Once and Always

by Judith McNaught

  Jason’s dark brows drew together in a slight frown. “Who taught you to cheat?”

  “Andrew. He said they were ‘card tricks’ he learned when he was away at school.”

  “Remind me never to put this Andrew up for membership at any of my clubs,” Collingwood said dryly. “He wouldn’t live to see the next day.”

  “Andrew never cheats,” Victoria corrected loyally. “He felt it was important to know how cheating is done, so one can’t be cheated by an unscrupulous gambler—but he was only sixteen at the time, and I don’t think he realized yet he was unlikely ever to meet such a person. . . .”

  Jason leaned back in his chair, watching Victoria with fascinated interest, amazed by the gracious ease with which she conducted herself with his guests and the way she effortlessly charmed Robert Collingwood into participating in the dinner table conversation. He noticed the way her face glowed with fondness whenever she spoke of her Andrew, and the way she brought the dining room to life with her smile.

  She was fresh and alive and unspoiled. Despite her youth, there was a natural sophistication about her that came from an active mind, a lively wit, and a genuine interest in others. He smiled to himself, remembering her courageous defense of her dog, which she had announced would henceforth be called Wolf, not Willie. Jason had known a few men with true courage in his lifetime, but he had never met a courageous woman. He remembered her shy responsiveness to his kiss and the incredible surge of hot desire she had ignited in his body.

  Victoria Seaton was full of surprises, full of promise, he thought, studying her surreptitiously. Vivid beauty was molded into every flawlessly sculpted feature of her face, but her allure went much further than that; it was in her musical laughter and her graceful movements. There was something deep within her that made her sparkle and glow like a flawless jewel, a jewel that needed only the proper background and setting: elegant clothes to complement her alluring figure and exquisite features; a magnificent home where she could reign as its queen; a husband to curb her wilder impulses; a baby at her breast to cuddle and nourish. . . .

  Sitting across from her, Jason remembered his old, long since abandoned dream of having a wife to light up his table with her warmth and laughter . . . a woman to fill his arms in bed and banish the dark emptiness within him . . . a woman who would love the children he gave her. . . .

  Jason caught himself up short, disgusted with his naive, youthful dreams and unfulfilled yearnings. He had carried them into adulthood and married Melissa, foolishly believing that a beautiful woman could make those dreams come true. How stupid he had been, how incredibly gullible to let himself believe a woman cared about love or children or anything but money and jewels and power. He scowled as he realized Victoria Seaton was suddenly bringing all those old, stupid yearnings back to torment him.

  Chapter Ten

  THE MOMENT THE COLLINGWOODS LEFT, Jason headed straight for the library, where Charles had vanished an hour before.

  Charles laid his book aside at once and beamed at Jason. “Did you observe Victoria’s demeanor at supper tonight?” he asked eagerly. “Isn’t she splendid? She has such charm, such poise, such understanding. I nearly burst with pride watching her! Why, she’s—”

  “Take her to London tomorrow,” Jason cut in shortly. “Flossie Wilson can join you there for the season.”

  “London!” Charles sputtered. “But why? Why must we hurry?”

  “I want her away from Wakefield and off my hands. Take her to London and find her a husband. The season begins in a fortnight.”

  Charles paled, but his voice was determined. “I think I’m entitled to an explanation for this sudden decision of yours.”

  “I gave you one—I want her away from here and permanently off my hands. That’s explanation enough.”

  “It isn’t as easy as that,” Charles protested desperately. “I can’t simply advertise in the newspaper for a husband for her. We have to go about it properly—by entertaining and formally introducing her to society.”

  “Then take her there and get started.”

  Raking his hand through his gray hair, Charles shook his head, trying to dissuade Jason. “My house isn’t in any condition to give lavish parties—”

  “Use mine,” Jason said.

  “Then you can’t stay there,” Charles objected, searching wildly for obstacles to throw in the way of the plan. “If you do, everyone will assume Victoria is another one of your conquests—and a brazen one, to boot. The fact that you’re supposedly betrothed to her won’t carry any weight.”

