To Love a Lord

by Michelle Pennington

  Sir George’s face grew red and mottled. “What is this? Your aunt said nothing of this.”

  “She does not yet know. I was coming here so that I could tell her. It was certainly not to receive your attentions, nor to be locked up here with you against my will.”

  Instead of backing away in defeat as Patience had hoped, Sir George took another step toward her. “So, only Stanton knows as yet, eh? Well, then, I’ll be sure to make it so that he’ll want nothing to do with you. In the end, you’ll be glad to have me. No doubt your aunt will arrange for us to be discovered here soon.”

  Patience gasped and turned away, twisting and shaking the knob though she knew it was pointless. Sir George’s hands closed around her waist, and she screamed, banging upon the door. Just as she felt his hot breath on her neck, the tumblers of the lock clicked and the door opened.

  Looking up through tear-filled eyes, she made out Amelia standing before her. She grabbed Patience by the hand and pulled. Patience felt Sir George’s fingers tighten painfully around her, but Amelia’s hand shot out over Patience’s shoulder, hitting something, and he let go. Not waiting to see what had happened, Patience ran, Amelia following close behind her.

  As they rushed up the stairs, Amelia said, “I cannot take you to my room or my mother will find you there. And you cannot go to yours.”

  “Lady Du’Breven. She will take care of me.”

  Amelia asked a passing maid to take them there. When they entered her room, the Countess took one look at them both and asked, “What in heaven’s name has happened?”

  “My aunt locked her in with Sir George,” Amelia said, helping her to a seat. “I believe I got her out before…before he…trespassed too far.”

  “Come to me, child,” Lady Du’Breven said, her voice a command.

  Though she had never before exchanged more than pleasantries with the woman, Patience went to her and welcomed her embrace.

  “I was so scared,” she said, her whole body still tense and trembling from the ordeal.

  “There, there. You are safe now,” the Countess said, her voice lacking its usual sharpness.

  Amelia gave her a handkerchief and rubbed her back.

  The gesture touched Patience. She was already so grateful to her cousin. And surprised. Amelia had only ever tolerated her and at times had even seemed to loathe her—yet she had saved her from a desperate situation.

  Perhaps they could yet be friends.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Patience had no desire to go to the ball that night. After a long nap in Lady Du’Breven’s room, it took a vast amount of courage for her to even leave the safety of that chamber. But the Countess was determined that she should not hide away like a scared rabbit.

  “We must give Stanton an opportunity to show the world that he is courting you. The sooner that is established, the safer you are. And you must not give your aunt a chance to imply that you are hiding away because anything untoward happened with Sir George.”

  “You are right, of course. But, oh, how I shall loathe it.”

  The Countess nodded as her dresser placed a stunning emerald necklace about her neck. In a grey silk evening gown and a turban with eight feathers, the elderly lady was an elegant and imposing sight. “You will often face such trying ordeals in your life, my girl, but it is better to go through them with your head held high. Just remember that in the morning, your life will have changed for the better. And, oh, what fun you and I shall have in London putting together your trousseau.”

  With this cheerful thought in mind, Patience went to her room and found Dora there ready to dress her. Dora was still busy with her hair when Amelia came into the room. To Patience’s amazement, she was not dressed in a ball gown, but in a carriage dress.

  “Amelia? What are you—”

  Lifting a hand, Amelia interrupted her, “I came to say goodbye.”

  “But where are you going? Surely my aunt is not leaving before the ball.”

  Amelia came and knelt beside her chair and took her hands. “My mother knows nothing of this, and I beg you will not tell her. You know as well as I do that if I am to find happiness, I must find it myself. After seeing what my mother is capable of, I am determined that I will not be forced into one of her schemes. She wants a title for me and cares for nothing else. But I am of age and have a small fortune of my own.”

  “But how can you travel alone? And where will you go?”

  “I will not be alone, and I have a destination in mind, but I will not divulge it—do not press me. I only tell you at all because I do not want you to be alarmed when it is discovered that I am gone.”

