Christmas Delights (12 page)

“I am capable of reaching the house myself,” she said icily, not liking his supercilious gaze. Clement thought too highly of himself. Did he imagine a woman with a title would find him such a good catch? Not one with money, certainly. While he had something to offer, she was not so desperate as to settle on a man with relatively young parents and a large family all living in a big house on a farm. Really, she found his attitude irritating.

“Ye must not,” said the baron, sounding acutely Scottish in the presence of all these southerners. “I will happily forego my ride for the pleasure of accompanying ye.”

She bowed her head in agreement, as he really did sound pleased. “I would like that, sir.”

He held out his arm for her again. “Mind the mud, my lady; ye have done well so far and I would not like tae take worse care of ye than your father has.”

They shared a smile, but still she sank inwardly. If not for Lewis, she might come to appreciate the Scotsman more fully, but she could not see herself with anyone other than the inventor. She had cast herself into the fires of bodily passion and so she would burn.

Lewis thought he might see Victoria in the dining room that morning. He’d gone down to the stables early, but instead of his usual bread and cheese he’d made the trek back, even changing his shoes so that he wouldn’t be too disreputable. No one seemed to know where she was, however. He ate a plate of kippers and eggs, then attempted to chat with the countess while he finished his tea, ignoring the leers of Lady Florence. The woman was impossible. Eventually, he ran out of anything to say, once the weather and yesterday’s sermon had been discussed. They both avoided the subject of the submarine, a sore point with the countess. She thought her son could be making more of the house party, but Lewis realized the most eligible candidate here was Victoria, and if she was destined for Liverpool, she could no more marry Nicholas than she could marry him. Still, he wondered how this trysting of theirs would end. Probably abruptly. And painfully soon.

He nodded to the countess and her sister, then left the dining room to head back to the mudroom and his boots. Servants still scurried through the hallway, bringing pitchers of hot water to the rooms of late risers. They huddled against the walls as he passed, a guest walking through servant corridors. This lifestyle might be Victoria’s, but it wasn’t his. While he knew that, he would miss her when she departed the south. At some point he would return home as well, but probably not as soon.

As he traded his shoes for sturdy boots, he thought of a romance that had turned out more happily than his situation was likely to. His cousin, Sir Gawain Redcake, had managed to romance a northern woman, then persuade her to move to Battersea. But Lewis knew himself to be happy as a bachelor, working odd hours, whether due to orders or because inspiration struck him. A wife would want order, cleanliness, predictability, children. And Eddy drove him half batty as it was. Did he desire little ones? Did he want to persuade Victoria and her father to change their minds about her future residence?

Once, he’d thought he wanted that domestic happiness. His lost love, Alys’s children. His boots on, Lewis meant to rise from the hard wood bench to his feet, but memories struck him hard. His brain had trundled down these well-worn tracks for years, but now, in consideration of his nascent feelings for the toothsome, sensual Victoria, stray memories began to form into a picture different from the story he often told himself. Were his memories nothing but a fairy tale? As he began to recall the incidents of 1886, he remembered his proposal to Alys had been a manufactured thing, built out of the fear that her father would marry her off to someone utterly unsuitable. He’d offered for her in order to let her have some semblance of the life she’d wanted in London. He had loved her though, right? Why had he carried that torch for so long if he hadn’t?

But she had been more of a sister to him than a romantic figure for so long before those final months. His offer had been practical, for all he’d tried to cloak it in romance, with the damnable mechanical bird that had been broken so soon after he’d finished the laborious effort of crafting it. Alys had not protected his invention or his heart, but she had made the right decision. She and her marquess were two of the happiest people he knew, and the marquess delighted in his family. No second thoughts there, for all that the wedding had been a rushed affair.

To think, he’d never even kissed Alys, when he knew the secret chambers and pulses of Victoria’s body. He wanted to know more. That breathy moan she’d gifted to him when he first entered her would surely be different if he slid into her slowly, or thrust with brutal efficiency. Or perhaps from a different angle; that might change the cadence of her breath. How could he not learn these things? He sighed, closing his eyes as he felt his cock surge to life from the sheer jolt of his imaginings. He leaned his head against the wall as he fought for control, but a cough returned him to reality. Opening his eyes, he saw a lad of about twelve pressed against the wall, likely the boot boy.

After stammering an apology to the young servant, who probably wanted to get at the coats dangling above his head, he stood, shaking his head to put himself out of his reverie. Victoria had to be outside; he couldn’t imagine her hiding in her room or in the nursery. The reality would be better than any daydream. Besides, the sooner he put her out of his mind, the better he would do at his work.

