Chapter Thirteen

Lavinia kept her composure in Lord and Lady Shotwick’s ballroom as she watched Arthur dancing with Lady Ida Beeston, a pretty little thing whose dress was clearly designed to accentuate her bosom. It was an enviable bosom, to be sure, and it seemed Arthur was having a difficult time of it, trying to focus on her face. Dancing with the young lady seemed to be secondary to chatting her up and the pair stayed on the fringes of the fray rather than trip over dancers in the middle. What they had to converse about was something of a wonder. Lady Ida was not known for her intellect.

And when the dance was finished, Arthur bowed politely then headed for Lady Richmond’s small circle of friends.

He stopped when he spied Lavinia. Her face grew hot. It was too obvious she had been watching him.

And then he was coming toward her and not his mother.

Lavinia fanned herself. She had just sworn to guard her heart. But there he was, all handsome and smiling, and she glued to her spot, willing him to join her.

She offered her hand and he bowed over it.

“My lady.”

His smooth baritone melted her resolve.

“Lord Petersham, how was partnering Lady Ida?”

“Delightful. Light on her feet. Light in her mind.”

Lavinia laughed softly. “It seemed you had plenty to talk about.”

“Ah yes. She asked what it was I did as an earl. I told her I build railways.”

“Oh my, that must have been confusing. Not all earls hold positions in industry.”

“She lamented that it must have been so very grand and romantic to travel by coach on dirt paths everywhere.”

Lavinia started. “You mean before the railway.”

Arthur smirked. “Yes.”

Oh dear. Lady Ida really was that dense. “Ponderously slow, I should think.”

“Then she asked me what London looked like before the railways took over—”

“Oh my.”

“Because it must have been terrifically bucolic in my youth.”

Lavinia whipped out her fan to hide her growing smile.

“I feared she would next ask me if wigs were ever so uncomfortable.”

She could not stop the guffaw and slapped the fan over her lips in mortification.

Arthur grinned then leaned in enough that his scent teased her senses. “Are you free for the next dance?”

“You’ll have to pardon my ineptitude. I fear we did not have the waltz in my youth.”

He grinned wider and surreptitiously squeezed her hand.

Mr. and Mrs. Peel approached, accompanied by a young man who, from his generous height, lanky frame, and reddish-brown hair could only be their son. William, if she recalled correctly.

“Arthur,” greeted Mr. Peel. “My lady.”

“Mr. Peel, Mrs. Peel.” Lavinia nodded her greeting. She smiled at the young man.

He blushed, his sheepish expression matching the slight slouch in his posture, as if standing straight would draw too much attention to him.

“Lady Foxley-Graham,” Mr. Peel said, “I dare say you may remember my son from the St. Albans’ wedding last autumn, but perhaps a reintroduction is in order. May I present my son, William Peel. William, the Viscountess Foxley-Graham.”

“Yes, I remember.” Lavinia held out her hand. “Mr. Peel.”

He grasped her hand, his confident grip discordant with his apparent demeanor, and bowed quickly. “My lady.” He stood to his full height as he loosened his hold and met her eyes. “I remember you from the wedding. How could I forget?”

Now it was her turn to blush. In less than a minute the awkward boy had become a man. And an attractive man at that.

“William will be attending Cambridge this autumn,” said Mrs. Peel. “We thought we’d give him a Season. So when his sisters are of age he can properly defend their honor.”

“I’m sure even the Prince of Wales would shrink from a rebuke from so tall a man.”

Mr. Peel the elder chuckled.

“My lady,” began the younger Mr. Peel, “if it is not too forward of me, I should like to ask you to dance.”

Lavinia shot a glance at Arthur before nodding to Mr. Peel. “I would be honored.” She once again offered her hand.

He took it, his glove a little warmer than before. The waltz had already begun so they found their rhythm and joined. Mr. William Peel was master of their steps, his carriage strong, his direction assured. In no time they were one with the swirling mass of couples on the ballroom floor.

And far away from his parents.

“My lady, I know the dance is already almost over. I offer my regrets for my lack of planning but wonder if I may beg a second dance?”

Despite Lavinia’s stature she was small before him. His head angled down, his eyes focused on hers, his gaze not flickering to her cleavage as another man’s would.

“Or perhaps a walk in the garden?”

He was bold.

So was she.

“I think we are near the doors to the garden and I could use a breath of fresh air. Let’s take a stroll.”

He smiled as the music ended, wrapping her arm around his. They strolled through the French doors to the terrace, his step on the flagstones as unfaltering as on the dance floor. He slowed as they reached the carved balustrade at the edge of the terrace.

