To Catch a Countess (28 page)

Christmas Day. Victoria peered out her bedchamber window at the dusting of new-fallen snow. She thought of her stepdaughters and wished she could see their excitement at the season’s first snowflakes.

Though she despised attending church services, Victoria was determined to attend that morning’s service at Audley Chapel. She felt certain that Alexander would take the girls to the Christmas service.

Victoria promised herself that she would not approach them. In fact, she planned to arrive late and to sit in the back of the chapel to feast her eyes on her family.

An hour later, Victoria slipped into the chapel and sat in the last pew. Alexander and his daughters sat in the front of the chapel. With them were Harry, Venetia, and Diana.

Victoria noted the girls sat between Alexander and Diana like a real family would, only the widow had replaced her. She should have been sitting there, not Diana Drummond.

The service neared its conclusion. Wanting to remain unseen, Victoria left the pew and stood in the shadows. Her bottom lip trembled as they passed by, and she heard Darcy saying, “I asked God to bring Mama Tory home.”

“So did I,” Fiona told her sister.

“Me, too,” Aidan said.

Giving them a chance to climb into their coach, Victoria waited several long moments and then left the chapel. She pulled the hood of her fur-lined cloak up to cover her hair lest its brilliant color draw their attention.

Too late.

“Mama Tory.” Darcy dashed toward her.

Alexander caught Darcy, lifted her into his arms, and put her in the coach. Then he turned around and walked toward her.

Victoria stood her ground.

“Why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you again,” Victoria answered. “And the girls, too. I never intended them to see me.”

“Why would you want to see me?”

“I love you,” she told him, her gaze fixed on his.

Alexander seemed to falter. He hesitated, his expression softening.

“Alex, are you coming?” Diana Drummond called, drawing his attention. “The girls are cold.”

“Merry Christmas, Alex,” Victoria said, her vision blurred by tears, her voice aching with raw pain. She turned and started walking down the street.

“Victoria.”

She turned around.

“Where is your coach?”

“I walked from Park Lane.”

“Your aunt allowed you to walk here in the cold in your condition?” Alexander asked in obvious surprise.

“My aunt and uncle are passing the holidays in Newmarket,” Victoria said.

Alexander snapped his brows together. “What about your sisters?”

“My sisters and their families are with my aunt and uncle,” Victoria answered.

“You’re alone today?”

“I’m alone every day.”

“Why did you remain alone in the city for Christmas?”

“I told you, I wanted to see you again.” Victoria gave him a wobbly smile. “Goodbye, Alex.” At that, she walked in the direction of Park Lane.

“Wait.”

Victoria halted and turned around. Her husband was walking toward her.

Alexander hesitated for a long moment before speaking. “We’ll drive you to Inverary House.”

Victoria glanced at the coach. “No, thank you.”

“Then I’ll walk you there,” Alexander said. “A fall could injure you and the babe.”

“You’re going to walk your pregnant wife to her aunt’s house and then celebrate Christmas with the witches who destroyed our marriage?”

“I would not use those words.”

“Don’t bother yourself.”

Again, Victoria walked in the direction of Park Lane. She heard him call her name but refused to look back.

Watching her disappear around the corner, Alexander knew he’d lost something valuable. Banishing Victoria from his mind and heart had proved more difficult than banishing her from his home. Should he have listened to his wife’s explanation? What explanation could she have given? He had the note she’d received and the memory of her naked and drunk in another man’s bed.

Several hours later, Alexander sat at the head of his dining table. Diana Drummond sat at the opposite end where the lady of the house should sit. On one side of the table were Harry Gibbs and Venetia. His daughters sat together on the other side.

“My lord?”

Alexander focused on the widow. “Did you say something?”

“You seem preoccupied.”

“Seeing that woman upset him,” Venetia said, before he could speak.

Harry Gibbs steered the conversation in a different direction. “What did Father Christmas bring you?” he asked the girls.

“He didn’t give us what we wanted,” Darcy answered.

Diana Drummond smiled. “All three of you wanted the same thing?”

Fiona nodded. “Yes.”

“We want Mama Tory to come home,” Aidan added.

“Mama Tory is a bad influence,” Venetia said.