He needed to see her. After grabbing his own waxed cotton coat, he tossed a coin to the lad and went out the mudroom door, which led down the hill to the stables. He ignored Nicholas’s wave from the stable door and kept walking, bent on the path around the lake. The reeds and other vegetation, along with the trees on the other side of the path, cast reflections on the water, as if an entire natural city grew on the surface, adding color to the water. The Fort played no part in the image; it was too far away. He was struck with a desire to see his own face, to add a human element to the mirror. For all humanity had done to change the landscape, so much of it was still untouched.

These thoughts made no sense to him. But some things mattered, in his insignificant viewpoint at least. Like Victoria. Far off in the distance, he could hear male voices. A company of men must be heading to, or returning from, the village. A dog barked, too, perhaps spotting some errant beast it could chase.

And then he saw a female form. A long coat, covering her almost to the hem of her black gown, sturdy boots, a graceful, hip-swinging walk. A low-slung top hat covered her forehead to her eyebrows, and a scarf protected her throat. He’d have liked to see more of Victoria, but the real trouble was that she was holding the Baron of Alix’s arm, chatting with easy familiarity. As he watched, she smiled at the tall Scotsman. Lewis’s stomach lurched, preparing to eject his morning kippers.

Was this not the woman who had come apart in his arms the night before? While he did not expect their relationship to continue indefinitely, surely she could have been exclusive to him until the end of the house party? Was she so desperate for attention?

Victoria’s head turned away from the baron, as if to check her footing on the muddy path. When her gaze moved, she caught sight of Lewis. Their eyes met. The smile vanished from her face. The hollows under her cheekbones deepened and her expression became shadowed, as if she suddenly felt as sick as he did.

This evidence made him feel no better. Was she playing a game with him, with the baron, with Dickondell? What was Victoria after? She did not comport herself as a flirt. While she had a ready laugh, she seemed more serious than that. She would never age into a Lady Florence.

The baron waved to him in easy familiarity. “Hello, Noble. Taking a break from the submarine today?”

Lewis shook his head. Before he could counsel his own words to caution, he said, “No, I came looking for Victoria.”

The baron’s eyes widened at Lewis’s use of the lady’s first name. He had been entirely inappropriate. Victoria’s lips tightened into a thin line. She swallowed hard before speaking.

“How can I assist you, Mr. Noble?” she said in clear tones.

He had never heard her voice sound so cultured, so society. Cut to the bone, ashamed of his behavior, he lied, “Lady Barbara asked me to find you. I apologize for speaking so familiarly on her behalf.” He nodded to the baron and turned away, taking rapid steps toward the stables.

Murmurs floated on the breeze behind him, the baron and Victoria speaking. He closed his ears to the sounds and stalked back to his work. It was where he belonged, not chasing after ladies, even if this one was his midnight lover.

Victoria’s feet seemed to take flight as she separated from the baron. She ran up the steps to the back of the Fort, not sure what she was escaping from. Her shame, perhaps. She’d seen the crushed look in Lewis’s eyes. First at the Punch and Judy show, and now this. But she felt angry as much as ashamed. What did he expect? Didn’t everyone know her father meant her to find another husband? It would be different if she’d had a child from her brief marriage, but she hadn’t. A lady in her position had to try again. Her life’s purpose hadn’t been fulfilled, no matter how unsuited she was for it, given her failure to take the unruliness out of Penelope. A marriage and children, running a house; that was her training, her goal, her expectation.

Feeling the heat of tears, she wiped under her eyes, then tore off her coat and sat on the bench in the mudroom to replace her boots with slippers. Her skirt was dotted with mud, but Lady Barbara wouldn’t care about that, not if she stayed away from the upholstery.

She went directly to her friend’s room and found her there, staring into the mirror at her dressing table.

“My, but you look bemused,” Victoria said.

Barbara smiled wanly at her through the mirror.

She crossed to her friend and put a hand on her shoulder. “Has something happened? Lewis—Mr. Noble—said you had asked for me.”

Lady Barbara’s head turned slowly on the thin stalk of her neck. “No, I came directly here from the parlor after my mother spoke to me. Perhaps she asked Lewis to find you.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Lady Barbara said. “You must be patient, my dear. All will be revealed soon. I hope you will not find me too weak for friendship after this.”

“I don’t understand.” Victoria met her eyes in the mirror.

