A smile threatened to overcome Victoria’s composure as she considered that her aunt was barely twelve years older than Charles Stanford. This assured, mature man standing before her in the elegant trappings of his profession could hardly suggest a lovelorn boy. Indeed, it was difficult to imagine his having emotions strong enough to make or mar his enjoyment of a party, apart from that indefinable hint in his eyes. It was there in double quantity as he offered her his arm. In that moment Victoria hesitated, as a strange feeling of feyness washed over her. Perhaps it was a late echo of Harry Edmunds’s mood or the ghost of the future passing overhead. It lasted but a second before she rose and took his arm with characteristic determination.
Something of his composure passed to her; enabling her to walk beside him onto the floor with no thought of those watching, the slight sway of her lace crinoline over its many petticoats making her unconsciously tilt her head higher and straighten her back as if she were already Lady Blythe. A quick glance over her shoulder as they took their places gave her a gratifying view of the Castledon women dotted about the room, watching her avidly. Her cousins had tittered during the lecture she had just been given, but they were all looking rather jaundiced at the moment. A brief feeling of triumph faded beneath the generosity of her nature. It must be very upsetting for Lavinia and Charlotte, yet they had been more generous than could be expected of two older girls as yet unspoken for.
The music began the introduction. “You are in a thoughtful mood tonight, Miss Castledon,” Major Stanford observed as he slipped his arm around her waist and began circling. “Might one inquire what occupies your mind so exclusively?”
“I beg your pardon. You must think me very rude, sir, but I could not help reflecting that my two older cousins have a generosity of nature one seldom finds.”
Smothering a smile, her partner asked gravely what had prompted such a significant conclusion. Victoria flushed. Under the circumstances she could not enlighten him. “It was nothing of importance — just a silly fancy.”
He nodded. “And I had a silly fancy that you knew quite well whose name was written in your card against the supper dance. Since it entails more than a waltz, a young lady does not normally take so little interest in who might claim it.”
Victoria lowered her glance to the thick gold lacing covering the front of his jacket. “As to that, sir, can I truly believe that you were unaware that the party began some two hours ago?”
“Shall I amend my remark? The evening held no interest for me until now.” He swung her around and around, guiding her across the paneled hall. “I believe I indicated something of the kind at our last meeting. Can it be that you did not understand my meaning?”
Her head came up, and she was about to return a teasing denial when it became clear he was steering her through the great arched entrance leading to the reception hall. Unequal to the situation, Victoria allowed him to waltz her across the marble floor until they reached the well beneath the broad curving staircase — a place much favored in games of hide-and-seek. Here, Charles Stanford brought their dance to a halt and gently placed her onto the ottoman Mrs. Castledon had put there because she could think of no other use for it.
The maneuver had been accomplished so smoothly and expertly that Victoria knew it was pointless to try to delay the moment. She waited with racing heartbeat for him to begin. He took a seat beside her and asked gently, “Is it possible you did not understand my meaning when I told you the supper dance would decide my enjoyment of the evening?” He continued without waiting for an answer. “You cannot have been unaware of my regard for you over these last few months. I sometimes feared I had been too particular in my attention. Of late, however, it seemed to me that you were not averse to the small gallantries I paid and were pleased with my flowers and other trifles which it gave me pleasure to present to you.”
Victoria relaxed slightly. It was all quite proper, after all. Though she was finally alone with him, Charles Stanford showed no signs of doing any of the things chaperones hinted they were there to prevent. For one shameful moment she felt a sense of disappointment as she thought how differently Harry Edmunds would have behaved under the same circumstances, then she flushed for fear her thoughts had been read by the very honorable man beside her. To compensate for her shocking thoughts she put her hand on his sleeve and assured him his presents were highly treasured.
Before she could stop him, he seized her hand and held it tightly. “Miss Castledon… Victoria…your happiness has become increasingly important to me until I find I can think of nothing else. It would give me great joy to be the custodian of it for all time.”
Victoria stared at him. She knew it was rude but she could think of nothing suitable to say. Should he not now go onto one knee and declare he could not live without her?
“Perhaps I express myself badly?” he suggested, remaining on the seat beside her. “It is my earnest hope that you should become my wife. Only tell me you would do me the honor of accepting my addresses and I will immediately seek your uncle’s permission to pay them. I undertake to consider your every wish and provide all a female could desire of her husband. Life as an officer’s lady can be very pleasant. There are always balls, dinners, races and military reviews to occupy the time and, should duty take me from your side, my brother officers would do all in their power to serve you. As to the future, you are already aware of my heritage and must know that my wife will become Lady Blythe on the sad demise of my father. Nothing would make me prouder than to bestow that title upon you.”
The pause was so pregnant this time that Victoria felt obliged to fill it. “Major Stanford, you quite take my breath away with your words. I hardly know what to say.”
He pressed her fingers with his own. “Say that I may approach your uncle. Say that I have not mistaken your feelings. Say the words that will end my uncertainty.”