He turned toward her, his arm still the support of hers. “I’ve overheard the Earl of Petersham sing your praises, my lady. They are true indeed.”

So Arthur did think of her when she wasn’t around. That was heartening. “I’m flattered, Mr. Peel.”

“I understand you are a good friend to Helena’s husband, the Earl of St. Albans.” He leaned in just a bit more. “A very good friend.”

Her skin prickled. Was he attempting seduction? “I have known the earl since he was a boy. I was a close friend of his mother’s.”

“Yes. I’ve heard that.” He squeezed her arm. “Shall we take a walk in the garden?”

The prickle chilled. He couldn’t be much over eighteen years of age. Yet, he was progressing as a man far beyond his years.

“As you wish, Mr. Peel.”

He led her out onto the lawn, down a path lined with mirrored glass lanterns aglow with candles. The setting was romantic, with lovers all around.

It appeared he understood that fact precisely.

He steered her a little off the lighted path to a parterre garden, their footsteps crunching on the gravel as they strolled between the manicured beds. Before them loomed a row of tall squared boxwoods, an archway cut into the hedge.

Lavinia swallowed. A man hoping to get her alone was predictable but a boy? And one she barely knew. “Mr. Peel,” she said, trying to convey a warning.

He directed her through the shrub. Lavinia did not resist. Instead curiosity overwhelmed her.

He stopped just on the other side, close enough to the archway so she could easily escape if she felt that were necessary. He released her arm, and took her hand instead.

“My lady, I know I am too forward—”

“You are, Mr. Peel.” His confidence was shaking. Hers was resolute.

“I’ve heard—well it’s not like gossiping, just overhearing—that you sometimes take young men under your wing. Offer them guidance, for their careers and such.”

And such. Her stomach clenched. She would have to make him see the foolishness of his actions. “And what sort of career were you considering?”

“What? Oh. Archaeology I suppose.”

“How romantic.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Why yes, in the sense of the exoticism of it all.” Her voice conveyed a serenity at odds with the agitation rising in her body. His closeness was unsettling. “And where will you go? Persia? Greece? China?”

“I rather like the idea of the Levant, you know, biblical sites.”

Agitation burned slowly to arousal. “So then you’ll be learning Greek and Hebrew.”

“I already know Greek—” He shook his head. “I didn’t really mean to discuss all this.”

“I understood you wanted guidance in your career.”

He gazed at her. His hand tightened around hers. “I was hoping for another sort of guidance.”

He dipped his head and slid his free hand around her waist, holding her fast as he pressed his lips to hers.

It was wrong, terribly wrong. Not the kiss, that was…quite expert for one so young, but the whole situation, his relationship to Arthur, the fact they barely knew each other…that she was over twice his age. Everything.

Lavinia flinched and pushed away but he gripped more tightly, steadying her as he tantalized her lips with his tongue, teasing patiently until she softened under him, letting him plunder her depths. Her body weakened, relaxing in his arms, molding to his provocatively. He would be as hard as she was wet.

And she was very wet.

He pulled back slowly. Her heart pounded, playing a syncopated beat against her ragged breaths.

“I hardly think you need any guidance, Mr. Peel.”

He brought her hand to his lips. “My lady, please forgive my impetuousness. I didn’t mean to alarm you. I was overcome. Your closeness, your perfume, your beauty.”

“Mr. Peel, believe me I am entirely flattered a young man deigns to give me such attentions.”

“I’m a virgin,” he blurted.

What should one say to such a confession? “One would not know that from the way you kiss, Mr. Peel.”

“Thank you, my lady. Thank you.” He let go of her hand. “I had hoped I might receive some guidance from you before I enter university.” He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “Guidance about how a man can be with a woman.”

“Ah. Thank you for your honesty.” Now free of his grasp, her hands trembled. “I am not a courtesan, William. Nicholas and I may have been lovers but it was from a mutual attraction, deep friendship, and shared experience.”

He covered his mouth with his hand. “Please believe me, I didn’t mean to imply such a slanderous notion.” He shook his head again. “I know you are connected with my father’s business associates, that you are a trusted member of their circle.” He twisted his fingers. “And I’ve heard you’ve helped other young men, not just Lord St. Albans.”

That was not slander. It was the truth. “I didn’t sleep with all of them.”

“Oh God, you must think me a barbarian.”

“No I think you are an honest young man with a promising career before you. If you would like me to discreetly arrange for you to meet with a courtesan—”

“No,” he said with surprising abruptness. “It has to be you. Helena speaks the world of you.”

That was a surprising reference. “Helena?”

“She doesn’t know about any of this. I just got the idea from talking to her one day. We’re very close. Almost raised together. She thinks you’re marvelous.”