Her friend sighed. “My mother was determined to make this house party work for both Rowena and me. Now that Rowena has made her choice, I must be settled immediately. It is not even eleven o’clock but it has been a very long day already.”

“I agree.” Victoria perched on the edge of the bench in front of the dressing table. Her skirt was a windblown, wrinkled disaster compared to Lady Barbara’s neatly pressed silk. What did the countess have planned? Her friend seemed to like Lewis best, but she doubted even Queen Victoria could persuade the inventor to marry where he didn’t want to. “I need to change before luncheon.”

Lady Barbara didn’t even glance over. “The post came.”

“Anything of interest?”

“I heard from a friend of mine in Brighton. She shed some light on the mysteries of your uncle’s separation from your Aunt Clarissa.”

“Oh?” Victoria’s thoughts changed direction instantly.

“Yes. Her housekeeper knows your aunt’s minder.”

Victoria frowned. “She has a
minder
?”

“I’m afraid so. My friend said the gossip is that your aunt hears voices. She claims Saint Catherine of the Wheel is speaking to her.”

“Like she’s having visions?” Victoria put her hand to her forehead.

“Yes. Apparently, your aunt feels a great affinity for Saint Catherine, and Joan of Arc is said to have counseled her, too.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Victoria whispered.

Lady Barbara shook her head. “Do you think Penelope knows?”

“I know she doesn’t.” But the thought of the little girl’s mysterious rages made her nervous. Could Penelope have the same disease as her mother?

She heard footsteps in the hall and realized Lady Barbara’s door was open. Standing swiftly, she shut it without looking to see who was in the corridor.

L
ewis saw no surprise on Victoria’s face at dinner that night when the earl announced a toast. He was seated across from her. The table was wide, but a silver salver topped with clove-studded oranges between them did not block his view. He leaned back in his chair and accepted the glass of champagne the butler handed him.

“I am happy to announce the engagement of my sister Barbara to Mr. Clement Dickondell,” the earl said, raising his glass. “In 1890 we will celebrate a double wedding here at Pevensey-Sur-Mer Fort. In February, I believe. I hope you will all rejoin us for the festivities.”

“Here, here,” someone called from the bottom of the table. Probably Samuel Dickondell. The entire family, including the parents, along with the Shield relatives, had come for dinner that night.

Lewis had found himself faced with Alys yet again. His heart had given the usual extra kick when he saw her shining red hair and her beautiful face, but he took no joy in it. He had no physical hunger for Alys as he did for Victoria. With yet another engagement being announced, the crowd should be busy surrounding the daughters of the house. No one would miss Victoria or him, not even the earl, who would not be able to escape to his submarine that evening.

Still, the thought of taking Victoria carnally while Alys was present gave him pause. Victoria caught him staring at her and stopped drinking in midsip. With a troubled smile, she lifted her glass and toasted him silently. He nodded back, unable to break their shared gaze.

Cousin Rose poked him in the ribs. He jerked to the side and turned to her. “What?”

She regarded him with a smirk. “I must have found a sensitive spot.”

“You are too old for tickling,” he reproved.

“I was merely trying to capture your attention.” Rose sighed. “Isn’t all of this wedding business romantic? The countess must be so pleased by the success of her house party.”

“I do not see why. She is marrying her daughters to local farmers. All of this expense to marry off the ladies to local denizens.”

“She needed the party to make them come up to snuff.” Rose covered her mouth with her napkin and coughed. “It had the intended effect.”

“Is that how it works? Positively Machiavellian.”

“Matchmaking mamas have their ways. The countess likely only approved Ernest’s suit because Clement was willing to propose as well. Clement, being the heir, is a much better catch. My mama, of course, does not think like that.”

“She did not have much to do with either Alys or Sir Gawain’s marriages,” Lewis agreed.

“No.” Rose pursed her lips. “I should take her to task for that, but it would do no good.”

“Is there anything I can do on your behalf?” Lewis inquired. “I sense you wish your mother would do something.”

She gave him a quick nod, then spoke into his ear. “Rupert Courtnay.”

Lewis squinted instinctively, as if to limit the impact her request made on him. What would Rose want with Victoria’s father? Was it a game? Was she warning him that she knew about his involvement with Victoria? He turned to face her full on and saw she was twisting her snowy white napkin into a limp rag. “You are serious?” he asked, sotto voce.

She nodded, a jerky movement of her head.

“Are you love with him?”

She licked her lower lip, then the upper. He waited, but she didn’t speak.

“Don’t settle, Rose,” he warned. “You are only twenty-one. There is time. Another three years, at least, before you must worry about your prospects.”