The strength of his grip was beginning to hurt her fingers. Alarm rose in her breast. Surely he had moved nearer…or was it that she had suddenly realized he was a great deal larger than she? There was no escape from a situation she had allowed to develop. An answer must be given, and it must be her consent. Having allowed him to go this far, she could not refuse his offer. Charles Stanford would be extremely angry, her uncle and aunt would never forgive her, and society would dub her witless.
“I…I cannot deny your wish to speak to Uncle Garth if that is what you truly desire,” she told him, her free hand pleating the lace of her skirt nervously.
“Then, you do return my regard?” he pressed.
“With someone so considerate and attentive it could hardly be otherwise,” she faltered.
Her gloved hand was raised to his lips. “You have made me the happiest of men, my dear,” he told her triumphantly. “I shall call upon Dr. Castledon in the morning.” A quick glance across the hall told him the guests were drifting out to the conservatory where supper was laid, and he rose, offering her his arm with a smile. “Shall we rejoin the company?”
He stood waiting, and Victoria experienced an overwhelming sense of anticlimax. Was it over? He had not once vowed to put a pistol to his head if she should refuse him, nor had he declared he would enter a monastery if her heart were not his. In the novels she had read, gentlemen always said such things as they knelt at the feet of their beloved, and something told her that under similar circumstances Harry Edmunds would have done so. She rose and took his arm, wondering why a slightly leaden feeling had invaded her legs.
Without looking at her he said smoothly, “I apologize for young Edmunds’s behavior after the quadrille. I shall deal with him in the morning in a way he will not soon forget. I will not have my future wife made the subject of embarrassment, believe me.”
She leaped to his defense. “It was nothing. He is a friend…”
“Was, my dear. As a major’s wife you will not be expected to associate with junior officers.”
She looked up at him in dismay, but it vanished the minute they entered the cons
ervatory and she became aware that all heads were turned toward them, every face reflected in the candleglow was expectant. Hands froze in outstretched positions; slices of ham dangled from forks; pies remained uncut; pheasant patties hung in the air between serving-tongs; chicken and asparagus mold trembled; a pig’s head stared open-mouthed in their direction. The cessation of movement was but momentary, but it was enough to tell Victoria she had accomplished a victory tonight, and a smile turned up her lips. She was no longer the orphaned niece of the Castledons, but the future Lady Blythe. Surely, that was enough for any woman.
The following morning when the formalities were settled and she was left alone with her betrothed, she discovered it was not as simple a matter as she thought. Charles went to her side immediately.
“I cannot tell you how happy I am at this moment.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a leather ring-box. “I withdrew the family betrothal ring from the bank two days ago in the hope of placing it on your finger. I shall have it altered to fit as soon as I am able.”
A dozen diamonds clustered around a sapphire that announced its own quality by the fire in its blue depths. He slid it onto her finger and kept her hand in his.
“With that on your finger I know you are really mine,” he said in a low urgent tone, and began covering her wrist with tiny practiced kisses. Her gasp of pleasure was smothered as she was drawn against him while his lips sought hers. The strangeness of his proximity, his sudden relaxation of formality, and his warm mouth topped by blond whiskers took her breath away and robbed her of words when he released her. Somewhere deep inside, a small movement — hardly pain, hardly shock — filled her with the first exciting overtures to womanhood.
“Victoria, I do not know how I have waited for this. All summer I have watched you and planned to win you against all odds.”
She smiled mistily at him. He had suddenly become much more like Harry Edmunds. He was a Knight of the Order of Chivalry, a searcher after truth and honor, a noble hero who lay his heart at her feet.
“I will send out the announcements immediately,” he told her. “There are so many people you must meet, and I shall give a dinner party so that my brother officers can welcome you into the regiment. On the fifteenth of December we shall travel to Wychbourne to spend the festival with my parents.”
“Christmas in your family home…there is nothing I would like more!” she cried, filled with visions of blazing logs, candles on a tall fir tree, and bright merry faces.
“My parents and aunt will make you feel at home, but I doubt my brother will be able to join us. He is in Vienna.”
“Oh, and I do so much wish to meet him after all I have heard of his prowess.”
He smiled. “And so you shall — just as soon as he returns to England. I doubt the crazy fellow will ever tear himself away from the Austrians.”
She studied his face. “You always speak of your brother as if he were a complete madcap. If that is the case, why was he sent to Vienna to represent the regiment?”
“He is not representing the regiment, my dear. Far from it.”
“I do not understand.”
He smiled. “I have no intention of discussing my wayward brother at a time like this.”
She was even more intrigued now. “He is to be my brother, too. Should I not know a little about him? I know most of the other officers so well. I have heard he is very popular.”
“Hugo cannot help drawing people to his side, but it was probably from the subalterns that you have heard the most enthusiasm for him. He has only just left their ranks, where he could be depended upon to lead their wilder escapades. He is a brilliant horseman and enthusiastic to the point of obsession over cavalry. But until he steadies up a bit I fear no one will take him seriously.” He patted her hand. “Perhaps he should consider matrimony. In my present happiness I am prepared to suggest that course to everyone I know.”
She smiled. “The time will not pass quickly enough until I set out for Buckinghamshire. I have not been to that part of England before. Even without your brother, Christmas is certain to be one of the happiest I have spent. Will there be parties and balls and visits to all your friends?”
