Verity listened intently, not saying a word until Victoria had told all—except for the part about how dashed handsome she thought the man was, of course.
That was her own personal failing.
“Why have you not told Father or Leavenson?” Verity asked—the very question Vic had asked herself.
Fear pummeled Vic, streaking through her. She shot up from the bed. “No. I cannot tell them, and I trust you will not tell them, either. Nor anyone else,” she demanded in a tone just shy of too sharp.
Verity’s eyes widened, their blue depths darkening. “Not even Honoria?”
Vic blew out a loud breath and began pacing. Why not? Because her sister didn’t need to get mixed up in something Victoria planned to fix with all haste. “Because…I will handle it.”
Double blast! Why had she said that? Handle it? She hadn’t the foggiest idea of how to handle a man like Richard Downing. She knew so little about him, save his family ties, his physical attributes, and now his predilection for ruining roses.
There was still the question of why he’d really followed her in Clouster Hall, and whether he was the one blackmailing the Earl of Banebridge—worse, if he were part of the conspiracy her family had been recruited to put down.
After long minutes passed, Verity rose from the bed, straightening her skirts. Her sister’s slow grin made Vic wonder at Verity’s sanity.
“There’s nothing to do but kill him,” she drawled, her smile growing.
Vic snorted, rolling her eyes skyward. “I do not appreciate your humor, dear. Much too dark for one so…bright.”
Giggling, Verity pressed a quick kiss to Vic’s cheek before chirping, “We are all a little dark, sister.”
Verity left then, breezing from the room, leaving her comment to settle over Vic’s head, where it weighed on her thoughts.
…
Richard helped his aunt from the carriage, then his cousin. As a group, they turned to stare up at the home of the Darings. It was a standard London townhouse with white bricks, white columns, large windows, and a front door at the top of the stone steps. Well-trimmed bushes flanked the walkway leading to the stairs, and a strange, elaborate lantern hung from a hook beside the door.
Next to him, Justin grunted. Richard’s brother had been a poor companion thus far, having been “torn” from his loving wife to spend the evening with his “nodcock of a brother” and their “imperious aunt.”
Despite his brother’s grumbling, Richard couldn’t stop the thrill running through him. Victoria was just there, and he would see her again, would finally have the chance to speak with her, even if only over cold soup and after-dinner drinks.
Was it desperation, boredom, or something far more bewildering driving him to seek even the tiniest bit of her attentions? Give over, man. Pull yourself together. She could very well be an enemy of the Crown… He kept telling himself that, but as of yet, he hadn’t convinced himself of it. There was just something about her that drew him in—and it wasn’t just her startling eyes and lush form, though those were rather enticing.
Oh, it was definitely something more bewildering that drove him to send a woman dyed roses with an unsigned note, though he had no doubt she’d know who sent it.
He’d spent most of his day with his aunt and cousin, in their home in Grosvenor Square. Over tea and cucumber sandwiches, he’d asked her about the Darings—with the utmost caution, of course. There was no need to tell her about his interest in one Daring in particular.
So, he asked questions about Lord Gadstoke. According to what he’d already pried from his brother, who wasn’t tight-lipped about anything to do with Crown business, Devon Daring, Earl of Gadstoke, had been offered his vaunted position as an ambassador to the Orient shortly after marrying Lady Gadstoke.
He wasn’t surprised to hear that the Darings had only just returned from a twenty-five-year sojourn in the Orient; he’d have met the delightful Victoria Daring long before now otherwise. It was a shame he hadn’t, really.
The sight of the front door flinging open stopped the trail of his escalating thoughts.
“You came,” Miss Faith Daring sang, just before dashing out the door to meet them. She was dressed in a light purple dress and was fairly flying down the stairs toward them. But that wasn’t what shocked him; it was that the girl pitched forward, tripping over something on the step—but she didn’t tumble down the stairs as one would expect. As they all watched, she crouched slightly, launched herself into the air, where she twisted her body around, then landed on her feet before them, as though she’d simply walked down the steps.