“I’m locked away in the country for my health,” Rose said, a spot of sharp color appearing on each cheek. “I’m not recovering. I need to act before it is too late.”

“Liverpool?” he asked under his breath. “You understand what marrying him would mean. All those factories. And constant rain.”

“Rain keeps the air cleaner.”

“The dampness won’t be good for you.” He didn’t want her to sacrifice her life to a marriage.

“I’m told the countryside outside the city is lovely. Maybe I could spend much of my time there. Or in Southport, especially in the summer.”

“It sounds as if you have it all planned out.”

“But I have no one to speak for me.” She pressed her hand to his arm. “Is there anything you can do on my behalf? I do think he likes me, but I’m not sure if he is looking for a wife.”

He glanced at Victoria, who was regarding them curiously. She met his gaze, then turned to the Baron of Alix, who was on her right, to answer some question of his.

Lewis gritted his teeth, feeling an insult even when Victoria could have done nothing but respond to a direct question from a dinner partner. The wheels and cogs of a plan turned in his head.

“I will see what I can do,” he said, though he was unsure if any man should marry a woman the age of his daughter. “Are you and Lady Allen-Hill close?”

Rose smiled. “I like her more each time we meet. She has a fertile imagination and is better with her cousin than she believes. My maid tells me the child is positively ungovernable, with wild rages over the smallest things, yet Victoria keeps her calm. Penelope is no trouble at all when Victoria is present.”

“Her gift is instinctive?”

“Yes, or she simply understands the girl at some deep level.”

“I like her very much,” Lewis said.

“Who? The lady or the child?”

Lewis tilted his champagne glass to his lips and drained it, feeling the bubbles pop against the back of his tongue. “The lady, of course. I’ve scarcely met the child.”

“I wonder if I should have to raise her if I marry Mr. Courtnay,” Rose mused. “I should endeavor to spend time with her.”

Lewis grinned. “You might not be up for the challenge.”

“She would spend most of her time with a governess,” Rose mused. “Her custodial relative would only have to see her an hour or so a day, but one does not like to think of any child of the house terrorizing the servants.”

“I used to terrify my old nurse,” Lewis said. “She stayed on well past the point I should have been turned over to tutors because my mother had a soft heart. I was so curious.”

“I remember hearing stories of you nearly burning your house down.”

“And exploding things.” Lewis chuckled. “I initially developed a taste for chemistry.”

“You had turned to mechanics by the time you came to live with us. I still remember your birds. It’s a pity you turned to engines.”

“They are better business,” Lewis said, hoping his flat tone would close that particular subject.

“Thank you for agreeing to help me,” Rose said softly.

Lewis nodded, but he had yet to decide how much help to provide. He had hardly spoken to Rupert Courtnay. How much help could he be? But he did have an idea for fixing his situation with Victoria and simultaneously quashing her budding romance with the Baron of Alix.

He chided himself for calling it that. What did it matter to him if she was attractive to other men? The baron offered Victoria his arm when dinner was over, escorting her to the drawing room instead of staying behind for private conversation among the gentlemen. He knew the baron did not like cigars, but still, the gesture smacked of overfamiliarity.

In fact, he monopolized the rest of Victoria’s evening. The two stayed at the piano, inexpertly interpreting holiday carols. Rose cast glances at Lewis from her seat at the far end of the room, imploring him to speak to Courtnay. But he knew he’d have to choose his time carefully. He wasn’t the head of Rose’s family; therefore his approach must be indirect. His cousin hadn’t been compromised in any way. Or so he thought. Had the pair kissed?

He regarded the imposing figure standing by the fireplace with the earl. They had come in together, smelling of whiskey, speaking about machinery, something that normally would have fascinated him, but tonight he couldn’t find that place in his brain. No, his eyes kept returning to the curve of Victoria’s back as she bent over the keyboard, the sensual indentation of her waist, the flare of her hips. He remembered touching that round bottom, recalled the noises he made, the moistness between her thighs.

Torture, sheer torture. Eventually, he left the room and went to the stable, hoping to fine-tune the instruments in the conning tower.

Lewis spent most of the night with the submarine, losing the hours until the first hint of watery gray winter sky peeping over the lake forced him to realize dawn had come. He went back to his rooms then, sleeping until the noon hour.

When he went downstairs, after Eddy had all but kicked him awake, he found Victoria, Rose, and Penelope all seated in the morning parlor. The baron was nowhere to be seen, and Victoria looked at him with great interest.

