Tom wondered at the odd sensation he felt when he heard her say ‘Thomas.’ Usually he didn’t care for the formal version of his name, but the way she said it, in the dark, had him wishing she would continue saying it. “Forgive me. I tend to forget that my sisters had the benefit of an education because my father wouldn’t have had it any other way.”
She furrowed a brow. “‘Tell me truthfully, do they think he’s done them a favor?”
Hearing the chiding tone in her voice, Tom asked, “Are you implying ignorance is bliss?”
“Perhaps,” she hedged. “If you do not know what you are missing, then you never miss it.”
Tom inhaled softly. “And what are you missing, my lady?”
He heard her soft chuckle and winced when she said, “The world.”
For a moment, Tom imagined what it would be like to travel with the woman. What it would be like to show her the wonders of the world. To be the first one to see her reactions to the sights and sounds of foreign lands. To eat strange foods and dance to music unlike any played in a ballroom.
To share in her awe.
“I’m of a mind to send your father a letter asking if I—”
“Don’t you dare,” she said quickly.
Tom straightened in the squabs, just as the coach came to a stuttering halt. Glancing out the window, he was stunned to discover they were already in Maiden Lane, the restaurant only a few doors down from where the coach had parked.
He stood, bending over nearly in half due to his height, and opened the door before the driver could step down from his seat. Turning around, he offered his hand, and Victoria placed hers on it.
“As you wish, my lady,” Tom conceded, concerned when she seemed to need him for support as she struggled while stepping down from the coach. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, as his other arm wrapped around her waist to steady her until she had both feet beneath her.
He closed the door and gave the driver a nod. “We’ll either be ten minutes or two hours,” he said before he offered his arm.
Victoria inhaled sharply. “An hour-and-a-half,” she called up to the driver. “Mayhap two.”
“Yes, my lady,” the driver acknowledged.
It was then Tom realized the driver was Thompson, the groom from the stables at Fairmont Park.
No wonder Lady Victoria wasn’t concerned about highwaymen or would-be kidnappers. Her driver was armed.
“Shall we?”
Victoria regarded him with an expression that might have been capitulation or resignation. “Lead the way, Mr. Grandby.”
Tom winced. “Would you consider calling me Thomas on this night? Or Tom?” He nodded to the footman who opened the door of the restaurant.
“Only this night?” she countered as she stepped into the dimly-lit establishment.
The scents of freshly-baked bread and grilled meats filled the air, and Tom surreptitiously inhaled as he allowed his eyes to adjust to the dark interior. “For the rest of time, if you’d like,” he replied as he gave a nod to the host who acknowledged their arrival.
They were quickly led to a table in the corner, a single candle lamp providing the light by which to read the menu board. Before the waiter could step away, Tom said, “A bottle of champagne and some oysters, if you would.”
“Right away, sir.”
The waiter hurried off as Tom held Victoria’s chair. “Are we in a hurry?” she asked as she settled into the chair.
“You told our driver an hour-and-a-half,” he reminded her as he took his seat across from her, a grin teasing the corners of his lips.
“I didn’t mean to be difficult,” she said, her haughtiness from their moment outside of the coach replaced with what seemed like doubt.
“I think your definition of ‘difficult’ is different from mine,” Tom replied lightly. “I merely wanted him to stay put for a time until I knew if tonight’s fare suited you.” He picked up the menu board and held it to the light from the candle lamp. “What do you like? Or what has been your favorite when you’ve eaten here in the past?”
“Do they have quail? Or pheasant?”
Tom scanned the list. “Seems they have both on this night. Have you a preference?”
Her gaze darted about the dining room before she turned her attention back to him. “Pheasant will do fine.”
Tom furrowed a brow. “Is something wrong, my lady?”
She seemed about to answer and then her eyes once again scanned the room. “Are people staring?”
“I rather imagine the men are,” he said with a quirked brow.
Her eyes widened. “Why? Is there something—?”
