The Robber Bride (Regency Historical Romance)

by Jerrica Knight-Catania

  ***

  Fin watched Victoria with unveiled disgust. What the devil was she doing over there, flirting like a silly schoolgirl with those fops? She was batting her eyelashes and laughing at all their jokes. It was most unlike her. She never laughed at his jokes, and she certainly never batted her eyelashes at him.

  Of course, he wasn’t sure what he would do if she ever did. How awkward that would be for her to flirt with him in such a way. But still, she never flirted with anybody that Fin knew of. He became more suspicious by the minute.

  “Don’t you agree, Leyburn?”

  Damn. He ought to be paying attention to his dinner partners, not blasted Victoria. “Yes, of course, my lord. I couldn’t agree more.”

  Thankfully, his answer seemed satisfactory enough that Lord Grantham continued on with his storytelling without asking any more questions. Fin tried to pay attention this time, focusing his full attention on the viscount. But as the man droned on about some nonsense or other to do with the House of Lords, Fin found his attention slipping once again. It didn’t help that Victoria’s laughter rose above the din of music and conversation. It wasn’t that it was so distinctive, but just that he was so attuned to it now, after so many years of acquaintance.

  Fin shook his head. Hadn’t he just told her he didn’t want anything to do with her? Then why in hell was he so damned focused on her now?

  Unable to help himself, he turned back to the box where she flirted so shamelessly, only to see her leaving in the company of Mr. Woodmore, the biggest fop of them all. His father had been in trade—furniture, or musical instruments—Fin couldn’t quite recall, except he knew it involved wood. That was how he remembered the name. Woodmore makes wood. Woodmore the Younger had inherited the business and subsequent fortune upon his father’s passing several years ago. Lucky for Woodmore, the company was well established by then, so he had nothing more to do than join in the fun of the ton. If one could call this life fun.

  Fin always thought it would be much better to travel, see the world, much like Tom had done. He envied his friend, but something had kept him here all these years, grounded to this blasted city and bound to people like Victoria. Much of his connection to her and her family had to do with his own lack of family. His parents were dead now, and he’d been an only child. Well, not always. Thank goodness you were the heir and not the spare, Phineas, his father had always said. However, Fin had never found it amusing that his spare didn’t make it past the ripe age of three months. By then, his mother was too ill to try for more children.

  So Fin was alone in the world, except for a reclusive aunt and uncle who lived somewhere in Wales.

  He shook off his melancholy, not wanting to focus anymore on his loneliness, and turned his attention back to Victoria and Mr. Woodmore. They were no longer in the box, and Fin hoped that meant Victoria would be here soon. Not that he wanted to see her, but he didn’t relish the idea of her getting caught up with that annoying Mr. Woodmore. Despite the fact they weren’t speaking now, they would be eventually, Fin was sure. And if Victoria spent time with Woodmore, that would mean Fin would have to, too.

  Yes, he definitely did not want her getting too friendly with Woodmore.

  Ten

  Despite Victoria’s desire to go to the hospital the next morning to make sure all had turned out well with Anna’s birth, she knew she could not. She needed to wait until Fin lost interest in her activities—if he ever did. Why did he have to be so difficult? She had been a highwayman for more than two years now, and everything had always turned out fine. There was nothing for him to worry about, but of course she couldn’t tell him any of that. She couldn’t tell him anything at all.

  Her mind wandered to their argument the night before, and Victoria was helpless to stop the prick of tears at her eyes. Damn him! She hated to cry, and Phineas Dartwell certainly wasn’t worth crying over. So why the devil was she crying?

  She shook her head, not wanting to think about it. It would be much more comfortable to dredge up her anger with him than to pontificate on the reasons she might cry over him.

  “A letter for you, miss.” Davis stood before her, a small piece of parchment on his salver.

  She took it, ignoring the slight frisson of hope that the letter was from Fin. He wasn’t going to apologize or forget about what he saw in Southwark, of that Victoria was most certain.

  It turned out to be from Sarah. All was well at the hospital. Molly was on the mend, and Anna and the baby were doing just fine, many thanks to Mrs. Potts. Victoria gave an inner sigh of relief as she pocketed the note.

  “Who was it from?” her mother asked without taking her eyes from the letter she was writing at the escritoire across the room.

  “No one,” Victoria replied casually. “Just Cecily. She says her mother sends her regards.”

  “When you reply, do send mine back.”

  And that was that. Cecily was Victoria’s cousin—her mother was Lady Grantham’s sister. Their only correspondence happened through their daughters. Victoria knew she would have to send a letter to Cecily now on the off chance her mother ever spoke to her sister again.

