No Occupation for a Lady

by Gail Whitiker

  ‘How do you know it was your sister?’

  ‘Because I can trust Laurence to keep my secrets.’

  ‘Can you?’

  For a moment, their eyes met and Victoria felt her cheeks burn. Not surprisingly, she was the first to look away.

  ‘So I take it the rumour is true?’ he said.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I wish to travel.’

  ‘Not to stay in London and find a husband? Your mother cannot be pleased.’

  ‘She is not, but the decision was mine to make.’

  ‘And will they pay for a trip they do not wish you to make?’

  ‘No. I shall,’ Victoria said with an edge of defiance in her tone. ‘The money I earned from my plays will cover any costs I incur.’

  ‘Your plays,’ Alistair said quietly. ‘How curious, when you consider how firmly ensconced your brother now is in the role of Valentine Lawe. I hear he has been called upon to speak at literary gatherings. Some even say he boasts about his newfound fame.’

  ‘Then they have not spoken to him,’ Victoria said quietly. ‘My brother does not boast. It is not in his nature.’

  Alistair met her gaze, held it through a turn, then said, ‘Will you be travelling alone?’

  ‘No. I intend to set off with my maid, but Laurence has expressed an interest in joining me when he can.’

  ‘Really?’ His gaze sharpened. ‘And will he write his next play while the two of you are away?’

  Victoria missed a step. He didn’t believe her. He still thought Laurence was Valentine Lawe. ‘I have no idea what he intends to do,’ she said stiffly. ‘If he wishes to write, I shall not stop him.’

  ‘And what will you do while your brother pens his next great opus? You once told me that writing was your passion. Will you take pen to paper and begin a turbulent love story about a young couple who fall in love against the backdrop of ancient Rome?’ he murmured. ‘A passionate recounting of love won and lost? Or will you be content to while away the hours drinking sweet wine in Florence and painting pictures of sunsets over the rolling Tuscan hills?’

  Victoria briefly closed her eyes. Oh, but he was cruel! To ask such questions in a room full of people where the slightest blush, the merest gasp, would give her away. Truly, he cared nothing for her feelings if he could slight her in such a way. ‘I may do all of those things or none of them,’ she said quietly. ‘But I shall enjoy the freedom of being my own person, of that you can be sure.’

  ‘And will you think of anyone while you are gone?’ he asked.

  The dance came to an end...and Victoria stepped out of his arms. For all her inclination to tell him the truth, there was no way on earth she was going to be honest with him about that. ‘One must have a reason for missing someone, Mr Devlin. I have not been given that reason. In fact, I have been given a great many more reasons for not missing anyone. Good evening.’

  She did not wait for his response. What was the point? Nothing he said now was going to make any difference. He had not apologised to her for his conduct, or made any attempt to smooth over the unresolved issues that lay between them. He had simply asked her a few questions, offered her a meaningless compliment, and then changed the subject. They were no closer to a resolution at the end of the dance than they had been at the beginning.

  And when she saw him later that evening, smiling into the face of a pretty young lady with whom she was not acquainted, Victoria knew Alistair had no intention of settling matters between them. The proof was staring her in the face. Was it any wonder that the future suddenly seemed bleaker, and stretched out longer, than it ever had before?

  * * *

  That night had been by far the worst as far as sleep went. Nightmarish images of Sir Michael Loftus being stabbed by a grinning Prospero while she, not Miranda, wept false tears to the sound of Laurence’s laughter and the audience’s applause, had played havoc with Victoria’s sleep. With such dreams to disturb her slumber, was it any wonder she felt nothing but relief when Angelique arrived to shake her awake in the morning?

  Nor did the rest of the day improve. Victoria went through the motions of paying calls with her sister, but no matter how she strove to occupy her time the reality of her situation did not change. There was no future for her with Alistair Devlin. And it was that realisation in the end that prompted her to make her decision.

