“What about the measures in the ecclesiastical court?” Vicky asked.
“The proctor has been in contact with me, and he shall be registering the citation to summon Dain to the court in the next few days,” her father said.
Vicky smiled at Althea. At least that was good news. The writ of supplicavit would only protect her for a year, after all, whereas if the ecclesiastical court granted Althea’s separation, it would be permanent.
“However, there have been other incidents at Oakbridge, similar to the one you encountered,” her father continued.
Vicky started. “What kinds of incidents?”
“The tenants have reported strange men on the estate. The bridge to the village is on the verge of collapse, despite the extensive repairs we did last year, and one of our prized Thoroughbreds took ill and may not recover. I had a letter from the steward today.”
Vicky grew cold. Sabotage! Who would do such things? Now she regretted more than ever getting in the way of Tom catching that ruffian. He could have led them to whoever was behind all this. “What do you think is happening, Papa?”
He raised his brows. “Dain seems the most likely candidate, but I don’t know why he would bother. I’ll tell the steward to take further precautions, but there is no way to watch every acre of the estate every hour of the day.”
Vicky bit the inside of her cheek. “Tom overheard Mr. Carmichael and Dain talking at the musicale.” She shot a glance at Althea.
Her sister nodded for her to continue.
“He heard them say something was at stake. And Mr. Carmichael said something about Dain not upsetting us.”
Her father frowned.
“Dain offered to buy portions of Halworth land from Tom. Tom refused, but he’s having the land evaluated to see why Dain would want it. Tom thinks Mr. Carmichael and Dain may have an agreement to gain control of Oakbridge or the land bordering the estates.”
“Ridiculous,” her father stated. “That land is primarily fields and trees—on its own it hasn’t any extraordinary value. And Carmichael has no need of Oakbridge. Nor does Dain, for that matter.”
“Perhaps,” Vicky said doubtfully, “but it does seem awfully coincidental that I came across that bandit on the border of the estates.” Then she remembered how Mr. Carmichael had tried to keep Dain from her at the ball. “Mr. Carmichael and Dain did speak of ‘business’ at the duchess’s ball. Do you know what they could have meant, Papa?”
He frowned again and shook his head.
Vicky decided to appeal to his pragmatism. “I do believe it would be prudent to have the steward inspect our side of the border between Halworth and Oakbridge, even if it only yields us some peace of mind.”
Her father seemed to consider it. “I shall include it in my letter to him this evening.”
Vicky smiled. “Thank you, Papa. I’m starting to believe all these accidents befalling us aren’t accidents at all.”
“What can you mean, Victoria?” her mother asked.
She caught her mother’s eye. “I think Mr. Silby’s curricle was tampered with before our drive, and as much as it pains me, Mr. Carmichael could have gained access to it.”
Her mother gaped. “Victoria, how can you—”
“Mama, I do like Mr. Carmichael. But . . .” She exhaled. Wasn’t it reasonable to want to be sure of his innocence before agreeing to marry him? She turned to her father. “May I ask what will happen to the land you and he bought by the canal if something should happen to you?”
“Your mother would inherit my half, including any revenues, in perpetuity,” he answered with a level gaze.
Vicky let out a relieved breath. At least now she knew Mr. Carmichael wouldn’t benefit in that way from her father’s death. “I’m glad.”
Her father and mother exchanged a glance. “Vicky,” her father began, “you cannot let Tom’s imagination get the better of you. He may have motives of his own.”
“What do you mean, Papa?”
“He’s not the same boy who left. And his estate is in ruin.”
Vicky’s brows knit.
“You cannot put your faith in every word he says,” her mother added.
Vicky frowned. “Will you at least ask Mr. Carmichael what his business is with Dain?”
“As you’re bound to see him before I do, you may ask him yourself,” her father said. “But I shall make more . . . indirect inquiries.”
Vicky nodded.
“My dear,” her mother said, “we shall do what we can, but you must make a decision soon.”
