As Shadows Fade (11 page)

 

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“We couldn't find you anywhere,” Lady Melly shrilled.

Victoria shifted her position slightly so the high pitch of her mother's voice didn't go so
directly
into her ear. As she was sitting next to her, that was a bit of a feat, but she did the best she could. “I was there for a time, Mama,” she said, then glanced at their hostess. “The duchess saw me, indeed.”

Victoria had managed a brief nap after her bath and subsequent meeting with Sebastian and Max in her chambers, but she was still weary and achy. The only reason she'd left the house to join the triumvirate of ladies for an early tea was because the alternative would have been hosting them at her house.

At least here it was possible for her to make an escape.

“Lovely dress, my dear,” Duchess Winnie said, leaning forward to take up a little biscuit topped with strawberry preserves and a dollop of cream. Despite the fact that she'd hosted a dance the night before, it was her pleasure to have her dearest friends over the following day in order to scale through every bit of
on dit
or gossip that might have occurred. And aside from that, it was a well-known fact that her cook made the best, most unique biscuits and sweets. “ A bit scandalous, to be sure, but you aren't a virginal debutante anymore, are you?”

Lady Melly shot her a silencing glare and turned back to Victoria. “But where did you go off to? I never got to talk to you, and I intended to have Jellington introduce you to Davington's heir, just returned from the Continent.”

“Mama,” Victoria began, but it was to no avail.

“Never say you still harbor the idea you might have an attachment to that Monsieur Vioget,” Melly said, her spoon clinking noisily as she stirred her tea. “Why, he wasn't even there last night, and I just could not abide that your second husband should be French. And not of the
ton.
I simply would not permit it.”

“But, Melly, you cannot ignore that he is a handsome gentleman,” said Lady Nilly, who'd just returned to the room.

In light of her conversation with George Starcasset last evening, Victoria couldn't help but examine the long, papery skin of Nilly's neck for vampire bites. Unfortunately, Lady Nilly was wearing a wide choker that, as Victoria knew from personal experience, could work very well to hide fang marks. “What a lovely cameo,” Victoria said.

Her rising from the sofa, which she shared with her mother, had a dual purpose: one, to get her away from the shrill voice, and second, to examine the brooch…and its wearer's neck.

“Oh, do you like it?” asked Nilly, moving closer so that Victoria could see.

Victoria lifted the (quite ugly) cameo of a…well, she wasn't certain what it was, but it wasn't immediately recognizable…from the hollow of Lady Nilly's throat under the guise of examining it more closely. As the wide lace lifted, Victoria saw that there were no marks on her mother's friend's neck, and allowed the cameo to settle back into place.

And now Victoria had no choice but to settle back into her place.

“And the other thing,” Lady Melly continued as though there'd been no interruption in her lecture, “I was certain you'd find it fascinating to hear that they have notified the new heir to the Rockley estate.”

“Indeed?” In spite of herself, Victoria was mildly interested. “After they'd searched so hard and long for James Lacy, I thought it would take much longer to locate the next in line.”

“But no, Victoria, for it wasn't that they didn't know who the heir was…It was where to find him,” Melly told her archly. “Surely you knew that.”

Victoria didn't have the heart to tell her mother—who had memorized the lineage of every noble family in England—that her interest in Phillip had not extended to learning every branch of his sparse family tree. She'd been much less interested in his wealth than his generous and caring personality.

Blast. A tear pricked the corner of her eye. Would she never be able to think of Phillip without that happening?

“He has been living in Spain for the last ten years,” Melly told her. “But of course, now that the current marquess has disappeared and has not been heard from in weeks, the worst is believed to have happened.” She frowned thoughtfully. “What bad luck those de Lacys seem to have. Pardon me, dear,” she added hastily, realizing she might be infringing upon her daughter's grief.