He was attractive and a good kisser. “If we were to attempt such a venture, I’m not at all certain where we would meet. You might be noticed arriving at my house.”

“I thought we would pretend to meet by chance then I would take you home in a cab or maybe even walk you home…then you would invite me in.”

“Oh my. You have put some thought into this, haven’t you?”

“I thought it might be easier for you to make a decision if all the details were worked out.”

And what a decision it was. She could do it. She needed a lover and if William was as good in bed as he was a kisser, it would be worth it. At the very least, his skills at gamahuching would be unsurpassed. If Arthur found out, he could say nothing. He had no hold over her. Well, he had no right to claim he did.

“William, what sort of library does your father have?”

“Library?”

“Books.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Does he even have a library? Does he collect books of a particular nature?”

“Not really. He has some law books at home and books on birding, maybe hunting, that sort of thing. Mother loves novels. She keeps everything she’s read. She likes to loan them to her friends. She seems to know exactly what her friends need and want to read.”

“So if you wanted to begin a study of ancient languages before you left for university, you could not do that at home. Is that correct?”

“Yes. I’d have to go to a lending library or buy them myself. Possibly Mr. Phillips or even Lord Petersham would have something like that.”

“Let’s leave them out of this.” She wrapped her arm around his. “I have a spectacular library. My dead husband fancied himself a scholar. Included in my library are grammars and study guides for Persian, Turkish, Arabic, and Hebrew. You said you know Greek and I presume you already know Latin.” She walked him a little farther into the darkness. “We’ll do it this way. We’ll meet by chance, on the street in public, near my house. We’ll have a conversation about your studies. I’ll offer my library at your disposal. You will come home with me, get to know the place and borrow a book or two. When your parents inquire, which they will, I’ll say I’ve offered you an opportunity to use my library whenever you want. This way we have a reason for you to be at my house. You will have the responsibility of learning some useful language however, in addition to whatever else you learn at my house.”

“You’re really good at this, aren’t you?”

He was so innocent. She laughed softly. “I’ve been doing this sort of thing for longer than you can imagine. One gains an understanding of how it all works.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“You’re welcome, William. Now there’s a milliner’s on High Street in Kensington near my house. Madame Colline. Why don’t you plan to run into me at three o’clock next Thursday?”

“I think I can do that.”

“Good. If I don’t see you, I’ll know you were caught up elsewhere so you needn’t send a note.”

“My lady, is there anything I should do to prepare? For you?”

So sweet. “Let’s see how this first clandestine meeting works out and we’ll make arrangements from there.”

“All right.”

“Now, Mr. Peel, we’ve been in the garden far too long. People will begin to talk. The last thing you ever want is for people to talk. You must take me in. We’ll say we talked about your future and your dream to become an archaeologist. But we’re just laying the groundwork so we won’t mention the library just yet.”

“Yes, my lady.”

And like a proper gentleman, William Peel returned her to the ballroom.

* * * * *

Seated on the slipper chair before the bedroom fire, Julius had a view of Grace’s back as she pulled off her chemise. She turned to the bed where her nightgown lay, the generous curve of her belly deeply shadowed with the firelight behind her.

She was really beginning to show.

He should really say something.

She slipped her nightgown over her nude body, hiding her condition under the voluminous white cambric skirt. She flashed him a smile. He extended his hand and she went to him.

“How are you feeling?”

She sighed. “Tired. Happy.” She nudged his thighs to make space for her knees then straddled him.

Her belly was at his chest. “Happy?”

“It was a good day. It was lovely to see Mrs. Vickers and her twins today. They’re adorable.” She combed his hair with her fingers. “The twins I mean.”

He laughed. “Mrs. Vickers is adorable as well.” She was petite and fussy and always coordinated her clothes to the matched outfits of the twins.

Grace giggled. “Yeah.”

He placed his hands at her waist, his thumbs stretching over her fullness. They had yet to discuss the child within—was it a girl or boy, what name should they choose, what room would be used as the nursery, would there be a christening, would they hire a nanny?

“But really I’m happy because I’m with you.” She tugged up the hem of her nightgown to uncover her sex. “I get to see you all day long.” She unbuttoned his fly. “And that keeps me happy.”

She rubbed the wet heat of her quim against his drawers as she slipped off his braces. She teased his neck with tender nibbles as she freed his stiff cock from his underclothes. She held his head steady as she assaulted his mouth with an insistent kiss and lowered herself onto his prick.

He groaned in satisfaction. Now was probably not a good time to have a domestic discussion.

She rode him slowly, excruciatingly so, fluttering her expert muscles around his length, squeezing the tip before sliding down. She gripped his shoulders, propped her forehead against his. Their breaths mingled hot and humid in the pocket of space between their bodies.

