A Lord's Kiss

by Mary Lancaster et al.

  Close to Sir Arnold, Victoria noticed the faint odor of chicken clinging to him, making her wonder if they were to have fowl, as well as stewed beef, for supper.

  Releasing Victoria’s fingers, Mr. Archer nodded to Sir Arnold, chuckling at his enthusiasm. “Then I am honored, indeed, Sir Arnold, to be a guest at your table.”

  Now that he had introduced his hobby horse, Sir Arnold seemed determined to ride it to the finish with tales of glorious past meals and successful hunts that led to even more astounding repasts. By the time the butler announced that supper was served, Victoria’s stomach wasn’t the only one gurgling.

  Sir Arnold could probably make shoe leather sound enticing, she thought, grinning. In truth, he could probably make old shoe leather enticing. He seemed completely fascinated with the art of cookery and the various herbs that went into it.

  As they arranged themselves to make their way to the dining room, her parents gave her a satisfied smile at seeing her standing near their host. Reminded of the list, she couldn’t help the wry thought that if she married Sir Arnold, she’d weigh twice as much as she did now within the first year.

  Unfortunately, even the presence of her parents couldn’t prevent her gaze from drifting to Mr. Archer as they paraded out of the room according to rank.

  Next to her, Mrs. Stedman rubbed her temple again as she waited for her escort to offer his arm. When she caught Victoria’s gaze, she smiled and shook her head. Clearly, her headdress was still bothering her, and Victoria gave her a sympathetic glance, knowing how sick such a headache could make one.

  The dinner, which began with mock turtle soup, removed with a savory haunch of lamb with a deliciously cooling cucumber sauce, and then slowly moved to the beef steak described by Sir Arnold. The dishes were just as scrumptious as their host had promised, redolent with herbs and buttery sauces.

  Unfortunately, Mr. Archer sat several seats away on Victoria’s side of the table, so it was impossible to speak to or even see him. Preferring the old-fashioned style of seating all the men at the lower end of the table and the ladies at the upper, Miss Grisdale sat opposite Victoria, while Mrs. Grisdale was on her right and Miss Maud Owsley on her left.

  Maud was not a strong conversationalist, though she politely—and monosyllabically—answered any remarks addressed to her. Neither of the Grisdale ladies seemed very talkative, either. So, Victoria was left mostly with her own thoughts and plate after plate of exceedingly delicious food, accompanied by warm, soft buns smelling of yeast and melting butter.

  When the time came for the ladies to leave the gentlemen to their port, Victoria wasn’t surprised to find that she felt overstuffed and drowsy as they filed up the staircase to the first floor drawing room again. Now that she knew Mr. Archer was alive and on the mend, her relief left her feeling wrung out and as limp as a damp linen towel.

  She was surprised, however, that the party was as harmonious as it was. Lord Taggert seemed to have remarkable control over his emotions. It couldn’t have been easy for him to see Mr. Archer enjoying himself so soon after their duel. She could only imagine what had gone on in the dining room when the door had closed after the last woman left.

  A new, grudging sense of respect for Lord Taggert grew in Victoria during their long supper. Perhaps she had dismissed him too lightly. He had been very polite and kind during the evening, at one point noticing Mrs. Stedman’s tiara and her discomfort. He even went so far as to offer Mrs. Stedman a drink of brandy in hopes of relieving her headache.

  Still, Mr. Archer was alive, and she was inescapably drawn to him. She couldn’t imagine settling for one of the others, even the pleasant Sir Arnold.

  Around her, Miss Urick and Miss Jacobs wandered over to the pianoforte in the corner of the room, while the rest of the ladies took seats once again near the fire that some maid had thoughtfully lit while the guests dined. Ever the gracious hostess, Mrs. Stedman worked diligently to engage everyone in conversation. Including Mrs. Grisdale and even the shy Miss Grisdale, she described some of the plays they might expect to attend, as well as other entertainments.

