Page 11 of The Lost Letter: A Victorian Romance

What he wouldn’t give to see her rattled! She had almost lost her composure in the seconds before Julia’s arrival. A few moments longer and she might have dropped this infuriating mask of civility. She might have shouted at him. Slapped him. He had certainly given her ample reason. “I will instruct the coachman not to stop there on your return to Cheapside,” he said.

“There is no need, my lord,” she replied. “I shall be quite happy to take the train.”

Sebastian affected not to care, even as his brain conjured images of Miss Stafford, alone and vulnerable, in a crowded railway car. “As you wish.”

Julia paused in the midst of slicing a piece of plum cake to scowl at him. “Miss Stafford is not returning to London for a month, at least. There is no reason for us to be discussing her journey back.” She turned to Miss Stafford, proffering the piece of cake on a small, painted porcelain plate. “He’s concerned for your safety, that’s all. Not that he will ever admit it.”

Sebastian’s jaw hardened. He said nothing. What was there to say? Of course he was concerned for her safety. What gentleman wouldn’t be? She was an unmarried woman with neither family nor fortune.

A beautiful unmarried woman.

He looked at her now, just as he had looked at her when she appeared outside his rooms. He could not seem to stop looking at her. She was sitting primly on the edge of her chair, doing nothing more than drinking her tea and listening to Julia. Gone were the fashionable gowns, the delicate satin slippers, and the sapphire clips that had once held up her lustrous chestnut hair. In their place was the drab costume of a governess.

Next to Julia, bedecked in her ribbons, ruffles, and that godawful wire crinoline, Miss Stafford’s clothing looked positively second-rate. Her dress was plain to the point of being severe, her wide skirts falling without a single flounce and her bodice lacking any trimming other than a row of very serviceable buttons which marched from her slender waist straight up to the ivory column of her throat.

But it had never been about her finery. With or without rich fabrics and jewels, Sylvia Stafford still managed to shine like a diamond. She was lovelier now than in his memory—a fact which he would not have thought possible. And yet, one glimpse of her dimpled smile had nearly stopped his heart. And the sound of her voice…

That soft, velvet voice.

Three years ago, it had had the power to enthrall him. To bring him to his knees. And when she had walked into the library, when she had addressed him as Lord Radcliffe for the first time, he had realized that, if he was not careful, there was a very real danger it would do so again. The knowledge had only increased his bitterness toward her.

“Besides,” Julia continued, “when you return home, Harker and I will accompany you. And perhaps my brother…” She cast another meaningful glance in his direction. “But it is too soon to speak of that. Better we should talk about all the amusements I have planned for us here at Pershing.”

“Amusements?” Miss Stafford looked genuinely alarmed at the prospect. “I do hope you have not gone to any trouble on my account, Lady Harker.”

“And why shouldn’t I? You are my guest. I would host a ball if Sebastian would allow it. But no. We shall have to content ourselves with country amusements. You once spent a good deal of time in the country, did you not, Miss Stafford? Before your father…That is to say, before all the unpleasantness?”

“Yes. I grew up at Newell Park. I was there until I made my come out.”

“Newell Park?”

“The principal seat of the Stafford baronets in Kent. It’s occupied by the present baronet now. Sir George. He is a very distant cousin of my father.”

Julia wrinkled her nose. “I do believe I’ve met him. It was last summer in London. At a party given by Lord and Lady Graves. It was an awful crush—” She broke off. “But that is neither here nor there. We were speaking of the countryside and country amusements. I expect you can ride, Miss Stafford?”

“Yes, of course.”

Julia took a bite of cake. “I keep one of my own favorite mares here year round. Regrettably, I know absolutely nothing about the other horses in the stable. Most of them were bought by my brother, Edmund, before he died. But no matter. I daresay Sebastian will be able to choose a satisfactory mount for you.”

He saw Miss Stafford’s blue gaze flicker to his. She was embarrassed by his sister’s presumption, that much he could tell. But there was something else, too. Something in her eyes that he could not interpret. “How long has it been since you have ridden, Miss Stafford?” he asked.

“Two years, my lord.”

Since her father had died, then. No doubt her horse had been among the items lost in that final hand of cards. “If you are out of practice, you would do well on Ares. He is safe enough for a rider of moderate skill without being dead on all four legs.”

Miss Stafford’s eyes met his briefly. She did not appear at all offended by his unjust characterization of her competence in the saddle. Quite the opposite, in fact. She seemed to believe him. “I hope I am still a rider of moderate skill.”

“One does not forget how to ride, Miss Stafford.”

“No, I suppose not. But it has been a very long time. I do not even have a riding costume anymore.”

“You shall wear one of mine,” said Julia. “And I know just the one, too. It is dark blue and has the most divine little jacket with mousquetaire cuffs. The very latest style. My maid, Craddock, can make any adjustments necessary. She is a dab hand with a needle and thread.”

“It is kind of you to offer, Lady Harker, but you needn’t lend me anything half so fine.”

Sebastian regarded Miss Stafford from beneath lowered brows. Had she always been so excruciatingly polite? So damnably respectful? It grated on him. To think that the proud, vibrant creature he had known three years ago in London was reduced to such a state. It made him feel…almost guilty. But why should it? He was not responsible for her change in station. She had her father to blame for that. And herself, too. For if she had married him three years ago, she would be a countess now. Instead she had treated him appallingly. Rejecting him without so much as a by your leave.

To say that she had broken his heart was maudlin romantic nonsense—besides being an understatement. Good God, her rejection had practically unmanned him! She was the first and only woman he had ever loved. And now she was here. Revealing herself as no better than the mercenary, grasping females who had once pursued his titled elder brother. Even worse, she was acting as if they had never been anything more to each other than the barest acquaintances. As if he had never held her in his arms. As if she had never touched him and kissed him.