The duke sounded as if he were firmly setting his mind against Andrew, which left Victoria no choice but to explain the whole, embarrassing truth. “Papa had no reservations about Andrew making me an excellent husband. He had serious reservations about my life with my future mother-in-law, however. She is a widow, you see, and very attached to Andrew. Besides that, she is prone to all sorts of illnesses that make her somewhat ill-tempered.”
“Ah,” said the duke in an understanding way. “And how serious are these illnesses of hers?”
Victoria’s cheeks warmed. “According to what my father told her on one occasion when I was present, her illnesses are feigned. When she was very young, she did have a certain weakness of the heart, but Papa said that getting out of bed would help her far more than staying in it and wallowing in self-pity. They—they didn’t like each other very well, you see.”
“Yes, and I can understand why!” The duke chuckled. “Your papa was entirely right to throw obstructions in the way of your marriage, my dear. Your life would have been very unhappy.”
“It won’t be unhappy at all,” Victoria said firmly, determined to marry Andrew with or without the duke’s approval. “Andrew realizes that his mother uses her illnesses to try to manipulate him, and he doesn’t let it stop him from doing what he wishes to do. He only agreed to go on this tour because my father insisted he should.”
“Have you received many letters from him?”
“Only one, but you see, Andrew left for Europe only a fortnight before my parents’ accident three months ago, and it takes almost that long to get letters to and from Europe. I wrote to him, telling him what happened, and I wrote to him again, just before I sailed for England, to give him my direction here. I expect he’s on his way home right now, thinking he is coming to my rescue. I wanted to stay in New York and wait for him to return, which would have been much simpler for everyone, but Dr. Morrison wouldn’t hear of it. He was convinced for some reason that Andrew’s feelings would not withstand the test of time. No doubt Mrs. Bainbridge told him something like that, which is the sort of thing she would do, I suppose.”
Victoria sighed and glanced out the windows. “She would much prefer Andrew to marry someone of more importance than the daughter of a penniless physician.”
“Or better yet, that he marry no one at all and remain tied to her bedside?” the duke ventured, his brows raised. “A widow who feigns illnesses sounds like a very possessive, domineering sort to me.”
Victoria couldn’t deny it, so rather than condemn her future mother-in-law, she remained charitably silent on that subject. “Some of the families in the village offered to let me remain with them until Andrew returned, but that solution wasn’t a very good one. Among other things, if Andrew returned and found me staying with them, well, he would have been furious.”
“With you?” his grace asked, frowning in annoyance at poor Andrew.
“No, with his mother, for not insisting that I stay with her instead.”
“Oh,” he said, but even though her explanation completely vindicated Andrew of any possible blame, Charles seemed somewhat depressed by it. “The man sounds like a countrified paragon of virtue,” he muttered.
“You will like him very much,” Victoria predicted, smiling. “He will come here to bring me home, you’ll see.”
Charles patted her hand. “Let’s forget about Andrew and be glad you’re here in England. Now, tell me how you like it thus far. . . .”
Victoria told him she liked what she had seen very much, and Charles responded by describing the life he had planned for her here. To begin with, he wanted her to have a new wardrobe and a trained lady’s maid to assist her. Victoria was about to refuse when she caught sight of the dark, forbidding figure striding toward the table with the silent sureness of a dangerous savage, his buckskin breeches molding his muscular legs and thighs, his white shirt open at his tanned throat. This morning, he seemed even taller than she’d thought yesterday, lean and superbly fit. His thick black hair was slightly curly, his nose straight, his stern mouth finely chiseled. In fact, if it weren’t for the arrogant authority stamped in his rugged jawline and the cynicism in his cold green eyes, Victoria would have thought him almost breathtakingly handsome.
“Jason!” Charles said heartily. “Allow me to properly present you to Victoria. Jason is my nephew,” he added to Victoria.
