Carmichael leaned over to look at Althea. “No, but I’ve been told her playing is quite remarkable.” Vicky glanced at her sister, silently thanking her for changing the topic.
“Do you play an instrument yourself?” Althea asked Mr. Carmichael.
He gave a regretful smile. “With little proficiency, I’m afraid.”
Vicky raised her brows. “Really? What do you play?”
“My mother wished me to play the pianoforte. She even employed a music master to teach me when I was young.”
Vicky couldn’t quite imagine him as a child. She looked down. His large, long-fingered hands looked far more suited to boxing than creating beautiful music on the small keys of a pianoforte.
“Do you still play?” Althea asked.
“As I grew older, my father did not approve.”
“He did not approve of music?” asked Vicky.
He paused for a moment. “He did not approve of me,” Carmichael replied flatly.
Vicky closed her mouth. She hadn’t expected such an admission.
“He must be prodigiously proud of you now,” said Althea. “How could he not be?”
Carmichael’s jaw shifted. “He is long dead.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Vicky and Althea said simultaneously.
He shook his head as though it meant nothing, but Vicky could see from the way his dark eyes blackened that it did. She bit her lip. What made some people so cruel to their children?
“Well . . . ,” Vicky said, trying to change the subject, “then you should definitely play again.”
Althea clicked her tongue, as though to reproach Vicky for telling him to defy his dead father, but Mr. Carmichael laughed.
“I believe you’re right, Lady Victoria.” The planes of his face softened as he looked down at her. His black eyes warmed until she saw the brown flecks again, making her smile.
The Chadwick girls chose that moment to enter the room and sit at their instruments. The guests quieted as a beaming Lady Chadwick walked to the front to introduce each of her daughters.
Vicky dragged her gaze from Mr. Carmichael’s, but she felt his linger on her. After the girls curtsied at their introductions, they took their places and began to play. Vicky detected a few wrong notes from the sisters playing the flute and the violin, but fifteen-year-old Emily and her glass armonica were impeccable. Lilting tones tinkled through the air as her fingers touched the edges of the glass bowls at exactly the right times.
Vicky rather wished she’d bothered to learn too. She’d never had much talent at the pianoforte, but it couldn’t be too late to learn a new accomplishment. Perhaps she’d find the glass armonica easier.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Carmichael’s foot wave back and forth to the rhythm of the piece.
Althea caught her glance and leaned closer. “What were you thinking?” she whispered in her ear.
“What do you mean?” Vicky mouthed.
“Confronting Mr. Carmichael about Tom that way,” she said even more quietly.
“I thought I would get a satisfying answer to my worries.”
“Now he knows you speak to Tom about him.”
Vicky frowned at her sister. “So?”
“You don’t want to arouse his jealousy. He may not like it.”
“If he grows jealous over something so inconsequential as me speaking to other men, I don’t know that I want him.”
Althea sat back in her chair and inhaled, looking down into her hands. Then, as though she felt eyes boring into her back, her head whipped toward the rear of the room. She sighed and the tension in her neck and torso melted away as she turned back to face the musicians.
Her sister must have thought Dain had appeared. Vicky sneaked a quick glimpse behind them and saw Tom stepping into the room. His gaze drifted around for a spare seat and landed on her. She gave him a small smile. He nodded and started toward the empty chair in the row behind them.
Carmichael craned his neck around at the movement. When he saw Tom, his jaw stiffened, and his foot stopped waving. As he turned back to face the musicians, Vicky had no doubt of his displeasure with Tom’s arrival.
Again, Vicky worried what that might mean. She didn’t understand why Carmichael should dislike Tom.
True, even Tom believed he’d acted badly at the ball—he wouldn’t have apologized otherwise. Yet Mr. Carmichael hadn’t actually explained his behavior. She exhaled. Should she ask him again?
As the music ended, the audience gave the girls a hearty round of applause. Their duty dispensed with, most guests made their way to the refreshment table, or moved to congratulate the Chadwick girls.
