She graced Tom with a quick and rather cold greeting before asking, “Will one of you please tell me why my daughter appears to have emerged from a pond?”
Vicky inhaled. She related the events of the morning, ending miserably with the information that Tom wanted to speak with her father about the incident.
Any traces of disapproval in her mother’s eyes disappeared as she embraced Vicky. “Oh, my poor, dear girl! How could this have happened? I must tell your father at once. How dreadful for this to occur on the same day . . .” Instead of finishing the thought, she held Vicky at arm’s length to inspect her from head to toe. Her light brown brows wove together.
Vicky frowned. “The same day as what, Mama?”
Her mother’s green eyes darted to Tom. “This is no small matter.”
Vicky bit her lip. Her mama was always so composed, always ready to handle any family crisis or household trifle. Perhaps she was just concerned, but her distraction seemed to point to some other emotion. Could it be fear? “Do not worry, Mama. The man must be halfway to London by now. A day of rest and I’ll be back to rights.”
Her mother didn’t smile. “Go and change, dear. I’ll ring for your maid to draw you a bath. Come to your father’s study as soon as you’re ready. We have much to discuss. I will take Tom there presently.”
Vicky couldn’t shake the feeling that something was dreadfully wrong. Something her mother couldn’t speak of with Tom in attendance. The tiny hairs on the back of Vicky’s neck stood on end. “Mama?”
Her mother looked at Tom, and her face became impassive. “Just hurry, my dear.”
“Forgive me, Lady Oakbridge, but I’d hoped Victoria could tell the earl her version of events,” Tom interjected.
Her mother nodded. “She shall, of course, but all that can wait until she’s more comfortable.” She looked at Vicky and lifted her chin toward the stairs.
Vicky took the hint and moved away, but again Tom spoke.
“Surely it would be easier for the earl to act quickly with all information at his disposal. We must at least inform the magistrate of this outrage. There is a bandit at large, Lady Oakbridge—”
“And from what Victoria says, he will be miles away by now,” her mother interrupted, giving Tom a quelling look.
“Perhaps, but for Vicky’s safety, I believe—”
“If you imagine I would put anything above my daughter’s safety, Lord Halworth, you are very much mistaken. Now, if you wish to speak with Lord Oakbridge, I suggest you follow me and allow Lady Victoria her privacy.”
Vicky felt her ears burning. Why was her mother acting so rudely? Her emphasis on Tom’s lack of formality was surely unwarranted. Yes, Tom had embarrassed her and frustrated her and acted infuriatingly high-handed, but they’d known each other their whole lives. And he had tried to help today.
Tom frowned. He glanced her way, but Vicky couldn’t meet his gaze. “As you wish, Lady Oakbridge,” he said to her mother. He bowed in Vicky’s direction. “Good day, Lady Victoria.”
Vicky curtsied, which felt silly when wearing breeches, and forced herself to look into his eyes. “Good morning, Tom. Thank you.” There. She refused to be browbeaten by either one of them. Elizabeth Bennet would have said what she deemed correct in such a situation—and so had Vicky.
Half an hour later, clean but still sore, Vicky knocked on the door to her father’s study. As Vicky had changed, her maid had shocked her with the news that her sister, Althea, had arrived without notice. Althea should be at her London town house preparing for the start of the social season with her husband, so this unexpected visit was more than a little strange.
As Vicky stepped inside the study, the usual scent of leather and paper surrounded her. Her father, the Earl of Oakbridge, sat in a leather chair behind his medieval oak desk where countless generations of Astons had conducted estate business. His fastidious valet had pressed his brown coat and green embroidered waistcoat without fault and tied his cravat to sit crisply at the precise folds. His freshly combed hair was still in perfect order, which struck her as out of place. Here in the country, her father was far less careful with his appearance, and by this time of the morning, his brown waves—just a shade lighter than hers and touched by gray—were usually mussed enough to vex his valet. But not today.
He gestured for her to come in, but his jaw remained stiff and his thick brows furrowed. It was a look she remembered well from childhood—one he usually reserved for a lecture about the danger of jumping in the river from the top of a tree or what a serious infraction it was to ride a cow.
