by Julia Quinn
“Yes. No! For the love of God, woman, you can't stay here.”
She lifted her chin proudly. “I don't see any other option.”
Robert ground his teeth together. “I just got through telling you—”
“I said,” she stated pointedly, “that I don't see any other option. I will be no man's mistress.” She wrenched herself free of him and walked out of the maze.
And, he realized in a daze, out of his life.
Chapter 10
Robert returned to London and attempted to immerse himself in his regular routine. He was miserable, though, so miserable that he didn't even bother to try to convince himself that he didn't care about Victoria's rejection.
He couldn't eat, he couldn't sleep. He felt like a character in a very bad, melodramatic poem. He saw Victoria everywhere—in the clouds, in the crowds, even in his damned soup.
If he hadn't been so wretchedly pathetic, Robert later reflected, he probably wouldn't have bothered to answer his father's summons.
Every few months, the marquess sent Robert a letter requesting his presence at Castleford Manor. At first the notes were terse orders, but lately they'd taken on a more conciliatory, almost imploring tone. The marquess wanted Robert to take a greater interest in his lands; he wanted his son to show pride in the marquessate that would one day be his. Most of all he wanted him to marry and produce an heir to carry on the Kemble name.
All of this was spelled out quite clearly—and with increasing graciousness—in his letters to his son, but Robert merely scanned the notes and then tossed them into the fireplace. He hadn't been back to Castleford Manor in more than seven years, not since that awful day when his every dream had been shattered, and his father, instead of patting him on the back and offering him comfort, had shouted with glee and danced a jig right on his priceless mahogany desk.
The memory still made Robert's jaw clench with fury. When he had children he'd offer them support and understanding. He certainly wouldn't laugh at their defeats.
Children. Now there was an amusing concept. He wasn't very likely to leave his mark on the world in the form of little heirs. He couldn't bring himself to marry Victoria, and he was coming to realize that he couldn't imagine himself married to anyone else.
What a muck.
And so, when the latest note from his father arrived, saying that he was on his deathbed, Robert decided to humor the old man. This was the third such note he'd received in the past year; none of them had proved to be even remotely truthful. But Robert packed his bags and left for Kent anyway. Anything to get his mind off her.
When he arrived at his childhood home, he was not surprised to find that his father was not ill, although he did look quite a bit older than he'd remembered.
“It's good to have you home, son,” the marquess said, looking rather surprised that Robert had actually answered his summons and come down from London.
“You look well,” Robert said, emphasizing the last word.
The marquess coughed.
“A chest cold, perhaps?” Robert asked, raising a brow in an insolent manner.
His father shot him an annoyed glance. “I was just clearing my throat, and you well know it.”
“Ah, yes, healthy as horses, we Kembles are. Healthy as mules, and just as stubborn, too.”
The marquess let his nearly empty glass of whiskey clunk down on the table. “What has happened to you, Robert?”
“I beg your pardon?” This was said as Robert sprawled out on the sofa and put his feet on the table.
“You are a miserable excuse for a son. And get your feet off the table!”
His father's tone was just as it had always been when Robert was a young boy and had committed some awful transgression. Without thinking, Robert obeyed and set his feet on the floor.
“Look at you,” Castleford said with distaste. “Lazing your days away in London. Drinking, whoring, gambling away your fortune.”
Robert smiled humorlessly. “I'm an appallingly good card player. I've doubled my portion.”
His father turned slowly around. “You don't care about anything, do you?”
“I once did,” Robert whispered, suddenly feeling very hollow.
The marquess poured himself another glass of whiskey and downed it. And then, as if making a last-ditch effort, he said, “Your mother would be ashamed of you.”
Robert looked up sharply and his mouth went dry. His father rarely mentioned his mother. It was several moments before he was able to say, “You don't know how she would have felt. You never really knew her. You don't know what love is.”
“I loved her!” the marquess roared. “I loved your mother in ways you will never know. And by God, I knew her dreams. She wanted her son to be strong and honest and noble.”
“Don't forget my responsibilities to the title,” Robert said acidly.
His father turned away. “She didn't care about that,” he said. “She just wanted you to be happy.”
Robert closed his eyes in agony, wondering how his life would have been different if his mother had been alive when he'd courted Victoria. “I see that you have made it a priority to see her dreams fulfilled.” He laughed bitterly. “Clearly, I am a happy man.”
“I never meant for you to be like this,” Castleford said, his face showing every one of his sixty-five years and a good ten more. He shook his head and sank down onto a chair. “I never wanted this. My God, what have I done?”
A very queer feeling began to spread in Robert's stomach. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“She came here, you know.”
“Who came here?
“Her. The vicar's daughter.”
Robert's fingers tightened around the arm of the sofa until his knuckles grew white. “Victoria?”
His father gave a curt nod.
A thousand questions raced through Robert's mind. Had the Hollingwoods turned her out? Was she ill? She must be ill, he decided. Something must be dreadfully wrong if she'd actually sought out his father. “When was she here?”
