“Now, my dear, do not get into such a miff. Victoria has said no more than Sophy,” said Lord Blythe, struggling to control his laughter.
“Sophy, sir, is half out of her wits.”
“I suppose we shall have to suffer that milk-and-water miss from next door,” cawed Aunt Sophy, right on cue. “She will never do for Hugo, but none of you has the wits to see it. This duck is unbearably greasy. I am not surprised none of you will eat it.”
Victoria sat with her hands in her lap and her eyes on a scroll decorating the carpet. She followed the intricate pattern to its extremities several times as she wondered how best to return to Brighton without disgrace. She was considering an attack of measles when a footman entered and spoke to the butler, who then approached Lord Blythe and bent to his ear. The incident brought all conversation to a halt, except for Aunt Sophy’s wondering aloud why the servant had interrupted a meal when he knew Lady Blythe disliked it so much.
The butler backed away, and Lord Blythe wagged his head slowly. “My dear, something most unfortunate has happened. I really do not know how to tell you without putting you in the greatest agitation.”
“Then pray do not say a word until this duck has been removed,” she told him sharply. “Agitation and duck do not marry well. I am sure to have unpleasant symptoms by morning.”
“But, Agnes, in this case…”
“Please,” she implored, clapping her hands at the butler. “Norton, take this away. I do not wish to see duck on my table again this side of Christmas.”
“You look very serious, sir,” said Charles. “Please explain what is amiss.”
Lord Blythe cleared his throat. “It concerns Hugo.”
“About time that duck was removed,” shouted Aunt Sophy. “I told you it was disgustingly greasy.”
“Agnes, kindly prevent your aunt from interrupting when I am trying to speak,” complained Lord Blythe.
“How can I when she hears nothing I say? Really, I cannot bear any more upset this evening, or I shall have one of my spasms.”
Victoria felt she could stand no more and put her finger to her lips as a signal to silence the old lady. With a glance at the expressions of discord on the faces surrounding her, the enormous turban nodded its thanks.
Charles bade his father proceed. “Hugo is all right, sir?”
“Hugo has just arrived at Wychbourne.”
“How delightful. Has he had dinner?” asked Lady Blythe.
“He will dine upstairs, I believe. He will have to remain there for some days.”
“Do not tell me he is in some fix that obliges him to retire from society!” cried Charles. “I felt that he would be well occupied in Vienna.”
“He returned from Vienna last week, it appears. Brigadier Lord Murchison desired him to attend some military exercise at Chobham where his experience was earnestly required. Unfortunately, it has turned out to be a sad duty, for there has been an accident with explosives. The boy’s eyes are damaged.”
“Good God, sir,” breathed Charles in shock.
“Charles, if you cannot control your tongue I shall be obliged if you will leave my presence,” Lady Blythe said. “Have I not enough with which to contend?”
“I beg your pardon, Mama. It was concern for my brother that led me to forget myself. My father gives us terrible news.” He turned back to his lordship. “Are you saying he is blinded?”
“For a short while they feared it would be permanent, but there is every chance that he will recover his sight. To aid his recovery he has been ordered complete rest, with bandages to cover his eyes until a specialist calls to see him in two weeks. His army servant has traveled with him and is, at this moment, putting him to bed. We must respect the medical advice and leave him to rest. We can do nothing for him except pray to the Lord.”
“Poor boy. Oh, my poor boy. I shall make him the sole subject of my prayers,” Lady Blythe sobbed theatrically. “When I awoke this morning I little dreamt what a day it would turn out to be. So much upset; so much agitation! And now this.” She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her handkerchief. “Really, it has been such a shock I cannot fancy the galantine. A tea tray will have to be brought to my room, although I doubt I shall be able to partake of any.”
Aunt Sophy had been watching with inquisitive eyes, and when she saw the distress on all faces she asked, “What has happened to make everyone so upset?” And when no one took any heed, she added, “Do not tell me our dear Queen is ailing.”