  “Whenever I’m in the city, I’ll stay at your house,” Jason said briskly. “Take my staff from here with you—they can be ready for a party at a day’s notice. They’ve done so before.”

  “What about gowns and vouchers to Almack’s and—”

  “Have Flossie Wilson take Victoria to Madame Dumosse and tell Madame that I want Victoria to have the best—immediately. Flossie will know how to go about getting vouchers to Almack’s. What else?”

  “What else?” Charles burst out. “To begin with, Dumosse is so famous even I’ve heard of her. She won’t have time to outfit Victoria, not with the season almost upon us.”

  “Tell Dumosse I said to use her own judgment on Victoria’s wardrobe and to spare no expense. Victoria’s red hair and petite height will be a challenge for her; she’ll outfit Victoria so that she outshines every insipid blonde and willowy brunette in London. She’ll do it if she has to go without sleep for the next two weeks, and then she’ll charge me double her usual exorbitant price to compensate herself for the inconvenience. I’ve been through all this before,” he finished briskly. “Now, since everything is settled, I have work to do.”

  Charles expelled a long, frustrated sigh. “Very well, but we’ll leave in three days, not one. That will give me time to notify Flossie Wilson to join us in London, not here. As an unmarried man, I cannot live in the same house with Victoria unless a suitable chaperone is present—particularly in London. Send your staff ahead to see to your house and I’ll send word to Flossie Wilson to join us in London the day after tomorrow. Now I have a favor to ask of you.”

  “What is it?”

  Carefully phrasing his answer, Charles said, “I don’t want anyone to know your engagement to Victoria is off, not right away.”

  “Why not?” Jason demanded impatiently.

  Charles hesitated as if at a loss, then brightened. “Well, for one thing, if members of the ton believe Victoria is already betrothed to you, they won’t watch her so closely. She’ll be able to go about with a little more freedom, and to look over the gentlemen at her leisure, before deciding on anyone in particular.”

  When Jason looked ready to argue, Charles added quickly, “She’ll be much more admired—and much more desired—if the London beaux believe she’s wrung an offer from you, of all people. Only consider, every eligible bachelor in London will think she must be special indeed if you want to marry her. On the other hand, if they think she’s your cast-off, they’ll hang back.”

  “Your ‘friend’ Lady Kirby will already have told everyone that the engagement is off,” Jason pointed out.

  Charles dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “No one will pay any heed to Kirby if you don’t deny the betrothal when you’re in London.”

  “Fine,” Jason said, ready to agree to almost anything in order to get Victoria married off. “Take her to London and present her. I’ll provide a suitable dowry for her. Give some balls and invite every fop in Europe. I’ll attend her debut myself,” he added sardonically. “And I’ll stay in London to interview her prospective suitors. It shouldn’t be hard to find someone to take her off our hands.”

  He was so relieved to have settled the problem of Victoria that he didn’t stop to consider the conflicting rationales behind Charles’s impassioned argument in favor of letting the betrothal stand.

  Victoria walked into the library just as Jason was leaving. They exchanged smiles; then he exited and she
approached Charles. “Are you up to our nightly game of draughts, Uncle Charles?”

  “What?” he asked absently. “Yes, of course, my dear. I’ve been looking forward to it all day. I always do.” They settled down at the table on either side of the draughts board, a checkered expanse that contained 64 inlaid squares, half of them white and half of them black.

  While she placed her twelve circular white counters on the twelve black squares nearest her, Victoria stole a thoughtful glance at the tall, elegant, gray-haired man whom she was rapidly coming to love like a true uncle. He had looked especially handsome tonight at dinner in his well-tailored dark jacket as he laughed at their childhood stories and even contributed a few of his own, but now he seemed preoccupied and worried. “Are you feeling unwell, Uncle Charles?” she asked, studying him as he placed his twelve black counters on the black squares closest to him.

