Lady Victoria's Mistake

by Amy Corwin

  “No.” She shook her hand free. “I can’t behave in such a cowardly manner. I will pack and inform them of my decision in the morning. What time will you arrive?”

  “No later than eight. We must be married before the ship sails at noon.”

  She nodded, and he watched her slip away into the darkness of the townhouse, wanting to drag her back and carry her away that night. But he couldn’t do that, her sense of honor was too strong. She’d only grow to despise him for refusing to allow her to do the right thing and tell her parents.

  Honor—a strong trait that made her even more beautiful in his eyes, and yet, the very thing that might lead to his losing her forever. He couldn’t fool himself, despite her forgiveness and tender words.

  Her family would never accept her decision or allow her to make such a devastating social blunder. They would talk to her until she agreed to marry Sir Arnold, or failing that, lock her away until she saw sense.

  She would not be the first lady to suffer such a fate, if she dared to defy her family.

  In the end, her desire to do the right thing would lead her into doing the right thing, which would most assuredly not be marriage to John.

  Chapter Eighteen

  At half past seven the next morning, Lady Victoria raced down the staircase, a dozen competing thoughts wrestling for dominance. Although she had spent most of the night folding dresses and packing them in a portmanteau, only to remove them again to tuck some other gowns in their place, she was not tired. She felt as light as a feather.

  Anything was possible. The future appeared so filled with sunshine that she caught herself giggling at nothing and too bursting with effervescent joy to remain still.

  “Mr. Kingston!” she called to their butler. “I am expecting a guest this morning, Mr. John Archer. Please escort him to the breakfast room when he arrives.”

  “I am sorry, Lady Victoria. If you will recall, Lady Longmoor gave me orders that we were not to be at home to Mr. Archer.” Despite his bow, his face had assumed the firmness of a rock.

  “Yes, so she did. The other day, in fact.” She clasped her hands at her waist and raised her chin. “Matters have changed, and we will be at home to him this morning.”

  “Very good, Lady Victoria.” His tone implied quite the opposite from his words.

  “Are my parents in the breakfast room?” Thankfully, most members of the family were early risers, so instead of them not being awake in time for her to tell them of her change in plans, the real problem might be that they had already breakfasted and left for some early morning excursion.

  “Yes. I do not believe either of your parents has left for the day.”

  “Excellent!” She grinned at Kingston and on impulse, stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his surprised cheek. “It is a glorious morning, is it not? And don’t forget, you must bring Mr. Archer to the breakfast room as soon as he arrives.”

  Flustered and blushing, the butler returned her smile and nodded, before smoothing his expression into a properly remote one. “Indeed. Very good, Lady Victoria.”

  She started up the staircase to the sunny, gold-and-white breakfast room on the first floor when she heard a knock reverberating through the marble grand hallway.

  “There he is!” She dashed down again and clasped her hands together to keep from pushing Kingston aside to throw open the door.

  With a flourish, the butler opened the door and stood aside. “Mr. John Archer, Lady Victoria.”

  Such a glorious surge of happiness filled her that she couldn’t speak. She ran forward to lay a hand on his left arm as he handed his hat and walking stick to Kingston.

  “Just in time!” she exclaimed. Catching Kingston’s curious gaze, she said in a more sedate voice, “I was just going upstairs to the breakfast room. Will you join me?”

  “Of course,” John replied, sounding grim.

  Drawing him up the stairs, she cast a quick glance at him. He looked so serious, so hopeless. She stumbled and caught the banister. “You are not having second thoughts, are you?”

  “No. Never that.”

  “Do not worry.” She smiled at him as they reached the landing. She pulled him to the open doorway on the right. “I have been packed for hours. We shall not be late.”

  He nodded, but the hard look did not leave his face. Unfortunately, they’d already entered the bright breakfast room. It was too late to question him.

  Early morning sunshine streamed between the gold brocade curtains embracing the windows at the front of the room. The sunlight gleamed over the gilded curves of the graceful Queen Anne furniture, creating shadows and long rectangles of light across the crimson, gold, and cream oriental carpet.

  An oval maple table with six chairs stood to their left, and her parents were seated at it with an array of gold-rimmed plates and delicate cups of coffee in front of them.

