Everything and the Moon

by Julia Quinn

  He ignored her. “I gave you one night, Victoria. That is all. You're coming home with me this evening.”

  “I think not.”

  “Then move in with my aunt.”

  “I value my independence above all things,” she said.

  “Well, I value your life and virtue,” he exploded, “and you're going to lose them both if you insist upon living her.”

  “Robert, I am perfectly safe. I do nothing to attract attention, and people leave me alone.”

  “Victoria, you're a beautiful and obviously respectable woman. You can't help but attract attention every time you step foot out of the house.”

  She snorted. “You're a fine one to talk. Look at you!”

  He crossed his arms and waited for an explanation.

  “I was doing a fine job of keeping to myself before you came along.” She waved her hand at his carriage. “This neighborhood hasn't seen such a grand vehicle in years, if ever. And I'm sure that at least a dozen people are already planning how to rid you of your wallet.”

  “So you do admit that this is an unsavory area.”

  “Of course I do. Do you think I'm blind? If nothing else, this should prove how very much I don't want your company.”

  “What the hell do you mean by that?”

  “For God's sake, Robert, I'd rather stay here in this slum than be with you. Here! That ought to tell you something.”

  He flinched, and she knew she'd hurt him. What she didn't expect was how much it hurt herself to see his eyes fill with pain. Against her better judgement, she put her hand on his arm. “Robert,” she said softly, “let me explain something to you. I am content now. I may not have much in the way of material comforts, but for the first time in years I have my independence. And I have my pride back.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “You know I never liked being a governess. I was constantly insulted by my employers, both male and female.”

  Robert's mouth tightened.

  “The customers at the dress shop aren't always polite, but Madame Lambert treats me with respect. And when I do a good job she doesn't try to take the credit. Do you know how long it has been since anyone has offered me any praise?”

  “Oh, Victoria.” There was a world of anguish in those two words.

  “I have made lovely friends, too. I truly enjoy the time I spend in the dress shop. And no one makes any decisions for me.” She shrugged helplessly. “They are simple pleasures, but they are dear to me, and I don't want to upset the balance.”

  “I had no idea,” he whispered. “No idea.”

  “How could you?” Her words were not a retort, but a real and honest question. “You have always had complete control over your life. You have always been able to do whatever you wanted.” Her lips curved into a wistful smile. “You and your plans. I always loved that about you.”

  His eyes flew to her face. He doubted that she even realized she'd used the word “love.”

  “The way you would attack a problem,” she continued, her eyes growing nostalgic. “It was always so much fun to watch. You examined the situation from all four sides, and then from the top and the bottom and upside down and inside out. You would find the shortest route to a solution, and then you went and did it. You always figured out how to get what you wanted.”

  “Except you.”

  His words hung in the air for a long minute. Victoria looked away, and then finally she said, “I must be getting to work.”

  “Let me take you.”

  “No.” Her voice sounded odd, as if she might cry. “I don't think that is a good idea.”

  “Victoria, please don't make me worry about you. I have never felt so helpless in all my life.”

  She turned to him with wise eyes. “I felt helpless for seven years. Now I'm in control. Please don't take that away from me.” Straightening her shoulders, she began to walk to the dress shop.

  Robert waited until she was about ten feet away and then began to follow her. MacDougal waited until Robert was about twenty feet away and then began to follow him in the carriage.

  All in all, it was a strange and solemn procession to Madame Lambert's

  Victoria was kneeling before a dressmaker's dummy with three pins lodged between her teeth when the bell over the door rang at noon. She looked up.

  Robert. She wondered why she was surprised. He was holding a box in his hands and had a familiar look on his face. Victoria knew that look. He was up to something. He'd probably spent the entire morning making plans.

  He crossed the room until he was standing next to her. “Good day, Victoria,” he said with a genial smile. “I must say you look rather frightening with pins hanging from your mouth like fangs.”

  Victoria found herself wanting to take one of those “fangs” and jab him with it. “Not frightening enough,” she muttered.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Robert, why are you here? I thought we reached an understanding this morning.”

  “We did.”

  “Then why are you here?” she ground out.

  He crouched beside her. “I think we reached different understandings.”

  What on earth was he talking about? “Robert, I'm very busy,” she said.

  “I brought you a gift,” he said, holding out the box.

  “I cannot accept a gift from you.”

  He grinned. “It's edible.”

  Victoria's traitorous stomach began to rumble. With a muttered curse she turned her back to him and began to attack the hemline of the gown she'd been working on.

  “Mmmmm,” Robert said tantalizingly. He opened the box and waved the contents before her. “Pastries.”

  Victoria's mouth watered. Pastries. Her biggest weakness. She supposed it would have been too much to hope that he'd forgotten.

  “I made sure to get the kind without nuts,” he said.

  No nuts? The man never forgot a detail, blast him. Victoria looked up to see Katie craning her neck, examining the pastries over Robert's shoulder. Katie was eyeing the sweets with an expression that could only be called intense longing. Victoria didn't imagine that Katie often had occasion to partake of delicacies from London's most exclusive confectioner.

  Victoria smiled at Robert and accepted the box. “Thank you,” she said politely. “Katie? Would you like one?”