Vicky glanced at Althea. Her eyes were sad, but she met Vicky’s gaze with a surprisingly encouraging expression. “I understand.”
Despite herself, she couldn’t stop a shiver from running down her spine.
Vicky left the parlor, anxious to escape her parents’ uneasy glances. She needed to be alone so she could digest the events of the day in a rational manner.
As Vicky reached the foot of the stairs, Althea called her name. Vicky turned and waited for her sister to catch up before she started climbing. “I’m sorry about the papers, Thea, but you must not give up hope.”
Althea shrugged. “He may never let me go.”
“He will have no choice if the ecclesiastical court says he must. You’ll see. Papa will not rest until you are free of him.”
At her sister’s resigned look, Vicky forgot her own troubles. She linked her arm around Althea’s elbow.
“And nor will I for that matter. I can marry Mr. Carmichael and persuade him to use his enormous fortune to buy the favor of every ecclesiastical and Chancery judge.”
Althea turned her head and gave Vicky a pointed stare. Such a breach of morality clearly didn’t sit well with her.
“If there were no other options,” Vicky mumbled.
“And if there are no options other than Mr. Carmichael?” Althea asked.
Vicky shrugged as though the question had not been the very one plaguing her. “As Mama and Papa say, he’s a fine man.”
“He is, indeed.”
Vicky nodded.
“But is he the man you want?”
Vicky stopped in midstep. She turned and eyed her sister warily. Althea looked sincere—like her confidant again.
Vicky exhaled. She recalled how Tom had shared so many of his private thoughts with her today—how he’d offered to help her find a husband just as a true friend would. Then her mind strayed to Mr. Carmichael and the way he’d kissed her and looked at her with such tenderness. He seemed to truly care for her. But he didn’t love her. At least he’d said nothing of love.
“I don’t know.”
Althea’s brown eyes bored into hers. “Then you must follow your instincts. Regardless of the consequences. Or rather,” she amended, “you must accept there may be consequences to your decision.”
Vicky hesitated. “But you—”
“There were signs early on—even during our courtship, but I believe I chose to ignore them. To ignore my instincts.” She turned her head away as she spoke, resuming the climb.
Vicky followed in mute astonishment until they reached the top of the stairs. “What signs were there, Thea?”
Althea shook her head. “They are irrelevant now.”
“No, please,” Vicky said, thinking of Tom’s theory.
Althea sighed. “He always wanted to know where I’d be on a given day and would be jealous of any man he thought was enamored of me. It began as telling me their faults, but eventually, I believe he warned them off or threatened them. Of course, I only learned such things after we married.”
Vicky’s heart thundered in her chest. Mr. Carmichael had told her of Mr. Silby’s faults before her outing with him—of course, he’d been completely correct in that respect. Yet, today he’d done the same regarding Tom. Then there was his lack of candor, which still concerned her. “Did he . . . keep things from you?”
Althea nodded. “He spoke in half-truths, and in this way I rarely knew reality from what he’d fabri
cated.” She opened her mouth as though she would say more, but quickly closed it. Then she pivoted and headed down the hall to her bedroom.
Vicky followed. “Thea, why tell me this now?”
Her sister turned, her hand on the knob to her room. “I wrote Poole.”
Vicky nodded for her to continue.
“He confirmed he put your letters to me in the post regularly. Dain must have . . .” Althea turned away, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes.
Vicky put her hand on Althea’s arm, twisting her around so she could pull her into a tight embrace. Althea rested her head on Vicky’s shoulder.
“I’ve been a fool.” Althea’s voice trembled. “How could I have thought such things of you?”
Vicky shook her head. Dain had made Althea so mistrustful. “We will bring things to right. I wish with all my heart I could have spared you everything.”
Althea sobbed once into Vicky’s shoulder. “And I you this marriage business. But certainly, you will choose more wisely than I did.”
Vicky rubbed her sister’s back. The doubts Vicky had banished about Carmichael were returning. “Do you think Mama and Papa are correct about Tom?”