“Right after you left for London.”
“Right after I—What the devil are you talking about?”
“Seven years ago.”
Robert sprang to his feet. “Victoria was here seven years ago and you never told me?” He began to advance on his father. “You never said a word?”
“I didn't want to see you throw your life away.” Castleford let out a bitter laugh. “But you did that anyway.”
Robert clenched his fists at his sides, knowing that if he didn't he was liable to go for his father's throat. “What did she say?”
His father didn't answer quickly enough. “What did she say?” Robert bellowed.
“I don't remember precisely, but…” Castleford took a deep breath. “But she was quite put out that you had left for London. I think she really meant to keep her assignation with you.”
A muscle worked violently in Robert's throat, and he doubted he was capable of forming words.
“I don't think she was after your fortune,” the marquess said softly. “I still don't think a woman of her background could ever make a proper countess, but I will admit—” He cleared his throat. He was not a man who liked to show weakness. “I will admit that I might have been mistaken about her. She probably did love you.”
Robert was frighteningly still for a moment, and then he suddenly whirled around and slammed his fist against the wall. The marquess stepped back nervously, aware that his son very likely had wanted to plant that fist squarely in his face.
“Goddamn you!” Robert exploded. “How could you have done this to me?”
“At the time I thought it was best. I see now that I was wrong.”
Robert closed his eyes, his face agonized. “What did you say to her?”
The marquess turned away, unable to face his son.
“What did you say to her?”
“I told her you'd never intended to marry her.” Castleford swallowed uncomfortably. “I told her you w
ere just dallying with her.”
“And she thought…Oh, God, she thought…” Robert sank down on his haunches. When she'd discovered he'd left for London, Victoria must have thought that he'd been lying to her all along, that he'd never loved her.
And then he'd insulted her by asking her to become his mistress. Shame washed over him, and he wondered if he would ever be able to look her in the eye again. He wondered if she would even allow him enough time in her presence to apologize.
“Robert,” his father said. “I'm sorry.”
Robert rose slowly, barely aware of his motions. “I will never forgive you for this,” he said, his voice flat.
“Robert!” the marquess yelled.
But his son had already left the room.
Robert didn't realize where he was going until the vicar's cottage came into view. Why had Victoria been in bed that night? Why hadn't she met him as she'd promised?
He stood in front of the house for five long minutes, doing nothing but staring at the brass knocker on the front door. His thoughts were running in every direction, and his eyes were so unfocused that he didn't see the ruffle of the curtains in the drawing room window.
The door suddenly opened, and Eleanor Lyndon appeared. “My lord?” she said, obviously surprised to see him.
Robert blinked until he was able to focus on her. She looked much the same, except that her strawberry blond hair, which had always been such a cloud around her face, was now pulled back into a neat bun. “Ellie,” he said hoarsely.
“What are you doing here?”
“I-I don't know.”
“You don't look well. Would you—” She swallowed. “Would you like to come in?”
Robert nodded unsteadily and followed her into the drawing room.
“My father isn't here,” she said. “He's at the church.”
Robert just stared at her.
“Are you certain you're not ill? You look rather queer.”
He let out a funny little breath, one that would have been a laugh if he hadn't been so dazed. Ellie had always been refreshingly forthright.
“My lord? Robert?”
He remained silent for a few moments more, and then he suddenly asked, “What happened?”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“What happened that night?” he repeated, his voice taking on a desperate urgency.
Comprehension dawned on Ellie's face and she looked away. “You don't know?”
“I thought I did, but now I…I don't know anything anymore.”
“He tied her up.”
Robert felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. “What?”
“My father,” Ellie said with a nervous swallow. “He woke up and found Victoria packing her bags. Then he tied her up. He said you would ruin her.”
“Oh, my God.” Robert couldn't breathe.
“It was awful. Papa was in such a rage. I've never seen him like that. I wanted to help her. I really did. I covered her up with her blankets so she wouldn't catch a chill.”
Robert thought of her lying in bed. He'd been so furious with her, and all the time she'd been bound hand and foot. He suddenly felt intensely ill.
Ellie continued her story. “But he tied me up, too. I think he knew that I would have freed her so she could go to you. As it was, she sneaked out of the house and ran to Castleford Manor just as soon as she was free. When she returned, her skin was all scratched from running through the woods.”
Robert looked away, his mouth moving but unable to form words.
“She never forgave him, you know,” Ellie said. Her shoulders lifted into a sad shrug. “I have made my peace with my father. I don't think what he did was right, but we have reached an understanding of sorts. But Victoria…”
“Tell me, Ellie,” Robert urged.
“She never returned home. We haven't seen her in seven years.”
He turned to her, his blue eyes intense. “I didn't know, Ellie. I swear it.”
“We were very surprised when we learned you'd left the district,” she said flatly. “I thought Victoria might perish of a broken heart.”
“I didn't know,” he repeated.