  Despite her efforts, however, it was clear to Victoria from Mrs. Stedman’s pale skin that her headache was growing worse. Before she could suggest to her suffering hostess that she retire upstairs to remove the diamond filigree tiara, the men burst noisily into the room, chuckling over some joke.

  Spying the ladies at the pianoforte, Mr. Fitton strode across the room to join them. The handsome, dark-haired man smiled and said something to Miss Urick, causing her to giggle nervously. Her left hand played nervously with the cameo dangling from the gold chain around her neck. She kept running the pendant back and forth along the chain as she smiled into Mr. Fitton’s blue eyes, dimpling and blushing prettily when he returned her smile.

  They looked well together, Mr. Fitton with his handsome, chiseled features and dark hair, and Miss Urick with her fair coloring. He bent closer, selecting a piece of music out of the sheaf she held in her hands and placing it on the pianoforte. Several other members of the party noted the trio and moved closer.

  “Will you not play for us, Miss Urick?” Lady Longmoor asked as her husband pulled several gilt chairs into a rough semi-circle facing the instrument.

  “Excellent notion! A bit of music is just what we need. Help our digestion and all that.” Sir Arnold rubbed his hands together as he approached them, before stopping to drag two more chairs forward to add a second line to the arc.

  As the rest of the guests drifted toward the arranged seats, Victoria gently caught Mrs. Stedman’s arm. “Is your headdress still bothering you?”

  Mrs. Stedman nodded, her mouth compressed into a white-rimmed line.

  “Why don’t you go upstairs and remove it? No one will notice, I assure you, and I wouldn’t wish to see you suffering the rest of the evening.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Please don’t worry. I assure you no one will notice. You cannot possibly enjoy yourself with a throbbing headache.”

  Mrs. Stedman sighed. “You’re very kind, Lady Victoria. If anyone notices—”

  “No one will.” Victoria gestured toward the pianoforte. “And if they do, I will make your excuses for you.”

  Miss Urick had already seated herself, and Mr. Fitton was standing nearby, ready to turn the pages of music as required.

  “You see?” Victoria continued. “Everyone will be listening to the music. They will never notice if you are gone for a few minutes, and you will be so much happier when you return.”

  “You are right, I suppose.” Mrs. Stedman smiled wryly, her mouth twisting to the right. “We all believe our presence will be missed, and I would certainly think that the presence—or absence—of such a magnificent headdress would be remarked upon, but sadly, I fear no one will notice. A hostess, particularly one of a certain age, is nearly invisible, is she not?”

  “Not at all, Mrs. Stedman. I did not mean to imply that,” Victoria said hastily, horrified that her remarks might be construed as insulting. “Not at all.”

  Mrs. Stedman laughed and patted Victoria’s arm. “Never fear, Lady Victoria. You said nothing wrong. My mood is not a cheerful one tonight—blame this ridiculous tiara and my vanity. It is not easy being a mature woman in a room full of beautiful, young debutants, as I’m sure you understand. Make my excuses if need be. I shall not be gone long.”

  Feeling a bit stung, Victoria studied her hostess’s face, but Mrs. Stedman was rubbing her temple again and eyeing the pair at the pianoforte. Perhaps Victoria was simply oversensitive about her age and the fact that this was her fifth Season. Before she could think of a suitable reply, Mrs. Stedman smiled at her and slipped away through the drawing room doors. The tinkle of a cheerful Bach sonata in D major covered the swift patter of her footsteps as she crossed the hallway to the wide staircase beyond.

  When Miss Urick completed the sonata, she partially rose, only to have Mr. Fitton stop her with a hand on her shoulder and a smile. While Victoria couldn’t hear w
hat he said, he showed Miss Urick another sheet of music and placed it on top of the sonata on the rack in front of her. Smiling, she nodded and seated herself again.

  Before she could begin the second piece, however, most of her audience had risen to their feet and were shuffling around the room. At some point during dinner, the servants had set up several card tables, draped with white damask cloths, in the far corner of the room. Stacks of playing cards, counters, and other paraphernalia for games had been arranged on one table, and Victoria’s parents, as well as several others, were chatting and making their way towards them. Victoria glanced around, unsure whether she wished to join a game of whist, listen to the music, or move to one of the sitting areas to talk.