Vicky’s mother sat perched upon a wing chair opposite the desk. Next to her, in a matching chair, sat Althea. Her sister turned her head toward the doorway, and Vicky crossed the room to embrace her.
“Thea! It’s so good to see you.” With arms outstretched, Vicky stopped beside her chair. Her sister did not rise. Vicky frowned. “Althea?” she asked, bewildered. She touched her sister’s arm. Her skin felt cold and slightly rough from gooseflesh, despite the fire roaring in the corner. Then Althea looked into her eyes.
Vicky’s throat tightened. Althea’s big, brown eyes stared back, hollow and haunted. Her previously lustrous chocolate-brown hair, which usually framed her face in effortless tendrils, now hung in limp, dull strands. Her formerly slender figure now looked painfully thin, and the delicate oval of her face was paler than Vicky had ever seen it.
Though Vicky’s head had still ached when she’d entered the study, the pounding had decreased. Now the hammering returned as Vicky’s mouth went dry. “What’s wrong?”
For a moment, the look of despair in Althea’s eyes disappeared, replaced by a diamond-hard edge Vicky had never seen before. A second later, Althea concealed it with a blank expression. Her back stiffened to a straight line, and she clasped her hands in her lap. It was the manner she put on for society, minus a smile: the demeanor proclaiming her the perfect, dutiful daughter of the Earl and Countess of Oakbridge and the perfect, dutiful wife of the Viscount Dain. Vicky had always admired Althea’s ability to present herself so well, and even more so since Vicky’s first season last year, when she realized that society’s prying eyes constantly gave her the sensation a hare must feel when evading a hawk.
Her shoulders tensed. Yes, she knew that look well, but Thea hadn’t used it with her for many years—not since Tom had left and Vicky had started confiding in her sister. She would wager ten guineas it meant Althea didn’t want Vicky to know what she was thinking.
Vicky looked to her parents. Her mother also sat with her hands folded in her lap, by all appearances her usual, calm self. Yet Vicky saw the lines between her eyebrows that only appeared when she was troubled. Vicky’s father made no such attempt to hide his frown. His right thumb rubbed the pad of his forefinger in agitation. The back of Vicky’s neck tingled again, and her concern for Althea transformed into dreadful apprehension. Her sister’s head turned toward their father, still showing no inclination to speak.
Vicky’s question hung in the air.
Finally, their father broke the silence. “Althea has fled her London house. She left late last night on horseback and then caught the mail coach, which dropped her at the village.”
Vicky’s terrible sense of foreboding compounded. Something truly frightful must have occurred for Althea to do such a thing. Again she noted her sister’s haggard appearance.
“Why?”
Althea still said nothing. This time she didn’t even acknowledge Vicky’s question with a glance.
“Papa?” Vicky pressed.
Her father motioned for her to sit and cleared his throat. His thumbnail continued to slide under his index finger. “It appears Lord Dain has been mistreating your sister.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “Violently.”
Vicky collapsed into her seat, forgetting until too late what the force would do to her aches and pains. She flinched, but turned so she could see Althea’s face.
“Oh, Thea.” Despite her sister’s bent
head, Vicky saw her large brown eyes swimming with tears. Althea raised her head, and the blood rushed from Vicky’s cheeks at the bleakness of her stare. Her sister opened her mouth as if to speak, but in the next moment, she clamped her jaw shut.
Vicky shook her head. Althea and Dain had seemed so in love. Althea had always been the ideal older sister: patient, kind, an excellent judge of character, and understanding of Vicky’s flaws. If she had any fault, it was perhaps that she was too kind on occasion, very much like Elizabeth Bennet’s sister Jane.
Viscount Dain had set eyes on Althea three years ago in London, two years before Vicky’s own society debut. After a month of courting, he’d proposed, and Althea had accepted. Dain’s charm easily won over her parents, and he’d always acted very courteously to Vicky. She’d imagined that, like Jane Bennet, Althea had found her own Mr. Bingley, and that Althea and Dain were living ever so happily in London.
