Moments later, when a hand gently touched her arm, Victoria looked around to see Margaret standing beside her. The child didn’t smile, but in her eyes was a look of such profound trust that Victoria felt a lump rise in her throat. ‘Yes, Margaret?’
‘Molly wondered if you would read to her, miss.’
For some reason, Victoria looked to Alistair for his approval. She had no idea how much he wanted her to be involved with these children, but when she saw him smile and nod, she realised the tension between them was gone. A new bond had been established, one formed as a result of these children and of a mutual desire to help them. And it was strong, stronger than Victoria would have believed possible. ‘Of course I will read to her. And to you, if you’d like.’
The girl’s face lit up. ‘Oh, yes, please, miss,’ she whispered.
Somehow, a book magically appeared and, after the older boys went back downstairs, Victoria sat down to read to Molly and Margaret Townsend, and to Ruth and Alice Harkness, and to Beth Lyton and Teddy Erskine. It was so easy being there with all of them gathered around her. Only Jenny Smith remained apart, the expression in her eyes enough to tear the heart from one’s chest.
This must be how it felt to have children of one’s own, Victoria realised. How strange given that she’d never really thought about being a mother before. The idea of having children naturally followed the necessity of finding a husband, but, given her reluctance to marry, the possibility of children had seemed remote. But now, as she ran her hand over Alice’s silken hair and gazed down into her trusting eyes, Victoria realised she wanted a child of her own. One who would be loved and cherished and given all the things these children never had been.
How ironic that just a few short hours with Alistair’s children had shown her what she was missing and made her long for something she’d never even known she wanted.
* * *
The visit had come all too soon to an end, but when Victoria had left, it had been with a promise to Margaret and Molly that she would come back and read to them again. It was only later, when she and Alistair sat in his high-perch phaeton driving back to Green Street, that she finally asked the question, ‘What happened to Jenny? What did she see?’
Alistair was clearly reluctant to divulge the information. He kept his eyes on the road, but his sigh revealed much of what he was feeling. ‘Jenny’s father drinks. And when he drinks too much, he becomes violent. He beat Jenny’s mother to death...and Jenny was in the room when it happened.’
‘Oh, dear God!’ Victoria closed her eyes, the image of what that poor child had witnessed too terrible to contemplate. ‘No wonder she doesn’t speak. I cannot imagine what that must have been like.’
‘Who in our society can?’ Alistair said softly. ‘What these children have experienced is beyond the understanding of people like you and me. Our lives are pampered and indulged. We’ve never known what it is to be hungry or cold. We’ve never had to be afraid for our lives, or fear for the lives of those we care about.’
‘How did all of these children end up in your care?’
‘People know Mrs Hutchins round these parts. They know what she does and who she is associated with. And though we can’t help them all, we do what we can.’
‘And this house you’ve bought,’ Victoria said slowly. ‘It is going to be a new home for these children, and perhaps more?’
‘The house will easily accommodate twenty-five,’ Alistair said. ‘More than that and we’ll begin to feel crowded again. Mrs Hutchins would take every child she could, but she knows what’s involved and she has only so much energy. That’s why I’ve already hired a cook and a gardener, as well as a tutor for the boys and a governess for the girls. Mrs Hutchins can engage more staff as she feels necessary. It won’t be fancy,’ he said, ‘but it will provide them with a safe and, hopefully, a happy environment.’
Victoria stared at the houses around them and saw everything those children had never experienced: wealth, security and a life of plenty. ‘You are doing a wonderful thing, Mr Devlin,’ she said softly. ‘You are giving those children a chance at a life they never would have had.’
‘Some of them,’ Alistair said. ‘I doubt Molly or Margaret will live to see their twenties. The damage done to their lungs is irreversible. All I can give them is somewhere comfortable in which to live out their years. As for Jenny, her scars are emotional. She’ll never forget what she saw, but hopefully the pain will ease over time and she will be able to lead a reasonably normal life again.’