  “No, nothing of the sort,” he assured her, but within the first five minutes of play, Victoria had jumped three of his counters and captured them.

  “I don’t seem to be able to concentrate on the game,” he admitted when she jumped his fourth.

  “Let’s talk instead, then,” Victoria suggested gently.

  When he agreed with a relieved smile, Victoria sought for a tactful way to discover what was troubling him. Her father had been a great advocate of the theory that people should talk out the things that bothered them—particularly people with weak hearts, because doing so often relieved the sort of inner stress that could bring on another attack. Recalling that Jason had been with Charles just before she arrived to play draughts, Victoria seized on his lordship as the most likely cause of Charles’s distress. “Did you enjoy yourself at dinner?” she began with forced casualness.

  “Tremendously,” he said, looking as if he meant it completely.

  “Do you think Jason did?”

  “Good heavens, yes. Very much. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, I couldn’t help noticing that he didn’t join in when we were all telling tales of our youth.”

  Charles’s gaze slid away from hers. “Perhaps he couldn’t recall any amusing tales to tell us.”

  Victoria paid scant attention to that answer; she was racking her brain for a better way to bring the discussion around to Charles. “I thought perhaps he was displeased with something I said or did and came to you just now to discuss it.”

  Charles looked at her again, this time with a smile sparkling in his hazel eyes. “You’re worried about me, my dear, is that it? And you’d like to know if something is troubling me?”

  Victoria burst out laughing. “Am I as transparent as that?”

  Sliding his long fingers over hers, he squeezed her hand. “You are not transparent, Victoria; you are wonderful. You care about people. I look at you and I feel hope for the world. Despite all the pain you have suffered in these last months, you still notice when an old man looks tired, and you care.”

  “You aren’t old at all,” she protested, admiring the way he looked in his evening clothes.

  “Sometimes I feel a great deal older than I am,” he said with a halfhearted attempt at humor. “Tonight is one of those nights. But you have cheered me up. May I tell you something?”

  “By all means.”

  “There have been times in my life when I wished for a daughter, and you’re exactly what I always imagined she would be.”

  A lump of tenderness swelled in Victoria’s throat as he continued quietly, “I watch you sometimes when you are strolling in the gardens or talking to the servants, and my heart fills with pride. I know that must seem odd, since I had nothing to do with making you what you are, but I feel that way nonetheless. I feel like shouting to all the cynics in the world: ‘Look at her, she is life and courage and beauty. She is what the Lord had in mind when he gave the first man his mate. She will fight for what she believes in, defend herself when she is being wronged—and yet she will accept a gesture of apology for that wrong and forgive it without rancor.’ I know you’ve forgiven Jason more than once for his treatment of you.

  “I think all those things, and then I think to myself, what can I give her to show her how much I care for her? What sort of gift does a man give a goddess?”

  Victoria thought she saw the sheen of tears in his eyes, but she couldn’t be certain because her own eyes were stinging with them.

  “There now!” he said with a self-conscious laugh as he squeezed her hand fiercely tight, “I will soon have us weeping all over the draughts board. Since I have answered your question, will you answer one of mine? What do you think of Jason?”

  Victoria smiled nervously. “He’s been generous to me,” she began with caution, but Charles waved her words aside. “That isn’t what I meant. I mean, what do you think of him personally? Tell me the truth.”

  “I—I don’t think I understand what you’re asking me about.”

  “Very well, I’ll be more specific. Do you find him handsome?”

  Victoria gulped back an astonished giggle.

  “Most women seem to think he’s extremely attractive,” Charles prodded, smiling—rather proudly, Victoria thought. “Do you?”

  Recovering from her astonishment at his line of questioning, Victoria nodded, trying not to look as embarrassed as she felt.

  “Good, good. And would you agree he is very . . . er . . . manly?”