His eyebrows rose slightly. “No doubt there will be the usual festive celebrations…but there is something more important to consider, my dear. The main reason for our visit to Wychbourne will be to discuss the wedding plans. The bridal veil has been worn by Stanford brides since the sixteenth century.” He paused. “Is something amiss?”
She tried to give a careless laugh. “You are so full of plans. There is time enough to talk of bridal veils.”
“You will not think so when you embark upon the complications of a large wedding. March will be upon us before we are aware of it.”
“March?”
“The month upon which I have decided. Would you like a spring wedding?”
“Yes…but so soon?” Victoria was flustered. The engagement was enough to handle for the moment. Her thoughts had not gone beyond that. “March is only four months away. I had thought it would be longer.”
Charles smiled. “Your aunt is a very capable lady, and you will find my mama well-versed in the requirements of a bride. She has been preparing long enough,” he added with a caustic note that was lost on Victoria. She was too busy trying to cope with a situation that appeared to be carrying her along in a whirlwind.
“Does Uncle Garth know of this?” she asked, looking for a champion.
“Naturally. He understands the reason only too well.” He narrowed his eyes shrewdly. “Is it possible that you do not, my dearest?”
“The reason?” she repeated uneasily.
He drew her to a sofa and sat beside her with an arm along the back. With his other hand he turned her face to his while he explained something she had never considered.
“Victoria, there is some difference in our ages — twenty years, to be exact. I have always known it to be my duty to marry, but I am a man of definite tastes, and felt no inclination to do so until I was presented to you. My mind was made up immediately, but convention had to be observed in timing our betrothal. However, having disappointed my parents for so long by not providing an heir, I am under an obligation to do so as soon as possible now I have found a bride of my own choosing.” He tried to look at her face that was now turned down to study her skirt. “It will give me the greatest of pleasure to do so,” he said in a voice grown suddenly intimate. “Our son will be worthy of the Stanford name, and if there are more than one I swear there will be no finer boys in the whole of England.” When she made no move he asked, “Do you see why the marriage must be soon?”
She nodded, not daring to look at him now the color had flooded her cheeks. The sapphire on her finger gave her no more pleasure. It was merely a symbol to society that she had been chosen by a Stanford to provide the future upholder of their name and title. In a flash, he had fallen from his white charger. The knight, the searcher after truth, had vanished.
The chill that had filled her last night returned with a vengeance and remained until Charles took his leave of her some five minutes later. No sooner had he gone than Victoria was surrounded by her aunt and cousins, all laughing and hugging her — all, that is, except the youngest girl who had watched from the gallery the night before. On being told that her cousin was to marry a handsome Hussar, she ran sobbing to Nanny, where she buried her face in that lady’s skirts and refused to be consoled.
*
The girl who traveled to her future home was more thoughtful than the one who had agreed to marry into the aristocracy so short a time before. The weeks since then had been filled with preparations for the visit, for Aunt Almeira was determined to send her niece to Lord and Lady Blythe with no reason to blush for her appearance.
There had been dinner parties, as well new people to meet, engagement gifts to be acknowledged, theater outings and a military review. There, Victoria had come face to face with Harry Edmunds, who had made a stiff bow and offered felicitatio
ns in a voice almost as cold as the pain that gripped Victoria. That sapphire on her finger removed her from the world of laughter and dalliance she had enjoyed all summer. It shone out like a warning light on a jagged rock, telling everyone that the Honorable Charles Stanford was about to fulfill his duty to his family and heritage. Even now, as they approached the gates, its cold glitter chilled her. Victoria’s first view of Wychbourne House was enough to make her understand Charles’s desire, for who would not display pride in such a place? A straight gravel approach led to a great house of gray stone, half in shadow, half washed in yellow light from branches of lanterns that flanked the entrance. Mullioned windows rose tall and perfectly balanced in the main part of the building and also in the two wings that protruded beyond the entrance to form a rectangular carriage approach. A spread of autumn creeper, turned to flame by the lantern light, softened the austere lines, providing a welcoming touch.
Charles had met her at the station in the family carriage and thanked the matron who had kindly accompanied his bride-to-be on her long journey before going to see her own daughter, who lived in Aylesbury. The carriage covered the distance quickly and entered the approach to the house just as dusk was creeping across the sky. Victoria was enchanted as they passed along a driveway bordered by rhododendrons and neatly trimmed privet hedges that suggested dark sentinels on duty. The coachman brought the vehicle around to arrive at a precise alignment with the entrance arch.
Light flooded into the carriage as Charles said, “Welcome to your future home, my dearest.”
“It is so beautiful,” she breathed. “I cannot wait to see inside.”
The next few minutes were all bustle as the doors were flung open and her luggage was unloaded into a vast hall. Victoria drank in the air of elegance and wealth that surrounded her and twirled around, gazing at the acquisitions of a long line of aristocrats and quite forgetting her apprehension at meeting Charles’s parents. While she was admiring the vaulted ceiling, pillared alcoves and costly tapestries, Charles took her arm and introduced a woman in black he said was the housekeeper, Mrs. Trume.
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