  Katie was at her side in less than a second. Victoria handed her the entire box and went back to work on the hemline, trying to ignore the scent of chocolate that now pervaded the room.

  Robert pulled up a chair and sat beside her. “That gown would look lovely on you,” he said.

  “Alas,” Victoria replied, viciously jabbing a pin into the material, “but it is spoken for by a countess.”

  “I would tell you that I would buy you one just like it, but I don't think that would win me any points in my favor.”

  “How astute of you, my lord.”

  “You're annoyed with me,” he stated.

  Victoria's head swiveled slowly around until she faced him. “You noticed.”

  “Is it because you thought you'd rid yourself of me this morning?”

  “It was a hope.”

  “You're eager for your life to return to normal.”

  Victoria let out a funny little sound that was part laugh, part sigh, and part snort. “You seem to be exceedingly proficient at stating the obvious.”

  “Hmmm.” Robert scratched his head, looking for all the world like a man deep in thought. “Your logic is flawed.”

  Victoria didn't bother to reply.

  “You see, you think this is normal.”

  Victoria jabbed a few more pins into the hemline, realized that her irritation was making her careless, and had to pull them out and reposition them.

  “But this isn't a normal life. How could it be? You've only lived it for a month.”

  “I was only courted by you for two months,” she was compelled to point out.

  “Yes, but you spent the next seven years th
inking about me.”

  Victoria didn't see any point in denying this, but she did say, “Weren't you listening to anything I said this morning?”

  He leaned forward, his light blue eyes startlingly intense. “I listened to everything you said. And then I spent all morning thinking about it. I believe I understand your feelings.”

  “Then why are you here?” she ground out.

  “Because I think you're wrong.”

  Victoria dropped her pins.

  “Life isn't about crawling under a rock and watching the world go by, desperately hoping it won't touch us.” He knelt down and began to help her gather the pins. “Life is about taking chances, about reaching for the moon.”

  “I took chances,” she said flatly. “I lost.”

  “And you're going to let that rule your life forever? Victoria, you're only four and twenty. You have years ahead of you. Are you saying that you're going to take the safe road for the rest of your life?”

  “As pertains to you, yes.”

  He stood. “I can see that I will have to give you some time to reflect on this.”

  She glared at him, hoping that he didn't notice how her hands were shaking.

  “I will return at the end of the day to escort you home,” he said, and she wondered whether he meant her home or his.

  “I won't be here,” she said.

  He only shrugged. “I'll find you. I'll always find you.”

  Victoria was saved from having to ponder that ominous statement by the bell over the door. “I have to work,” she muttered.

  Robert executed a smart bow and waved his hand toward the door. His courtly gesture faltered, however, when he saw the dress shop's latest customers.

  Mrs. Brightbill bustled in, pulling Harriet along behind her. “Ah, there you are, Miss Lyndon,” she trilled. “And Robert, too.”

  “I had a feeling we might find you here, cousin,” Harriet said.

  Victoria bobbed a curtsy. “Mrs. Brightbill. Miss Brightbill.”

  Harriet waved a hand at her. “Please do call me Harriet. We are to be relations, after all.”

  Robert beamed at his cousin.

  Victoria scowled at the floor. Much as she would have liked to scowl at Harriet, store policy did not allow her to make faces at customers. And she had just spent all morning trying to convince Robert that she wanted to keep her position at the dress shop, hadn't she?

  “We have come to ask you to tea,” Harriet announced.

  “I'm afraid I must decline,” Victoria said demurely. “It wouldn't be proper.”

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. Brightbill declared.

  “My mother is considered an authority on what is proper and what is not,” Harriet said. “So if she says it is proper, you can be sure that it is.”

  Victoria blinked, needing an extra second to work through the maze of Harriet's words.

  “I'm afraid I must agree with Harriet, much as it pains me to do so,” Robert said. “I myself have often been on the receiving end of Aunt Brightbill's lectures on propriety.”

  “I don't find that particularly difficult to believe,” Victoria said.

  “Oh, Robert can be quite a rake,” Harriet said. This earned her a disapproving look from her cousin.

  Victoria turned to the younger girl with interest. “Is that so?”

  “Oh, yes. I fear it was his broken heart that forced him to turn to other women.”

  A nasty feeling began to develop in Victoria's stomach. “Exactly how many other women are we talking about?”

  “Scores,” Harriet said earnestly. “Legions.”

  Robert began to chuckle.

  “Don't laugh,” Harriet hissed. “I am trying to make her jealous on your behalf.”

  Victoria coughed, hiding a smile behind her hand. Really, Harriet was such a dear.

  Mrs. Brightbill, who had been conversing with Madame Lambert, rejoined the conversation. “Are you ready, Miss Lyndon?” Her tone clearly implied that she did not expect another refusal.

  “It is very kind of you, Mrs. Brightbill, but I'm frightfully busy here at the dress shop, and—”

  “I just spoke to Madame Lambert, and she assured me that she might spare you for an hour.”

  “You might as well give in gracefully,” Robert said with a smile. “My aunt always gets her way.”