All of them gasped, but the young woman only smiled nonchalantly, as if what she’d just accomplished weren’t mind-boggling.
“By God, that was extraordinary,” Aunt Margaret exclaimed, her hand pressed to her chest. Cousin Elizabeth was struck dumb, and Justin was gawking most ridiculously.
Richard… Well, he stared at Faith and couldn’t stop the question from rushing past his lips. “Where on earth did you learn to do that?”
The girl grinned. “Oh, that? We can all do that. I told you we were marvelous.” She giggled, and he blinked down at her, suddenly trying to picture Lady Gadstoke swirling down the stairs, midair, and landing with grace and a dignified curtsey.
No. He couldn’t imagine it, not of the countess. But Victoria… She had made quick and easy work of besting him in the earl’s study. He could remember the flash of movement when she’d brandished her dagger, spun him around, and locked him in place with an arm around his neck. It had all seemed like one fluid motion. Practiced action, as though she were dancing.
More and more curious.
“Miss Faith,” someone called from the doorway, making him glance up into the wrinkled, weathered face of a small woman. Long black hair tied into a braid that reached well past her shoulders, narrow black eyes that tipped upward at the sides, and a rather elaborately decorated tunic of some kind—complete with trousers and slippers.
He’d never seen the like before.
“Miss Faith, come now. You have lesson,” the woman called, snapping her fingers.
Faith Daring pouted, scrunching her nose, before turning on her heel and practically skipping back up the stairs she’d just flown down.
“Coming, Ping-Na,” Faith called. Once she reached the woman, she performed a flawless bow. After the woman performed a flawless bow of her own, Faith scampered into the house, and the woman followed.
“Well, I do believe that was our welcome. Marvelous, indeed,” Aunt Margaret said, her eyes glittering. Heavens, but she seemed to have actually enjoyed that little impromptu show, a show he had no doubt would be a topic over the dinner table.
A butler appeared then, dressed in black and navy livery, his face as red as a lobster.
He must have had a devil of a time trying to get to the door before Miss Faith. Richard coughed to cover the chuckle that escaped, but his brother caught it, narrowing his eyes. His brother’s silent chiding only made him grin—he was already enjoying himself tremendously.
Chapter Ten
Victoria grimaced at her reflection.
“Oh, do not scowl so, Victoria. I daresay you will have a permanent frown by the time you are twenty-five,” Honoria fretted, her own lovely expression one of practiced serenity.
“Impossible. I’ll be twenty-five in two months—and what do I care if I have a permanent frown? It isn’t as though I mean to attract admirers,” Vic remarked, tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. The dratted thing wouldn’t stay in the pins Ping-Na had stabbed her with earlier.
“And why not?” Honoria asked, a horrified look on her face.
Vic shrugged. “Mama has been rather incessant in reminding me that a woman must be demure, effacing, sweet, and soft to snag herself a gentleman.” Vic hated that her mother had actually listed “soft” among the requirements. She knew that all the training had turned her body into a frame of lean muscles and taut skin. There wasn’t an ounce of fat
or softness about her. And she hated that it mattered, but she knew it did. “Just you wait until Mama turns her eye on you. I am not the only female Daring without softness.” She eyed her sister’s small but lithely muscled frame.
Would a man like Richard prefer a soft, doughy wife? Shocked at her own thoughts, Victoria swallowed a groan.
“Our mama is listing qualities that were all the rage when she was in London last. Who knows what has changed since? Perhaps gentlemen now prefer intelligent, accomplished, deadly, athletic women…”
They looked at one another through the mirror and broke into gales of laughter.
It was absolutely silly to concern herself with what gentlemen wanted. No matter what, she felt certain they wouldn’t want her. Lack of softness aside, she had little to recommend her in the wife part of wife-ing. She wouldn’t know how to plan and host a party, and she certainly didn’t know how to bow and scrape to get invitations to balls and parties her husband would require them to attend.