  She would leave England now, before her spirits plummeted any further. She would head to the sunny climes of Italy and spend languorous days enjoying the warm Tuscan sun. After all, what reason was there for her to stay in London any longer? Her sister was being courted by any number of eligible gentlemen, Laurence was launched on his new literary career, and her father was once again happily immersed in his books. Even her mother seemed to have accepted the status quo and had taken up her busy social life again. Victoria was the only despondent one now, so why should she not make plans to leave a city that held nothing but unpleasant memories?

  ‘But how can you go without telling him the truth?’ Laurence argued with her over breakfast the next morning.

  ‘Because there is nothing to be gained by it.’ Victoria put down her knife and fork and pushed the plate away. ‘I did everything I could to convince him of the truth, but he doesn’t want to believe I’m Valentine Lawe. Why would he when society has embraced you so whole-heartedly in the role? And with Mr Fulton so close to proposing to Winifred, why would I do something that would only put all of that at risk again?’

  ‘Because your conscience demands that you do!’ Laurence replied. ‘You just said you cannot sleep for the nightmares that fill your head and that your stomach is queasy much of the time. Those feelings won’t go away unless you settle matters between you.’

  ‘There is nothing to settle. If Mr Devlin was open to changing his mind, he would have done so by now. But he has not and I will not go grovelling to him,’ Victoria said. ‘The first lie was mine, but the second was not and he must be the one to apologise now. And he has made it quite clear that he has no intention of doing so!’

  ‘Then I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?’ Laurence said quietly. ‘Here I thought I was doing the right thing by claiming to be Valentine Lawe, when all I’ve done is cost you the man you love. I’m truly sorry, Victoria. I never meant to hurt you.’

  ‘Oh, Laurence, I know that,’ she said, reaching for his hand. ‘You were only trying to protect me. How can I blame you for putting everyone’s needs ahead of your own? It was a selfless and noble thing to do, and it

  really has turned out for the best, all things considered. But surely you can understand why I wish to go away.’

  ‘Because you still love him.’

  She drew back her hand. ‘Yes. And it will tear me apart to see him go on with his life, knowing it could all have turned out so differently.’

  Laurence finished his breakfast and touched the linen napkin to his lips. ‘You can’t go to Italy on your own. But I can’t leave town just yet either.’

  ‘I know, but Angelique will come with me. You can join me when you are able.’

  ‘The play may run for several months. Are you willing to stay away that long?’

  Victoria picked up her teacup. How could she tell him that she could happily have stayed away for ever if it meant never having to face Alistair again? ‘Why don’t we see how it goes? We can write to each other every week, and, in a month’s time, I shall see how I feel. I may love Italy so much I never want to leave.’

  For a time, the patter of the rain on the pavement was the only sound that intruded into the room. Then, ‘Do you think you will ever marry?’ Laurence asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’ It was a question Victoria had asked herself many times. ‘I’m not sure I’m all that suited to marriage. I would rather do something useful with my life and I won’t be ab
le to do that as some man’s wife. Oh, I know you don’t agree, but that’s because you are a man and you see things differently. But I know what avenues are open to me. I am in the enviable position of being able to afford my own establishment and, if I live there alone, I will do so quite happily.’

  ‘So you would be willing to leave London, uncaring that Devlin thought the worst of you,’ Laurence said.

  ‘I cannot afford to care. I know how he feels, Laurie. It’s best I just accept it and carry on with my life. No doubt by the time I return to London, he will be married or engaged and the matter will be at an end once and for all.’

  ‘And will you be happier for knowing that it is?’

  ‘No, but I shall accept it because it is the only thing I can do.’ Victoria didn’t look at him as she said, ‘That is the way it is. There really is nothing more to be said.’

  * * *

  Alistair was dressing for dinner when his butler arrived with a letter. ‘This just came for you, Mr Devlin.’

  Alistair didn’t look at it. ‘Is anyone awaiting a reply?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Then leave it there. I’ll deal with it directly.’