  “It must run in the family,” Victoria muttered.

  “I certainly hope so,” he replied.

  “Very well,” Victoria said. “A cup of tea does sound rather nice, actually.”

  “Excellent,” Mrs. Brightbill said, rubbing her hands together. “We have much to discuss.”

  Victoria blinked a few times and adopted an innocent expression. “His lordship won't be joining us, will he?”

  “Not if you do not desire it, dear.”

  Victoria turned to the man in question and offered him an acidic smile. “Good day, then, Robert.”

  Robert merely leaned against the wall and smiled as she left, willing to let her believe she'd outwitted him. Victoria had said she craved normalcy, hadn't she? He chuckled. People didn't get more frighteningly normal than Aunt Brightbill.

  Tea was actually a rather pleasant affair. Mrs. Brightbill and Harriet regaled Victoria with tales aplenty about Robert, few of which Victoria was inclined to believe. The way they extolled his honor, bravery, and kindness, one would think he was a candidate for sainthood.

  Victoria wasn't entirely sure why they were so intent on welcoming her to their family; Robert's father certainly hadn't been enthusiastic about his son marrying a vicar's daughter. And now she was a common shopgirl! It was unheard of for an earl to marry someone such as her. Still, Victoria could only deduce from Mrs. Brightbill's frequent statements of, “My, but we'd quite given up on dear Robert marrying,” and “You're the first respectable lady he's shown an interest in in years,” that she was quite eager for a match.

  Victoria didn't say much. She didn't feel she had very much to add to the conversation, and even if she had, Mrs. Brightbill and Harriet didn't give her many opportunities to do so.

  After an hour the mother and daughter deposited Victoria back at the dress shop. Victoria poked her head through the door suspiciously, convinced that Robert was going to jump out at her from behind a dressmaker's dummy.

  But he wasn't there. Madame Lambert said that he'd had business to attend to in another part of town.

  Victoria was horrified to realize that she was feeling something that vaguely resembled a stab of disappointment. It wasn't because she missed him, she rationalized, she just missed the battle of wits.

  “He did leave you this, though,” Madame said, holding out a fresh box of pastries. “He said he hoped you would deign to eat one.”

  At Victoria's sharp look, Madame added, “His words, not mine.”

  Victoria turned to hide the smile tugging at her lips. Then she forced her mouth back into a frown. He was not going to wear her down. She had told him that she valued her independence, and she'd meant it. He would not win her heart with romantic gestures.

  Although, she thought pragmatically, one pastry really couldn't hurt.

  Robert's smile spread into a full-fledged grin as he watched Victoria eat a third pastry. She obviously didn't know that he was watching her through the window, or she wouldn't have even so much as sniffed at one of the small cakes.

  She then picked up the handkerchief he'd left with the box and examined the monogram. Then, after a quick scan to make sure that none of her co-workers were looking, she lifted the scrap of cloth to her face and inhaled its scent.

  Robert felt tears prick his eyes. She was softening toward him. She'd die before she admitted it, but it was clear she was softening.

  He watched as she tucked the handkerchief into her bodice. The simple gesture gave him hope. He would win her back; he was certain of it.

  He smiled for the rest of the day. He couldn't help himself.

  Four days later Victoria was ready to whack him over the head. And
she rather relished the concept of doing so with an expensive box of sweets. Any one of the forty boxes he'd sent would suffice.

  He'd also given her three romantic novels, a miniature telescope, and a small bouquet of honeysuckle, with a note reading, I hope this reminds you of home. Victoria had almost started to bawl right there in the dress shop when she read his words. The blasted man remembered everything she liked and disliked, and he was using it to try to bend her to his will.

  He had become her shadow. He gave her enough time alone to get her work done at Madame Lambert's, but he always seemed to materialize by her side whenever she stepped foot outdoors. He didn't like it when she walked alone, he told her, especially in her neighborhood.

  Victoria had pointed out that he followed her everywhere, not just to her neighborhood. Robert's mouth had tightened into a grim line and he had muttered something about personal safety and the dangers of London. Victoria was fairly certain that she'd heard the words “damn” and “fool” in the sentence as well.

  She told him over and over that she valued her independence, that she wanted to be left alone, but he didn't listen. By the end of the week he wasn't speaking either. All he did was glower at her.

  Robert's gifts continued to arrive at the dress shop with alarming regularity, but he no longer wasted words trying to convince her to marry him. Victoria asked him about his silence, and all he said was, “I am so goddamned furious with you that I am trying not to say anything for fear of biting your nitwit head off.”

  Victoria considered his tone of voice, noticed that they were trodding through a particularly unsavory area of town at the time, and decided not to say anything more. When they arrived at her boarding house, she slipped inside without a word of farewell. Up in her room she peeked out the window.

  He stared up at her curtains for more than an hour. It was disconcerting, that.

  Robert stood in front of Victoria's building and assessed it with the eye of a man who leaves nothing to chance. He had reached his boiling point. No, he had gone far, far beyond it. He had tried his best to be patient, had wooed Victoria not with expensive gifts but with thoughtful tokens that he felt would be more meaningful. He had tried to talk sense into her until he ran out of words.