Nephew! She’d hoped he might only be a visitor, but he was a relative who probably lived with Charles, she realized now. The knowledge made Victoria feel slightly ill at the same time that her pride forced her to lift her chin and calmly meet Jason’s ruthless stare. Acknowledging the brief introduction with a curt nod, he seated himself across from her and looked at O’Malley. “Is it too much to hope that there is any food left?”
The footman quailed visibly. “I—no, my lord. There isn’t. That is, there’s enough to eat, but it may not be quite warm enough. I’ll go down to the kitchens at once and have cook fix something fresh and hot.” He rushed out.
“Jason,” Charles said, “I’ve just been suggesting to Victoria that she ought to have a suitable lady’s maid and a wardrobe more appropriate to—”
“No,” Jason said flatly.
Victoria’s urge to flee promptly overpowered every other instinct. “If you’ll excuse me, Uncle Charles,” she said, “I—I have some things to do.”
Charles shot her a grateful, apologetic look and politely stood up as she arose, but his obnoxious nephew merely lounged back in his chair, observing her retreat with bored distaste.
“None of this is Victoria’s fault,” Charles began as the footmen started to close the doors behind Victoria. “You must understand that.”
“Really?” Jason drawled sarcastically. “And does that whining little beggar understand that this is my house and I don’t want her here?”
The doors closed behind her, but Victoria had already heard enough. A beggar! A whining beggar! Humiliation washed over her in sickening waves as she fled blindly down the hall. Apparently, Charles had invited her here without his nephew’s consent.
Victoria’s face was pale but set as she walked into her room and opened her trunk.
Back in the dining room, Charles was pleading with the hardened cynic across from him. “Jason, you don’t understand—”
“You brought her to England,” Jason snapped. “Since you want her here so badly, take her to London to live with you.”
“I can’t do that!” Charles argued vehemently. “She’s not ready to face the ton yet. There’s much to be done before she can make her debut in London. Among other things, we’ll need an older woman to stay with her as a chaperone for the sake of appearances.”
Jason nodded impatiently at the footman who was hovering at his elbow with the silver coffeepot, waiting for permission to pour, and when he had finished dismissed him from the room. Then he turned to Charles and said harshly, “I want her out of here tomorrow—is that clear? Take her to London or send her home, but get her out! I’m not going to spend a cent on her. If you want to give her a London season, then you’ll have to find some other way to pay for it.”
Charles wearily rubbed his temples. “Jason, I know you aren’t as heartless and unfeeling as you sound right now. At least let me tell you about her.”
Leaning back in his chair, Jason regarded him with icy boredom while Charles plowed doggedly ahead. “Her parents were killed a few months ago in an accident. In one tragic day Victoria lost her mother, her father, her home, her security—everything.” When Jason remained silent and unmoved, Charles ran out of patience. “Dammit! Have you forgotten how you felt when you lost Jamie? Victoria has lost all three of the people she loved, including the young man she was halfway betrothed to. She’s foolish enough to believe the fellow will come running to her rescue in the next few weeks, but his mother’s against the match. You mark my words, he’ll yield to his mama’s wishes now that Victoria is an ocean away. Her sister is now the ward of the Duchess of Claremont
, so even her sister’s companionship is denied Victoria now. Think how she feels, Jason! You’re not unacquainted with death and loss—or have you forgotten the pain?”
Charles’s words hit home with enough force to make Jason wince. Charles saw it and he pressed his advantage. “She’s as innocent and lost as a child, Jason. She has no one left in the world except me—and you, whether you like it or not. Think of her as you would think of Jamie in these same circumstances. But Victoria has courage, and pride. For instance, even though she laughed about it, I could tell that her reception here yesterday humiliated her terribly. If she thinks she isn’t wanted, she’ll find some way to leave here. And if that happens,” Charles finished tautly, “I’ll never forgive you. I swear I won’t!”
Jason abruptly pushed his chair back and stood up, his expression closed and hard. “By any chance, is she another one of your by-blows?”