“Darling…Grace…”

She increased her speed just a hair.

“Yes…”

She undid the buttons of his shirt then plucked at the linen cloth. “Take it off, Jules. I want to see you.”

He tore off the garment. She gripped the strands of his chest hair, pulling until the point of discomfort, only to relax her hold then pull harder still.

Just how he liked it.

Under her nightgown, her full breasts swayed tantalizingly. He palmed the demi-globes before smoothing the fabric over her belly. Her shape aroused him as he’d never thought it would. “Now I want to see you.”

He held her as she complied, struggling a little with the nightgown. She tossed it behind her.

“Fuck me, Grace.”

She bobbed up and down, her breasts undulating to her sensual rhythm right before his face. He reached out his tongue, flicking the tip over her hardening peaks as they bounced before him.

She pinched his nipples. He jerked at the delectable pain.

“Suck me, Jules.”

He lay kisses on her breasts before drawing in an areola, sucking hard until she gasped. Her body was his to do with as he pleased for only a few months more. He would make the most of it.

He plowed into her from below as he bit the sensitized tip. She squealed an oath before dissolving into giggles.

She matched his pace, her rhythm faltering in impatience, distracting him from his imminent climax. “Come inside me,” she urged. “I want to feel you come deep inside me.” She grinned devilishly and slammed down on his shaft.

Her horrified shriek pierced the air. She pulled up quickly, his tip still embedded in her warmth as she remained poised above his lap.

“I can’t. You’re too big.” Her gaze held panic. “It hurts.”

His chest clenched in mortification. “Then don’t. I’ll be gentle.” He eased her down his shaft. “Let me make love to you.”

She exhaled a sigh as she wrapped her arms around him and settled her cheek on his shoulder. He resumed at a languorous pace, one arm holding her securely as his other hand stroked her clitoris. She reacted as she always did, melting into him with a contented moan, the melodic sound stoking the lust in his loins back to burning.

This was their new life…mellow, languid, loving. He didn’t need the taunting and teasing, savagery and ferocity, he could climb to the peak with just him and Grace, their bodies in tender union, each nurturing the other to culmination.

She came on his hand, her wetness soaking into his trousers, taking him to the edge. He closed his eyes, expanding his senses. Her flesh was hot under his fingers as he breathed in the aroma of her arousal, letting it swirl within and transport him. He spent his seed with restraint.

He kissed her cheek. “I’m happy too.”

* * * * *

Arthur had ignored the note from Father all morning, wanting to simply drink his coffee and read the newspaper in silence. No doubt Mother was haranguing Father to prod Arthur into choosing one of the beauties he had been introduced to. He needed a break.

He hadn’t even had a chance to dance with Lavinia the other night when she returned from far too long a stroll with William. Mother had whisked him away to dance with a young girl whose name he had utterly forgotten.

Father’s folded letter mocked him from the center of the silver salver, the butler having just set the whole lot down on the breakfast table instead of hovering in hopes Arthur would pick up the missive.

He sighed and reached for the letter. It was not in Father’s hand. Father’s loyal secretary Billings had written the note. Either the factious formality had returned or something was wrong.

He unfolded the page with clammy hands and began to read.

Shit. Father was ill. Arthur was required immediately.

Except “immediately” was over two hours ago.

And by the time he was greeted by the family butler Cawston at the front door of the Mayfair residence “immediately” had turned into at least three hours.

Geoffrey approached from the direction of Father’s office, his sullen face brightening when he spied Arthur.

“Geoff, what are you doing here?” He tried to keep the horror from his tone.

“Your father wanted me to review his will before he meets with his solicitor. Said he trusted me to give an honest opinion.”

“His will?”

“I don’t know if it is all that serious, really. He’s ill, yes. But St. Albans is with him now. I would have assumed his regular doctor would be looking after him.”

“And his regular solicitor.”

“Yes, that too. So Richmond is keeping the illness mum. Private family business and all that.”

“I’m sure he has his reasons.” Perhaps an unwillingness to come to terms with his mortality.

“Arthur, I have to leave. Joseph and Sophie and your mother are with him now.”

Which meant Father and Joseph must have reconciled. Perhaps it was serious. “Helena?”

“She’s expected later. St. Albans was already in town. She’s still at the Keep.”

Arthur squeezed Geoffrey’s shoulder. “Thank you, Geoff.”

“My pleasure and privilege. Now get upstairs. They’ve been wondering about your absence.”

A flurry of excuses flooded Arthur’s brain as he mounted the stairs two-by-two. Yet when he opened the door to Father’s bedroom he was not greeted with the expected chastisement but expressions of relief instead.