  “There you are, Lady Victoria,” her father said, holding his cup of milky coffee halfway up to his mouth. “Your mother and I were just remarking that a walk to Bond Street might be in order on such a lovely morning. Will you join us?”

  “Alfred,” Lady Longmoor whispered, placing her hand on his arm. Her cheeks paled as her gaze fixed on John.

  “Eh?” Lord Longmoor’s brows furrowed as he glanced at his wife and then followed the direction of her gaze. “Eh?”

  “Father.” Victoria drew herself up and took a deep breath. “I have some news, something I wish to tell you.”

  “Is this really the time for this?” her mother asked, her gaze fluttering from John to her husband before she stared down at her plate. She pushed a half-eaten bun to the very edge with her knife.

  “Yes,” Victoria replied firmly. “I am terribly sorry, but Mr. Archer has asked me to marry him, and I have accepted.”

  “You just accepted Sir Arnold!” her father exclaimed, pressing his hands against the table and standing.

  “I know, and I am sorry. It was a mistake.”

  “You gave your word!” her father said, frowning. He pressed his linen serviette to his mouth and threw it down on the table next to his plate.

  “Yes, but I believe Sir Arnold will understand.”

  Her father’s eyes hardened, and his mouth thinned.

  Looking from Victoria to her husband, Lady Longmoor stood and placed a calming hand on Lord Longmoor’s arm. “You cannot throw your life away like this, my dearest. While I understand that you may believe you love Mr. Archer—”

  “I do love him, Mother.”

  “Perhaps you do,” her mother acknowledged. “But you are too young to realize what it would mean if you married him. You would be ruined.”

  “Then I will be ruined.” Victoria’s chin rose. Reaching behind her, she grabbed John’s hand.

  His fingers tightened reassuringly around hers.

  “I suggest you consider what your life will be like—what you’ll have to live on, as well,” her father ground out. “You can hardly expect me to provide you with a dowry under these circumstances. Or support you.”

  Stomach clenching, Victoria returned her father’s hard stare.

  Before she could reply, John squeezed her hand again. “Lady Victoria need not concern herself with a lack of a dowry.” A grim smile twisted his mouth. “In fact, it was only her sense of honesty that compelled her to wait until this morning to announce her plans, instead of leaving you a letter as I recommended.”

  “Well, thank goodness for that!” her father exclaimed. “Gives her a chance to come to her senses.”

  John bowed stiffly. “Perhaps. You should be aware, however, that my initial plan was to carry her off last night and to wed this morning by special license before boarding a packet to France. I had no expectation that she would bring anything with her.” A grin flashed over his mouth. “Other than the gown that she was wearing, of course. I was fully prepared to purchase a trousseau for her in Paris.”

  “A special license?” Lord Longmoor’s eyes glittered under furrowed brows as he stared
at John. “You cannot acquire a special license in a day.”

  “No. I have been hoping your daughter would do me the honor of marrying me for quite some time.” John held up a hand as Lord Longmoor prepared to speak. “And I have asked my lawyer to draw up papers to settle an amount on Lady Victoria that should provide her with an income of at least twenty thousand a year, whether I live or die.” A sardonic gleam lit his brown eyes, and his mouth quirked. “Or if she decides to divorce me for any reason. She will always have her own independence.”

  “John!” Victoria stared at him. “You can’t possibly do such a thing.”

  “Why not?” He shrugged, smiling at her. “It requires only a small portion of my resources, and I felt it wise to have some sort of inducement should you find the notion of marriage to me too repulsive to consider.”

  “Small portion?” Lady Longmoor repeated, a dazed expression on her face.

  “How dare you, sir? You are insulting!” Lord Longmoor thundered. His hands clenched into fists at his side. “We are quite capable of providing for our own daughter!”

  His wife grabbed his sleeve. “Twenty thousand—did you hear?”

  “I heard him!” Her father cleared his throat. “My daughter does not require your charity, sir. It is insulting that you think she does. We were prepared, er…” He glanced at his wife.

  “Are you sure you love him?” Lady Longmoor asked.

