“I’ll do it,” breathed Miss Eckford.
Wonders would never cease. “Then so shall I.” Victoria held up her book. “Are you going to borrow anything, Miss Eckford?”
“No. I expected to meet someone, but he doesn’t appear to be here.”
“Mr. Runcorn?”
Miss Eckford blushed yet again. It almost seemed as if she could do it at will, it was such a carefully orchestrated wash of delicate color across her lovely cheekbones. “Someone else. Please, Miss Yelverton, it’s not what you think.”
Victoria realized her face had once more revealed her shock at the revelation of yet another gentleman with whom the young woman had an assignation. She schooled her expression into something akin to polite enquiry.
“He’s a friend, an older gentleman, who is kind to me, but he doesn’t have money, not like Travis.”
Victoria could well believe Miss Eckford collected men who wanted to be kind to her the way a lamp collected moths on a warm, summer night. “Who is he?”
“Viscount Ogden.”
Victoria’s stomach lurched. This was the reason Travis hated Ogden? Two dogs fighting over the same bone? Quite laughable, really, if it weren’t so awful for Miss Eckford.
Oddly, it seemed that Miss Eckford wanted neither of them. The inertia gripping Victoria since Michael’s death fell away. She resolved to teach Ogden and Travis a well-deserved lesson. These men shouldn’t be helping themselves to whatever they wanted without any thought for their victim.
“Shall we find your mother?” Victoria said.
It did not take them long to locate Miss Eckford’s harried-looking mother a few yards from the lending library. She was accompanied by a sulky-faced girl of about fifteen.
Gimlet-eyed, with thin lips, the mother reminded Victoria of a snake ready to strike. A very gaudy snake. Her toilette—a puce walking dress topped by a crest of peacock feathers on a yellow bonnet—created an awesome picture.
“There you are, my girl,” Mrs. Eckford snapped, ignoring Victoria.
“Mama,” protested Miss Eckford.
“You had me traipsing from one end of Bond Street to the other and here you are all the time.” She raised a carefully plucked eyebrow and glared at Victoria.
“Miss Yelverton, my mother, Mrs. Eckford, and my sister Lucy. Mama, this is Miss Victoria Yelverton. She is Lord Travis’s ward.”
“Indeed,” Mrs. Eckford said, her magnificent bosom swelling in disapproval.
Victoria blinked. Did this woman assume Victoria was her daughter’s rival? A sinking feeling invaded her stomach, but she kept her tone friendly. “How do you do, Mrs. Eckford.”
“Good day, Miss Yelverton, I’m sure.” Mrs. Eckford sniffed and turned to her daughter. “Come along, Cassandra. We must finish our errands or we will be late.”
“Mama, Miss Yelverton expects Lord Travis to accompany her to Albert’s picnic this afternoon.”
The words came out in such a rush Mrs. Eckford halted in her tracks. Victoria could not help sending Cassandra an admiring glance.
“It was so kind of Miss Eckford to invite me,” Victoria said with a sweet smile. “I know so few people, having only just come to Town, and Travis and I were at such a loose end this afternoon, we actually thought about visiting museum. Such a dull idea when there is a picnic in the offing.”
Mrs. Eckford’s pouter-pigeon attitude subsided, but she cast a sharp, discerning glance at Victoria. “Why on earth would Travis attend a picnic given by Albert Runcorn of all people?”
Victoria swallowed. “I believe they have interests in common?” It sounded weak to her own ears and clearly didn’t impress Mrs. Eckford.
“Farming,” Cassandra added.
Lucy thrust out her bottom lip. “Why can’t I go?”
“Because you weren’t invited,” Miss Eckford said.
“How is it she can go then?” Lucy pointed at Victoria. “She wasn’t invited either.”
“Do not point, Lucy,” her mother said.
Victoria spotted Wilson shifting from foot to foot, just out of earshot. She had kept him waiting far too long and Mrs. Eckford seemed wholly unconvinced by their story. She would give it one last try. “Perhaps you know my companion and cousin to Lord Travis, Miss Maria Allenby. She will be more than delighted to accompany us if a chaperone is required.”
At the sight of Mrs. Eckford’s defeated expression, Victoria gave thanks for Travis’s provision of a chaperon known for her exemplary morals.