  Her gaze fluttered over the other guests, searching for Mr. Archer. Mrs. Stedman had returned at some point, and now wore a silver ribbon threaded through her hair and adorned with a curling white feather. She had joined the twins and Colonel Lord Parmar, who stood to one side of the fireplace with one elbow propped up on the white marble mantle, apparently telling them some sort of a story. The ladies stood around him, smiling and nodding, as he spoke, and as Victoria watched, Grace giggled, covering her mouth with a gloved hand. The gesture so closely echoed Maud’s earlier one that Victoria found herself checking the color of the ribbons decorating her hair and yellow dress.

  Green ribbons—yes—it had to be Grace.

  Curious to hear what the colonel was saying that was so amusing, Victoria took a few hesitant steps forward before her glance strayed back to the gaming tables. Mr. Archer and Mr. Wickson stood halfway between Victoria and her parents, who were seating themselves at one of the tables. As she watched, Mr. Archer’s head came up and he looked in her direction. A quiver of excitement ran through her at the gleam in his eyes. She raised a hand, touching her fingers to the base of her throat as she caught her breath. Flushing, she gave him a shy smile before she looked again in the direction of her parents.

  Feet caught in an invisible web, she couldn’t seem to decide or move to join any of the groups shifting around her. For the first time in five long Seasons, she felt like a gauche girl, unsure of what to do and feeling lost in the elegant crowd.

  Mr. Archer strode to her, with Mr. Wickson trailing after him. “Are you enjoying yourself, Lady Victoria?”

  “Oh, yes. Miss Urick plays beautifully, does she not?” As soon as she said the words, Victoria winced at the utter banality of her conversation.

  “Adequately.” Mr. Archer chuckled. “Barely adequate. Do you play?”

  “I’m not sure I should admit that I do. I’ve had numerous lessons, in any event, and to my shame, I am even less adequate than Miss Urick.”

  “No one could be less adequate than Miss Urick,” he replied dryly, a twinkle in his brown eyes.

  Victoria laughed and shook her head. “Now you are simply being cruel, Mr. Archer.”

  “John, if you please.” He studied her with such an intent look in his eyes that her stomach fluttered.

  She looked away to break the hushed stillness growing between them. A nervous laugh bubbled in her throat, and she bit her lip to keep from giggling like a child.

  When she dared to catch his gaze again, she nodded. “Very well, John.”

  Golden flecks glimmered in his brown eyes, and a small, self-deprecating smile twisted his mouth to the left.

  His gaze was so warm, so rich with tender affection that she looked down again while her fingers yanked and played with one of the curls Rose had taken such pains to perfect. Everyone else in the room seemed to grow dim and shadowy, despite the golden candlelight of the crystal chandeliers and the crackling fire. She risked another glance at him, unable to resist. As her gaze roved over his handsome face, she noticed that a faint shadow of a beard was already darkening the hollows of his cheeks, and although she hadn’t seen it earlier, there was a small cut—perhaps from shaving—on the right edge of his stubborn jaw.

  His neckcloth, though starched and gleaming white, had grown rumpled, and the left point of his collar had wilted slightly. Her fingers twitched, longing to touch that small scrape on his chin and run her hand down to feel the beat of his heart under the gold-embroidered satin waistcoat he wore over his lean form. As if sensing her thoughts, his eyes grew darker and the wry twist of his lips more pronounced.

  “I say, Archer, I could do with a bit of air, eh?” Wickson said suddenly. He nudged John’s arm and jerked his head toward the door at the rear of the room that led out to a small balcony. He patted the breast of his jacket and gestured again at the French doors. “Air? Smoke?”

  A flash of irritation knotted John’s forehead briefly before his expression smoothed out again. His glance at one of the empty chairs near the fire, combined with his pallor, indicated that he had other thoughts. Victoria raised her hand to give his arm an encouraging squeeze, but when her gaze flashed around the room, she noted her mother staring at her. She rapidly amended the gesture to another tug of her much-abused curl.

