by Meggin Cabot
“Lord Malfrey is in love with you himself, Vicky,” Rebecca reminded her very nicely, as the two girls walked together back toward the picnic blankets. “Naturally he thinks everyone else should be, as well. Besides, I told you, I don’t care a whit for Jacob Carstairs anymore. Mr. Abbott is ten times the man the captain is.”
Victoria heard this with great approval. She agreed wholeheartedly, of course, and said so. Charles Abbott, she pointed out, was handsomer, kinder, and far, far more intelligent than Jacob Carstairs, because Charles Abbott had had the good taste to fall in love with Rebecca—not even to mention the fact that he wore his collar points at an appropriate height.
“I do think, however,” Rebecca said, with a glance over her shoulder at their two suitors, who followed some few yards behind them, “that it wasn’t entirely… well, ladylike of you to stop that boy the way you did. You really ought to have left it to the men.”
Victoria heard this with raised eyebrows and a startled exclamation. “But, Becky, if I’d done that, he’d have gotten away with your bag!”
“So I’d have lost a hair comb and fifty pence,” Rebecca said with a shrug. “It would not have been as bad as losing my dignity, which I fear you did a bit, Vicky, when you… well, did what you did. Why, even now, some of your hair’s hanging down.”
Victoria reached up to tuck the wayward strand back beneath her bonnet. She felt a prickle of irritation with her cousin, whom she could only decide was the most ungrateful creature on earth. After all she’d done for her, too, first convincing her of Jacob Carstairs’s lack of worth as a potential husband, then arranging for the very handsome and desirable Mr. Abbott to fall in love with her, and then rescuing her reticule! Why, this was not even including the incredible improvements Victoria had made on her cousin’s home, what with the banishment of the tureen of beef, the turning of Mariah into an undeniably professional lady’s maid, and forcing her younger cousins to act like quiet, well-behaved boys and girls.
And this was the thanks she got for all her very hard work! ‘Not entirely ladylike!’
It seemed to Victoria as if her many talents might never be suitably recognized—or appreciated—by anyone. For in order to complete the transformation she was planning on Lord Malfrey—turning him from titled but penniless peer into a man of wealth as well as privilege— she would have to progress with careful subtlety, so that he might never know she was managing him all along. For men hated nothing more than a woman who meddled in their business. Weren’t her uncles a prime example? Why, they had sent her all the way to England when it finally dawned upon them that that was precisely what she’d been doing since the age of five.
Well, it was, she supposed, the cross that people such as herself must bear. It was entirely possible that her most selfless actions might never be acknowledged by those for whom they were exerted. Sad, but true.
Still, Victoria would not allow self-pity to creep into her thoughts. She had a good deal to be thankful for, after all, and those things included, of course, her forty thousand pounds, her sound teeth and constitution, her exceptionally fine ankles, and most important, her talent for tidying up things that had become, well, messy. For who didn’t long for an existence free from unpleasant drama and catastrophes? That was why people like Victoria had been put upon the earth: to work at preventing such things.
And as soon as she was married, Victoria knew the very first catastrophe she’d correct: her mother-in-law’s hair. If the dowager could not be persuaded to allow it to gray naturally, Victoria could, at least, convince her to wear a wig in a more natural shade than the ebony black of her current tresses.
Really, but it did seem at times as if Victoria’s work might never be done. She still had all of the footmen’s coat sleeves to search, as well. Because over her dead body was a single one of them going to escape with a scrap of the silver her future mother-in-law had hired for the occasion.
At Victoria’s expense, of course.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“But are you certain you want to go, Becky?” Victoria inquired of her cousin, with what she hoped would be taken for very ladylike concern. “Because we needn’t stay if you don’t feel entirely up to it.”
Rebecca, descending from the coach-and-four with care, for she was attired in another of Victoria’s borrowed gowns, this one in the palest of pinks, looked cross.
“I told you before, Vicky,” she said irritably, “it is nothing to me. He is nothing to me.”
Victoria was very relieved to hear this. Still, she was not entirely convinced.