“He's not the only one to have disappeared quite suddenly,” Lady Nilly said, lifting a biscuit genteelly to her lips. “Didn't your friend Miss Starcasset—who was to marry the Earl of Brodebaugh—also go missing? After he was found dead in his own parlor?” She shuddered, but bit into the biscuit with gusto. Cook Mildred's strawberry-cream biscuits were not to be missed for any reason. Since the berries were only in season for a short time, one could not squander the opportunity.

“Ah, indeed,” Victoria replied, wondering if Nilly had learned of that information about Gwendolyn through her interactions with her brother, George. “But, though I dislike spreading gossip” —she looked pointedly at the ladies three— “I do have it on good authority that Gwen has eloped with an exceedingly unsuitable man.”

It was gossip, but a better tale than the truth. And even Victoria, for all of her virtuous activity hunting the immoral undead, was not perfect. She still felt the sting that her good friend, as a vampire, had planned Victoria's demise simply because it had been Victoria—and not Gwen—who'd caught the eye of Phillip de Lacy, Marquess of Rockley, when the two girls debuted into Society. If the gossip behind Gwen's disappearance was juicier than the oranges she'd had in Rome, Victoria figured it was only fair.

“Indeed?” Duchess Winnie's eyes widened. “How unsuitable?”

“We can talk about that later,” Lady Melly interrupted, though the gleam of interest burned in her expression as well. “But I was telling Victoria about the new Rockley heir, which I am certain she will find most interesting. Of course, no one is
certain
what happened to the previous Rockley, our dear James, but since he's disappeared without a trace, the lawyers have gone on to find the next in line in the event he doesn't return. Mr. Hubert de Lacy will arrive in London next week, so they say, and I believe it would be most fitting for the Marchioness of Rockley to attend his welcome-home ball.” She looked at her daughter. “He is a widower of five years, after marrying a Spanish girl and staying there on her family's land after the war. A bit longer in tooth than your dear Rockley, Victoria, but as my mother always said, ‘what's in the pocketbook before the measure of teeth'…or something of that nature.”

“Welcome-home ball? The man is not already here, and you've planned a welcome-home ball?” Victoria could not help but roll her eyes, but she took care to keep that unladylike expression out of her mother's sight.

“I'm not hosting the welcome-home ball, my dear,” said Lady Melly with a gush of surprise. “If anyone in this family should be doing so, it would be you. But as you're doing your best to deny your societal duties, I suppose I can have nothing to say about it. The party is being hosted by Viscount Rutledge, as he and Mr. de Lacy knew each other at Oxford…or somewhere from their youth.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked at her daughter. “I do hope you will make an appearance so you can at least meet the presumptive new Rockley.”

“Mama, I'm not going to marry again, so you can cease and desist in attempting to fling me at every bachelor who shows his nose at court. And aside from that, Rutledge has a son no older than I, so if he knew de Lacy at university, they must be of an age. If I were interested in marrying again, it wouldn't be to a man twenty years my senior!”

She stood. “I must be going—but, Mama, if you should like to plan a wedding so much, why do you not put Lord Jellington out of his misery and marry him?”

“Yes, indeed, Melly,” Lady Nilly jumped in. Victoria wasn't certain if it was because the lady felt sorry for
her,
or because she was such a romantic she wanted to see her friend wedded off again. In either case, Victoria rejoiced in the diversion, edging toward the door.

“Indeed
not,
”said Melly. “I—”

“But why not, Melly?” the duchess put in, spraying crumbs with abandon. “It would be such fun, and Jellington is simply besotted with you. Has been for years.”

“I have no interest in getting married again,” Melly replied, for once on the defensive herself.

“But think of the
gown
you could wear,” Nilly sighed, pressing a hand to her nonexistent bosom.

“And
the food
,”added the duchess. “I would even loan you my Mildred to do the wedding luncheon.”

Victoria felt the doorknob under her hand and turned it silently. Melly was no longer looking at her, but had become wholly distracted by the bombardment of her friends.

Taking the rare opportunity of her mother's inattention to slip out, Victoria eased through the door, her mother's shrill refusals ringing in her ears.