The couple spent Christmases with Vicky and her parents at Oakbridge, and they’d all seen each other often at events during last year’s season in London, but those were the extent of Vicky’s dealings with her brother-in-law. She’d never seen him act oddly.
But then, she’d never felt completely at ease with the man either. She hadn’t known why, so she’d never said anything. On no occasion had Althea hinted her marriage suffered any problems, and Vicky had thought she didn’t know Dain as her sister did.
Perhaps none of them had known him.
Vicky clenched her fist. “What did he do to you?”
Instead of answering, Althea squeezed her eyes shut and lifted a hand to her forehead, as though she could keep the memories at bay through sheer force of will. Althea’s hand shifted the hair framing her face, and for the first time, Vicky saw the puffy red-and-blue bruise the strands had so cleverly hidden. The bruise started at her sister’s left temple and disappeared beneath her hairline. A shallow cut also marked the skin above it.
The angry pounding trebled in Vicky’s head. Her hands gripped the wooden armrests. Shock and disgust coursed through her, settling in the pit of her stomach. What kind of fiend would do such a thing?
“I can scarce believe it, but for . . .” Vicky gestured at her own forehead and sprang to her feet. “That abominable louse! I’d like to throw him to a dozen mad dogs! Papa, what is to be done?” she demanded.
“Victoria.” Her mother’s voice was reproving.
Vicky turned to her. “Look at her face! How does he dare? We cannot let this go unanswered.” Her father’s social standing equaled Dain’s—surpassed his, even, for his title was older and ranked higher than Dain’s viscountcy. Vicky leaned over her father’s desk. “Papa, you should accuse him in the House of Lords!”
“Victoria, calm yourself,” her mother snapped.
Stunned by her mother’s tone, Vicky looked back and forth between her parents. In her eyes, they were ever the embodiment of the perfect earl and countess, but the situation had clearly shaken them. Her father’s mouth set into a grim line as he watched her mother observe Althea with glassy eyes.
Then her mother inhaled. “You are upsetting your sister.”
Vicky turned. Tears spilled down Althea’s cheeks.
Vicky’s chest shrank. How could she be so thoughtless? “I’m sorry, Mama.” She moved to Althea’s chair and bent over. She pulled her into a hug, no longer caring if her sister resisted. “I’m so sorry, Thea.” Althea sniffled and tears leaked onto Vicky’s shoulder. Vicky held her sister tighter. When Althea sat back in her chair, Vicky relaxed her hold. But as her gaze focused on the swollen, red skin on Althea’s forehead, a dark fury pooled within her. That loathsome, horrible whoreson of a—
“My dear,” her father said, interrupting her thoughts, “you cannot fault Vicky for saying what we all feel. We shall ask her to conduct herself with decorum on a more ordinary day.” He turned to Vicky. “As to your question, that would be impractical. If I accused him in the Lords, the scandal would be inescapable. He is not friendless, and his supporters in the House could contend I was trying to tarnish his reputation out of malice. We’d grace the pages of every newspaper and gossip rag from London to York.”
Vicky winced. Althea blanched.
Their father shook his head. “No, I dare not attempt it, lest I cause more harm than good.”
Vicky angled her body to face him, but kept one hand on Althea’s arm. “Then what can we do?” she asked, although she was already devising foul punishments in her head, the majority of which she’d read about in a long, didactic volume on English history she’d once found in their library. The first that came to mind was something barbaric they’d done to a medieval monarch with a red-hot poker.
“Clearly, Thea must stay with us, but will Dain allow it?” Vicky knew little of the law, but she knew a man’s wife was essentially his property. She couldn’t count the number of novels she’d read where an injured lady had no recourse against her faithless husband.
“I will ride to London without delay and confront Dain,” her father stated.
Vicky frowned.
He continued, “I must hear his side of the story”—he gestured for silence as Vicky opened her mouth to protest and Althea’s head jerked upward—“to determine what we must face. I suspect he shall deny everything, but perhaps I can persuade him to consent to a separation. For this cannot and shall not continue.” He looked over them all with a decisive air.