“My lady, you are a beautiful woman. A man would have to be a monk not to notice you, and I rather imagine there are a few of those who would regret having taken vows if they saw you.”
Victoria straightened and stared at him. “Do you say that to flatter me?”
“Of course not. I say it in defense of those of my sex,” he replied as a waiter appeared with a bottle of champagne. He poured two glasses and set the bottle on the table before another waiter set a plate of oysters between them.
The half-shells were artfully displayed on a scalloped ceramic dish. Tom had a mind to ask from where the restaurant might have acquired the serving tray. He thought of the pottery restorer at the museum, the one that had captured Gabe Wellingham’s eye, and apparently his heart. She might have made dishes such as this when she was employed at Wedgwood’s studio in Staffordshire.
Tom offered Victoria a glass of the champagne and she took it, her attention going to the the rising bubbles. “Shall we toast to our business arrangement?” he asked as he touched the rim of his glass to hers.
“Indeed. May it go as planned,” she said before taking a sip.
Watching as she sampled the bubbly and then an oyster, Tom grew more curious about the young lady. He was about to ask her why she had decided on steam buses as an investment when there were so many other options, but the waiter returned to take their order.
Tom spoke in low tones, ordering the pheasant and a few side dishes, as well as a white wine.
“I’ve not had oysters served like this,” Victoria commented. She helped herself to another as Tom downed one.
“They offer a variety. If you don’t care for them like this, I can have them bring something different.”
“Oh, these are fine,” she insisted, bringing another to her lips. About to swallow, her eyes suddenly widened, and she quickly brought her napkin to her lips.
“I’ll have them taken away—”
“No,” she said as she held up a hand. “It’s...” She paused to surreptitiously pull something from between her lips. She held the white sphere between her thumb and forefinger, bringing it next to the flame of the candle lamp.
“A pearl,” Tom said in awe. A huge grin split his face. “Congratulations.”
Victoria blinked, quickly glancing around as if she feared others might have seen what had happened. Then she stared at the jewel for a moment before lifting her gaze to Tom’s. “A pearl? What’s it doing in my oyster?”
Tom blinked. “It’s where they come from,” he replied.
“Oysters?” she questioned.
Thinking of the Ancient Greek vase in his office, the one depicting Aphrodite’s birth, Tom realized he had never thought of the goddess as a pearl. Perhaps she was the embodiment of the iridescent gemstone. “Indeed. The jewel of the sea,” Tom said with a grin.
“But... but how?”
For once glad his father had seen to an education that included the natural sciences, Tom said, “A pearl is the result of a mere grain of sand.”
“What?”
“It’s an irritant to an oyster. When sand makes its way inside of an oyster shell, the oyster coats it with a substance that smooths and hardens over time,” he explained. “So if you were able to break that pearl in half, you would probably find a grain of sand at its center.”
“I had no idea,” she murm
ured.
“You’ll have to take it to Ludgate Hill. Have a jeweler make it into a pendant or a brooch,” Tom said. “If you—or I—find another on this night, you can have them made into earbobs.”
Victoria grinned in delight. “Are they really so common?”
Tom sobered. “Probably not,” he replied. “Or they would not be worth so much.” He motioned to the one she still held. “Do you have a pocket where you might safely stow it away?” he asked. “If not, I can hold it in my waistcoat pocket for you.”
Victoria took a moment to consider his offer before she held it out to him. “Could you keep it for me?” she asked. “I did not bring a reticule.”
“Of course,” he said as he took it from her. He studied it a moment, heartened to see that it was perfectly round and evenly colored. Flanked by a pair of diamonds or rubies or sapphires, it would make a beautiful ring. He stuffed it into his pocket. “Shall we see if we can find a match?”
But Victoria was already helping herself to another oyster, her enthusiasm for the shell fish apparent.
“Tell me, my lady, how could a father in his right mind allow his youngest daughter to move to London to manage one of his estates? Without so much as a brother living nearby?”