  The butler bowed and placed the letter on the dressing table.

  Alistair stood by while his valet put the finishing touches on his cravat and then brushed down his jacket. Dinner with his family was always a formal occasion and he knew better than to arrive undressed, especially when he was feeling so out of sorts to begin with. He had been in a foul mood ever since his last conversation with Victoria—a conversation he had handled badly and from which he feared there was little hope of redemption.

  And yet he had gone to the soirée hopeful of so much more. Taking Valbourg’s words to heart, he had purposely sought Victoria out, intending to apologise for what he had said in the hopes they might be able to move past their differences and start again. He had wanted to see her smile at him the way she had that day at the orphanage, perhaps even to hear her say she cared for him as much as he did her, and then to relive the intimate moments they had shared at the masquerade.

  But she had not said or done any of those things. When he had taken her in his arms and led her on to the dance floor, she had remained stiff and unyielding in his embrace, with her eyes averted and her beautiful little chin raised in defiance.

  Only once when he had pulled her close and swept her into a turn had her composure deserted her. Her hand had trembled in his, and when he had looked into her face and seen evidence of her confusion, he had rejoiced in the knowledge that she wasn’t as unaffected by his nearness as she wanted him to believe. Unfortunately, instead of acting on his instincts and confronting her about her feelings, he had done the worst thing possible.

  He had changed the subject. After thanking her for her donation to the orphanage, he had asked her if she really was leaving London—and if she would miss anyone while she was gone.

  Stupid, really, since they’d both known who he was asking about.

  But again, there had been no warmth in her voice when she had told him, in the most unforgiving of tones, that one must have a reason for missing someone and that she had not been given a reason by anyone. That she had, in fact, been given more reasons not to miss anyone.

  The harshness of her words had kept him awake long into the night that followed and had caused him any number of sleepless nights since. But it was the memory of her eyes...and of that fleeting glimpse of remorse...that had buoyed him up and given him hope. If she’d no feelings for him at all, she would not have looked at him that way. She would have regarded him with ambivalence and disdain.

  But it was not disdain that had caused her body to tremble in his arms.

  It wasn’t much, but it was enough to convince Alistair that matters were not as hopeless as they seemed. If he let Victoria walk out of his life without making one last attempt at putting things right, he was a bigger fool than he already believed himself to be...

  ‘Your gloves, sir,’ his valet said. ‘And I’ve ordered the carriage brought around.’

  Alistair glanced down at his gloves, his mind on something else entirely. ‘Thank you, Beech. Don’t bother waiting up. I’ll go on to my club after I leave my parents.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  The valet bowed and quietly withdrew. It was only after the door closed behind him that Alistair remembered the letter. His brow furrowed when he saw who it was from and he held it for a moment before breaking the seal and reading it through, first with disbelief, then with a growing sense of surprised pleasure. He read it a second time, then thoughtfully set it back down on the table. Was it possible...?

  He drew out his watch and flipped it open. It was half past six now and he wasn’t expected at his parents until eight. The letter asked that he call before seven—timing that coincided exactly with his own plans. Coincidence or something more?

  Alistair drew on his gloves, walked purposefully down the stairs and out to the waiting carriage, and gave the coachman the direction of Green Street.

  * * *

  Victoria glanced at the letter in her hand and felt her pulse begin to race. ‘He wishes to call upon me?’ She raised startled eyes to her brother’s. ‘Why?’

  ‘How should I know?’ Laurence asked. ‘I’m only the messenger.’

  Victoria returned her attention to Alistair’s letter. The writing was little more than a scrawl, as though he had written it in haste, but the message was very clear.

  He wanted to see her. Tonight. There were things that needed to be said. Matters that needed to be discussed. And he was hopeful of a positive resolution.