The routed Mrs. Eckford fixed her with a narrow-eyed stare. “Miss Allenby will not be needed. The party is all arranged and I certainly would not permit Cassandra to attend if it were not properly chaperoned.”
Victoria hid her relief. She doubted Maria would be persuaded to accompany Miss Eckford. The Eckfords were not at all good ton.
Mrs. Eckford glanced up at the leaden sky. “It is sure to rain. Likely Mr. Runcorn will be forced to cancel and it will all be for naught.” The prediction seemed to give her a modicum of satisfaction.
“No, Mama. Albert has it all arranged. Primrose Hill has a pavilion where we can picnic under the roof. The band will play at tea -time, rain or shine. Do say yes, Mama, please.”
“It sounds very enjoyable,” Victoria added, unable to resist a mischievous smile or her next words. “Exactly the sort of thing Travis likes.”
“Very well,” said Mrs. Eckford, mollified. “But you remind Mr. Runcorn not to go arranging any more outings without consulting me first. Come along girls.” After a piercing stare at Victoria, she grabbed her youngest daughter’s arm and set off down the street.
“Mr. Runcorn will fetch you in his carriage,” Miss Eckford said hurriedly with an anxious glance at her retreating mama. “He will pick you up at two.” She scurried off.
The sight of the incomparable Miss Eckford picking her way daintily around the puddles on the pavement had men turning their heads to watch her progress. No doubt every one of them wished that, like the famed Sir Walter Raleigh, they had a cloak to throw before her. To Cassandra’s credit, she didn’t seem to notice them at all. Anger stirred in Victoria’s breast. How could a mother force her daughter into such a disgraceful liaison when she loved another man? And how could Travis take advantage of the situation? And Ogden. She had thought better of him. It was not to be borne.
“Ladies, less noise please,” the severely thin Miss Prudhomme remonstrated, and not for the first time.
Giggles echoed beneath the pavilion’s high roof. From her nearby bench, Victoria glanced over at the blanket on the ground where Cassandra, Mr. Runcorn’s school-aged cousins and his friend Mr. Johnson sat playing consequences. The cousins were a pair of dark-haired and merry-eyed imps. Louise, the youngest, had plump cheeks and eyes like raisins, while Jean looked skinny enough to blow away in a high wind. Their high spirits and the gangly Mr. Johnson’s teasing had turned the game organized by the spinsterishly-neat governess into a romp.
Happy and unaffected, the whole party enchanted Victoria. She wouldn’t mind being a governess to such sweet unaffected girls, even though they were high-spirited.
And what a stolid country gentleman of serious demeanor Mr. Albert Runcorn of Gosford near Worthing had proved to be standing protectively behind Miss Eckford. Ruddy-faced, of average height and build, his attire was modest but well-tailored. Fair-skinned with tawny hair and rather sad brown eyes, only when his gaze fell upon Miss Eckford did his heavy features brighten.
He was not alone. Several gentlemen strolling around the pavilion had adopted a particularly besotted look upon encountering the lovely Miss Eckford. As usual, Cassandra seemed unaware of their admiring glances and laughed with blithe enjoyment at the antics of the younger Runcorn girls.
Victoria repressed a twinge of guilt. She hadn’t exactly lied to Maria about her plans for the afternoon, nor had she been strictly truthful. When she had declined Maria’s invitation to go with her to visit an old acquaintance, she had indicated her intention to spend the aftern
oon reading, but had not said where.
“Miss Yelverton,” Miss Prudhomme called. “Mr. Runcorn. It is time for tea.”
Tucking her book in her reticule, Victoria joined the party on the blanket around the governess.
“Mr. Runcorn, sit next to me,” Miss Eckford cried, beaming up at him.
“Now, Cassie, Miss Yelverton is your guest,” said Mr. Runcorn in a gentle chiding tone.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Miss Yelverton, I forgot.” She patted the blanket next to her. “You will sit next to me, won’t you?”
“I should be delighted,” Victoria responded with a smile.
Mr. Runcorn seated himself between his cousins and opposite Mr. Johnson. Miss Prudhomme unpacked the picnic baskets and passed out plates and napkins.
“How long are you staying in Town, Mr. Runcorn?” Victoria asked as the plate of ham sandwiches made the rounds.