  “Amelia, I cannot help but worry that you are throwing yourself into some scrape and that I should help you.”

  She rose then and shook off Patience’s clinging hands. “Please trust that I have my affairs well in hand. I wish you every happiness, Patience. Please let me find my own.”

  There was nothing Patience could say to this, so she nodded and rose to embrace her cousin, which Amelia received with stiff shoulders but great patience.

  “Be safe. And good luck.”

  But when Amelia had gone, Patience could not help worrying what Amelia might be about. Who was she traveling with? Her maid perhaps? Where did she get a carriage, and where was she going? The questions continued to plague her mind as she went downstairs.

  The guests of the house party met as usual in the drawing room before the dinner that preceded the ball. A few of the gentry from the surrounding countryside had been invited to join them, so the room was abuzz with conversation as she went in. More guests would be arriving for the ball later.

  As she went in, she paused a moment and found Stanton across the room. He seemed to be keeping a lookout for her, because he saw her at once and came to her.

  He bowed over her hand and pressed a real kiss there. “Miss Wendover. You look exceptionally beautiful, but there is a crease in your brow that concerns me.”

  “So much has happened since this morning.”

  His jaw tensed. “Your aunt?”

  “Yes.” Patience looked around as she spoke, afraid to see her aunt’s eyes upon her.

  Then, from across the room, she discovered Sir George glaring malevolently at her. The flesh around his right eye had darkened—no doubt due to Amelia striking him.

  Aunt Wendover stood in front of him, facing the other way, but she turned around when Sir George spoke to her.

  “Stanton,” Patience said, her voice a strangled whisper.

  “I see them. Let us step away so you may tell me what has occurred.”

  He gave her his arm while taking a survey of the room and then leading her over to Lady Du’Breven. As soon as the Countess saw them approaching, she said something to the elderly gentlemen seated next to her, and he ambled away.

  Patience sat beside her, feeling foolish but grateful for the lady’s protection. Stanton stepped away and returned with a small side chair which he placed next to the Countess.

  “Now, let me have every detail.”

  She paused, however, her instincts telling her that Stanton would likely react violently to hearing the full account of what had occurred in the green salon. She made up her mind and said, “My aunt put me in the position of receiving an offer from Sir George. When I refused him, he was angry.” Patience glanced at the Countess and saw that her brow was slightly raised, but she said nothing, so Patience continued, “I merely wish to avoid being around him.”

  “There are a few names I would like to call your aunt if not for your presence. Do I need to speak with Sir George?”

  “Not at this moment. There is something else that has me worried at the moment. Amelia has run away.”

  “What’s this?” Stanton asked.

  “She came to my room and said that she was leaving. She is not alone, but would not tell me with whom she was traveling or where she is going. I could not deter her and there was such desperation in her face that I could not find it in me to pres
s her further. But I am worried about her. I’m sure she has done something foolish.”

  Stanton heard her out in silence, but when she had finished, he stood and turned to look over the gathering crowd. As he did so, Lady Blakemore signaled to the guests that was time to adjourn to the dining room. When Patience stood, he murmured, “Aston is missing as well.”

  Her heart sank. “No. Surely she could not have been so foolish.”

  “I am quite certain, however, that he could be so depraved. It is quite certain, at least, that he will marry her, since that is the only way to her fortune, but even so, her reputation will no doubt suffer.”

  “But Stanton, that is the least of it. She will be miserable in such a union. Oh, what can I do to stop her?”

  Lord Stanton flexed his hands into fists. “There is nothing you can do, but I will endeavor to stop them on your behalf. How long ago did your cousin leave?”

  Patience looked at the clock over the mantle. “It cannot yet have been an hour.”

  “They will be traveling by carriage. Do not worry. I will overtake them soon. If so, I will bring her back tonight. Lady Du’Breven?”

  “I will guard your lady love. As for her cousin, we will decide what is best done when you have returned with her. And be sure to give Aston the thrashing he deserves.”