“Augustus, I cannot bear these constant questions when my head is in such a whirl,” cried his wife. “I wish I had not said she could dine with us tonight. Such occasions are always exhausting.”
“When Sophy cannot hear a word there seems little point in saying any,” Lord Blythe said, rising and going to her chair. “Let me escort you to your room, my dear.” He looked apologetically at the others. “Miss Castledon, I do ask you to forgive us. Such an unfortunate thing to happen on your first night with us. We are naturally upset.”
“Of course,” she said warmly. “I am so sorry about your son. Please give him my earnest wishes for his recovery.”
“Thank you. When he is a little better I shall visit him and give him your message.”
They went out, and Victoria turned to Charles in consternation. “Do they not intend going to him immediately?”
He went to stand by her. “Mama cannot face sickrooms. She has a delicate constitution.”
“But…your papa,” she protested.
“Complete rest means just that, Victoria. I shall call to inquire of his servant before I retire. He will give me all the details.”
“But…”
“Dear me, I cannot bear to think what has happened,” cried Aunt Sophy in her cracked voice. “The Queen must be upon her deathbed.”
Victoria ran to the old lady and saw the real distress in her face. Impulsively she begged, “Could you not write down a mild account of the accident, Charles? It must be so dreadful to be cut off from the world in this way.”
The major swung around and ordered writing materials to be produced immediately, then told Victoria he would escort her and his great aunt to their rooms. The wording of the note was such that the old lady was not too alarmed, and when they had delivered her into the hands of her maid, Victoria felt an impulse to kiss Aunt Sophy’s cheek. Charles dropped a dutiful salute on the outstretched fingers, and she beamed at him.
“You have waited a long time, but it was worth it, my boy. Miss Castledon has a great capacity for affection. Do not abuse it…ever. Good night, and God bless you both.”
Charles offered Victoria his arm, and they began walking slowly along the maze of corridors in the direction of her room.
“I cannot pray hard enough for your brother’s safety,” she began almost at once. “To lose one’s sight would surely be an unendurable disaster. And he is a man with a life before him that promises greatness, you suggest. If such a person could never sit a horse again it would be a great loss to himself as well as to his profession. Do you truly plan to inquire after him tonight?”
He looked down at her and patted her hand. “Yes, of course, my love. Did you think I would not?”
“Then, promise you will send me a note on how he goes on. Please.”
“Very well.” They walked a few yards in silence. “I sent you one note this evening which you chose to ignore. Might I inquire why?”
She continued looking straight ahead, but the pulse in her throat began throbbing uncomfortably. “I was ready when you called, I believe.”
“And I believe that the very beautiful gown you are wearing is possibly the most elaborate you have in your wardrobe. Why did you find it necessary to disregard my advice?”
She played for time. “It is late, and I am tired.”
He halted at the foot of the stairs. “I mean to have an answer, Victoria, and we are liable to stand here a very long time unless you give me one.”
There was that darkness in his eyes
she was too immature to recognize, but he did not seem angry. “I quite believed you were pleased with my appearance and manners until I received that note. Then it seemed you were afraid I would not do for your mama. Are you no longer happy with the girl you knew at Brighton?”
He gripped her fingers until they hurt. “More than happy. You are my choice, and I have no wish to change a facet of that girl.”
She gave him a reproachful look. “That is very strange talk, sir, after your note.”
He raised her fingers to his lips. “I beg your pardon, Victoria. I see I made a mistake in trying to make things easier. Mama is…highly strung. Small things upset her. I had hoped to avoid any discord. That is all.”
“I think you might have told me she wished you to marry Miss Verewood.”
“My dearest, if I cared a fig for Mama’s opinion I should not have made you mine without first consulting her. It is me you must please…and I find you most delightful tonight.” His eyes narrowed shrewdly. “There is more troubling you than a mere request to wear a plain gown. It has been written in your behavior for some weeks.” He drew her to a velvet alcove seat nearby and sat beside her, keeping her hands in his. “What is troubling you, dearest?”