Althea wiped her eyes. “I don’t know. Perhaps they still harbor ill feelings toward him because of how he treated you before he left.”
“Thea, he explained it all today. He apologized.”
Althea raised her brows.
“Tom’s father was a monster not unlike Dain. Tom thought the earl would harm me if I kept returning to Halworth. The last day I went there and saw Tom, his father struck him so hard it knocked him to the floor. The earl laughed it away—blamed Tom. I didn’t know what to think. But I don’t think Tom was at fault.”
Althea shook her head. “Nor I.”
Vicky grimaced. “What should I do, Thea?”
Althea looked at Vicky through puffy, red eyes. “You must not marry a man you cannot trust.”
“But how can I know whom to trust?”
Althea exhaled. “I cannot say. And I’m sorry. You deserve better than a rushed courtship of necessity.”
Vicky smiled. “Thank you. But I also must find a husband for Oakbridge’s sake.”
Althea’s face fell.
For the first time, Vicky thought to ask her, “Did you wish to be mistress of Oakbridge? To have the title and control the estate?”
Althea raised her chin. “Of course. It is our home. But you shall run the estate far better than I could have. Drainage and crop yields hold little interest for me.”
Vicky sighed. “So you won’t despise me for inheriting it?”
Althea eyed her. “How could I? Oh, Vicky, your life is still ahead of you.”
“Yours is too, Thea.”
Althea worried her lip. “What did Tom say in the garden?”
Vicky told her how Tom had asked her to wait until the next ball before making any decisions—how he’d help however he could.
Althea raised her brows, then nodded. “Very considerate of him. I agree. We shall both help you. That will give you time to think on your feelings for Mr. Carmichael, and perhaps we can introduce you to someone new.”
Vicky’s heart lightened. With both Tom and Althea helping her, she’d have a much better chance. Of course, the odds of someone she’d never met being a better prospect than Mr. Carmichael were slim at best, but that was not the point. She pulled her sister into a hug. Tom had been right. Her patience had paid off. Her sister was recovering, she and Tom were friends again, and Mr. Carmichael wanted to marry her. The world looked bright once more. Perhaps everything would end like one of Miss Austen’s novels after all. Vicky held in a breath as she smiled into Althea’s hair.
Chapter the Twenty-Second
To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love . . .
—Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
Tom strode into Lord and Lady Branbury’s ballroom with a spring in his step. He was still walking on air from his successful meeting with his new financiers. Lord Axley and his business partners, Mr. Parker and Mr. Risdale, had signed the preliminary contracts today, and tomorrow, Tom would start proceedings to buy the parcel of land he’d found just outside of Mayfair. The site of London’s soon-to-be first luxury hotel. Tom grinned, causing a group of debutantes standing in a semicircle to giggle behind their fluttering fans. Even they didn’t bother him. Everything he’d planned was finally coming together. Now he could spend the evening helping Victoria.
Tom scanned the room.
Unlike the themed decor at the Duchess of Rutherfurd’s ball, the Branburys had bedecked the room in a decidedly more traditional style. Large golden candelabrums and hundreds of beeswax tapers illuminated it from all sides, producing a soft flickering light. Chairs positioned along the walls provided seating for weary dancers and gossiping matrons. But he didn’t see Vicky or her family.
Registering his strange disappointment, Tom walked to the refreshment table, hoping to see someone he’d met at the Rutherfurd ball. As he skirted the edge of the dance floor, he spotted Mr. Silby. Tom winced. Silby also moved toward the refreshments. Before Tom could turn to avoid him, Silby made eye contact. Tom nodded to be polite and tried to continue past him, but Silby closed the distance between them, effectively stopping Tom in his tracks.
“Lord Halworth,” Silby said.
“Mr. Silby.”
Tom felt it only proper that Silby continue, but the fool simply stared at him. Tom wondered if he could step around him and move away. But then, the man clearly had something to say. Better to get it over with. Tom stared back and, at length, Silby spoke.