“Not long enough,” Miss Eckford said, pouting at him.
Mr. Runcorn shook his head. “Until tomorrow. It’s longer than I should stay, as it is. The farm won’t run itself.”
“I do miss your farm, Mr. Runcorn,” Miss Eckford said, a sandwich delicately hovering in front of her cupid’s bow mouth. She turned to Victoria. “Miss Yelverton, he has the prettiest chickens and a really gentle horse I’m not afraid to ride. I miss his herd of the sweetest black-and-white cows.”
“And they miss you,” Mr. Runcorn said with a sad, faintly bovine expression.
Victoria turned away lest he see her pity. The Runcorn girls whispered and giggled behind his back.
“Girls,” Miss Prudhomme rapped out. “If you can’t share your conversation with the rest of us, then keep silent.”
“Jeannie thinks Miss Yelverton is just as pretty as Cassie,” blurted the younger sister, Louise.
Heat scorched Victoria’s face, but she managed a smile. “Thank you, Jean.”
“Do you have a suitor?” Louise asked. “Cassie has ever so many.”
“Louise, mind your tongue,” Miss Prudhomme said in shocked accents.
“Do you?” The slender Jean stared at Victoria curiously. “Just because Cassie is á la mode doesn’t mean girls who have brown hair and eyes can’t get a beau. I do think you are as pretty as Cassie.”
Victoria choked on a bite of sandwich.
Silence hung over the group. Mr. Runcorn stared across the circle, a frown on his face. “A pale English rose and an orchid, two beautiful but different flowers,” he managed in a strangled voice, his face brick red.
His wit might not be of a high order, but his generosity of spirit only improved Victoria’s good opinion of him. She quelled an urge to lean across the blanket and pat his arm.
“An exotic bouquet,” Mr. Johnson mumbled, clearly not wishing to be outdone.
“Louise, pass the lemonade,” Miss Prudhomme said. “Girls, hurry up and finish eating so we have time for one more game before the band begins.
“This time, may I sit next to you, Albert?” Miss Eckford asked.
“You let Miss Prudhomme arrange the seating, Cassie,” replied her strict swain. “She’ll know what’s right.”
The picnic over, and anxious to discover how Emma fared, Victoria went back to her seat on the bench and opened her book. The squeals from the girls made reading impossible. After reading the same paragraph three times without taking in a single word, Victoria closed her volume with a sigh.
“You do not enjoy games, Miss Yelverton?” Runcorn’s pleasant, low voice made her realize he had come to stand at her side.
She kept her voice light. “Of course. I am just not in the mood this afternoon.”
His expression held sympathy. “Miss Eckford told me of your loss.”
His sympathy was misplaced. Michael’s death did not hold her back from the amusements. Memories of her own schoolroom days, happier times when their country home had been full of laughter had returned to cause unexpected pain beneath her ribs.
She cast him a rueful smile. “I must apologize if I am casting a damper on the day.” Victoria stuffed Emma into her reticule. “I am happy to join in whatever game Miss Prudhomme has in mind.”
A frown furrowed his forehead. “Actually, Miss Yelverton, I’m right glad to have the chance to talk to you. It pleases me to see Cassie—I mean, Miss Eckford—so happy, but I’m worried.” In his anxiety, a trace of Sussex accent infected his normally precise speech. “It’s this Travis fellow. He’s got her head so turned, I don’t know what to do.”
Victoria glanced at Cassandra, one of nature’s rarest creations. This poor young man did not stand a chance of winning her with Travis in the running.
“Do you love her?” The question popped out before she thought about it.
“Aye. I always have. For years. Her grandmother encouraged me to hope. She said I was good for her, steady like.” He shook his head, a lock of brown hair falling onto his forehead. “Then that mother of hers comes to visit, looking for money, takes one look at Cassie and fills her head with titles and nobility and the like. And if that weren’t enough, she tells her Lucy’s happiness hangs on her success. Cassie is too soft by half. She can’t bear to think of making anyone suffer and especially not her own family.” His hands clenched suddenly. “I’d like to give that Travis a taste of my fist.”
Victoria recoiled.
Runcorn’s face flushed a mottled red. “Please, excuse me, Miss Yelverton. I forgot myself. I have no wish to insult you.”