“Mama Tory is not a bad influence,” Darcy said.

Fiona leaned closer to her sister. “What is that?”

“I don’t know.”

Aidan looked at her father. “Daddy, what is a bad influence?”

“She is a bad woman,” Venetia spoke up, “and she should never be allowed near children.”

Aidan turned from her father to her aunt. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

Alexander covered his mouth to smother his laughter. Muffled chuckles sounded near the sideboard where Bundles stood.

“I’ll handle this,” Darcy told her sister. “Mama Tory is not a bad woman.”

“We love her,” Fiona said.

Aidan nodded. “And she loves us.”

Diana Drummond gave Alexander a rueful smile. “My lord, the girls need discipline.”

“Return them to their mothers,” Venetia said. “When you remarry, your second wife—”

“We don’t need discipline,” Darcy interrupted her.

“We need Mama Tory,” Fiona said.

Aidan pointed her finger at Venetia. “We don’t like you.”

Darcy looked at the widow. “We don’t like you, either.”

“You don’t know any games,” Fiona said.

“Or stories,” Aidan added.

“Enough, daughters.” Alexander looked toward the sideboard. “Bundles, escort the ladies to their nannies.”

“Yes, my lord. To which ladies do you refer?”

Alexander gave his majordomo a long look and then beckoned his daughters closer. “You must respect adults.”

“Mama Tory said respect is not free,” Darcy told him.

“Everyone must always do the right thing,” Fiona added.

Aidan glanced at Venetia and Diana. “Even old people must earn respect.”

Alexander suppressed a smile. “Mama Tory taught you that?”

“Mama Tory knows nothing about—”

“Venetia,” Harry Gibbs interrupted, “you are arguing with five-year-olds.”

“Come, girls.” Bundles herded them toward the door, but their conversation drifted back.

“Sisters, let’s look for Mama Tory’s magic wand,” Darcy said.

“We’ll make the witches disappear,” Fiona said.

“Let’s ask the fairies and pixies to bring Mama Tory home first,” Aidan said.

“Good idea,” Darcy said. “Then Mama Tory can make the witches disappear.”

Alexander was silent until he was certain his daughters could not hear his words. “You will not speak disparagingly about Victoria in the presence of my daughters. Do you understand?”

Venetia inclined her head. “We meant no—”

Alexander looked at the widow. “Refrain from sitting in the countess’s place unless I invite you.” He stood then. “You will excuse me, please.”

At that, Alexander quit the dining room.

*    *    *

Weeks slipped by. January’s lengthening days drew to a close, and the gray skies of February arrived.

Alexander missed Victoria. He’d passed the weeks since Christmas wondering if he should relent and listen to her so-called explanation. How could he trust her truthfulness? A woman who betrayed her husband would lie to protect herself.

Supping with his daughters and reading them a bedtime story had become his routine. After which, Alexander would leave for the evening. Most nights found him at one of his clubs. Only Thursdays saw him attend the opera.

Alexander walked into White’s Gentleman’s Club and, skirting the table occupied by the Russian princes, headed for the bar. He gestured the bartender who poured him a double whisky. When he’d downed that, the man served him another.

Fortified by drink, Alexander advanced on his estranged brother-in-law. Rudolf was telling his brothers that he and his wife were taking Victoria to the opera on Wednesday.

“Is that wise?” one of the brothers asked. “What if someone gives her the cut?”

Rudolf shrugged. “Tory needs to get away from Inverary House more than society’s approval.”

Alexander stood beside their table. “Rudolf, I wondered—”

“Call me Your Highness.”

Alexander inclined his head. “I wish to inquire about Victoria’s health.”

Rudolf stared at him for a long moment. “Why do you care?”

“Victoria is my wife and carries my child.”

“I’m surprised you remembered.”

“Forget I asked.” Alexander walked away, heading for the door. If he attended the opera Wednesday instead of Thursday, perhaps he could contrive to speak with his wife.

*    *    *

On Wednesday evening, a seven-month pregnant Victoria stood in front of the cheval mirror in her bedchamber. Her high-waisted, black velvet gown pulled tightly across her belly.

Victoria decided she didn’t look too misshapen. Then she turned for the side view and grimaced.