  She stared out the window. Then she tapped her fingers on the wood that framed her chair. Then her she tapped her foot on the hardwood floor.

  “Victoria!”

  Finally, her mother looked up from her letter. Her eyes were filled with venom, as if her stare alone could sever Victoria’s feet and fingers so she might not be able to tap them ever again.

  “Would you please sit still,” she said. “I am trying to concentrate, and there you are, with your incessant tapping and sighing.”

  Victoria hadn’t even realized she’d sighed.

  “Read a book, for heaven’s sake. Or work on your cross-stitch. Lord knows you could use the practice. Just do be quiet, won’t you?”

  Victoria suppressed another sigh. How boring this was, sitting in the quiet all day long with not an iota of excitement. Nothing interesting at all happened in their parlor, unless one counted the fly that had trapped himself in the corner of the closed window. Poor little fellow. Victoria knew exactly how he felt.

  Taking her mother’s advice for perhaps the first time in her life, Victoria retrieved a book from their small collection and plopped back into her chair. If it was possible, the book was far more boring that watching the struggling fly in the window. However, she forced herself to keep reading while simultaneously forcing thoughts of Fin from her mind. It wasn’t easy, but she did manage to forget about him and their argument for at least a little while.

  It was nigh on two o’clock when the first interesting thing happened that day. A well-sprung, shiny, black phaeton pulled up to the front of their townhouse, its driver a rather well turned out Mr. Woodmore. Victoria smiled. Finally.

  She tried to sit still while she waited for his introduction and subsequent presence in the drawing room, but it wasn’t easy. She’d pent up such a great amount of energy sitting there all day. It seemed like an eternity while she waited, but at last, Mr. Woodmore arrived, a bouquet of flowers in hand.

  “Ah, Mr. Woodmore, how kind of you to call on us today,” Lady Grantham said as he bowed over her hand.

  “’tis my pleasure, Lady Grantham,” he replied as he tossed a lock of his light brown hair out of his eyes. It was a bit long for fashion. Or maybe he was trying to make a statement. Certainly, his clothes did just that. She let out a little giggle when she pictured Fin in that same ensemble. He would have looked positively ridiculous.

  “Is something the matter, Victoria?”

  Oh! Had her giggle been out loud? “No, no, Mother. Everything is fine.” She moved closer, so she stood only a couple of feet from Mr. Woodmore. With a curtsey, she said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Woodmore. So very nice to see you again.”

  He smiled, and Victoria was struck by what a nice smile it was. His lips weren’t too full or too thin. They were just right. And his teeth were straight and white. She resisted the urge to
run her tongue over her own teeth. They may have been white enough, but the front two overlapped slightly.

  “I was hoping you might accompany me on a drive, Miss Barclay?”

  “Would you mind if we walked?” she suggested instead. She couldn’t bear to sit anymore today.

  “A walk would be lovely.”

  Lily accompanied them on their walk, for which Victoria was grateful. It would have been awkward if Tom had come. Then again, he was nowhere to be found today. Victoria was fairly certain he’d spent the evening with Lady Beecham. It all suited her just fine. Lily was a much better chaperone—she kept to herself and stayed out of earshot.

  Once they were out of the house, Woodmore started to take a left hand turn, but Victoria stopped him.

  “I much prefer this direction,” she said with a gesture to the right. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to do it, but she was compelled to stroll past Fin’s home. She didn’t want to make him jealous, per se. But perhaps she wanted him to see that their argument had not affected her in the least. That she was just fine without him.

  They strolled slowly along the sidewalk. The sun was hot today, and Victoria tipped her parasol backwards so that the rays hit her face.

  “You don’t fear freckles?” Woodmore asked.

  She shook her head. “They aren’t such fearsome creatures as the patronesses would have everyone believe.”

  Woodmore laughed. “I suppose that’s true. As a matter of fact, I think I rather like freckles.”

  “Such a rebel you are, Mr. Woodmore. Be careful who you say that to or you might find yourself blackballed from Almack’s.”

  “Quelle horreur!”

  “Indeed!” They both laughed, though Victoria laughed a little harder than perhaps was necessary. They were passing by Fin’s home now, of course, and she wanted him to see how much fun she was having. How much fun he would miss out on now that he’d decided they couldn’t be friends anymore.

  As much fun as it seemed to flaunt her joviality at him, the thought that he really didn’t want to be her friend anymore tugged at her heart. Had he really meant that? Did he truly plan to shut her out for good unless she confessed? Certainly he had only been bluffing to see if she would tell him all in the face of such a threat. At least that was what she hoped, for the alternative would be too much to bear.