Their volume and pitch made her particularly relieved to be out of direct range.

Once out the front door and in her carriage, Victoria had a decision to make.

A great part of her wanted to simply return to her comfortable bed and sleep a bit longer. Although her
vis bullae
provided her with fast healing and other protection, she still had injuries that made her weak and sore.

But going back to the town house meant that she could come face-to-face with Max, and after their conversation this morning about Lilith, she wasn't certain she wanted to see him. As expected, when she announced her intention—a rather logical one, she thought—to hunt down the vampire queen herself, Max had not accepted it.

There was no need to relive the scene that followed, the lethal tone to his raised voice as he told her how foolish she was.

He would not listen, no matter how calmly she spoke, reminding him that it was her
responsibility
to rid the world of vampires, and that destroying their leader would be a great victory that would likely lead to a serious annihilation of the undead.

Perhaps in retrospect, she should not have told him anything at all until the deed was done.

Victoria sighed. Perhaps by telling him her plans, she had merely achieved the result of driving him from London all the more quickly.

As she shifted on the seat, rearranging her skirts, her hand brushed against something hard and metal. Curious, she picked it up—a small coin she recognized immediately. Her mind flashed back to the evening before, when George Starcasset had sat in this very seat and fumbled with something jingling in his pockets.

Very interesting. Perhaps…

She realized the carriage had stopped at the end of the drive, waiting for her direction. Opening the window, she made her decision and called up, “The Claythorne residence, in St. James.”

Several minutes later, upon arriving at George Starcasset's family home, Victoria sent Oliver, acting as footman, up to the door with a card for George. Fortunately, her carriage—having been inherited from Aunt Eustacia along with her London town house—was unmarked, and thus unidentifiable to any random passerby—or neighbor.

Moments later, the footman returned with the news that George was at his club, Gellinghall's. This information being what Victoria expected, as well as the most expedient way to find out which club George frequented, she ordered her groom to drive the carriage over to Gellinghall's.

Upon arrival at the gentlemen's club, she again sent Oliver to call for George. Not more than ten minutes later, she was rewarded (if one could call it that) by George's arrival at the door of her carriage.

“I trust you were discreet in your leave-taking,” Victoria asked, although it wasn't of great concern to her whether George's companions knew it was the Marchioness of Rockley who called him away. The only reason she cared to protect her reputation any longer was because she wished to avoid as many lectures from her mother as possible.

She smiled to herself as George settled into the seat across from her. It wasn't lost on her that she had no desire to avoid superhumanly strong demons and vampires in the dead of night, but went out of her way to escape seeing her mother in a sunlit parlor.

“Do hope this is important, as I was winning, first time in two weeks,” George said by way of reply as he settled in the seat across from her. “Come to collect your favor already?”

Victoria shook her head. “No, I came for information. What does the Tutela know about the increase in demon activity here, and in Paris?”

“Haven't talked to anyone in the Tutela—”

“Save it, George. You were fumbling with the coins in your pocket on the way to your house last night, and dropped one of the Tutela markers in this very carriage. I sincerely doubt you'd be carrying one if you hadn't been in recent contact with them.” The Tutela used coinlike metal disks as tokens of identification for entrance to their secret meetings, as Victoria had cause to know. She'd nearly been mauled at a Tutela meeting in Venice, after having gained entrance by presenting her own token.

She forestalled any further excuses by handing him the coin.

George, well caught out, pursed his lips. The expression made him look more like a spoiled boy than ever, with his cheeks pudging out and his round chin smooth and shiny. “To be truthful, Victoria,” he said, glancing sidewise at her to see if she objected to his use of her name, “the undead have been well aware of something rumbling beneath the surface in the last months.”

Along with his reticence, George had also abandoned his affected speech pattern common to many of the
ton's
dandies. These facts had Victoria sitting straighter against the back squabs of the bench and watching him sharply.

“What do you mean?”