Reluctantly, Victoria had surrendered to her sister’s and brother-in-law’s nagging to get out of the house. Both believed she needed a change of scenery, if only for one evening.

Victoria would never have agreed to the opera on a Thursday, but they had asked her for a Wednesday performance and refused to take no for an answer.

“Don’t worry,” Samantha whispered, on the ride to the opera house.

“Relax and enjoy yourself,” Prince Rudolf added.

Victoria harbored misgivings about attending the opera, and the first—becoming a spectacle—came true the moment she entered the crowded lobby. She felt disapproving gazes upon her and wished she had remained home.

Aplomb.
Victoria recalled her aunt’s advice. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and walked through the lobby with her head held high.

Apparently, all of society knew her husband was divorcing her on grounds of adultery. She should have known Venetia and Diana would act quickly to discredit her.

Walking between her sister and brother-in-law, Victoria reached the base of the stairs that led to the balcony boxes. She heard a familiar voice, “The Douglas slut is bolder than brass to show her face in polite society.”

Miriam Wilmington, Victoria thought without turning her head.

“Poor Emerson, I heard the brat belongs to her lover,” another woman said.

Victoria stiffened at the slur on her baby. She could suffer the poisonous arrows of gossip, but her baby was another matter.

“Keep walking,” Rudolf whispered, leaning close.

“Your condition precludes bashing her brainless head,” Samantha said, making her smile.

Victoria nodded and climbed the stairs. Entering the prince’s opera box, she sensed people turning to stare at her and felt like crawling under the chair to hide. Instead, she stared without seeing at the stage.

“Oh, dear,” her sister murmured.

“Damn,” her brother-in-law muttered.

Victoria followed their gazes to her husband’s opera box on the right. Her stomach churned at the sight. Alexander, Diana, Venetia, and Harry had just entered the opera box and sat down.

Rudolf gave Victoria’s hand an encouraging squeeze. “I’m sorry, Tory, but leaving now would be worse than staying.”

Victoria inclined her head, but her bottom lip quivered from her struggle to keep from weeping. God, she wished she was anywhere but here.

Pretending that Alexander and his lover weren’t sitting only a few feet away proved impossible. Victoria couldn’t keep from glancing in their direction. Each time she did, she saw her husband’s gaze on her.

Thankfully, the opera began. Victoria still felt the cold stares of the opera-goers. And Alexander. Which, she supposed, was better than remembering the tender, loving moments she and her husband had shared at the opera.

She needed to survive until intermission. No one would notice if she left during the second act.

Victoria wondered why society accepted her husband’s obvious moral transgressions while they crucified her because of gossip. She wished she lived in the old cottage. Her only worry then was where her next meal was coming from.

Act One ended, signaling intermission, a time when society socialized. The object in attending the opera was to see and to be seen. Only a few, like her husband, attended because they loved the opera.

Feeling a presence in the opera box, Victoria turned to see Lord Russell who started to talk business with Rudolf. Lydia Stanley was with him. This was all she needed to complete her miserable evening.

“Good evening, Princess Samantha,” Lydia Stanley greeted her sister. “How fares your family?”

“The children enjoy excellent health,” Samantha answered, her smile polite but not warm. “You remember my sister Victoria?”

Lydia Stanley looked at Victoria as if she was a repulsive bug. Turning her back, she said, “Excuse me, Princess, I see some friends with whom I must speak.” The voluptuous beauty looked directly at Alexander and smiled before leaving the opera box.

Victoria paled. She had just received the cut direct from one of her husband’s former lovers.

Making her public humiliation even worse, someone watching from a nearby opera box applauded Lydia Stanley’s performance and said in a loud voice, “Bravo.” Venetia and Diana burst out laughing as did several other opera-goers.

Victoria looked directly at her husband, her gaze fixed on his, accusing him as the source of this humiliation. Alexander appeared stricken, but Victoria could feel no sympathy for his regret. He had encouraged the spread of gossip about the mother of his unborn child and cast a shadow over his own son’s paternity. She would never forgive him for that.

“I appreciate your efforts to cheer me,” Victoria said, rising from her chair, “but I cannot remain here.”