  Victoria nodded. “Yes, Mama. With all my heart.” Indeed, her heart was pounding in her chest, each beat echoing her words.

  “We do so want you to be happy, after all,” her mother murmured thoughtfully. She glanced up at her husband. “We discussed fifteen, my dear. If you’ll recall. And your mother’s pearls.”

  A flush colored Lord Longmoor’s cheeks. His gaze shifted between his wife and John before coming to rest on Victoria. “We could do, er, perhaps twenty.”

  “I beg your pardon, Lord Longmoor, but as I mentioned, a dowry is not required,” John said softly.

  A faraway look on her face, Lady Longmoor sighed. “A trousseau made in Paris. Really, my dear, I cannot…” She shook her head and let out another long breath. Then she stiffened and clutched her husband’s hand. “But what are we to tell Sir Arnold?”

  “We will send him a side or two of beef. I doubt he shall object. Or even notice,” her father said in an uncharacteristically cynical tone. He shook off his wife’s hand and focused on his daughter. “He may set a good table, but in the end, it isn’t much to recommend a man, is it?”

  “No, Father,” Victoria replied meekly. Were they really going to accept John, accept that she loved him and wanted to marry him? She felt lightheaded and afraid to say anything for fear of breaking the fragile harmony that seemed to be growing in the sunny breakfast room. Her pulse raced. She cast a sidelong glance at John.

  He stood still, his face unreadable.

  Lady Longmoor cast another uncertain look at her husband. “But there is still the matter… That is, Mr. Archer is…” She seemed incapable of completing a sentence.

  “He doesn’t have a title,” Lord Longmoor suggested.

  “Mr. Fitton did not have a title, either, my dear,” Lady Longmoor said.

  “Socially…” Lord Longmoor’s eyebrows beetled as he frowned thoughtfully at John. “What is your club?”

  “Boodle’s, sir.”

  “Well, I can get you into White’s.” Lord Longmoor grunted. “An Oxford man?”

  John nodded.

  “Then he’s not completely unacceptable. Socially,” Lady Longmoor whispered.

  “I suppose not,” her husband conceded. “No need to worry about Almack’s any longer.”

  “Does that mean…?” Victoria choked and swallowed. Her grip on John’s hand tightened. “Do we have your approval?”

  Lord and Lady Longmoor exchanged glances.

  “Well, this hasty marriage…” Lord Longmoor stared at his daughter, his face drawn into serious lines, but his blue eyes alight with good humor. “Looks a bit awkward, does it not?”

  “Then... we cannot go?” Victoria’s emotions swung violently, too afraid to feel the joy bubbling within her and yet unable to fully sink into despair.

  “A Paris trousseau,” her mother whispered to Lord Longmoor while her gaze rested on Victoria’s face.

  “I am not sure of this Paris adventure,” Lord Longmoor said abruptly, clasping his hands behind his back. “Unsettled. Dangerous, I should think, what with this Napoleon fellow running about, picking fights.”

  “A quick trip, then, my dear,” Lady Longmoor suggested. “Just long enough to obtain a few gowns.”

  The clock on the mantle chimed the half-hour. Victoria glanced at John in a sudden panic. They must leave soon if they were to be wed this morning and still board the packet on time.

  “We must go,” she said, gazing at her parents. “The packet…”

  “Then we should depart,” her father said. He gripped his wife’s elbow, drawing her out of her chair.

  “We?” Victoria repeated. Her free hand fluttered over the back of the chair in front of her for an instant before gripping it. The strong sense of the ground shifting beneath her feet assailed her.

  John’s fingers, clasped in her other hand, felt strong and sure.

  “Of course. Come along.” Her father crowded them all out of the room. “You wish your parents to attend your wedding, do you not?”

  “Well, yes.” Victoria glanced at John. “John?”

  Grinning, he shrugged unhelpfully.

  “Is that what you intend to wear?” her mother asked as they hurried down the staircase.

  Victoria almost tripped as she glanced down at her dark blue traveling dress. “Well, yes.” In a panic, she looked over her shoulder. “My portmanteau!”