Sobering, Victoria stared at Tom, the oyster on her fork forgotten. “Well, it’s as you say,” she replied before allowing a long sigh.
Tom stared at her, reviewing the words he had just spoken.
In his right mind.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, remembering what Lord Michael had said about their father. That he was forgetful. Confused. Apparently Jeremy Statton was no longer in his right mind. Tom’s brows furrowed. “What’s happened to Somerset?”
Victoria’s shoulders slumped. “At first, he was just... forgetful. He would walk into a room and glance around as if he had no idea why he was there,” she said in a quiet voice. “Then he didn’t know what day of the week it was.” Her eyes brightened with unshed tears. “One day, he didn’t recognize Mother. Accused her of being a thief.”
Tom groaned, already knowing what came next. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured.
“It would not have been so bad if Jerry hadn’t taken advantage of the situation,” she said, referring to her oldest brother and the heir to the Somerset dukedom. “He saw it as an opportunity to pilfer from my father’s accounts and squander it. To gamble away a fortune. To behave as a... as a rake,” she whispered.
“When was this?”
“Last spring. Even before that,” she quickly amended.
“Your father did have moments where he was aware enough to see what was happening?” Tom hinted. The kind of dementia she was describing rarely happened all at once.
“A few,” she agreed. “At times he admonished Jerry. Threatened to cut him off, but...” She shook her head. “My younger brother, Michael, knew what had to be done. He saw to dividing the three unentailed properties. I took Fairmont Park because I knew I could raise horses there, and Father, in one of his more lucid moments, signed over my inheritance to me,” she explained. “My sister and her husband see to an estate with farms in Wiltshire. And Michael manages the townhouse in Mayfair as well as some cottages down in Hove. He lives in our summer house in Brighton.”
“And your mother?” Tom thought of Elizabeth Cunningham Statton, the Duchess of Somerset, remembering when her older brother, Michael Cunningham, had once introduced them in Brighton. A vivacious woman, the duchess was a close friend of the Earl of Haddon’s sister, Elizabeth Bennett-Jones, Viscountess Bostwick. Tom secretly hoped the duchess had sought help and solace from the viscountess.
“She sees to my father. There are good days and some... not so good,” she murmured. “She’ll never leave him, of course. She lives for the moments he is himself.”
“He’s not that old,” Tom murmured.
“True. But the dukedom will surely be lost when Jerry inherits. Lost due to debt.”
Tom’s eyes suddenly widened. “Which is why you invested your inheritance. To keep it protected from him,” he claimed, once again remembering Lord Michael’s reason for his visit the week before.
Victoria nodded, her mood brightening at hearing his words. “You have the right of it,” she agreed, just as a waiter appeared with their meals. “Oh, my,” she murmured, her gaze taking in the array of foods that were set before them. “Were you expecting others to join us?”
Tom allowed a guffaw. “My appetite may have been larger than my stomach,” he said as he grinned. “I expect you to help, my lady.”
Victoria dropped her gaze on the oysters, intrigued at the thought she might find another pearl. Instead, she concentrated on the pheasant and potatoes as Tom put voice to assurances that her investment would be safe from her brother.
They spoke of steam buses and Brighton, of horse racing and life outside of London, and finally of her friendship with Juliet.
“Kindred spirits, I take it?” Tom suggested.
Victoria grinned. “We are, all because of horses, I suppose. And because...” She stopped, her eyes darting to the side. “Because of our marital status.”
Tom dipped his head. “If the Earl of Haddon has his way, Juliet will eventually be the Marchioness of Morganfield.”
Blinking, Victoria took a breath and then sighed. “He fell and hit his head and... now he’s... he’s back to being the agreeable man he once was.”
“So I noticed. I had drinks with him last night at White’s.”
“Oh?”
“I had just come out of White’s after having drinks with a couple of my cousins when Haddon stopped me. He looked so young, and he was dressed so conservatively, I almost didn’t recognize him.”