“I never had the chance to thank you for the other day.”
Tom nodded, though he didn’t believe him sincere. “It was no trouble. I couldn’t stand idly by.”
“Nonetheless, I don’t know what I’d have done if I’d lost one of my grays. Lady Victoria was quite correct—I would have to go to considerable trouble to replace them.”
Tom frowned. “That would’ve been a tragic loss. Made more so by the potential damage to the lady inside the curricle,” Tom countered.
Silby didn’t speak for another moment. “Oh yes. How fortunate you were there to help her.”
Tom clenched his jaw. What was wrong with the fellow? Was he feebleminded or just tactless? Tom inhaled. Perhaps both.
“If you’ll excuse me.” Tom inclined his head and turned before the man could utter another word.
Finally achieving his goal to reach the refreshment table, Tom picked up a glass of champagne and glanced around the room looking for someone to talk to. As his gaze alighted near the entry, he saw Vicky standing behind Althea and their mother. The earl must still be recovering from his injuries.
With grace Tom hadn’t realized she’d possessed, Vicky glided into the room in a light blue gown accented with white lace. Her chestnut-and-copper tresses sat aloft in an intricate style, and the few curls framing the sides of her face emphasized her high, delicate cheekbones. A tentative smile played upon her lips.
Tom blinked, realizing he’d been holding his glass of champagne halfway between his chest and his mouth. He lowered his arm and watched Vicky step farther into the ballroom.
The countess moved to greet people. But Althea held back and waited until Vicky stood beside her. Althea wore a deep red gown, looking considerably better than she had recently, but anyone who’d noted the Astons’ appearance would be unable to keep from admiring Victoria first and foremost.
Tom grabbed two more flutes and moved along the edge of the ballroom toward Vicky and Althea. He wound his way through families and groups of gentlemen until he finally came within ten feet of them.
Vicky looked as though she were scanning the ballroom. He took another step toward her, and their eyes met. They smiled in unison, and he moved closer.
“Lady Dain, Lady Victoria,” he said, handing the women their glasses. “You both look stunning this evening.”
Althea nodded
at the compliment and smiled, but he was almost sure Vicky’s cheeks turned a shade pinker. “Thank you, Lord Halworth,” Althea said. “You’re looking well.”
“Thank you. I feel well,” he said, realizing for the first time in a long while that he did. He scanned the room behind them. “No guards tonight?”
“We didn’t know how to explain their presence in the ballroom,” Vicky said. “But they came with us in the coach.”
Glad to hear it, Tom nodded. “What’s on the agenda for this evening?”
Vicky looked at Althea. “Well, I believe dancing was mentioned—and meeting new people. As my acting brother for this evening, you promised some assistance on that front,” she said with a smile.
She was absolutely correct, but at the word “brother,” a sinking feeling washed over him.
“Of course.” He paused, thinking with some apprehension he had no more acquaintances today than he did yesterday. Unless he included Lord Axley’s business partners—or rather, his new business partners—but he believed Mr. Parker and Mr. Risdale were married. Nor did he know if they’d be in attendance.
“Are you quite well, Tom?” Vicky asked, peering at him.
He nodded and tried not to look at the way the candlelight danced over the copper strands of her hair. “I was thinking the only gentleman I’ve seen tonight whom I actually know is Mr. Silby.”
Althea made a strangled sound in her throat.
Vicky rolled her eyes. “There’s no escaping him!”
Tom laughed. He looked to Althea. “Do you see anyone worthwhile whom Vicky could meet?”
Althea surveyed the room. She frowned. “I’m afraid not.”
“Hmmm . . . ,” Vicky said. “What about that man talking with Helen Chadwick?”
Tom turned and saw the oldest Chadwick girl standing with a tall, blond-headed gentleman next to a potted tree. The fellow looked ordinary enough, but still Tom heard himself say, “Him?” before he could stop himself.
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