  “Send a maid for it. You will need a maid, after all,” her mother pointed out. “Kingston! Lady Victoria’s portmanteau must be brought immediately, and one of the maids must pack a case immediately. Mary will do. She has precisely five minutes.”

  The sensation of the earth shifting beneath Victoria returned even more strongly. She stumbled on the last step and was thankful when John caught her.

  When she looked up, he winked. “We have been outmaneuvered, my dearest.”

  “I’m so sorry—I don’t know what to say.”

  “Then my advice—when you are asked—is to simply say yes,” he advised, his warm, brown eyes twinkling.

  He glanced around quickly. Noting that the attention of her parents was focused on donning their outer wear, John pulled her closer and pressed a firm kiss on her surprised lips.

  When he released her, she laughed and touched his lean cheek. “Yes, then. And if this is truly a mistake, then it is the most agreeable mistake I have ever made, and one I know I will never regret.”

  He searched her face intently before his lopsided grin twisted his mouth. “I could spout a great deal of sentimental drivel—that to err is human nonsense, for example—but I believe I’ll spare you.”

  “What? My husband-to-be has nothing to say, then?” she asked, eyes wide in mock horror.

  His arm tightened around her briefly before he let her go to accept his hat and walking stick. “Nothing but I love you, Lady Vee, and that is the sum and end of it.”

  “A happy ending, indeed.” Filled with the deep joy of knowing she was at last doing the right thing, she slipped her hand through the crook of his arm.

  Then, Kingston opened the door and brilliant sunshine flooded the hallway, carrying with it the vibrant promise of a new day and a new life unfolding before them.

  ###

  One Good Gentleman

  The Marriage Maker

  Rules of Refinement

  Summer Hanford

  Scarsdale Voices

  Rules of Refinement

  Noblemen aren’t always honorable… but a rake is always charming

  In a narrow lane off Edinburgh’s illustrious Charlotte Square, stands a town house that is not qu
ite as impressive as nearby residences, but remains a place of distinction. An air of quiet dignity is maintained by the courtyard that fronts the street, while privacy is assured by a wrought-iron gateway. This house is Lady Peddington’s School for Young Ladies and is owned and run by Lady Honoria Peddington.

  Girls fortunate enough to attend the academy are instructed in all aspects of proper comportment with emphasis on the importance of a pleasing demeanor and appearance, grace and good manners, the skills a lady needs to run a large, well-to-do household, and – of course - the necessity and advantages of an impeccable reputation. Scandal, the girls are warned, must be avoided at all costs.

  Lady Peddington’s own reputation is the finest, and all Edinburgh considers her above reproach. She is especially well-loved by the affluent merchants and lesser gentry who live on the fringes of the city’s New Town where she operates her school. These clients appreciate her knack at finding affluent husbands for their daughters. No one suspects that her knowledge of men comes from the long-ago days when she wasn’t Lady Honoria Peddington, but simply Honey Pedding who ran a well-doing Glasgow brothel.

  Those skills, though secret, still serve her well, for when her school’s famed graduation balls fail to secure suitable husbands for some of her more high-spirited girls, other gentlemen come to the fore, eager to accept these gems as pampered mistresses. So, however a girl’s heart might lean, Lady Peddington’s School for Young Ladies guarantees happiness for all.

  Chapter One

  AT THE END OF each season, Lady Peddington’s School for Young Ladies threw not one, or even two, but four balls over the course of four weeks. If a young woman couldn’t meet the man of her dreams in that length of time, well, she’d best hope a man awaited her at home because four was the schools’ more than generous limit. To Miss Emilia Glasbarr’s dismay, the first of these balls was stuttering to an end, and she still lacked a suitor.

  Emilia huddled near the refreshments table and tried to untangle the scene before her. Many of the girls, certainly the ones already spoken for, had retired for the evening. Those who remained, behaved with a lack of propriety that Emilia found moderately shocking. Gloves were removed. Laughter, not polite titters, sounded. Footmen had appeared to snuff out most of the candles, leaving the vast ballroom enshrouded in flickering half-light. Most disconcerting, the few instructors who still chaperone turned a blind eye. Only Emilia’s desperation not to live out the remainder of her days as a country Miss kept her there. Normally, she would retreat from such a scene.