Mother went to him, gripping him by the arms. “Arthur!”

“My apologies, Mother,” he said, kissing her cheeks. “I had business.”

He nodded to Sophia, who reclined on a day bed, and to Joseph, who stood nearby. He approached Nicholas, who sat by Father’s bedside, jotting notes in a journal. Father’s eyes were closed, his face pale, his breaths huffing with irregular respiration.

“How is he?” he said quietly in Nicholas’ ear.

Nicholas offered a weak smile. “Pneumonia. It’s an inflammation of the lungs. I’ll keep an eye on him for the next few weeks.”

“So it’s not serious?”

“Yes and no. In healthy adults, it can be combated. In children, the aged, and the sick it can be fatal.”

“The aged?”

“That’s why I want to keep an eye on him. He’s rather robust for a man of seventy. However I’ve written Helena to stay at home for the time being. And I don’t want little Henry in this house. Lord Richmond is calling for all his family so it has been difficult to keep supplying excuses. Your presence will liven and distract him.”

Father stirred under his covers, his eyes fluttering open. “Arthur? Is that you?”

Nicholas got up from the chair to let Arthur sit. “Yes, Papa.”

Papa. He shouldn’t have called him that. Father would think he was dying.

“Arthur, so good to see you. I’m dying.”

“Balderdash. I’ve been informed by your personal physician—” He winked at Nicholas. “That you are merely temporarily ill and will regain your health in no time.”

“That’s what we have all been trying to tell you, Papa,” Sophia said from the daybed.

Mother had joined Sophia and sat twisting her hands fretfully.

“I’m an old man. I think I know my body better than any young doctor.”

Arthur sighed. Father was stubborn and no doubt believed every one of his own thoughts. Best keep his mind off such thoughts before they became prophetic. “I suppose you won’t be dancing too much this Season, Papa. We’ll have to bring in a theatrical troupe to entertain you.”

Mother glared at him. Joseph chuckled.

“I’m not having some bloody drawing-room comedian recite Shakespeare in my house.”

“Harold! Language!” Mother tipped her head in Sophia’s direction.

Sophia was trying very hard not to laugh.

“Lord Richmond, you cannot expect to go out in your condition,” Nicholas offered. “Definitely not to your club.”

That got a rise out of the old man. Arthur grinned inwardly. Nicholas certainly knew his grandfather-in-law’s habits.

“Well, then, Doctor, you damn well better take good care of me.”

Mother once again scowled at his profanity.

So Father expected to get well after all. “Joseph, I need to speak with you briefly,” Arthur said. “About my business meeting this morning.”

Joseph quirked a brow. “Okay.”

Arthur exited and Joseph followed him into the hallway, closing the bedroom door behind him.

The quirked brow did not waver. “And?”

Arthur grabbed his arm and drew him against the wall, tucked behind a cabinet-on-stand. “Father is playing some sort of game.”

“Arthur, Richmond is ill.”

“Yes, yes, of course he is. I’m afraid, though, he is forcing his hand with this marriage business.”

“So he’s in cahoots with the marchioness?”

The Americans had such freedom in their language. “Something like that. They want me to hurry it along.” He slouched against the wall and stared up at Joseph. “Shit. I really wanted to marry for love.”

Joseph offered a weak smile. “You deserve nothing less.” He placed his hand, warm and comforting, on Arthur’s shoulder. “And you don’t need to talk to me about expected duty. I almost married my daughter off to the highest-ranking peer last Season, whoever he might be.”

“Thank God my sister is insatiable and instead tried to marry Helena off to her lover.”

Joseph chuckled with a bend of his head. “I never thought I would be able to laugh at that.” He met Arthur’s gaze. “But, yes the unexpected can happen.”

Arthur tilted his chin with a dark smirk. “Like a barren woman giving birth?”

“Now you’re being unnecessarily dramatic and morose. And no, I was thinking you might find a compatible young woman.” Joseph’s smile thinned. “You really are in love with her, aren’t you?”

“I am. At least I think I am.” He slid farther down the polished wood wainscoting. “Damn it. I’m desperate. She’s all I ever think of.”

“Collect yourself, Arthur.” Joseph skated his palm down Arthur’s arm to squeeze his hand.

“Thanks.” He freed himself. “But have a care that we could be seen.”

Joseph pulled back. “Of course, my lord.”

“I hate when you call me that.”

One corner of Joseph’s mouth twitched upward with meaning. “I know you do. Now come back inside and humor Richmond.”

“In a moment.”

Arthur watched as Joseph returned to Father’s bedroom. He was in far too black a mood to humor anyone, much less the man sending him to his doom.