‘At least she won’t die the same way her mother did,’ Victoria said. ‘She might have, had she stayed with her father.’
They drove in silence for a while, each deep in their own thoughts. Finally, as he turned the carriage into Green Street, Alistair said, ‘Thank you for coming with me today. I know it was difficult and I was very impressed by your composure. Your kindness was...a gift to those children. I watched Margaret’s face as you read to her and her sister. She already adores you.’
For some reason, it suddenly grew hard for Victoria to breathe. ‘She is easy to love. They all are. Even the boys, though they are trying so hard to be brave.’
Alistair smiled. ‘Yes, and Mrs Hutchins loves every one of them unconditionally. I couldn’t have found a better person to look after them. I don’t know what I would do without her.’
Victoria managed a smile. Had Mrs Hutchins been twenty years younger, she might have been jealous of the warmth in Alistair’s voice, but she knew it was just his appreciation for everything the woman had done. ‘I don’t think you will have to do without her. She is as deeply committed to those children as you are. Nothing short of death is going to separate her from them.’
Alistair drew the carriage to a halt. ‘Perhaps, but everyone has the right to a life, Miss Bretton. Mrs Hutchins was married once and she may meet a man and wish to be married again. And then where will I be?’
‘From what little I know of Mrs Hutchins, I suspect you’ll find yourself with two people looking after the children,’ Victoria said. ‘I doubt she would marry anyone who wasn’t willing to share what she does. She doesn’t look on it as a job. To her it is a labour of love, and what better reason could there be for doing something so worthwhile?’
He turned to look at her. ‘I can think of no better reason.’ He watched her for a long time; his gaze filled with tenderness as it rested on her face. Then, slowly, he raised his hand and brushed his thumb lightly over one corner of her mouth. ‘A crumb,’ he explained huskily. ‘From Mrs Hutchins’s fruitcake.’
Victoria blushed, but didn’t pull away. She wanted to close her eyes and lean into his touch to savour the intimacy of the gesture. When he smoothed his knuckles over her chin, she wanted to purr like a kitten. But to sit there in the street, exposed and open to view, was madness. They were in a public place...and Victoria knew she risked more than her heart by behaving in such a manner. ‘I must go,’ she said.
‘I know.’ But, like her, Alistair seemed reluctant to depart. They had shared so much today. It was as though a barrier had come down and, for the first time, she was able to see the man he truly was.
‘I will not tell anyone where we were today,’ he said. ‘I doubt your parents would approve. But I am very glad you agreed to come.’
‘As am I, Mr Devlin,’ Victoria whispered. ‘Very glad indeed.’
* * *
The visit to the orphanage marked a definite change in Victoria’s feelings towards Alistair. She no longer saw him as a man concerned only with his own pleasures. He was as far from that as it was possible to imagine. If she lived to be a hundred, she would never forget the sight of him smiling down at little Molly Townsend. It suddenly made what she did for a living seem trite and unimportant. She wrote plays for the stage. Fictitious plays that mocked society and contributed nothing to its well-being.
It certai
nly did nothing for Alistair’s children.
And yet, what boy or girl did not adore the theatre? As a child, Victoria had loved watching the puppet shows. She remembered laughing at the funny stories and knew without having to ask that none of the children in Mrs Hutchins’s care had ever been inside a theatre. Their lives were rooted in a world where adults committed atrocities and life was harsh and unforgiving. Where a girl could be flogged for stealing a loaf of bread and a boy of eight could be forced up a chimney by setting fires beneath his feet. Their expectations were low, their hopes even lower.
* * *
‘What’s wrong, Tory?’ Laurence said as he walked into the drawing room a few days later. ‘You’re looking very pensive.’
‘Yes, I suppose I am.’ Victoria pressed her hands together. ‘I can’t seem to forget what I saw at the orphanage.’