Vicky nodded her assent, and her mother did the same. She ventured a glance at her sister. Althea’s face remained blank. Vicky rubbed her sister’s arm gently. It felt like an empty gesture, but she didn’t know what else to do. She wished she knew how to help.
“Very well,” their father said. “I will leave this morning, and send for you all after I have met with him.”
“What about the man who attacked Vicky?” Althea said.
Vicky blinked. It was the first sentence her sister had uttered. Her voice sounded reed-like, thin, and terribly quiet. Vicky had completely forgotten about her own unpleasant incident. “Were you here when Tom spoke to Papa?”
“I spoke to Halworth alone,” her father answered, calling Tom by his new title. It seemed neither of her parents had forgiven Tom for hurting her all those years ago. Or at the very least, they wished to maintain a formal distance with him. “Your sister was in no state to see anyone.”
“No, of course not,” Vicky murmured.
Her father continued, “Halworth volunteered to find our shepherd and direct him to the affected sheep. I trust they will soon have the situation well in hand. And, as Halworth was in possession of all the particulars, I also asked him to notify the local magistrate of the incident. Though I doubt Sir Aylward will do more than take down Halworth’s account.”
“Should we not take precautions in case he returns?” Althea asked.
“Precautions from Tom?” Vicky asked, incredulous.
“From the bandit, Victoria,” her mother said.
Vicky felt her cheeks redden. “Oh.”
Her father nodded. “I will send for men from the village to watch the house and grounds. I would take you all with me to London, but you girls both need at least one night’s rest after today.”
Althea looked at Vicky. “You weren’t injured?”
Vicky tried to smile and squeezed her sister’s arm. “My head hurts and I’ll be achy for a few days, but ’tis nothing serious.” Nothing compared to what her sister must have gone through.
“‘Nothing serious’ means you likely need a doctor’s care,” her mother interjected. “I have already sent for him.”
“Yes, I want you both examined,” their father said in a tone that brooked no argument. He stood and started for the door.
As he skirted the desk, Vicky’s mother rose as well. She intercepted him before he reached the door handle and took his arm. “Promise you will not challenge him, James,” she said in a firm tone. “No matter what happens.”
Vicky’s eyes widened. It hadn’t yet occurred to
her that gentlemen often did duel over such matters.
Her father smiled and took her mother’s hand. “Nothing could induce me to do so.”
Despite his words, her mother stared at him with pursed lips.
“Perhaps I might have in my youth, Felicia, but I am too old to point a pistol. Besides,” he continued with another smile in Vicky and Althea’s direction, “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you all just yet.”
Vicky’s mother dropped his hand. “I will tell Baden to pack what you’ll need.” She left the room, calling for the earl’s valet.
Vicky’s father sighed and moved to follow her. “My dear, I didn’t mean to be flippant . . .” His voice trailed off as he stepped out of earshot.
Vicky exhaled. Her poor mother must be worried to react so to her father’s attempt to lighten the mood. She only hoped her father’s powers of diplomacy would prove more successful with Lord Dain than they had with her mother. Vicky looked at Althea.
“Thea, may we speak? We could go to your bedchamber or take a walk in the gardens if you like.”
Althea refused to meet her gaze. “I’ve rather had my fill of talking.”
Vicky wanted to kick herself. Of course she couldn’t expect her sister to be anything but exhausted after her ordeal.
“I’m sorry. You need your rest. Shall I help you upstairs?”
Her sister shook her head and rose from her chair. “You needn’t bother.”
“It’s no bother. I know this must be dreadful for you, but at least you’re home now. Papa will take care of everything.”
Althea glared at her with cold eyes. “Are you truly so naive? Sooner or later, you must discover there are some nightmares that do not disappear on waking.”
Vicky grimaced. “I’m sorry, but I cannot believe that. I know everything will turn out for the best. We will make it so.” She took Althea’s hand, but her sister snatched it away and hurried out of the study, leaving Vicky wide-eyed and worried.
Dangerous Alliance Page 3