  Stanton did not stay a moment longer. He wove his way through the crowd still moving out of the room. As he disappeared from sight, the Countess threw her an approving look.

  “Way to keep your wits about you, child. If you had told Stanton the full account of Sir George’s infamy, he would not now be on the road to save your cousin, but venting his spleen instead.”

  Patience nodded. “So I thought. And he will yet know of it, but only after Amelia is safe. Why do you suppose Amelia would leave with Aston? She spoke to me of wanting to find happiness.”

  “I cannot say, child. Did you not yourself, at one time, feel a preference for Aston?”

  “Yes, but that was before I discovered what he was. And before I began to…” But Patience stopped there, too shy to continue with what she had been about to say.

  “To love Lord Stanton? Well, then let us hope Amelia may yet make such discoveries for herself before it is too late.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Stanton was relieved to find his valet still in his room. “I need riding clothes, Owen,” he said. “And be quick about it.”

  The man looked amazed but didn’t say a word as he hurried forward to help Stanton remove his waistcoat. In very little time, he was changed from his evening dress to buckskin breeches and a wool coat, with a greatcoat over his arm. Taking the back stairs at a mad pace, he soon reached the stables. Hopefully, Silas had not decided to imbibe too deeply. He was known to do so occasionally on a night when he would not be needed.

  However, Stanton found the stables a hub of activity with all of the horses from the extra guests. He grabbed one of the stable boys running by and said, “I need you to find Silas and send him to me.”

  “Ay, milor’. Right away.”

  When Silas came at a run, he fortunately seemed more aghast than drunk. “My lord. Are you going somewhere?”

  “Yes. Saddle Hermes for me. There is no time to waste.”

  As Silas hurried to work, Stanton joined him and they made quick work of it together. Hermes stamped impatiently, no doubt catching some of his master’s anxiety.

  “Silas, I’ll finish up here. I need you to go and see if either Aston’s carriage or the Wendover carriage is missing.”

  As the groom darted away, Stanton gave Hermes a final check, not wanting anything to be amiss with him that would make an already treacherous ride even more so. Satisfied, he led the stallion out into the stable yard and mounted. He waited impatiently for Silas while Hermes twitched and tamped his hooves.

  Another figure came out of the shadows from the direction of the main house. “Stanton, I saw you leave. What’s toward?”

  Stanton muttered a curse as Viceroy came up to him. “It is not my business to tell you, sir. And I have no time to stand about explaining it all.”

  “Is it concerning Miss Wendover and Aston? Neither of them are present at dinner, and it is too marked a coincidence not to give me grave suspicions.”

  “Why?” Stanton asked, his voice mocking. “Did your schemes last evening go awry?”

  “The lady is yet to be convinced of my love.”

  “Behold me amazed, Viceroy—so loverlike as you have been.”

  At last, Silas came running out again, his stocky figure silhouetted against the lantern light of the stables.

  “Aston’s carriage and horses are gone, my lord, as are his coachman and groom. Gone near two hours since.”

  Viceroy heard and shouted, “I knew it must be so! Stanton, I’ll join you. This is a matter I must see to.”

  “I have no time to spare, Viceroy. You may follow if you wish.”

  On those uncompromising words, Stanton set Hermes into motion. He kept him to a canter until they had cleared the long drive, since the way was narrow and there were carriages still making their way to the house for the ball. But once on the road, he urged him into a gallop.

  Hermes flew over the dark ground, eager and willing for such a ride, but Stanton kept a close eye on the road, not wanting to injure the stallion by landing him in a hole. Fortunately, the moon was full and low, casting enough light over the countryside to make it easy to see the way ahead.

  He cared very little for Amelia Wendover, and had Patience not been so concerned, he might have let the runaway couple suffer the consequences of their choice. They would not thank him for interfering—especially with Viceroy hard upon his heels.