  With a faint smile, John took a step back and bowed. “I do apologize, Lady Victoria. Will you excuse us?”

  “Certainly. Though perhaps you might prefer to sit by the fire?” Victoria smiled in return, feeling warm and cherished.

  “I certainly would,” John agreed.

  Mr. Wickson glared at him, his plump lower lip thrust out and his brows drawn down over his eyes. “Fresh air would suit us both, just as well.”

  “Or at least one of us.” John sighed and shrugged.

  With a light laugh, Victoria waved the two men away, leaving her once more trying to decide which group to join. The other guests were milling around in small clusters, pursuing other activities, despite Miss Urick’s efforts at the pianoforte. She hesitated and glanced at her mother again, but Lady Longmoor was now engaged in watching her husband methodically deal the cards.

  An urge to visit the retiring room struck her, and with another quick look around, Victoria slipped into the hallway. To her dismay, none of the servants were present. Apparently, they were clearing away the remains of the dinner or eating their own. Her gaze followed the long, graceful curve of the grand staircase to the shadowy landing above.

  She’d just have to find the designated retiring room for herself. No doubt it was on the second or third floor, and really, since many townhouses were laid out in a very similar fashion, it should not be too difficult to find. She climbed the staircase to the second floor, and paused on the landing to look around.

  A lamp, lit and providing a golden light amidst the shadows of the second floor landing, reassured her that guests were expected to come to this floor. Most likely, that meant that the room they were to use was along the short hallway to her left, where the lamp had been left on a narrow table. She strode in that direction with more confidence, stopping at the first doorway on her right.

  The door was open, but there were no candles or lamps lit. She peered into the darkness and then went back to pick up the brass lamp from the hallway table. When she returned, she discovered that the open door led into a lovely cream and blue bedroom. Holding the lamp up, she glanced around. Her gaze was caught by a box lying on the cream, blue, and gold carpet in the center of the room.

  How odd. She moved forward.

  The box appeared to be a rather large jewelry case, lined with green velvet. She picked it up, frowning. It was empty. A cold, uneasy feeling teased her with clammy fingers at the back of her neck. Holding the box, she looked around again, searching for anything that might have spilled out of it, but the carpet appeared bare of anything else.

  A few curls of dust and a lone, white stocking were hiding under the bed, but her quick search revealed nothing more.

  Standing in the center of the room, she looked around again.

  “Lady Victoria! I hadn’t realized you had left the party,” Mrs. Grisdale said from the doorway. Hands clasped at her waist, she stepped further into the room. The long grooves running from her aquiline nose to the corners of her mouth dee
pened as she frowned. “What are you doing with that?” She jerked her chin at the box in Victoria’s hand.

  Bemused, Victoria glanced down at the empty jewelry case clutched in her left hand. The lamp she gripped in her right suddenly felt hot. The light flickered as she moved her arms sharply. She almost threw the empty box on the bed before she managed to control the abrupt reaction.

  “Well?” Mrs. Grisdale grabbed the box out of Victoria’s unresisting hand. She turned it over, examining the polished exterior and empty interior. “This is Mrs. Stedman’s case for her tiara—what were you doing with it? Why is it empty?”

  “I—well—I don’t know,” Victoria answered helplessly. She waved at the carpet. “I found it. On the floor. Empty.”

  “Did you, indeed?” A look of suspicion sharpened her already pointed features. “Perhaps you had best explain that to Mrs. Stedman!”

  “What? I told you, it was empty.” Victoria edged backward, but there was no place to go with Mrs. Grisdale blocking the door. “I found it on the floor.”

  “I am sure you did.” Sarcasm bathed Mrs. Grisdale’s words in acid.

  Gripping the case in one hand, Mrs. Grisdale reached out and grabbed Victoria’s wrist. Her thin fingers bit into Victoria, despite her long gloves.