* * * * *

Lavinia stopped at the top of the stairs just before the landing of the second floor of the Richmond London residence. There before her were Arthur and Joseph in something more than just a friendly position. Joseph angled over the earl, leaning in slowly as if he were about to take him in a passionate kiss. It didn’t help that he drew his hand down Arthur’s arm to squeeze his fingers. She stayed as still as a mouse before the scene. They didn’t notice her.

And then memories blazed in her mind’s eye, vivid and telling. The sultan casually fending off amorous advances by the American revolutionary at Countess Winthrop’s masquerade. Joseph and Arthur comfortably disheveled from an evening of drinking spirits in the latter’s sitting room at Atherley Keep.

Her suspicions about the two men were confirmed. They were lovers or had been at one time.

The thought was greatly arousing.

Both men were endowed with a charismatic potency. Joseph had a rough edge, bordering on coarseness that intrigued rather than repelled. Arthur was more refined, his sensuality intellectual rather than crude. They were broad-minded in their sexual predilections. The masquerade, Joseph’s marital arrangements, and Lavinia’s experience in Arthur’s bed were proof of that.

Together the men would be the very definition of lust. It would be amazing to simply watch.

And then Joseph left Arthur’s side and stepped through the first door on the left. According to Cawston, that was the marquess’s bedroom and where he was expecting her.

Which meant the marquess had requested more than just her presence. Something was wrong. A thought confirmed by Arthur’s downcast countenance.

“My lady! Oh, I do apologize.”

Cawston’s voice disrupted the stillness. Arthur jerked from the wall to stand upright, staring at her, his eyes wide in astonishment, then softening with need. Arousal fluttered anew.

“There was a reporter, my lady,” the butler puffed from running up the stairs. “It will be difficult to fend them off what with rumors flying about concerning the marquess’s health. I’m terribly sorry to have had to send you up alone.”

So Richmond was ill. “I took my time, Mr. Cawston, and almost found my way.” She indicated Arthur. “Lord Petersham would have put me on the correct path had I been lost.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “Lady Foxley-Graham. What a surprise.” He still stared, his eyes questioning.

“My lord.” She nodded her greeting. “Lord Richmond requested my presence.”

“You?” He swallowed. “Of course…you are family now.” His brow twisted as if still not quite convinced.

Right. Godparents. The two of them together.

Cawston led the way to the same door Joseph had just used and ushered her in, Arthur in their wake.

“The Viscountess Foxley-Graham, my lord,” Cawston announced.

All present stared at her in stunned disbelief.

“Lady Foxley-Graham,” Richmond called out, before a fit of coughing took over.

Nicholas went to the marquess but Richmond waved him aside and beckoned to Lavinia.

She approached. Nicholas quirked a brow as he offered her the chair at the bedside.

“I can tell from your expressions you all think I’m mad as well as ill.”

“You sent for the viscountess?” Lady Richmond’s voice was edged with concern.

“I did.” He motioned to a stunned Arthur, who approached. “Arthur, in the event I die—”

Lady Richmond gasped.

Lord Richmond ignored her. “In the event I die, if not from whatever this blasted ailment is, then from old age—” He directed that to Lady Richmond. “I will need my successor to be prepared to assume my regular duties. You know nothing about what it is I do in Parliament.”

Arthur’s shock melted into sheepishness. “You know I don’t, Father.”

“I would wager Lady Foxley-Graham knows precisely what it is I do in Parliament.”

So that’s what the display was all about. Lavinia’s laugh was most inappropriate but heartfelt. “I know your opponents, my lord. They follow your every move.”

He winked at her. “And I’ll wager Arthur has no idea who my opponents are.”

Arthur gaped with a touch of annoyance. “All right, Father, I get your point. Is that why Lady Foxley-Graham is here, to illuminate my shortcomings?”

“No. She is here to arrange for your instruction in the matter.”

“My instruction?”

Lavinia tried not to look as surprised as she felt.

“It’s about time you took an interest, Arthur. You are privileged as a peer to have a say in running this country. You should not be so dismissive of this honor and responsibility.”

“Yes, sir.”

The whole situation was a bit bizarre. Surely there were more suited mentors? “Pardon me, my lord,” Lavinia dared. “If I may inquire as to why you do not entrust Lord St. Albans to do the honors? He has been negotiating the maze of Lords quite admirably.”

“Ah yes. St. Albans has been having a time of it, haven’t you, son?”

Nicholas blushed. “Yes, my lord.”

Richmond eyed her. “I understand he has been relying heavily on your counsel as well, my lady.”

That and so much more. “Yes, my lord. I see your point.”