Besides that, the whole notion of being a pampered, purposeless wife was a blood-chilling one. Used to a life of daily exercise—of the body and the mind—she shuddered to think of what it would be like to wake up in the morning and have nothing of substance to occupy her time. Would a husband allow her to continue training? Would he even find her attractive, with her lack of softness?
And just like that, thoughts of Richard intruded again. Would he seek a soft and pliable mistress, even after speaking his vows? She thought of how he’d doggedly pursued her at the Banebridge party, seeking to know if she were well. Would a man who showed such thoughtfulness about the welfare of a simple housemaid break his vows of faithfulness to a woman he promised to cherish until death did they part?
Victoria’s bedchamber door flew open, and Faith, followed by a much more sedate Grace, entered the room.
“They’re here! They’re here!” Faith sang, rushing to the bed to throw herself upon it.
He’s here.
Vic’s heart tripped, making her breath leave her body like a gust of wind. Blast! She thought she’d spent enough time preparing herself for this evening, when she’d have to face that dratted man again. Apparently, she’d fooled herself, and now she was much too wound up to sit still.
She jumped to her feet, nearly knocking over the stool in front of her vanity.
“I saw them pull up to the house, and I ran out to meet them. The duchess is here—and the duke and his brother, and a pucker-faced one, too.” Faith was wont to describe people in the most unflattering ways.
Verity, following her younger sisters into the room, rolled her eyes and huffed. “All of London knows that now, you scamp. How did you outrun Ping-Na? You should be upstairs in the nursery where you belong.”
Faith frowned, and Grace let out a pained sigh. “Must we?” Grace asked. “I would much rather sit with you in the parlor, listening to all the conversations.”
“And I want to practice my lip reading,” Faith interjected, bouncing from the bed and landing, deftly, on her feet. She was more like her monkey, Mai, than she was a normal little girl.
It really was unfortunate that Faith had to leave her beloved simian behind. They’d all given up something to start their new life in England. And she? Well, she’d given up her sanity, apparently, because it was the height of insanity for her to even think of doing what she and Verity had planned.
Verity pulled Faith into her chest, patting the smaller girl on her head gently. “You can practice your lip reading when we are out and about, not when we have polite company over. It’s rude to purposefully overhear conversations in one’s own parlor.”
Faith scrunched up her nose and eyed Verity with incredulity. “Then how are we supposed to catch the spies within our own circles? Is that not the reason Father is making me train, so that I can overhear without actually hearing?”
She had a point, and from the pinch in her lips, it was clear Verity knew she’d been soundly routed.
“Oh—off with you two, before Ping-Na removes the blankets from your beds and replaces them with burlap sacks again.”
Not surprisingly, that made Faith and Grace move rather quickly out the door, leaving Vic, Honoria, and Verity laughing after them. Their nanny-cum-maid-cum-cook-cum-nursemaid, Ping-Na Wen, had followed them from Zhejiang, stating that the young masters would “fall to pieces like poorly made dumplings” if she didn’t come with them. And heavens but they were grateful she had.
When Vic grew homesick for China, she went to Ping-Na, who knew just how to lift her spirits: long conversations in Mandarin and oolong tea.
“So,” Honoria began, drawing all eyes to her. “What are you two hiding?”
The question made both Vic and Verity tense. “Whatever do you mean, dear sister?” Verity asked, strolling to Vic’s vanity mirror to pat at her perfectly coiffured hair.
Honoria planted her hands on her hips. “Why did you two run off after yesterday’s meeting with Leavenson like your stays were on fire?”
Vic snorted. “You very well know I do not wear stays.” Who could breathe with so many layers choking them?
Honoria chuckled, then rolled her eyes, waving off Vic’s comment. “Do not try to distract me with your ridiculousness, Victoria. I know you and Verity are up to something. Why, my own twin sister is keeping secrets!” She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and leaned back, looking like the most dramatic of actresses.