Charles’s face whitened. “Good God, no!” When Jason still looked skeptical, Charles added desperately, “Think what you’re saying! Would I have announced your betrothal to her, if she were my daughter?”
Instead of pacifying Jason, that assurance merely called to mind the betrothal that had so enraged him. “If your little angel is so damned innocent and so courageous, why did she agree to barter her body for marriage to me?”
“Oh, that!” Charles waved his hand in dismissal. “I made that announcement without her knowledge; she knows nothing of it. Call it overenthusiasm on my part,” he said smoothly. “I assure you, she has no wish to marry you.” Jason’s glacial expression began to thaw and Charles hastened to heap on more reassurance. “I doubt Victoria would have you, even if you wanted her. You’re much too cynical and hard and jaded for a gently bred, idealistic girl like her. She admired her father and she told me openly that she wanted to marry a man like him—a sensitive, gentle, idealistic man. Why, you’re nothing like that,” he continued, so carried away with near-victory that he didn’t realize his speech bordered on insult. “I daresay if Victoria knew she was supposedly betrothed to you, she’d swoon dead away! She’d take her own life before—”
“I think I have the picture,” Jason interrupted mildly.
“Good,” Charles said with a swift smile. “Then may I suggest we keep that little betrothal announcement a secret from her? I’ll think of some way to rescind it without causing embarrassment to either of you, but we can’t do it immediately.” When Jason’s eyes narrowed on his smile, Charles quickly sobered. “She is a child, Jason—a brave, proud girl who is trying to make the best of things in a cruel world she isn’t equipped to face. If we revoke the betrothal too soon after her arrival here, she’ll be a laughingstock in London. They’ll say you took one look at her and cried off.”
A vision of dark-lashed, glowing blue eyes and a face too beautiful to be real drifted through Jason’s mind. He remembered the entrancing smile that had touched her soft lips a few minutes ago, before she became aware of his presence in the dining room. In retrospect, she did seem rather like a vulnerable child.
“Go talk to her, please,” Charles implored.
“I’ll talk to her,” Jason agreed shortly.
“But will you make her feel welcome?”
“That depends on how she behaves when I find her.”
In her room, Victoria snatched another armload of clothes from the armoire while Jason Fielding’s words hammered painfully in her brain. Whining little BEGGAR . . . I don’t want her here. . . . Whining little BEGGAR . . . She hadn’t found a new home at all, she thought hysterically. Fate had merely been playing a vicious joke on her. She stuffed the clothes into her trunk. Standing up again she turned toward the armoire and let out a gasp of fright. “You!” she choked, glaring at the tall, forbidding figure lounging just inside the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. Angry with herself for letting him see her fright, she put her chin up, absolutely determined not to let him intimidate her again. “Someone should have taught you to knock before you enter a room.”
“Knock?” he repeated with dry mockery. “When the door is already open?” He shifted his attention to her open trunk and raised his eyebrows. “Are you leaving?”
“Obviously,” Victoria replied.
“Why?”
“Why?” she burst out in disbelief. “Because I am not a whining little beggar, and for your information, I hate being a burden to anyone.”
Instead of looking guilty because she’d overheard his cutting remarks, he looked slightly amused. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to eavesdrop?”
“I was not eavesdropping,” Victoria retorted. “You were assassinating my character in a voice that could be heard all the way to London.”
“Where are you planning to go?” he asked, ignoring her criticism.
“That’s none of your business.”
“Humor me!” he snapped, his manner suddenly turning cold and commanding.
Victoria shot him a mutinous, measuring look. Leaning in the doorway, he looked dangerous and invincible. His shoulders were wide, his chest deep, and his white shirt-sleeves were rolled up, displaying darkly tanned, very muscular forearms whose strength she had already experienced when he carried her upstairs yesterday. She also knew he had a vile temper, and judging from the ominous look in his hard jade eyes, he was even now considering shaking the answer out of her. Rather than give him that satisfaction, Victoria said frigidly, “I have a little money. I’ll find a place to live in the village.”