“You have quite a reputation, my dear lady. I would like to see it used to great advantage.”

“You mean to your advantage, Lord Richmond.”

He chuckled, which set off another coughing fit. Nicholas went to his side but Richmond waved him off.

“Politics is politics as you know. Whether in the central lobby or my sickroom.”

Or her bedroom. “Yes, my lord.”

“The members to whom you are acquainted may be my opponents but they are each one of them respectable men. I would like it if you would introduce Arthur to members of both houses and every party.”

“Even the Radicals, my lord?”

That got a smile out of him. “Even the blasted Socialists. The ways of politics make for strange bedfellows.” He finally addressed Arthur. “I want to believe you’ve formed all sorts of opinions from your business with Phillips. It may not be easy but sometimes you will need to bend those opinions for the betterment of our country.” He nodded Lavinia’s way. “I learned that from the viscountess.”

“Yes, sir.” Arthur shifted his weight like a chastised schoolboy.

Richmond waggled his hand in Lavinia’s direction. “You two can work this out between yourselves. I suggest Arthur read the newspaper accounts and sit in the Strangers’ Galleries.”

“Of course, Lord Richmond.”

After that, pleasant chit-chat, led by Sophia, ensued.

Lavinia caught Arthur’s eye. He offered a sympathetic smile and a relieved expression. She let out an exhale. There had been no talk of his marriage prospects, only politics. She had feared that her presence had been requested to offer an opinion on pedigree. But talk of politics meant a wife had not yet been chosen for him.

Which meant there might still be a shred of hope.

* * * * *

The ballroom at Lord and Lady Quimby’s Belgravia house was overflowing, making it difficult to distinguish anyone amongst the mass of faces. Only when Lavinia stood on tiptoe did she spy Charlotte along the fringes. She caught her eye and waved her over.

“My dear viscountess.” Charlotte kissed both her cheeks. “Good to see you. Not many interesting people here tonight, are there?”

“You mean not much to gossip about, Lady Banbury?”

Charlotte unfurled her ivory fan with a flick of her wrist. “I feel a bit off my game this Season, what with no one to take under my wing.”

“You should rest on your laurels. Helena made a fabulous match.”

“She did, did she not?” Charlotte hid her broad smile behind her vigorous fanning. “And how is the Countess St. Albans? Has she had her baby yet?”

“Not yet. Very soon. I’m to be godmother.”

Charlotte squeaked excitedly. “Oh, how lovely for you.” She beamed and grasped Lavinia’s hands. “And in eighteen years, you’ll have someone to introduce to Society.”

Lavinia laughed softly.

“Is there a godfather as well?”

“The Earl of Petersham. Helena’s uncle.”

“Ah yes, wasn’t he involved in Sophia Phillips’ scandal? Hiding her away while she was enceinte.”

“I suppose he acted as any older brother would.” Lavinia fanned the heat flushing her face. “He’s quite the gentleman.”

Charlotte eyed her queerly. “Ah. So there’s my match.”

“Charlotte—”

“I see interest and I know enough to know he’s unattached. Infamously so.” She grinned. “Which means only one as incomparable as you could sway such as he.”

If only Charlotte were correct. The elation of a momentary imagined future was quickly quashed when she spied the Marchioness of Richmond. Lavinia stepped back, trying to hide behind Charlotte’s generous skirts.

But Lady Richmond had already seen her. The marchioness waved with an affected smile and joined them. Lavinia let her kiss the air above her cheeks.

“Lady Foxley-Graham, just the woman I wanted to see tonight.”

She feigned a smile. “I’m flattered, Lady Richmond, really.”

“If anyone knows about one of our debutantes, it is you.”

Lavinia’s lungs clenched. A debutante for Arthur. “Lady Richmond, may I introduce my dear friend Charlotte, the Countess of Banbury. Charlotte, the Marchioness of Richmond. I believe you two met at Helena’s wedding last year.”

“Why yes, of course. Lady Banbury, a pleasure.”

“Lady Richmond, the pleasure is mine.” Charlotte nodded a bow.

“Lady Richmond, if anyone knows our debutantes, it is Charlotte. Who is the young lady in question?” Lavinia grabbed a glass of champagne from the tray of an obsequious footman.

The marchioness surveyed the ballroom then smiled with a squawk of recognition. “The pretty blonde thing over there. In the magnificent gold and olive dress with the fringe.”

Lavinia knew the girl and she most certainly was a pretty blonde thing. Her curls framed a sweet face, radiating innocence. Her figure was statuesque and stunning. But as her father was one of the few Radicals in the House of Lords, a man who vociferously supported women’s rights and Irish nationalism, most likely the girl’s pedigree was not quite what Lady Richmond had hoped for her Arthur.