Her brother picked up a copy of the morning paper. ‘I’m still surprised Devlin took you there. It isn’t the sort of place a gentleman usually takes a lady.’
‘No, but I’m very glad he did. The orphanage and those children mean the world to him. The fact he chose to share it with me says a lot about the man.’
‘And about his feelings for you.’
She raised startled eyes to his. ‘Why would you say that?’
‘Because his wanting you to see what he is involved in tells me he cares about what you think. He wants to know that you approve of what he’s doing.’
‘But he would do it whether I approved or not.’
‘Yes, but why bother to tell you about it if he didn’t feel it was going to have an impact on your relationship?’
Victoria didn’t have an answer for that, but it did raise a very different question in her mind. ‘What about what I’m doing, Laurie?’ she murmured. ‘If Mr Devlin cares enough to show me what he is doing, am I not obligated to tell him what I am?’
‘Only if you have feelings for him. If you don’t, there’s really no point.’ Laurence stopped, and turned to look at her. ‘Do you care for him in that way, Tory?’
Victoria bit her lip. Yes, she did. She had tried to keep him at a distance because she truly believed nothing could ever come of it. Alistair’s family was too well connected. They moved in the highest circles. Worst of all, his brother had eloped with an actress and died in disgrace as a result. His family would not be pleased to know that the infamous Valentine Lawe, a playwright known for poking fun at the aristocracy, was actually the woman their son wished to court.
But more to the point, how would Alistair feel when the truth about her was revealed? He was a man to whom honesty was of paramount importance. Victoria knew that his brief courtship with Lady Frances Shaftsbury had come to an end because he’d found out she was lying to him. Winifred had heard about it at a musicale.
And if Alistair truly had feelings for her, he would not be pleased at finding out that she had been deceiving him all along. He might not be able to accuse her of lying to him outright, but she was still guilty of a deceit. If that was going to make a difference in the way he looked at her, it was only fair that she tell him the truth now, before their affection for one another grew any deeper.
She would certainly have to tell him before she met with Sir Michael Loftus. Once that gentleman knew who she was, there would be no way of guaranteeing that he wouldn’t make it public and she couldn’t risk Alistair hearing it from someone at his club or fencing saloon. If nothing else, she was determined that there would be honesty between them. If he chose to stop seeing her as a result, at least she would be able to hold her head up and know she had done the right thing.
But when to do it? Tonight was Lord and Lady Drake’s masquerade and, while she knew Alistair would be there, it was hardly the time for such a revelation. They needed time to talk with some degree of privacy. She wanted to be able to see his face when she told him she was Valentine Lawe. That was the only way she would be able to gauge what his feelings about it really were.
Tomorrow, then, Victoria decided. She would ask him to call upon her and she would tell him the truth. Then she would see first-hand just how much damage her lies had already done.
* * *
When hosting one of their elaborate masquerades, Lord and Lady Drake decorated the rooms in their
palatial home to reflect the theme of the evening’s entertainment. They insisted that everyone come in costume, and while they did not go so far as to specify any particular type of costume, Victoria knew they preferred costumes concealing enough so that it was difficult to tell who was beneath the mask.
For some, procuring a costume was a difficult process, but with an uncle who owned a theatre and an aunt who was adept at lengthening a hem or taking in the seam, finding something to wear was relatively simple. Victoria’s costume for the masquerade was nothing short of spectacular. On one of her uncle’s recent trips to Venice, he had been given access to a wondrous selection of gowns, many of them having been passed down from their original seventeenth-century owners. The materials were sumptuous, the designs spectacular, and the colours the rich, jewelled tones of sapphire, emerald, ruby and amethyst.