“Really?” he drawled sarcastically. “Just out of curiosity, when your ‘little money’ runs out, how will you live?”
“I’ll work!” Victoria informed him, trying to shatter his infuriating composure.
His dark brows shot up in sardonic amusement. “What a novel idea—a woman who actually wants to work. Tell me, what sort of work can you do?” His question snapped out like a whip. “Can you push a plow?”
“No—”
“Can you drive a nail?”
“No.”
“Can you milk a cow?”
“No!”
“Then you’re useless to yourself and to anyone else, aren’t you?” he pointed out mercilessly.
“I most certainly am not!” she denied with angry pride. “I can do all sorts of things, I can sew and cook and—”
“And set all the villagers gossiping about what monsters the Fieldings are for turning you out? Forget it,” he said arrogantly. “I won’t permit it.”
“I do not remember asking for your permission,” Victoria retorted defiantly.
Caught off guard, Jason stared hard at her. Grown men rarely dared to challenge him, yet here was this slip of a girl doing exactly that. If his annoyance hadn’t matched his surprise, he would have chucked her under the chin and grinned at her courage. Suppressing the unprecedented urge to gentle his words, he said curtly, “If you’re so eager to earn your keep, which I doubt, you can do it here.”
“I’m very sorry,” the defiant young beauty announced coolly, “but that won’t do.”
“Why not?”
“Because I simply cannot imagine myself bowing and scraping and quaking with fear each time you pass, like the rest of your servants are expected to do. Why, that poor man with the sore tooth nearly collapsed this morning when you—”
“Who?” Jason demanded, his ire momentarily replaced by stupefaction.
“Mr. O’Malley.”
“Who the hell is Mr. O’Malley?” he bit out, controlling his temper with a supreme effort.
Victoria rolled her eyes in disgust. “You don’t even know his name, do you? Mr. O’Malley is the footman who went for your breakfast, and his jaw is so swollen—”
Jason turned on his heel. “Charles wants you to stay here, and that’s the end of it.” In the doorway, he stopped and turned, his threatening gaze pinning her to the spot. “If you’re thinking of leaving despite my orders, I’d advise you not to do it. You’ll put me to the trouble of coming after you, and you won’t like what happens when I find yo
u, believe me.”
“I am not frightened of you or your threats,” Victoria lied proudly, rapidly trying to sort through her alternatives. She didn’t want to hurt Charles by leaving, but neither would her pride permit her to be a “beggar” in Jason’s home. Ignoring the ominous glitter in his green eyes, she said, “I’ll stay, but I intend to work for my food and lodging here.”
“Fine,” Jason snapped, feeling as if she was somehow emerging the victor in this conflict. He turned to leave, but her businesslike voice stopped him.
“May I ask what my wages will be?”
Jason sucked in a furious breath. “Are you trying to irritate me?”
“Not at all. I merely wish to know what my wages will be, so I can plan for the day when I . . .” Her voice trailed off as Jason rudely stalked out.
Uncle Charles sent up word asking her to join him for lunch, which turned out to be a very enjoyable meal, since Jason wasn’t present. However, the rest of the afternoon dragged and, in a fit of restlessness, Victoria decided to stroll outside. The butler saw her coming downstairs and swept open the front door for her. Trying to show him she harbored no ill will about yesterday, Victoria smiled at him. “Thank you very much, ah—?”
“Northrup,” he provided, his manner polite, his expression carefully blank.
“Northrup?” Victoria repeated, hoping to draw him into conversation. “Is that your given name or your surname?”
His gaze slid to hers, then away. “Er—my surname, miss.”
“I see,” she continued politely. “And how long have you worked here?”
Northrup clasped his hands behind his back and rocked forward on the balls of his feet, looking solemn. “For nine generations, my family has been born and has died in service to the Fieldings, miss. I expect to carry on that proud tradition.”
“Oh,” Victoria said, carefully suppressing a chuckle at his profound pride in holding a job that seemed to entail nothing more important than opening and closing doors for people.
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