“I understand that is Beatrice Smythe. The middle daughter of the Earl of Ryburgh.” Lady Richmond’s tone carried a hint of victory.

“She’s just turned eighteen, my lady.” Charlotte raised her eyebrows. “Would you be considering her for your son?” She flashed Lavinia a look of pure shock.

The marchioness sighed. “Lord Petersham—Arthur is being very stubborn. He won’t look at anyone under twenty-five—”

Charlotte’s fan flew to cover her gape. Lavinia deposited her empty glass on a passing tray.

“But there are so many wonderful girls who just came out this year.” Lady Richmond turned to Lavinia. “I don’t know the girl. Can you make the introductions?”

What harm could it possibly do? At the very least Arthur would meet Beatrice’s father and learn a thing or two about politics. “I’d be delighted, Lady Richmond.”

Just as the words left her lips, the Earl of Ryburgh saw her and waved. He came over, a blushing Beatrice in tow.

Standing side-by-side before them, it was apparent from whom Beatrice had received her pleasing good looks. Ryburgh’s once-blonde hair had darkened and grayed with age but his countenance still retained its boyish appeal despite the laugh lines crinkled around his blue-gray eyes.

Ryburgh took her hands in his with genuine enthusiasm. “Lavinia, it’s been too long.” His eyes twinkled.

She smiled back. “Yes, Felix, it has.”

He glanced at Charlotte and Lady Richmond. “Lady Banbury.” He nodded.

“My lord,” Lavinia said, “may I introduce the Marchioness of Richmond. Lady Richmond, the Earl of Ryburgh.”

“My lady.” Ryburgh gave a courteous bow. “And may I introduce my daughter, Miss Beatrice Smythe.” He held his hand in presentation.

Until that moment, Beatrice had hung back shyly. She came forward and curtsied to Lady Richmond and Charlotte then smiled warmly at Lavinia.

“My you’ve grown into a lovely young woman, Beatrice.”

“Thank you, my lady.” The color rose in her cheeks.

Lady Richmond smiled. “And how is it you two know each other?”

The earl spoke first. “The women’s property bill ten years ago. Lavinia was marvelous with garnering votes in both houses.”

Lady Richmond lifted a brow. “Oh?”

“Beatrice was a darling child back then,” Lavinia added, hoping to emphasize how youthful the girl was. “I helped introduce her older sister Olivia that Season, if I recall.”

“You came to our house for tea quite often. I always looked forward to your visits, my lady.”

At her words, all eyes focused on Beatrice and she blushed again.

Lady Richmond turned to Ryburgh. “I’ve just learned recently of Lady Foxley-Graham’s interest in politics. Lord Richmond speaks highly of her accomplishments.”

“She’s positively magnificent!” Ryburgh exclaimed. “She knows absolutely everybody in Lords and how best to sway them to her causes.”

“Felix, you flatter me too much, I’m sure.”

“And what are your causes?” Lady Richmond asked her.

“I feel it is my duty to help those who have no voice, my lady. Women, the poor, the working class.”

“I dare say, we’ve given the working man the right to vote, Lady Foxley-Graham.” Ryburgh winked at her. “It is their own fault if they do not make use of that right.”

“True, my lord, but so many still remain disenfranchised. Why should lack of property or gender be impediments to democracy?”

Ryburgh discharged a sharp guffaw.

Lady Richmond stared at him and Lavinia, aghast. She recovered and turned to Beatrice. “I hope to see you at more of these events, Miss Smythe.”

“Thank you, my lady. It’s my first Season out so I hope to attend as many as I can.”

“Lady Ryburgh and I are taking turns showing her off.” Ryburgh beamed at his daughter. “However I’ve discovered ballrooms are nothing like parliament. Different politics altogether.”

“I’d be delighted to step in, my lord,” offered Charlotte.

“Truly?” Ryburgh brightened. “Then why don’t you stop by tomorrow, Lady Banbury? We have absolutely loads of invitations. It would be marvelous if you could sort out the best.”

“It’s settled.” Charlotte smiled at Beatrice. “I’ll call on you tomorrow, Miss Smythe.”

Beatrice curtsied, her cheeks flushed.

“Fabulous,” Ryburgh pronounced. “Then we’re off to find Beatrice’s next dance partner. A duke I think.” He nodded at Lady Richmond and winked at Lavinia. “Until next time.”

Lavinia watched as the earl attempted to navigate the crush. His attentions had always been generous—and welcome. Had he not been utterly smitten with his wife, she would have tried to get him into bed. But it was best, sometimes, simply to be just good friends.

Given the current circumstances such a thought was dispiriting.