Victoria grinned. “I’m not sure what I think of his infatuation with Juliet,” she murmured. “Of course I wish her the best match. And Haddon has made it known he will allow her whatever she wants, but—”
“Which means she could still spend Tuesdays at Fairmont Park,” Tom suggested.
Brightening at hearing his comment, Victoria said, “True.” Her expression grew thoughtful. “He’s old enough to be her father.”
“I thought that, too,” Tom agreed, “But it’s not so unusual. If she can keep him in his place, she might find marriage to him preferable to spinsterhood.”
Victoria’s eyes widened before she hid her mouth behind a hand. “Thomas!” she scolded. “I rather doubt you would ever allow a woman to keep you in your place,” she countered.
He stared at her a moment, thinking she had been quite successful with him a few times. If by some strange or unusual circumstance the two of them were ever to end up together, he feared they might end up at odds with one another more often than not. “Depends on the woman, I suppose,” he said, one brow arching. “I used to think my mother managed my father, but... then something would happen, and all I would notice for a time was him managing her.”
“And now?” she prompted.
Tom allowed a shrug. “Now I think they trade off managing one another.”
She grinned. “What you’re missing is what each of them has taken to managing,” she remarked. “My parents are the same... were the same way. Mother sees to what’s important to her and father... father saw to all the rest.”
“It sounds as if Lord Michael may have taken up your father’s mantle.”
Nodding, Victoria allowed another sigh. “I really wish he was the heir and not the spare.”
“Like your father?”
Victoria’s head jerked up. Jeremy Statton—Lord Jeremy—had been the second son, inheriting the dukedom when his father and older brother had both drowned in a boating accident. “Exactly,” she whispered. “Do you remember that?”
Tom gave a start. “I’m not that old, my lady.” In fact, he was fairly sure he hadn’t yet been born when Lord Jeremy inherited. He cleared his throat. “Do I look that old?”
Victoria tittered. “No, of course not. I forget sometimes that there are people here in L
ondon who read deBrett’s.”
“Required reading for one in my line of work,” Tom replied. “I shouldn’t wish to offend an aristocrat looking to invest in a lucrative railway endeavor.”
“So... you read about me... about my family? Before you met with me?”
Tom shook his head. “Truth be told, I did not. Lord Michael... he’s already an investor,” he explained. “Has been for a couple of years. He paid a call at my office last week and asked if I might meet with you. He seemed especially concerned about Lord Jeremiah’s plans, and wanted to be sure he was prevented from undermining yours.”
“Deliberately so,” she said. “I did not wish to do business with you if... what if you and my older brother were known to one another? I could not take the chance he would discover what I was planning with my inheritance.”
Tom gazed at her with appreciation. “Well done, my lady,” he said as he refilled her wine glass, the bottle emptying as he did so. “Would you like me to order another?”
She shook her head, aware of the distant buzz from having drunk too much champagne and then the wine. “Only if you want more. I fear I will be foxed should I drink another glass.”
Attempting to suppress a grin, Tom said, “Have you ever been foxed?”
Victoria rolled her eyes. “Once. With Juliet. And I shall never do it again.”
He chuckled and then sobered. “There’s still brandy to be had at my office,” he reminded her as he passed some bills to the waiter who appeared to clear their dishes.
“Then let’s not keep it waiting,” she said as she moved to stand.
Tom was immediately by her side, holding out a hand to assist her. He felt her grip on him tighten as she rose and was about to take a step.
“Apologies, but my foot—”
“I’ve got you,” he said as he reached out with his other hand, placing his body so she was shielded from the gazes of other diners.
“You’re terribly close,” she whispered.
“Just until you’re on your feet,” he murmured.
When she was standing and he was sure she could walk, Tom gave her more space. The two made their way to the exit, several patrons acknowledging Tom with nods or quiet greetings.
The Choice of a Cavalier (The Heirs of the Aristocracy Book 3) Page 15