Once and Always
Page 52
Northrup entered the salon and intoned, “Lord Fielding would like to see you in his study, my lady, and Lord Crowley has just arrived. He asked if you could spare him a . . .” Northrup’s voice trailed off into shocked silence as Victoria raised haunted, tear-drenched blue eyes to his; then she shot to her feet, covering her face with her hands, and rushed past him. A low, anguished sob escaped her as she fled into the hall and up the stairs.
Northrup’s alarmed gaze followed her up the long staircase, and then he automatically bent down and picked up the letter that had fallen from her lap. Unlike the other servants, who only heard bits and pieces of family talk, Northrup was privy to much more of it, and he had never believed, as the rest of the staff did, that Lady Victoria was going to wed Lord Fielding. Moreover, he had heard her say several times that she intended to marry a gentleman in America.
Spurred by a sense of alarm, not curiosity, he glanced at the letter to see what dire news had arrived to bring such heartbreaking distress to her. He read it, and closed his eyes with shared sorrow.
“Northrup!” Lord Fielding thundered from his study down the hall.
Like an automaton, Northrup obeyed the summons.
“Did you tell Victoria I want to see her?” Jason demanded. “What have you there—is that Lady Frigley’s note? Here, give it to me.” Jason stretched his hand out, his eyes narrowing impatiently as the stiff-backed butler walked very, very slowly toward his desk. “What the devil is the matter with you?” he said, snatching the letter from the servant’s hand. “What are these spots all over it?”
“Tears,” Northrup clarified, standing rigidly erect, his eyes averted and focused on the wall.
“Tears?” Jason repeated, his gaze narrowing on the blurred words. “This isn’t the invitation, it’s—” Silence fell on the room as Jason finally realized what he was reading, and he sucked in his breath. When he was finished, Jason raised his wrathful gaze to Northrup. “He had his mother tell her he married someone else. That spineless son-of-a-bitch!”
Northrup swallowed. “My sentiments exactly,” he said hoarsely.
For the first time in nearly a month, Jason’s voice was without an angry edge. “I’ll go talk to her,” he said. Pushing back his chair, he went up to Victoria’s bedchamber.
As usual, she didn’t answer his knock, and as usual, Jason took matters into his own hands and went in without her permission. Instead of weeping into her pillow, Victoria was staring out the window, her face deathly pale, her shoulders so stiff and straight that Jason could almost feel her painful effort to hold herself erect. He closed the door behind him and hesitated, hoping she would issue one of her usual tart reprimands about his entering her room uninvited, but when she finally spoke, her voice was alarmingly calm and emotionless. “Please go away.”
Jason ignored that and went to her. “Victoria, I’m sorry—” he began, but he stopped at the blazing anger that leapt into her eyes.
“I’ll bet you are! But don’t worry, my lord, I don’t intend to stay here and continue to be a burden to you.”
He reached for her, trying to draw her into his arms, but she recoiled from his touch and jumped back as if she had been scorched. “Don’t touch me!” she hissed. “Don’t you dare touch me! I don’t want to be touched by any man, especially you.” She drew a long, quivering breath, obviously striving for control, and then continued haltingly. “I’ve been thinking about how I can take care of myself. I— I’m not quite as helpless as you think,” she told him bravely. “I’m an excellent seamstress. Madame Dumosse who made my gowns mentioned more than once how difficult it is to find willing workers with the right skills. She may be able to give me work—”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Jason snapped, angry at himself for having told her she was helpless when she first came to Wakefield, and angry at her for throwing it in his face now, when he wanted to comfort her.
“Oh, but I am ridiculous,” she choked. “I am a countess without a shilling, or a home, or any pride left. I don’t even know if I’m clever enough with a needle to—”
“Stop it!” Jason interrupted tightly. “I won’t permit you to work like a common seamstress, and that’s the end of it.” When she started to argue, Jason cut her short. “Would you repay my hospitality by embarrassing Charles and me in front of all London?”
Victoria’s shoulders drooped and she shook her head.
“Good. Then let’s hear no more nonsense about working for Madame Dumosse.”
“Then what am I to do?” she whispered, her pain-filled eyes searching his.
An odd emotion flickered across Jason’s features, and his jaw tightened as if he was holding himself back from saying something. “Do what women always do,” he said harshly after a long pause. “Marry a man who’ll be able to provide for you in the manner to which you want to become accustomed. Charles has already received a half dozen tentative offers for your hand. Marry one of those men.”
“I don’t want to marry someone I don’t care anything about,” Victoria retorted with a brief flare of spirit.
“You’ll change your mind,” Jason said with cold certainty.
“Perhaps I should,” Victoria said brokenly. “Caring for someone hurts too much. B-because then they betray you and—oh, Jason, tell me what’s wrong with me,” she cried, her wounded eyes huge and pleading. “You hate me, and Andrew—” Jason’s restraint broke. He wrapped his arms around her and gathered her tightly against his chest. “Nothing’s wrong with you,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “Andrew is a spineless fool. And I’m a bigger fool than he is.”
“He wanted someone else more than me,” she wept in his arms. “And it hurts so much to know it.”
Jason closed his eyes and swallowed. “I know,” he whispered.
She soaked his shirtfront with her hot tears, and they in turn finally began to melt the ice that had surrounded Jason’s heart for years. Holding Victoria protectively in his arms, he waited until her weeping finally abated; then he brushed his lips against her temple and whispered, “Do you remember when you asked me at Wakefield if we could be friends?”