Victoria saw there was nothing for it but to confess her hurt feelings at not being welcomed as a daughter on her arrival.
“You must not judge us by your town friends,” he said gently. “Life in the country is quite different. It is the custom here to allow guests to rest after their long journey to Wychbourne.”
“But I am not a guest,” she cried, the hurt flooding back as she spoke of it. “Good gracious, the importance of my role has been made more than plain to me.”
He smothered a smile. “I apologize for my aunt’s forthright remarks. That you were angry was demonstrated by your repetition of them.”
Victoria’s eyes blazed. “You apologize, sir, yet you were the first to speak of it. No sooner had the ring been placed on my finger than I was told the reason for an early wedding. It is not pleasant to be regarded as a…as a…” She dissolved into the tears that had been threatening all evening.
Charles was full of concern, putting an arm around her shoulders and kissing away the tears. “Why have you not mentioned this to me before? I have been unhappy at your sudden reserve since our engagement.”
After the chill of her treatment by Lady Blythe, his apparent gentleness and contrition opened a gulf of warmth in her. Clasping his hands in a youthful excess of gratitude she cried, “You are so kind. I do not deserve it after the way I have behaved. I will ask your mama’s pardon in the morning and do as you suggest in the future. Only say you are not angry with me…that I am not in disgrace.”
Immediately he pulled her to him. “Such disgrace that I am impelled to scold you.”
The mouth that closed over hers became more and more insistent as he forced her to yield and arch backward. His left hand fastened around the curls on her shoulder so that her head was held back in a tilted position for him; the other arm was clamped around her waist. Victoria tried to pull away. She was frightened by his strength that turned him from a kindly refuge into a savage stranger.
At length, his arms slackened to allow him to cover her smooth brow and throat with searching lips, but that was as far as he got. She pulled away and gasped, “I hear someone approaching.”
As Charles released her, she jumped to her feet. The embrace had scared, yet excited, her. That strange ache was back in the pit of her stomach and had extended to her thighs, making her feel she might collapse if she tried to walk. The alien smell of masculinity, the scratchiness of a thick mustache and the warm wetness of a mouth that seemed to engulf her own left her shivering and cold.
“You were mistaken. There is no one about,” said Charles, taking her hands again and drawing her toward him, but her urge to flee was too strong.
“Please, Charles, I really would like to go to my room now. You were right. The journey to Wychbourne is a tiring one. I am quite overcome with fatigue.” She turned quickly, and he was obliged to follow her.
Delivering her to the door, Charles merely kissed her fingers before leaving her a prey to a whirl of thoughts. Longing for her home in Brighton returned, although she knew Aunt Almeira would be shocked over all that had happened here today. Lady Blythe had not taken to her at all; she had been indelicate at the dinner table; and worst of all, she had allowed Charles to treat her cavalierly.
Tucked up in a bed enclosed by ivory curtains, she realized that her life had grown complicated since her betrothal. What Charles had demanded of her just now filled her with doubts. Should she have been angry with him? Why had he stopped being courteous to her? Could it have been her unforgivable reference to Miss Verewood bearing fine children? She had noticed a bright look appear in Lord Blythe’s eyes as well as his son’s. Had they thought her vulgar?
She knew in her heart that what had just happened was not something she could mention to her aunt — or even her cousins. To make matters worse, something inside her had seemed to melt and bring an ache that almost persuaded her she should not struggle against it. The ache was there still, and she turned with a groan to bury her face in the pillow. Why could the happy life with her cousins not have gone on forever? The next minute she was filled with remorse. Her selfish preoccupation with her own happiness had led her to forget that somewhere down these endless corridors a young man lay in darkness trying not to contemplate the possibility that the light would never come. Hastily slipping from the snug nest under the covers, Victoria knelt beside the bed and closed her eyes. Her bare feet sticking from beneath the self-embroidered nightgown grew colder and colder, for she kept adding postscripts to her prayers.