“Because we can still give our excuses, you know,” she said in a low voice as the two girls trailed behind Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, as they ascended the stone steps to the front door of Jacob Carstairs’s Mayfair town house. “We can say I’m not feeling well, and turn right around for home.”
Becky cast her cousin a disparaging look over one slim shoulder. She had been, ever since learning of her mother’s acceptance of Captain Carstairs’s invitation to dine, coolly indifferent about the situation. But that, Victoria was quite certain, was all an act.
Or so Victoria had thought, until her cousin’s next words hit her like a slap in the face.
“If you ask me, Vicky,” Rebecca said in a very sour voice, “you’re the one who seems to have a problem dining at Captain Carstairs’s table this evening. For I certainly don’t care. My affections belong entirely to another now.”
Victoria, exceedingly taken aback, declared, “I beg your pardon, Becky, but I do not have a problem with dining at Captain Carstairs’s table this evening. Far from it. It’s you I cannot help feeling concerned for. You did, after all, once confess yourself in love with him.”
“I’m not half as in love with him as you are, Vicky,” said Becky very snidely indeed.
And when Victoria—as she had every right to—let out a snort of indignation at this, her cousin had the nerve to add, “Well, anyone who hates a man half so much as you profess to hate Captain Carstairs can only be in love with him. In fact, I think Lord Malfrey and I got it all wrong: It isn’t the captain who’s in love with you. It’s you who’s in love with the captain.”
It was on the tip of Victoria’s tongue to tell her cousin precisely what she thought of this very absurd statement—not to mention what she thought of Becky herself—when the front door to Captain Carstairs’s town house was thrown open, and they were all ushered inside by an extremely competent butler.
“Girls,” Victoria’s aunt said through gritted teeth as her wrap was being taken, “kindly do not squabble so. Mr. Gardiner and I would like to have a pleasant meal with Captain Carstairs and his mother.”
“I am not the one who is squabbling,” Victoria asserted, flattening a hand to her chest. “I am only defending myself against your daughter, who seems to be casting aspersions against my character.”
Becky said in a hiss, “I am doing nothing of the kind!”
“What do you call accusing a person of being engaged to one man but in love with another?” Victoria replied in a hiss of her own.
“I call her by her name, Lady Victoria Arbuthnot,” Becky snapped.
And in truth it was a good thing that Captain Carstairs’s butler announced them just then, or Cousin Becky might have found her ears boxed; Victoria was that incensed.
Well, and what else could she have expected, really? Victoria’s ayah had warned her that few, if any, people seemed to know what was best for them, and that Victoria should not expect anyone to be grateful for the very kind help she was continuously offering them. The red ants Victoria saved from drowning by coaxing them onto a stick and rescuing them from the gardener’s watering can would turn around and sting her at their first opportunity. And the mongrel she saved from the village children’s stones would bite her, even as she attempted to feed it.
But for Becky to have accused her of being in love with Jacob Carstairs—Jacob Carstairs! Why, that was the cruelest blow Victoria had ever received. What could Victoria ev
er have done to put such a ridiculous idea in her cousin’s head? She had had nothing but contempt and ill words for Jacob Carstairs since the very unfortunate day they’d met. What could her cousin possibly be thinking?
The butler showed them into a well-appointed room, high ceilinged and very airy. Jacob Carstairs’s home, Victoria saw at once, was pleasant and tastefully decorated. This was due entirely, Victoria was certain, to the handsome and dignified woman introduced to her as Mrs. Carstairs, Jacob’s mother, who clasped her hand warmly and said, “Lady Victoria, what a pleasure to meet you.”
Mrs. Carstairs, Victoria noted with approval, had allowed her hair to turn gray, and the silver tinge added considerably to the lady’s charm. It was, in fact, incredible to Victoria that so unaffected and natural a woman could have given birth to an unpleasant young man like Jacob Carstairs.