She nodded, unthinkingly rubbing her cheek against his chest.
“I would like that very much,” Jason murmured huskily. “Could I have a second chance?”
Northrup’s alarmed gaze followed her up the long staircase, and then he automatically bent down and picked up the letter that had fallen from her lap. Unlike the other servants, who only heard bits and pieces of family talk, Northrup was privy to much more of it, and he had never believed, as the rest of the staff did, that Lady Victoria was going to wed Lord Fielding. Moreover, he had heard her say several times that she intended to marry a gentleman in America.
Spurred by a sense of alarm, not curiosity, he glanced at the letter to see what dire news had arrived to bring such heartbreaking distress to her. He read it, and closed his eyes with shared sorrow.
“Northrup!” Lord Fielding thundered from his study down the hall.
Like an automaton, Northrup obeyed the summons.
“Did you tell Victoria I want to see her?” Jason demanded. “What have you there—is that Lady Frigley’s note? Here, give it to me.” Jason stretched his hand out, his eyes narrowing impatiently as the stiff-backed butler walked very, very slowly toward his desk. “What the devil is the matter with you?” he said, snatching the letter from the servant’s hand. “What are these spots all over it?”
“Tears,” Northrup clarified, standing rigidly erect, his eyes averted and focused on the wall.
“Tears?” Jason repeated, his gaze narrowing on the blurred words. “This isn’t the invitation, it’s—” Silence fell on the room as Jason finally realized what he was reading, and he sucked in his breath. When he was finished, Jason raised his wrathful gaze to Northrup. “He had his mother tell her he married someone else. That spineless son-of-a-bitch!”
Northrup swallowed. “My sentiments exactly,” he said hoarsely.
For the first time in nearly a month, Jason’s voice was without an angry edge. “I’ll go talk to her,” he said. Pushing back his chair, he went up to Victoria’s bedchamber.
As usual, she didn’t answer his knock, and as usual, Jason took matters into his own hands and went in without her permission. Instead of weeping into her pillow, Victoria was staring out the window, her face deathly pale, her shoulders so stiff and straight that Jason could almost feel her painful effort to hold herself erect. He closed the door behind him and hesitated, hoping she would issue one of her usual tart reprimands about his entering her room uninvited, but when she finally spoke, her voice was alarmingly calm and emotionless. “Please go away.”
Jason ignored that and went to her. “Victoria, I’m sorry—” he began, but he stopped at the blazing anger that leapt into her eyes.
“I’ll bet you are! But don’t worry, my lord, I don’t intend to stay here and continue to be a burden to you.”
He reached for her, trying to draw her into his arms, but she recoiled from his touch and jumped back as if she had been scorched. “Don’t touch me!” she hissed. “Don’t you dare touch me! I don’t want to be touched by any man, especially you.” She drew a long, quivering breath, obviously striving for control, and then continued haltingly. “I’ve been thinking about how I can take care of myself. I— I’m not quite as helpless as you think,” she told him bravely. “I’m an excellent seamstress. Madame Dumosse who made my gowns mentioned more than once how difficult it is to find willing workers with the right skills. She may be able to give me work—”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Jason snapped, angry at himself for having told her she was helpless when she first came to Wakefield, and angry at her for throwing it in his face now, when he wanted to comfort her.
“Oh, but I am ridiculous,” she choked. “I am a countess without a shilling, or a home, or any pride left. I don’t even know if I’m clever enough with a needle to—”
“Stop it!” Jason interrupted tightly. “I won’t permit you to work like a common seamstress, and that’s the end of it.” When she started to argue, Jason cut her short. “Would you repay my hospitality by embarrassing Charles and me in front of all London?”
Victoria’s shoulders drooped and she shook her head.
“Good. Then let’s hear no more nonsense about working for Madame Dumosse.”
“Then what am I to do?” she whispered, her pain-filled eyes searching his.
An odd emotion flickered across Jason’s features, and his jaw tightened as if he was holding himself back from saying something. “Do what women always do,” he said harshly after a long pause. “Marry a man who’ll be able to provide for you in the manner to which you want to become accustomed. Charles has already received a half dozen tentative offers for your hand. Marry one of those men.”
“I don’t want to marry someone I don’t care anything about,” Victoria retorted with a brief flare of spirit.
“You’ll change your mind,” Jason said with cold certainty.
“Perhaps I should,” Victoria said brokenly. “Caring for someone hurts too much. B-because then they betray you and—oh, Jason, tell me what’s wrong with me,” she cried, her wounded eyes huge and pleading. “You hate me, and Andrew—” Jason’s restraint broke. He wrapped his arms around her and gathered her tightly against his chest. “Nothing’s wrong with you,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “Andrew is a spineless fool. And I’m a bigger fool than he is.”
“He wanted someone else more than me,” she wept in his arms. “And it hurts so much to know it.”
Jason closed his eyes and swallowed. “I know,” he whispered.
She soaked his shirtfront with her hot tears, and they in turn finally began to melt the ice that had surrounded Jason’s heart for years. Holding Victoria protectively in his arms, he waited until her weeping finally abated; then he brushed his lips against her temple and whispered, “Do you remember when you asked me at Wakefield if we could be friends?”
She nodded, unthinkingly rubbing her cheek against his chest.
“I would like that very much,” Jason murmured huskily. “Could I have a second chance?”