Mr. Carmichael stood and offered Victoria his arm. “Would you care for something? It appears they have chocolate ices,” he said with a grin. “And,” he continued, craning his neck to see above the crowd, “there’s not a pistachio in sight.”
Despite her worries, Vicky let out a short laugh. “In that event, I would be delighted, Mr. Carmichael.”
Carmichael quirked an eyebrow, then turned to Althea. “Lady Dain, would you accompany us as well?” he asked.
Althea did not answer. Vicky looked at her sister. Her eyes were wide against her pale skin, her shoulders tight with tension. She stood frozen in terror.
Vicky followed her sister’s gaze. Dain stood in the doorway of the music room.
Vicky swallowed against the sudden dryness in her throat. What could he be doing here?
Carmichael must have seen their expressions because he said, “Ladies, are you well?”
Vicky didn’t know what to tell him. Should she take the liberty of telling him about Dain—which would be inadvisable here—or should she pretend nothing was amiss? She turned to her sister for guidance, but Althea trembled where she stood.
Vicky glanced at Dain. He spoke to a middle-aged gentleman with a beard, but Dain’s eyes fixed on Althea. Why Althea couldn’t hide her emotions tonight when she must have done so for months, Vicky couldn’t tell, but it didn’t matter. This was precisely what she’d worried about. She had to act quicker than Elinor Dashwood had with her sister and spare Althea whatever disaster was to come. “Mr. Carmichael, I must ask a favor of you.”
“Of course, Lady Victoria,” he said, concern etched on his brow.
“Would you keep Lord Dain away from my sister and me for the rest of the evening?”
Carmichael observed her steadily for a few moments. Then he looked to Althea. Vicky could see his mind working out what to say. Finally: “May I ask why?”
“I’m afraid I cannot explain.” She glanced back at Dain. “I know how strange this must sound, but we would be so grateful. Truly.”
Mr. Carmichael glanced at Althea again, but she would not meet his gaze. He frowned but said nothing.
Vicky bit her lip. He would refuse and Dain would be free to stride over and take Althea from her. Vicky would have no way to stop him. Then she remembered Tom sat behind them. “Very well. I shall ask Lord Halworth.” She turned around and said, “Tom?”
Mr. Carmichael blanched at her use of Tom’s Christian name.
Tom turned from the older gentleman he was speaking to. “Yes, Lady Victoria?”
Before she could ask him to get rid of Dain, Carmichael interrupted.
“No, I am at your service,” he said firmly.
Ignoring Tom, he gave Vicky and Althea a half bow and walked toward Dain. Vicky exhaled.
Tom excused himself to the old gentleman and stepped closer to her. “What was that about?” he asked.
“Mr. Carmichael has something pressing to attend to.”
Tom raised his brows, encouraging her to elaborate.
“Well . . .” She caught his gaze and realized she couldn’t tell him anything more. “We are in need of refreshment,” she said abruptly, her eyes flitting to the food table.
“I could fetch ices, if you’d like. Is chocolate still your favorite?”
She nodded, her lips spreading into a grin. He’d remember
ed. “And Althea likes lemon.”
As Tom neared the refreshment table, he noticed Mr. Carmichael now stood with Lord Dain. He wondered again what Vicky had sent Carmichael to do. Was Dain part of that duty?
Tom redirected his path to take him as close to the two men as he dared, his steps silenced by the Turkish rug covering the floor. The men stood just beyond the doorway to the music room. Tom positioned himself against the wall next to the doorjamb, but due to the noise the other guests were making, he could only hear snippets of conversation.
“You shouldn’t have come,” Carmichael said.
“What can you mean, Carmichael?” Dain replied.
A gentleman walking past Tom coughed, rendering Carmichael’s response inaudible. Tom moved closer to the doorway.
“Don’t get in my way, Carmichael. You know how much is at stake.”
“This is not about business. It is about you making the Astons uncomfortable, and I cannot have that. Not now.”
What were Carmichael and Dain involved in? Tom shifted his weight. Should he make his presence known, or wait to see what else they would reveal?