“She thought you'd been planning to ravish her, and that when you didn't succeed you grew bored and left.” Ellie's gaze dropped to the floor. “We didn't know what else to think. It was what my father had predicted all along.”
“No,” Robert whispered. “No. I loved her.”
“Why did you leave, then?”
“My father had threatened to cut me off. When she didn't meet me that night, I assumed she'd decided I wasn't worth it anymore.” He felt ashamed just saying the words. As if Victoria would have ever cared about such a thing. He stood suddenly, feeling so off balance that he had to hold on to the end of a table for a moment to steady himself.
“Would you like a spot of tea?” Ellie asked as she rose. “You really don't look at all well.”
“Ellie,” he said, his voice growing resolute for the first time during their conversation, “I haven't been well for seven years. If you'll excuse me.”
He left without another word, and in a great hurry.
Ellie had no doubt where he was going.
“What do you mean you turned her out?”
“Without a reference,” Lady Hollingwood said proudly.
Robert took a deep breath, aware that for the first time in his life he was sorely tempted to punch a woman in the face. “You let—” He stopped and cleared his throat, needing the time to get his temper under control. “You dismissed a gently bred woman without a character? Where do you expect her to go?”
“I can assure you that is none of my concern. I certainly did not want that trollop near my son, and it would have been unconscionable of me to give her a reference so that she might corrupt other young children with her unsavory influence.”
“It would behoove you not to call my future countess a trollop, Lady Hollingwood,” Robert said tightly.
“Your future countess?” Lady Hollingwood's words came out in a panicked rush. “Miss Lyndon?”
“Indeed.” Robert had long ago perfected the art of the glacial stare, and he speared Lady Hollingwood with one of his best.
“But-but you cannot marry her!”
“Is that so?”
“Eversleigh told me that she all but threw herself at him.”
“Eversleigh is an ass.”
Lady Hollingwood stiffened at his foul language. “Lord Macclesfield, I must ask you—”
He cut her off. “Where is she?”
“I certainly do not know.”
Robert advanced on her, his eyes cold and hard. “You have no idea? Not a single thought in your head?”
“She, ah, she might have contacted the employment agency she used when I hired her.”
“Ah, now we're getting somewhere. I knew you were not completely useless.”
Lady Hollingwood swallowed uncomfortably. “I have the information right here. Let me copy it down for you.”
Robert nodded curtly and crossed his arms. He'd learned to use his size to intimidate, and right then he wanted nothing more than to intimidate the hell out of Lady Hollingwood. She scurried across the room and fished a sheet of paper from a desk. With shaking hands she copied an address down for him.
“Here you are,” she said, holding out the slip. “I do hope this little misunderstanding will not affect our future friendship.”
“My dear lady, I cannot conceive of a single thing you could do that would ever make me want to lay eyes on you again.”
Lady Hollingwood paled, watching all her social aspirations go up in flames.
Robert looked at the London address on the paper in his hand, then left the room without even so much as a nod toward his hostess.
Victoria had come looking for a job, the woman at the employment agency told him with an unsympathetic shrug, but she'd sent her away. It was impossible to place a governess without a character reference.
Ro
bert's hands began to shake. Never had he felt so damned impotent. Where the hell was she?
Several weeks later Victoria hummed cheerfully as she carried her load of sewing to work. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so happy. Oh, there was still the lingering heartache over Robert, but she'd come to accept that it would always be a part of her.
But she was content. There had been a moment of wrenching panic when the lady at the employment agency had declared her unemployable, but then Victoria had remembered the sewing she had done while growing up. If there was one thing she could do, it was stitch a perfect seam, and she soon found employment in a dressmaker's shop.
She was paid by the piece, and she found the work immensely satisfying. If she did a good job, she did a good job, and no one could say otherwise. There were no Lady Hollingwoods leaning over her shoulder complaining that their children couldn't recite the alphabet fast enough and then blaming Victoria when they stumbled over M, N, and O. Victoria rather liked the non-subjective aspect of her new job. If she sewed a seam straight, no one could say it was crooked.
So unlike being a governess. Victoria couldn't have been more pleased.
It had been a dreadful blow when Lady Hollingwood dismissed her. That rat Eversleigh had grown spiteful and spread tales, and of course Lady H. would never take the word of a governess over that of a peer of the realm.
And Robert was gone, so he couldn't defend her. Not that she wanted him to, or expected him to. She expected nothing from him after he'd insulted her so terribly by asking her to be his mistress.
Victoria shook her head. She tried not to think about that awful encounter. Her hopes had been raised so high and then dashed so low. She would never, ever forgive him for that.
Ha! As if he would ever beg her forgiveness, the lout.
Victoria found it made her feel much better to think of him as Robert-the-lout. She wished she'd thought of it seven years earlier.
Victoria balanced her load of sewing on her hip as she pushed open the rear door to Madame Lambert's Dress Shop. “Good day, Katie!” she called out, greeting the other seamstress.