  Stanton did not have success in running them down at the first two posting houses along the road, nor did he expect to. But when he came to an inn at a crossroad, he had better luck.

  “Ay sir,” said the host of the Cock and Quarry. “We have a gentleman and his sister in our private parlor now. A restive pair, make no mistake—and my wife certain that they are no more related than you and I are.”

  “Thank you. Will you see to my horse while I pay them a visit?”

  “Certainly. And a proper high-bred ‘un he is too.”

  Stanton strode inside, his boots resounding on the wooden floor. He passed the taproom on his right, and went beyond it to the door at the end of the hall. He flung it wide without knocking and found a scene inside which bore all the trappings of a gothic novel.

  Sir Aston stood before the fireplace in his shirtsleeves, clutching his face with one hand while holding onto Amelia’s wrist with the other. Amelia looked to the door, her eyes desperate and pleading. There was a flicker of disappointment on her face, but she still reached out to him.

  “Lord Stanton, please.”

  In four strides, he made it across the room and threw a hard, direct punch at Sir Aston’s face. Without his hands free to defend himself, Aston turned his head and took the blow on his jaw, crumpling to the floor.

  Resisting the urge to kick him, Stanton sneered down at his prone figure and lax face. Three scratches, likely from Amelia’s fingernails, marred his cheek.

  “Good for you,” he told Amelia, turning toward her at last.

  She launched herself into his arms, and he found himself in the awkward position of consoling an overwrought lady for whom he felt very little kindness.

  “My lord, I did not know he would use me so.”

  “Surely you might have considered the possibility before you eloped with him.”

  “But he doesn’t even care for me!”

  “Then, by gads, woman, why did you leave with him?”

  “So that Viceroy would come after me and prove he cared about me.”

  Stanton stared at her, amazed at her foolishness. “And you never considered that with such a fortune as yours, Aston might try to compromise you and secure you for himself?”

  “No. I had not thought it would take so long for Viceroy
to come. I was sure Patience would run to him first thing, knowing how I love him.”

  Stanton was all out of charity with her by this point and turned away to study Aston, who now lay groaning on the floor.

  “Viceroy should be here shortly.”

  “Oh, he is coming? Does he really care for me indeed?”

  “I cannot know, Miss Wendover. You will have to ask him.”

  He went to the table then and picked up the half-empty tankard of ale that sat abandoned there. He poured it over Aston’s face, feeling a small measure of satisfaction as the man choked and sat up.

  “What happened?” Aston asked, wiping his eyes on his shirtsleeves.

  “You’ve received just payment for your infamy.”

  “Stanton? That you? I didn’t elope with the wrong Miss Wendover, did I? I seem to have the most devilish time with them.”

  “Either Miss Wendover was the wrong Miss Wendover.”

  Aston looked around and found Amelia watching out the window. “Ah, no, that’s the plain one. My head is spinning like a top. I suppose it was you who gave me that leveler, Stanton?”

  “Yes, and I only regret that you succumbed to the first. I should have liked to get in a few more good hits.”

  The sound of heavy footsteps came from the direction of the hall. Stanton turned in time to see Viceroy stride in and take in the scene at a glance. Ignoring the two men, he went at once to Amelia.

  “My darling, are you hurt?”

  She turned from the window and looked for a moment as if she might run into his embrace. But she held back. “I am not. Nor do I believe that I am your darling.”

  Viceroy looked pained. “But have you not seen the lengths that I have gone to in order to make you my own? Have I not been unfailing in my adoration of you all these years?”

  “But why?”

  “Why?” Viceroy asked, confused.

  “I am not pretty or dainty or talented. Why do you admire me if not for my fortune?”

  Stanton saw that Viceroy looked askance at him and Aston, but even though he lowered his voice, his words were still easily discernable. “Because you are like myself––clever and observant. And you have an elegance and pride that is much more becoming to a woman than mere beauty. I cannot express myself well enough. Just know that I admire you for qualities that will not fade but only become more valuable with time.”