Chapter Two
After two days, Victoria felt stifled and heavy with homesickness. Charles was constrained to spend the greater part of those first days with his father; as the heir, he must know what was being done with the estate. Using Hugo’s accident as an excuse to indulge her own love of illness, Lady Blythe had retired to her room, emerging only at dinnertime, when she feigned frailness; Aunt Sophy had not put in another appearance at all.
The days dragged by with no one to keep her company but Rosie. She wrote long letters to her aunt and each of her cousins, entered her thoughts in a diary, put the finishing touches to a pair of embroidered slippers for Lord Blythe and taught Rosie how to make gauze water lilies, but by the third day she was at a loss to know how to occupy herself. At breakfast the problem was solved for her when she made her usual inquiry after Charles’s brother.
The major sighed. “He was sunk into his boots when I put my head in this morning.”
“It does not surprise me,” said Victoria spiritedly. “He has been in his own company for three days. I should think lowness of spirits would impede his recovery more than a short period of quiet society. I would be perfectly willing to sit with him for a little while. I might read the newspaper, for the poor man cannot even do that to pass the time.”
Charles tugged at his mustache and looked at his father. “What do you think, sir?”
Lord Blythe deliberated for a while, then shook his head. “I think not, Victoria. The medical instructions are that he must be kept quiet. Better to wait awhile.”
Though she was disappointed in the hope of doing something useful, an idea nevertheless occurred to her.
“Christmas is only a little over a week away,” she began, “and I have no present for the invalid since I did not know he would be here at Wychbourne. Should you have any objection to my setting up my easel in the conservatory, where the deer park can be seen to great advantage? A small water color might remind him of his home when he is away from it.”
“A splendid idea,” agreed Lord Blythe. “Hugo thinks there is nothing in life apart from horses. Your gift will persuade him otherwise, I am sure.”
Charles was only too thankful Victoria would be occupied. “I beg you to put a shawl around your shoulders if you mean to sit in the
conservatory. When the wind is in the east there are some uncomfortable drafts. Come, my dear, we shall collect your paints and easel.”
“Thank you, Charles. I still find I cannot reach my destination without making a wrong turning.”
“Then you must learn to do so,” was the humorless reply. “If this is to be your home one day, you cannot be afraid of its size.”
Stung by his remark, she could think of nothing to say, even when Lord Blythe called to her to be certain to show him the work as soon as it was completed. Charles’s uncompromising mood remained as they journeyed to her room and back to the conservatory, so that when he informed her that his mama was feeling more herself and would be glad of help in the planning of decorations for the Great Hall, she told him she would keep it in mind and silently vowed to take all day over the picture.
The work went well. The bright, cold day gave sharp lines to the trees, icing the lake with gilded blue, and persuaded the deer into the open to pose obligingly, but unconsciously, for the artist. As Victoria struggled to capture the exact shades to give the reproduction reality, it crossed her mind that the recipient of her gift must have ridden across the park on countless joyful occasions. Then her hands dropped to her lap. How thoughtless she was. Hugo Stanford would be unable to see her present on Christmas Day, for his eyes would be bound in bandages. How could she present him with such a bitter reminder of his present blindness? A painting was a purely visual thing. Had she no sense at all?
Depressed and upset, she rose and left the conservatory where the easel and canvas still stood. In a daze, she turned up the nearest staircase, only to find at the top that she had lost her way again. Memory of Charles’s annoyance at breakfast made her stamp her foot in vexation. She knew it must seem stupid to him, but the stairs were all similarly designed and she never could remember whether to turn up the right- or left-hand flight.
Hoping a landmark would present itself at the end of the corridor, she hurried along it, her kid slippers making no sound on the blue carpet. The deserted halls always gave her an eerie feeling, so when a door opened and a fierce-looking man stepped right into her path, it was impossible to keep back a small frightened cry.
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