Biting back a laugh, Vic flicked her gaze to Verity, who was staring at the point of her slipper, no doubt pondering her answer.
After their earlier conversation, during which her outrageous sister had suggested Vic murder Richard Downing, she and Verity had put their heads together and decided that, rather than kill the man, they would simply distract him.
“He saw you and now he thinks he knows, but he doesn’t. Not really. It is up to us—you—to keep him from coming to any conclusions that would make trouble for us,” Verity had said. “He sent you roses— That means he is focused on you. If I were to try and garner his favor, he would become suspicious. But if you, dear sister, were to…welcome his attentions, we could continue our operation without his eyes watching our every move. Keep your enemies so close they cannot see the knife at their throat— That’s what I say. Also, how difficult would it really be to be the object of such a handsome man’s attentions?”
Pretty bloody difficult. Especially when she thought about those golden eyes of his, and how they sparkled with humor…then how his lips quirked into a wicked grin much more suited to an incubus than a peer of the realm.
But Verity was right, though Vic was loath to admit that. It was Victoria who had allowed herself to be recognized—though she was loath to admit that as well—so she would do whatever it took to dissuade Richard from looking any further, from asking any questions.
She would distract him. That meant she would do her best to maneuver the too-perceptive man away from the clandestine goings-on in the Daring household. The last thing they needed was someone poking about, especially someone with a duke brother who may or may not be a criminal.
Verity and Victoria both agreed that their little plan would go no further than the two of them. They didn’t like keeping things from Honoria, but they also knew that Honoria would go above and beyond to “help,” which could very well mean she’d end up compromising herself to get Richard off their scent.
And the last thing Vic needed was the blasted man as a brother-in-law.
No, you’d much rather have him for yourself.
That voice had become a blasted nuisance as of late, and she only had herself to blame. She’d trained most of her life to combat weakness in all forms; she’d just never thought to strengthen her heart and mind against the wiles of the opposite sex.
Wiles, indeed. He need only smile at her in his way to turn her thoughts into overcooked rice. Richard Downing would not best her. She would be the most attentive, adoring, persuasive, simpering, eyelash-fluttering, nauseatingly sweet
woman any man could ever dream of. Hopefully, the man would fall for her wiles. Then she’d draw his focus away from all else—while also uncovering information for Operation Imperial Twilight. And, hopefully, without losing her heart in the process.
And when had her heart entered the fray? Probably when she’d spied those atrocious roses. They were still in her bedchamber, except she’d moved them to her bedside table so they were closer to her when she slept. She’d refused to wonder about the niggling need to keep them at all.
“I am waiting,” Honoria whined, reminding Vic that she needed to come up with an excuse as to why she and Verity had been caught in a coze without her.
Verity, God bless her, opened her mouth to answer for them, but before she could utter a syllable, Ping-Na was there, glaring at them as only Ping-Na could.
“Little mistresses late. Mistress Lady is looking red,” she intoned in her broken English.
Upon reaching London, Lady Gadstoke had insisted that Ping-Na learn English, making it easier for her to communicate with the other household servants. The tiny but fierce woman took on her new task as she did everything else: wholeheartedly. But Vic still missed the old way.
In Mandarin, Victoria replied, “We lost track of the time. We will be down shortly.”
Ping-Na eyed them all curtly before turning and disappearing down the hall.
Honoria sighed. “Well, I supposed you were saved by the harridan—but do not think I will forget. You will tell me what you two are up to.”
“Think what you like, Honoria,” Verity said, a pained smile on her face. Neither Victoria nor Verity appreciated their own duplicity, but it had to be that way. The fewer who knew, the better.
At least that’s what Vic told herself as she descended the stairs to meet their guests in the parlor.
…
Richard stood at the hearth, his mind caught between his conversation with Lord Gadstoke and wondering when Victoria would make her appearance. He didn’t have to wait long, because just as her father was speaking about attending the Algren garden party, his three eldest daughters entered the parlor.
A Lady Never Tells (Women of Daring) Page 9