  To Victoria’s horror, her mind chose that moment to replay the way Jason had kissed her at the creek, and she felt hot color run up her cheeks.

  “I can see you think he is,” Charles said, chuckling, misinterpreting the reason for her blush. “Excellent. Now, I shall tell you a secret: Jason is one of the finest men you will ever know. His life has not been a happy one, yet he has gone on with it because he has tremendous strength of mind and will. Leonardo da Vinci once said, ‘The greater a man’s soul, the deeper he loves.’ That quote has always reminded me of Jason. He feels things deeply, but he rarely shows it. And,” Charles added wryly, “because he is so strong, he seldom encounters opposition from anyone—and never from young ladies. Which is why you may occasionally find him somewhat . . . er . . . dictatorial.”

  Victoria’s curiosity won out over her desire not to pry. “In what way hasn’t his life been happy?”

  “Jason must be the one to tell you about his life; I have no right to do so. He will tell you someday—I know it in my heart. However, I have something else to tell you: Jason has decided that you are to have a season in London, complete with all the glitter and fanfare. We’ll leave for London in three days. Flossie Wilson will join us there, and in the fortnight before the season begins, she’ll teach you whatever you’ll need to know in order to go about in society. We’ll stay at Jason’s townhouse, which is far more suitable for entertaining than mine is, and Jason will stay at my house when he’s in the city. It was one thing for the three of us to reside together here, in the privacy of the countryside, but that must end once we go to London.”

  Victoria hadn’t the faintest idea what a season in London entailed, but she listened attentively as Charles described the round of balls, routs, soirées, theater parties, and Venetian breakfasts she would be attending. Her apprehension had escalated almost out of control by the time he mentioned that Caroline Collingwood would be in London for the same reason.

  “ . . . and though you didn’t seem to pay it any special note at dinner this evening,” he finished, “Lady Caroline mentioned twice that she hoped you would be going to the city so that you could continue your acquaintance there. You’ll enjoy that, will you not?”

  Victoria thought she would enjoy at least that part of the season very much and she said so, but in her heart she hated to leave Wakefield and face hundreds of strangers, particularly if they were like the Kirby ladies.

  “Since we’ve settled all that,” Charles concluded, opening a small drawer in the table and extracting a deck of cards, “tell me something; when your friend Andrew taught you to play cards, did he happen to teach you piquet
?”

  Victoria nodded.

  “Excellent, let’s play that then.” When Victoria readily agreed, Charles gave her a frown of mock ferocity. “You won’t cheat, will you?”

  “Absolutely not,” she promised solemnly.

  He slid the deck across to her, his eyes laughing. “First, show me how good you are at dealing from the bottom. We'll compare our techniques.”

  Victoria burst out laughing. She picked up the piquet deck and the cards leapt to life in her nimble fingers, flying into place with a graceful whoosh and snap as she shuffled and reshuffled them. “First I will gull you into thinking this is your lucky night,” she explained, swiftly dealing cards two at a time until they each had twelve. Charles looked at the hand she had dealt him, then raised his eyes, regarding her with fascinated admiration. “Four kings. I’d bet a fortune on this hand.”

  “You’d lose,” Victoria promised with a jaunty smile, and turned over her own cards which included four aces.

  “Now let’s see how well you deal from the bottom,” Charles suggested. When she showed him, he threw back his head, laughing.

  The card game they’d intended to play degenerated into a farce, with each of them taking turns dealing themselves outrageous winning hands, and the library rang with their mirth as each tried to dupe the other.

  His concentration sorely disrupted by the peals of laughter coming from the library, Jason strolled in to investigate just as the ornate grandfather clock was chiming the hour of nine. Upon entering the library, he found Charles and Victoria slumped in their chairs wiping tears of hilarity from their eyes, a deck of cards on the table between them. “The stories you two are trading must be even funnier than those you told at dinner,” Jason remarked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his snug-fitting trousers and regarding them with a slightly disgruntled expression. “I can hear you laughing from my study.”