  Victoria glanced briefly at the clock. It was six forty-two. The letter said he would call before seven. She had less than twenty minutes in which to make up her mind. Twenty minutes to decide whether she would take this unexpected opportunity to try to set things right, or accept that it was too late and move on.

  She thought of the night he had kissed her in the garden. A night when he had spoken from his heart and when anything had seemed possible...

  ‘What do you think, Laurence?’ Victoria said, getting to her feet. ‘The blue silk or the lavender?’

  * * *

  She was seated at the pianoforte when Alistair arrived. Having been too distracted to read, Victoria had turned to her music, knowing it would occupy both her hands and her thoughts. But when she heard the knock at precisely seven o’clock, her mind went blank and her fingers fell silent upon the keys.

  Behind her, Laurence stood up. ‘It’s time, dearest.’

  Victoria nodded, wishing the butterflies swirling madly in her stomach would go away.

  ‘You look beautiful, by the way,’ he whispered as she rose from the bench to stand beside him. ‘The lavender was the perfect choice.’

  Victoria managed a shaky smile. She had decided on the lavender gown, not because she knew she looked well in it, but because it reminded her of the flowers that grew so abundantly around their home in Kent, a place where she had always felt safe and secure. As for the rest of her appearance, there had not been time for Angelique to fuss with her hair so Victoria had gathered it into a simple chignon. She wore no jewellery and, as pale as her complexion had been, she was glad she hadn’t let Angelique reach for the rouge pot. Judging by the warmth in her cheeks now, she doubted there was any need for enhancement. Alistair had already accused her of behaving like an actress. She didn’t want him thinking she looked like one, too.

  ‘Mr Devlin,’ the butler announced formally.

  ‘Thank you, Quince,’ Laurence said. ‘Good evening, Mr Devlin.’

  ‘Bretton.’ Alistair advanced slowly into the room. ‘Miss Bretton.’

  ‘Mr Devlin,’ Victoria said, the sound of his voice causing her pulse to quicken. She raised her eyes to his. ‘Won’t you sit down?’
>
  ‘Thank you, but I prefer to stand.’

  ‘As you wish.’ Her voice was calm, but her insides were quaking. He didn’t seem angry. If anything, he seemed uncertain and perhaps a touch apprehensive. ‘To what do we owe the pleasure of your call?’

  A faint smile appeared on his lips. ‘I thought you would be the one to tell me. I am here at your request.’

  ‘My request?’ Victoria’s eyes flickered briefly to her brother’s. ‘There must be some mistake. Your letter said you wished to see me.’

  ‘My letter?’

  ‘Yes. The one I received not more than twenty minutes ago. One in which you said you wished to pay a call on me this evening.’

  Alistair’s dark brows drew together in confusion. ‘I sent you no letter, Miss Bretton. I am here, in part, because I received a letter from you asking me to call between the hours of half past six and seven. In it, you gave me reason to believe this would be a private interview.’

  ‘And it will be, Mr Devlin,’ Laurence said calmly. ‘Once I’ve said what I brought you both to this room to hear.’

  ‘You brought us here?’ Victoria stared at her brother in bewilderment. ‘You sent the letter?’

  ‘Yes. And the one to Mr Devlin, signed with your name.’

  ‘Really?’ In an instant, Alistair’s expression changed, his smile vanishing, his eyes turning hard as stone. ‘How interesting. It would seem I have been treated to yet another display of your family’s formidable talents, Miss Bretton. You’ll forgive me if I don’t stay—’

  ‘Wait!’ Laurence interrupted. ‘Hear me out, Devlin. For my sister’s sake, if not for my own. She had nothing to do with this deceit.’

  ‘Then you admit it is a deceit,’ Alistair said harshly.

  ‘Of course, but I was damned if I was going to let the two of you go your own separate ways without making at least some attempt to clear up this wretched misunderstanding.’

  ‘Laurence, you are meddling in matters that don’t concern you,’ Victoria said, mortified that her brother would interfere in such a way.