He wondered if she had come looking for him during the night. Eddy hadn’t indicated that was the case, but he wouldn’t necessarily have known. He hoped to God she hadn’t spent it with the baron. His cousin lifted her eyebrows to him, and he wondered if she had been campaigning to enter the affections of Rupert Courtnay’s family, in anticipation of him speaking to the man on her behalf.

“Do you have one of your horseless carriages here, Lewis?” Rose asked.

“Why, did you want to close out the year with a drive?” He sat down, crumpling the back of his jacket in the process.

“Victoria would like to go to Brighton today, if possible.”

“This is not the season,” he said, confused. “I don’t think the weather will please you.”

“I wish to take Penelope to see her mother,” Victoria said.

Her cheeks did not have the rosy hue he had become accustomed to seeing, he now noticed. “Is she ill?”

“Perhaps.”

“I want to see Mummy,” Penelope interjected. “Daddy had her sent away.”

The child did seem genuinely distressed. Where Victoria had lost color, she had gained it. A red flush colored her face and she looked hot, disagreeable. He recalled she’d been ill earlier in the week.

“This may not be the best time,” he said as gently as he knew how. “You have not been feeling well, Miss Courtnay, and perhaps it is the same for your mother.”

“That’s not what Lady Barbara said,” the child complained. “She said Mummy ought to be locked away.”

Victoria closed her eyes. “My cousin overheard part—an unfortunate part—of a conversation. She is insisting on seeing her mother, and with my father gone and unable to provide counsel, I do not know what to do other than go to Brighton and see for myself.”

“Your father is gone?” Lewis traded glances with Rose.

“He went to the village and hasn’t returned yet.”

“You mean since yesterday?”

She nodded.

Lewis scrubbed his face with his hands. He hadn’t even had a cup of coffee or tea yet this morning. Err, afternoon. “Could he have gone to Brighton?”

“I do not know, Mr. Noble.”

Penelope jumped up from the sofa and collapsed into a kneeling position at his feet. “Please take us? I must see Mummy. I have so much to tell her.”

“It might make things worse,” he said over the girl’s head, but he could see Victoria didn’t know what to do. As for Rose, she simply wanted to please her prospective suitor’s daughter. She would be of no use.

“Is knowing the truth ever really a bad thing?” Victoria asked.

Lewis thought about that. “Sometimes illusion can be splendid.”

Victoria’s eyes went to the girl at his feet. “I think we are past that point.”

“You may be right. There is a motorized carriage in the stable. It is an earlier version, open to the weather; just a cart with seats, really.”

“It isn’t snowing. If we bring furs and hot bricks, it should be fine.”

He nodded and stood, careful to maneuver around the girl. “I will see if I can start it up. But I’m not willing to take Rose. She is too delicate for the trip under these circumstances.”

His cousin glared at him but nodded. She might dislike her limitations, but at least she had learned to accept them over the past few years. Or, at least, when marriage wasn’t involved.

An hour later, he’d managed to construct an awning over the front bench of the carriage with the help of one of his men. He’d gotten the machinery started and was reasonably certain he could take them safely to the outskirts of Brighton. If not, he could rent a horse somewhere along the way and harness it to the carriage. It still had the necessary hardware.

He saw Victoria and her cousin walking down from the Fort, followed by two servants, their arms heaped high with comfort items for the chilly drive.

Twenty minutes later, they were off, chugging along the muddy path around the lake, to pick up the road to the village. Thick white smoke trailed behind them, but at least it was a pure color, with no tinge of gray, which might indicate problems. He wished he could be alone with Victoria on a pleasure trip, but her cousin kept up a steady stream of commentary from the rear seat of the cart, pointing out every small specimen of wildlife crossing their path and proving they were far from private.

“Mood swings,” he muttered.

“Can you blame her?” Victoria asked softly. “All of the uncertainty she’s faced. And me with no idea what to do with her.”

“She adores you.”

She glared at him. “That is not the point. You can adore people who are perfectly terrible. It is all a matter of perspective.”

“Am I perfectly terrible?” he asked.

“That is assuming I adore you,” she said, pointing her nose in the air.

He had never noticed the slope of her nose before, only the flatness of the bridge, the way her nostrils made perfect half-moons around the sides. But from this angle, he saw it had a certain downward geometry. Her profile gave the impression of an inward-facing young woman, rather than the gregarious soul he found her to be. She had spent a lot of time alone. He wondered what her thoughts were, what her dreams and fears might be, apart from what her father wanted from her.