he had the look of a man being driven to madness by his own devil.

“You here?” Rutherford asked. “What happened to Newmarket?”

“I decided to come back to Town. Have I missed anything?” Robert asked with feigned indifference.

Marcus’s eyes sparkled with wicked glee. “Not much. The Season is just starting. You should’ve received a card for St. Eth’s ball as well as our own.”

Absently rubbing his jaw, Robert replied. “I only returned last evening. Mariville, my secretary, will have them.”

As hard as Rutherford tried, he couldn’t stop his lips from curving up. “Robert, no wish to intrude, but I’ve seen you in better looks. Is everything well?”

Beaumont ran his hand through his usually carefully styled curls. “No, damn it, it’s not at all well. I got to Brooks last night and was besieged by people wanting an introduction to
Lady Serena.
Then I received a note from my grandmother this morning. How she knows where to find me is so frightening I don’t want to think about it. I must attend her this afternoon. The prospect is enough to drive a man over the edge.”

Rutherford grinned. “Lady Serena has become very popular. Anyone who has the slightest acquaintance with Evesham is being asked for an introduction.”

Marcus said innocently, “St. Eth told me the knocker is never still. Got them writing odes to her face.”

Robert’s mouth dropped open. “Odes to her face?”

Marcus rubbed his chin. “Yes, and Phoebe said Serena already had an offer. Of course, Serena won’t say who it was, but the betting in the clubs is that it was Hampton. He was puffing off that he’d offer for her. Didn’t think she’d turn down a duke.”

“She turned down Hampton?” Robert attacked his hair again.

“It’s really not so difficult to understand,” Marcus replied provocatively. “I would imagine Serena wants a love match.”

“A love match.” The devil.
Beaumont turned and flung himself back out the door.

Rutherford played idly with his pocket watch. “Marcus, I believe Beaumont is becoming truly disordered.”

Swinging his quizzing glass, Marcus replied, “Indeed, as his friends, we should assist him in his time of need.”

“I would say the game is on. Can I interest you in a private wager?”

 

Robert walked back to Berkeley Square trying to regain his customary cool. He would go to Lady Harkness’s house tonight. Her parties always provided a distraction.

First he had to see his grandmother.

Robert presented himself at her home on Upper Brook Street just before five o’clock. His grandmother was an irascible old lady who always seemed to get what she wanted, which was humorous when her edicts were directed toward other members of the family. She dressed only in black bombazine and favored the style of the previous century, both in fashion and in speech.

For most of his life, she had been his favorite relative. But two years ago she’d begun to harp on him to wed. Now he avoided her whenever he could, though if summoned, he would go.

Robert assisted his grandmother and his aunt Frederica, the Dowager Lady Stanstead, known as Freddy, into their landau. He was seated with his back to the coachman, who was as deaf as a doornail, allowing his grandmother to say whatever she wished. Not that anything
could
stop her from saying what she wished.

“Robert, I am an old woman. I want—and I shall see—the succession secured before I die. You must marry. One disappointment in youth is not an excuse to fail in your duty. I daresay you could have any chit you wanted. You’re the head of our house. Get on with it.”

Robert opened his mouth to protest.

“Don’t tell me about your reputation. I know what it is. But I’ll tell you what I’ve never heard, and wouldn’t believe it if I did, is that you’ve ever toyed with the affections of a well-bred virgin. Decide what you want in a wife, my boy, find her and marry her.”

Robert was silent. Thoughts ran amok in his head. He’d thought he’d known what he wanted. A wife who would stay in Yorkshire, bear his children, and enable him to continue with his life. Then he’d met Lady Serena. What was so different about her he didn’t know and couldn’t guess. So far, she’d not lived down to his expectations. But Marcus said she was waiting for a damned love match.

Love was not for Robert. Could he have her without it?

He kept himself from running his hand over his face and glanced up at his grandmother, who stared at him with a sharp, almost knowing, look in her eyes. Good God! She couldn’t possibly perceive what he was thinking. He glanced around, in what he hoped would appear to be calm unconcern.

Lady Serena was tooling down the carriage way in a fashionable curricle with
Covington
seated beside her.
Blast him.

Beaumont’s muscles clenched as he stared at Serena, unable to tear his eyes away.

Lady Beaumont grinned. Robert was so preoccupied by the lady in the carriage, he wasn’t paying attention to anything else. She exchanged a humorous look with her daughter.

“That is all I have to say, my boy. You may make your escape.” Lady Beaumont waited. It had been a long time since he was this taken with a lady.
“Robert.”

His head swung around as if on a swivel.

“I said you may leave.”

“Thank you, Grandmama. I mean. Oh, damn it.” He leaned forward, kissed her cheek, and bolted from the carriage.

She chuckled merrily. “He’s just like his grandfather. I haven’t been so diverted in years, Freddy.”

Her daughter’s gaze followed Robert making his way after the carriage. “He certainly appears to be a case. Does he really think he’ll catch her on foot?”

“Freddy, poke Joe Coachman. I need to go home before I make a spectacle of myself and find out about that girl so we know with whom we are dealing.”

 

Late that evening, Robert arrived at a house on the edge of Mayfair. Lady Harkness, the widow of a rich Irish peer, who, having never been admitted to the drawing rooms of the Polite Society
,
decided to amuse herself by attracting gentlemen and ladies of the
ton
seeking distractions in a discreet house.

Her rooms were opulently furnished in creams and gold of the popular Egyptian style. Lit by soft lamps and wall sconces, they contained dark alcoves designed to encourage the pursuit of passion. Her refreshments were always of the highest quality. A string quartet played softly in the background. Couples gathered, speaking in low, well-modulated voices. Lady Harkness’s house served both those ladies who had not found happiness in marriage and the high-born rakes who were pleased to service them.

She came forward to greet Robert. “Lord Beaumont. I’ve not seen you in a while. Where have you been hiding yourself?”

He bussed the powdered and perfumed cheek she offered, but he couldn’t keep the tension from his voice. “I’ve been in the wilds of Yorkshire and in Newmarket.”

“You sound as if you need a distraction. Would you like me to introduce you to one or two of the ladies present?”

He smiled thinly. “Not just yet.”

Robert, a glass of champagne in his hand, prowled the room. He took in the glances and sidelong looks he received from several ladies, some of whom he’d already enjoyed. They all seemed so vulgar, and he wondered what he was doing here.

Frustrated, he flirted with a ripe brunette, before finally turning away, disgusted. The woman’s charms couldn’t compete with his vision of auburn hair and innocent amber eyes. Unable to find his escape in another woman, he went home.

He poured himself a brandy and stared into the fire’s flames. Since avoiding Serena obviously hadn’t helped, he’d decided to spend time with her. He’d discover her true character and would, surely, be bored in a week or two.

After tossing off the drink, he threw the glass at the fireplace.

 

Serena galloped down the tan on Rotten Row, while another horse strived to close in behind her. She urged Shamir faster. Upon reaching the end of the track, she glanced over to see Lord Beaumont cantering up on Démon. He reined in and trotted toward her and her breath quickened.

He smiled, and Serena’s heart beat so hard, she was sure he could hear it.

“Lady Serena, I wish you a good morn.”

Willing herself to be calm, Serena turned up her lips slightly. “A good morning to you as well, my lord.”

Beaumont’s brows lowered. “Are you alone?”

She pointed to Will, on the side of the track. “I have my groom.”

“Would you like to ride with me?”

Her chest constricted, and she drew a shaky breath. She’d thought and dreamed about just this—riding with him, his gaze upon her—perhaps, he’d even kiss her hand again.