That individual stood by the fire—lit, of course, for though it was summer it rained, as it had virtually without stopping since Victoria’s arrival—looking very content with himself indeed. Well, and why shouldn’t he? Clearly his intention in inviting Victoria to dine in his home was to show her how very wrong she’d been in her low estimation of him. Wasn’t that a Gainsborough hanging above his mantel? And weren’t those Dresden shepherdesses on his sideboard? As if, simply because he owned these fine things, his opinion on Lord Malfrey’s character ought to be trusted! How rich. Victoria wanted to laugh, but she was still too upset over her cousin’s cruel remarks to do more than answer yes and no to Mrs. Carstairs’s gentle questions about how Victoria was liking her stay in London thus far.
What, Victoria could only sit and wonder, as the others sipped champagne and chatted amiably about the very topics Victoria most adored, India and the military, could Becky have meant when she’d accused her of being in love with Captain Carstairs? Wasn’t it perfectly obvious whom she was in love with? Wasn’t she, in fact, wearing his ring?
Becky was merely jealous. Yes, that had to be it. Becky was still in love with Captain Carstairs, and she was jealous because Victoria was marrying the man of her dreams, while the man of Becky’s dreams did not seem even to know she was alive. Really, if she thought about it, it was a very pitiable situation indeed. Poor Becky, still so deeply in love with the captain that she lashed out at the very person who’d tried so valiantly to cure her of that unfortunate malady! And poor Mr. Abbott, who was so genuinely smitten with the eldest Miss Gardiner!
But most of all, of course, poor Victoria, who was the one forced to bear the brunt of her cousin’s unhappiness in the form of some very unfair barbs at her own expense!
Well, Victoria supposed there were martyrs who’d fared far worse and survived. Really, being accused of being in love with a man she could not abide was far better than being shot with poisoned darts or bitten by asps.
Or so Victoria supposed.
By the time the gong sounded for dinner, Victoria had roused herself with thoughts like these, and was actually able to join in on the conversation—which was, she had to admit, a far livelier one than any she’d enjoyed so far with her fiancé and his mother, who had a rather dull tendency to talk of nothing but people with whom Victoria was not acquainted. And the food, Victoria noted with approval, was superbly prepared and elegantly served, proving that Jacob Carstairs’s mother was not only a charming hostess but competent with the staff as well, a pair of skills that rarely went hand in hand.
Really, Victoria thought with some amusement as she swallowed a mouthful of savory fruit compote. It is just as well I am not in love with Jacob Carstairs—nor he with me—because it wouldn’t do to marry him at all. His house is already perfect, run to perfection by his mother. And he already has money. Why, he doesn’t need me a bit. I wouldn’t have a thing to occupy my time all day long. I feel sorry for whomever he does end up marrying. She’ll have a very dull time of it.
Victoria became even more convinced of this when it came time for the men to disappear for cigars and brandy while the women repaired to the drawing room for coffee. Mrs. Carstairs even gossiped divinely! She did not, of course, say anything that could at all be construed as malicious—she was much too ladylike for that—but she did mention a certain young lady whom her son had happened to see at a picnic at a park who—and here Victoria feared very much she would hear about her own little escapade with a certain footpad, and glanced nervously at Rebecca lest she give away the identity of this young lady with her surprised reaction….
But it turned out she needn’t have feared, since the young lady Mrs. Carstairs was speaking of was the one who’d dampened her skirts to make them cling more provocatively to her legs. Victoria blushed nonetheless, knowing now that Jacob had noticed the scandalously clad girl at Lord Malfrey’s picnic, and had relayed her description—though not, apparently, the fact that Victoria and her cousin had been at the event as well.
“It really does make me so very relieved,” Mrs. Carstairs went on as she passed Victoria a plate of sugared wafers, “that my own daughter is married and grown, with a baby of her own. For I do not think I could raise a girl in this day and age—though you, Beatrice, seem to manage quite well. Still, I don’t envy you. So many young women today seem so wild! Imagine, soaking your skirts with water on purpose! Why, you could catch your death.”