“Just leave. Now,” Carmichael ordered.
“I refuse,” Dain said flatly.
Tom threw a quick glance over his shoulder to see what Carmichael would say to that. Carmichael leaned close to Dain’s ear and whispered something. Dain looked outraged, and he stared at Carmichael for a moment. Tom pivoted to the side to get a better look. Carmichael grabbed Dain by the arm and dragged him toward the front of the house.
Tom watched them go, then stepped into the hall to see if anyone else had seen. The hall stood empty. Should he follow? His gaze flew back into the room to see if he’d be missed. Vicky caught his eye. Damn. He had forgotten the ices.
Mulling over the possible ramifications of the conversation he had just witnessed, he moved to the refreshment table. After obtaining the ices, he returned to Vicky and Althea.
“What happened to you?” Vicky asked as she took her chocolate ice and a spoon.
“I was unexpectedly detained.” He gave Althea the other bowl, and she took it with a quiet murmur of thanks.
“It is lovely to see you after so many years, Althea.” Tom winced, realizing he shouldn’t be so informal in public. “I should say ‘Lady Dain’ now, of course.”
“You needn’t bother,” she said. Then she looked up and caught his eye. “That is, we needn’t stand on ceremony after all these years.” Althea gave him a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
He nodded, but for the first time, he noticed the pallor of her cheeks. He frowned inwardly. Althea had always been a good few inches taller than Victoria, and slimmer by the sheer virtue of her height, but now she looked almost bony. She had to be thinner than he remembered her being at any time in their childhood. She could not be well. “I saw your husband and Mr. Carmichael—”
“We are in your debt for helping Vicky the other day,” she interjected. “And for that day at Oakbridge. It seems you are making a habit of rescuing my sister from dire straits.”
He shook his head and shot Vicky a glance. She studied her ice and spooned more into her mouth. “Not at all,” he said. It seemed they had no wish to speak of whatever had just occurred between Carmichael and Dain. For Althea’s sake, Tom hoped Dain had softened with age, but he would never like the man.
Vicky interrupted Tom’s thoughts. “Have you saved any more damsels in distress today?”
“Sadly, the driver of the runaway carriage I halted today was foolish enough to actually stay inside it,” he said with a hint of a smile.
“Your heroic timing seems to be improving.”
He inclined his head. “It does every day, I daresay.”
Vicky giggled. The green flecks in her eyes sparkled as her laughter filled the air.
He’d forgotten how the sound of her giggles always made him smile—how her glee lit up her face. Memories of the old days rammed him in the chest. “Do you recall the time we went fishing and you insisted on trying your luck in the middle of the brook?”
“The time I got my foot stuck in the mud hole?”
He nodded. “I had to wade in, help you yank your foot out, and then we both fell in.”
Vicky laughed again. “Oh dear, I believe you’re right.” Vicky looked at Althea. “I never did recover that boot.”
Althea smiled. “Did you limp all the way back to the house?”
Vicky considered. “No. I discarded my other boot by the stream for the fairies.”
Althea scoffed. “The fairies, indeed.”
Tom shook his head. “Ah yes—you were particularly interested in fairy stories that summer, as I recall.”
Vicky lifted her chin. “I beg your pardon, but I was eight. You two simply do not have the inclination to believe in the fantastic. I must say I pity your lack of imagination.”
“Have you ever seen anything fantastic?” Althea asked her.
Vicky wobbled her head. “Not as yet. That doesn’t mean I won’t. According to Mr. Carmichael, there was a pig at Vauxhall Gardens that tells time.”
“Nonsense,” Althea said.
“Almost certainly,” Vicky agreed. “But wouldn’t it be lovely if it could?”
Ah, Vicky. It really was remarkable how little she’d changed.
As if echoing his thoughts, Althea made a frustrated noise.
“It would be quite a feat,” Tom said, “but what would be the point?”
“Precisely.” Althea nodded.
Vicky wrinkled her nose. “Why must there be a point? Cannot something be lovely merely for the sake of being lovely?”