Victoria’s gown was a glorious creation of gold antique moiré with an elaborate headdress and mask to match. Aunt Tandy had made the necessary alterations and Victoria had been delighted, if somewhat apprehensive, about the results. Used to wearing lightweight muslin dresses, the close-fitting gown took some getting used to. To accommodate the narrowness of the waist and the fullness of the skirt, the wearing of a corset was necessary, but that resulted in Victoria’s breasts being pushed up so high, she actually blushed at the creamy expanse of skin visible above the gown’s neckline.
She decided to keep her fan poised in front of her for as much of the evening as possible.
Winifred, on the other hand, surprised everyone by going as Diana, the huntress. She wore a gown cleverly converted into a one-shoulder affair that draped beautifully around her body, but that somehow managed to look not in the least bit scandalous. Her hair was coiled in ringlets around her head and she looked breathtakingly lovely. Victoria doubted that anyone looking at her, however, would have any trouble recognising who she was under the half-mask that covered her eyes and nose.
None of them was surprised that their parents had decided not to attend. Her mother did not approve of masquerades any more than she approved of the theatre. She grudgingly allowed her children to go because she knew it was another venue at which they might meet a prospective husband or wife, but she disliked the idea intensely—and Laurence’s appearance, when he finally came downstairs, did nothing to improve it. He wore a long black coat, heavily embroidered with silver thread around the hem, over a white shirt with a froth of lace at the cuffs and throat. His legs were encased in tall black boots, a black mask covered his eyes and nose—and he wore a single red rose in his lapel.
Victoria stared at him in disbelief, then burst out laughing. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she said, not sure whether to be shocked or delighted. ‘You have taken Miss Wright’s words to heart.’
His smile flashed. ‘Indeed I have.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Winifred said, looking at him. ‘Who or what are you supposed to be?’
‘Can you not guess?’ her brother asked. ‘I thought the rose would have given me away. It is his signature, after all.’
Winifred frowned. ‘Whose signature?’
‘Valentine Lawe’s.’
‘Valentine Lawe!’ His mother’s face went white. ‘Laurence, are you mad? You cannot go out in public like that!’
‘Why not? No one’s ever seen Lawe so it’s not as though I don’t look like him.’
‘But it is not a question of whether you look like him or not!’ Mrs Bretton said. ‘We don’t want to publicise that he exists—because he does not!’
‘Ah, but he does, Mama,’ Laurence said. �
�In the hearts of his most ardent fans, he is a legend. And his reluctance to be seen has created a great deal of interest about him. I simply thought to have a little fun with it.’
‘But surely your attire is more last century than this one,’ Winifred observed. ‘Gentlemen haven’t worn frock coats and lace in decades.’
‘I know that, but given Valentine Lawe’s propensity for privacy, I thought a little eccentricity was called for.’
‘This is not at all like you, Laurence,’ his mother said unhappily.
‘No, it is not.’ His smile was slow and puckishly charming. ‘And I rather like the idea because of it.’
Victoria stared at her brother in amusement. There was no denying that the old-fashioned clothing suited him far more than the conservative clothes he wore every day. He had even left off his spectacles and styled his hair in a new and rather dashing way.
‘Well, I think it’s dangerous,’ Winifred stated flatly. ‘Fingers will be pointed at us.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Laurence said. ‘I’m the one wearing the costume. Besides, people are supposed to dress up. Look at you pretending to be a Roman goddess. Where did you get that bow, by the way?’
‘From Miss Jackson’s brother. She asked him if I could borrow it for the evening.’
‘Very realistic. Just be careful you don’t poke anyone’s eye out with it,’ Laurence said, giving her a wide berth. ‘Thank God he didn’t lend you any arrows. By the by, Tory, you look glorious. Is that one of the gowns Uncle Theo brought back from Venice?’
‘Yes. Isn’t it magnificent?’
‘It is stunning, as are you in it. And the mask is very mysterious. I vow I wouldn’t know it was my own sister.’
‘Good, because that is the idea,’ Victoria said, nevertheless setting the mask aside. She would put it on just before they arrived at the house. It did tend to get uncomfortably warm very quickly.
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