Insult was the wrong word. While shocked by the violence of his emotions, Victoria empathized with his sentiments.
Impatient strides took him away then he paced back, hands opening and closing at his sides. “If I thought he’d make her happy, I’d stay out of it. ’Tis my guess he don’t mean to do right by her.”
Uncertainty tortured his expression. Instinctively, Victoria knew Miss Eckford would throw away something far more valuable than a title or jewelry if she walked away from this man’s genuine affection. If Victoria were ever blessed with this kind of honest devotion, she would count herself fortunate indeed.
“You wish to marry her, then?”
“Aye, what else?”
His belligerent tone only enhanced his worth in Victoria’s eyes. “Can you not persuade her grandmother to interfere?”
“Nay. The old lady’s out-of-reason stubborn. I tried talking to her before I came to Town. She was that miffed when Cassie went off with her mother, she threatened never to see her again. The old lady is too proud to go back on her word. A stickler she is, from a long line of sticklers. They cut the son off when he married Cassie’s mother and regretted it ever after, especially since he died, leaving Cassie the last of the line. A crime it is. She don’t even bear her father’s name. She took the stepfather’s.”
Something in the way he described the family gave Victoria a glimmer of unease. “Just who is her grandmother?”
“Lady Elizabeth Halsted.”
Cold chills ran down Victoria’s spine. Did the earl have any idea of Cassandra Eckford’s connections? If Mr. Runcorn’s suspicions were correct with respect to Travis, did Mrs. Eckford have some idea of using her relations to trap him into marriage? It might serve him right, but what sort of life would Cassandra have with a rake forced to make an offer? If Cassandra Eckford ended up wedded to the earl under such circumstances as those, the price might well be her happiness.
Victoria kept her voice low. “I cannot promise much, but if I am able to divine the earl’s true intentions toward Miss Eckford, I will send you word.” She rose to her feet.
Taking her hand, Mr. Runcorn pressed it briefly with his capably square, warm one. “I don’t know how to thank you,” he murmured. “I was none too pleased when Cassie said you were to come today. But as soon as I saw you, I knew you were true-blue, Miss Yelverton.”
While flattered by his confidence, nervousness fluttered in her stomach. She had absolutely no way of knowing whether she could keep her promise. “Time enough for thanks, Mr. Runcorn, if
they are deserved.”
The balance of the afternoon passed pleasantly enough. Victoria enjoyed a game of charades with the merry group, the band made up in enthusiasm what it lacked in skill and, at the end of the afternoon, the party made its way home in Mr. Runcorn’s carriage, well-satisfied with the outing.
Victoria, the last one to be delivered home, could not remember when she had passed such a delightfully carefree afternoon. She gazed out of the carriage window seeing only the rain streaking against the glass. Papa’s problems had overshadowed everything for years after her mother’s death. No, it had been a very long time indeed since she had been so pleasantly entertained.
Against her wishes, Mr. Runcorn had insisted on seeing her home and very properly handed her out of the carriage and delivered her to the earl’s front door.
“Whatever you can do, Miss Yelverton,” he said with a stiff bow as he bade her farewell. He lumbered back into the rain and the waiting carriage.
Victoria smiled at Wilson holding open the door and stepped inside.
“Who was that?” Travis loomed out of the shadows. “Where have you been? Cousin Maria has been in a dither for the past hour.”
Jolted by his sudden appearance and accusing tone, her heart raced. To recover her composure, she focused on removing her coat and handing it over to the servant. “Thank you, Wilson.”
“Well?” Travis said, his voice louder.
Her pulse skittered in the most annoying way. Why it would she did not know. She certainly did not fear him. She arched an eyebrow. “What has made you so out of reason cross?”
He stepped into the light of the crystal chandelier.
She gasped.
Livid bruises discolored his jaw. A cut split his lip. Recalling Michael’s testiness when worsted in a brawl, she resisted the desire to sympathize. “Now I see the problem. You must have lost your fight. There’s no need to take your spleen out on me.”
“I did not lose. I want an answer.”
She glared at him.
He narrowed his eyes. “I will see you in the library. Now.”
She stiffened, refusal on the tip of her tongue. If only she didn’t feel so guilty about sneaking out without telling Maria—and she certainly didn’t want to continue their argument with the servants looking on.
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