Did she have any idea how fanciful she sounded? How naive? How would she ever survive in the cruel world with such notions? But the world had not been cruel to her. Perhaps she could afford to maintain her pretty philosophy. Or perhaps she’d be hurt all the worse for it.
He’d have to tell her what he’d heard from Carmichael and Dain. Let her do with the information as she would, but at least she’d have the knowledge. “May I call on you tomorrow?”
She raised her eyebrows, but her frown disappeared. “If you can drag yourself away from your cynicism,” she said.
“I fear that may be impossible.”
She sighed. “Then leave it at home for the day.” She brought a spoonful of ice to her mouth.
Tom blinked, trying not to stare as the tip of her tongue shot out to lick chocolate from the corner of her lips. He cleared his throat. “I shall do my best.”
Chapter the Fourteenth
I can recall nothing worse.
—Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
Through the carriage window, Vicky stared into the dark London streets. How pleasant Tom had been this evening. He’d even gotten Althea to converse. The old Tom may be gone, but at least he was no longer the cold stranger who’d only helped her out of duty. He’d even surprised her by asking if he could call tomorrow. She hummed one of the melodies from the musicale.
Her mama glanced at her across the carriage. Vicky brought her hand to her face, covered her mouth with her palm, and pretended to scratch her cheek. She had no real reason to be so pleased. Tom was simply paying a social call. For all she knew, he would forget to come.
She lowered her hand from her face and glanced at her sister’s profile. Althea looked out of the opposite window. Dain hadn’t returned to the music room, but then neither had Mr. Carmichael. Vicky wished he hadn’t disappeared, but perhaps he’d been obliged to escort Dain somewhere more suitable.
Mr. Silby had approached her and Althea after Tom had departed, offering useless apologies and his assurances that he’d had his curricle thoroughly inspected after the other day. He’d even asked her to take another drive. She’d had to put him off with fake excuses; nothing could induce her to get in a carriage with that man again.
Had Mr. Carmichael been present during the exchange, he might very well have said—or done—something rash. Yes, he’d been far better empl
oyed effectively ridding them of Dain.
Vicky brushed Althea’s upper arm. “Well, Thea, you confronted your greatest fear. You should be proud.”
Althea continued to stare out the carriage window. “Meeting him is not my greatest fear.”
“Perhaps not,” their mother said. “But you did comport yourself well. We must thank Mr. Carmichael for convincing Dain to leave.”
“Carmichael is a fine man,” their father said, looking at Vicky pointedly.
Vicky nodded. “I agree. I like him very much,” she admitted.
Her mother gave her father a meaningful glance.
Vicky tried not to roll her eyes. “That does not mean, however, that I have made a decision.” She needed more time. She still didn’t know Mr. Carmichael well. What if someone else came along? “Papa, you really should tell Mr. Carmichael about—”
A loud explosion sounded, and Vicky’s body jerked. Pistol fire! The horses whinnied and the carriage came to an abrupt halt. Vicky looked at her parents in the seat opposite her. Her father held the carriage door handle with one hand and her mother’s arm with the other while her mother clung to him. She’d almost flown off the seat at the sudden stop.
“Papa?” Vicky asked hesitantly.
He shook his head and raised a finger to his lips. Vicky turned to Althea. She was pale as a sheet. Vicky entwined her arm with Althea’s. Yelling erupted outside the carriage doors. The four of them sat tensely, straining to make out the words.
Both carriage doors flew open. A man stood on each side. The one near Vicky was so large, his form filled the doorway. His fraying clothes hugged his huge frame. Vicky wrinkled her nose as the stench of the unwashed emanated from where he stood. The man’s severely pockmarked face twisted in a sneer. He trained his pistol on Vicky’s father.
“Milord,” the man said with thick sarcasm. The brute had a thick East London accent.
Vicky tried to see past the man, hoping the footman or driver wasn’t lying dead in the road. The Aston footmen always carried pistols to protect the family—the frequency with which the wealthy found themselves at the mercy of highwaymen seemed to increase every year.
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