Victoria, nibbling on one of the wafers, regarded Mrs. Carstairs with interest. So Jacob had an elder sister! A sister old enough to be married with a child. How intriguing. Victoria could not picture the very self-assured captain with a sister, particularly an elder one. She wondered if Jacob’s sister had ever tortured him when he was younger the way she and Rebecca, when they were very bored, enjoyed torturing her younger brothers, by sprinkling them with rosewater through the stairwell and dressing their hair in bows while they slept.
Victoria did not have time to wonder about this for long, since soon the men joined them again, and the conversation shifted back to less scandalous topics. The fact that there was to be a full moon that night, and that an eyeglass Captain Carstairs had ordered all the way from Italy was newly arrived, led everyone—with the exception of Mr. Gardiner, who had fallen asleep in a chair by the fire—out to the terrace leading off the drawing room, where they took turns peering through the lens—though with all the clouds, only the barest glimpse of the moon could be seen. The damp soon drove the other ladies back inside, but Victoria was determined to stay outside until she saw, as Rebecca had, the Dead Sea, and she refused to budge until the swiftly moving clouds overhead parted enough to award her a view.
To her irritation, Jacob Carstairs stayed outside as well… no doubt, she told herself bitterly, to make sure she did not drop or otherwise harm his precious new plaything.
“You needn’t fear for footpads out here,” she informed him very sarcastically. “I promise I shan’t let anyone steal it.”
“No,” Captain Carstairs said with the tiniest of smiles, visible in the candlelight that spilled through the terrace doors. “I don’t imagine that you would. I rather fear for any footpads that come your way.”
Victoria snorted. “That certainly wasn’t what you were saying the other day.”
“I was in a foul mood the other day,” Jacob admitted. “I meant to ask your pardon for that.”
Victoria, exceedingly surprised that Jacob Carstairs would ask her pardon for anything, only raised her eyebrows, keeping her gaze on the bright patch in the clouds, behind which she knew loomed the moon.
“Aren’t you going to ask me,” Jacob asked, after some seconds of silence passed between them, “why I was in such a foul mood?”
“No,”Victoria replied sweetly.
“Well, I intend to tell you anyway,” Jacob said.
And then he did something so extraordinary that Victoria very nearly had to pinch herself to make certain she wasn’t dreaming. He reached for the terrace doors, which had been left partly open, and pulled them shut. Then, from his waistcoat pocket, he extracted a key, and locked them…
…with the two o
f them outside!
Victoria—her eyes, she was quite sure, as large as peacock eggs—inquired pointedly, “Are you mad?”
“Probably,” Jacob Carstairs replied, dropping the key back into his pocket—which, Victoria supposed, was proof that he hadn’t completely lost his mind… if he had, undoubtedly he’d have tossed the key over the side of the balcony. Then, reaching for one of the wrought iron chairs, he spun it toward Victoria, gave the damp seat a wipe with his handkerchief, and said, “Sit.”
Victoria, very much affronted—but positively intrigued—by his behavior, replied with spirit, “I most certainly shall not.”
“Fine,” Jacob replied, putting the chair back where he’d gotten it. “Now you are going to listen to me.”
Victoria realized that she did not have much of a choice. Unless she hurled herself over the side of the terrace—a drop of some twenty feet to the garden below— she could not help but listen to him. She supposed she could have banged on the terrace doors and alerted those inside of her plight. Her uncle Walter might be strong enough to break down the doors and rescue her… if he could be roused from his nap.
She was, however, mightily interested in what it was that Jacob Carstairs had gone to such drastic lengths to tell her. Were Hugo and Becky, she wondered, correct in their assertions that Captain Carstairs was in love with her? Was such a thing even possible? How could Jacob Carstairs possibly be in love with her, when for the entire time she’d known him he’d done nothing but vex and tease her? What sort of man showed his love for a woman in such a manner?
But then, recalling what Rebecca had said to her just that evening, it occurred to her that perhaps it was because of Jacob Carstairs’s great passion for her that he’d taken to calling her Miss Bee and putting down her attempts to make things tidy. Perhaps what Rebecca had accused Victoria of—of hating Jacob Carstairs so passionately, she could only be in love with him—was actually true of the captain?