Everything and the Moon (14 page)

Victoria blinked, needing an extra second to work through the maze of Harriet's words.

“I'm afraid I must agree with Harriet, much as it pains me to do so,” Robert said. “I myself have often been on the receiving end of Aunt Brightbill's lectures on propriety.”

“I don't find that particularly difficult to believe,” Victoria said.

“Oh, Robert can be quite a rake,” Harriet said. This earned her a disapproving look from her cousin.

Victoria turned to the younger girl with interest. “Is that so?”

“Oh, yes. I fear it was his broken heart that forced him to turn to other women.”

A nasty feeling began to develop in Victoria's stomach. “Exactly how many other women are we talking about?”

“Scores,” Harriet said earnestly. “Legions.”

Robert began to chuckle.

“Don't laugh,” Harriet hissed. “I am trying to make her jealous on your behalf.”

Victoria coughed, hiding a smile behind her hand. Really, Harriet was such a dear.

Mrs. Brightbill, who had been conversing with Madame Lambert, rejoined the conversation. “Are you ready, Miss Lyndon?” Her tone clearly implied that she did not expect another refusal.

“It is very kind of you, Mrs. Brightbill, but I'm frightfully busy here at the dress shop, and—”

“I just spoke to Madame Lambert, and she assured me that she might spare you for an hour.”

“You might as well give in gracefully,” Robert said with a smile. “My aunt always gets her way.”

“It must run in the family,” Victoria muttered.

“I certainly hope so,” he replied.

“Very well,” Victoria said. “A cup of tea does sound rather nice, actually.”

“Excellent,” Mrs. Brightbill said, rubbing her hands together. “We have much to discuss.”

Victoria blinked a few times and adopted an innocent expression. “His lordship won't be joining us, will he?”

“Not if you do not desire it, dear.”

Victoria turned to the man in question and offered him an acidic smile. “Good day, then, Robert.”

Robert merely leaned against the wall and smiled as she left, willing to let her believe she'd outwitted him. Victoria had said she craved normalcy, hadn't she? He chuckled. People didn't get more frighteningly normal than Aunt Brightbill.

 

Tea was actually a rather pleasant affair. Mrs. Brightbill and Harriet regaled Victoria with tales aplenty about Robert, few of which Victoria was inclined to believe. The way they extolled his honor, bravery, and kindness, one would think he was a candidate for sainthood.

Victoria wasn't entirely sure why they were so intent on welcoming her to their family; Robert's father certainly hadn't been enthusiastic about his son marrying a vicar's daughter. And now she was a common shopgirl! It was unheard of for an earl to marry someone such as her. Still, Victoria could only deduce from Mrs. Brightbill's frequent statements of, “My, but we'd quite given up on dear Robert marrying,” and “You're the first respectable lady he's shown an interest in in years,” that she was quite eager for a match.

Victoria didn't say much. She didn't feel she had very much to add to the conversation, and even if she had, Mrs. Brightbill and Harriet didn't give her many opportunities to do so.

After an hour the mother and daughter deposited Victoria back at the dress shop. Victoria poked her head through the door suspiciously, convinced that Robert was going to jump out at her from behind a dressmaker's dummy.

But he wasn't there. Madame Lambert said that he'd had business to attend to in another part of town.

Victoria was horrified to realize that she was feeling something that vaguely resembled a stab of disappointment. It wasn't because she missed him, she rationalized, she just missed the battle of wits.

“He did leave you this, though,” Madame said, holding out a fresh box of pastries. “He said he hoped you would deign to eat one.”

At Victoria's sharp look, Madame added, “His words, not mine.”

Victoria turned to hide the smile tugging at her lips. Then she forced her mouth back into a frown. He was not going to wear her down. She had told him that she valued her independence, and she'd meant it. He would not win her heart with romantic gestures.

Although, she thought pragmatically, one pastry really couldn't hurt.

 

Robert's smile spread into a full-fledged grin as he watched Victoria eat a third pastry. She obviously didn't know that he was watching her through the window, or she wouldn't have even so much as sniffed at one of the small cakes.

She then picked up the handkerchief he'd left with the box and examined the monogram. Then, after a quick scan to make sure that none of her co-workers were looking, she lifted the scrap of cloth to her face and inhaled its scent.

Robert felt tears prick his eyes. She was softening toward him. She'd die before she admitted it, but it was clear she was softening.

He watched as she tucked the handkerchief into her bodice. The simple gesture gave him hope. He would win her back; he was certain of it.

He smiled for the rest of the day. He couldn't help himself.

 

Four days later Victoria was ready to whack him over the head. And she rather relished the concept of doing so with an expensive box of sweets. Any one of the forty boxes he'd sent would suffice.

He'd also given her three romantic novels, a miniature telescope, and a small bouquet of honeysuckle, with a note reading,
I hope this reminds you of home
. Victoria had almost started to bawl right there in the dress shop when she read his words. The blasted man remembered everything she liked and disliked, and he was using it to try to bend her to his will.

He had become her shadow. He gave her enough time alone to get her work done at Madame Lambert's, but he always seemed to materialize by her side whenever she stepped foot outdoors. He didn't like it when she walked alone, he told her, especially in her neighborhood.

Victoria had pointed out that he followed her everywhere, not just to her neighborhood. Robert's mouth had tightened into a grim line and he had muttered something about personal safety and the dangers of London. Victoria was fairly certain that she'd heard the words “damn” and “fool” in the sentence as well.

She told him over and over that she valued her independence, that she wanted to be left alone, but he didn't listen. By the end of the week he wasn't speaking either. All he did was glower at her.

Robert's gifts continued to arrive at the dress shop with alarming regularity, but he no longer wasted words trying to convince her to marry him. Victoria asked him about his silence, and all he said was, “I am so goddamned furious with you that I am trying not to say anything for fear of biting your nitwit head off.”

Victoria considered his tone of voice, noticed that they were trodding through a particularly unsavory area of town at the time, and decided not to say anything more. When they arrived at her boarding house, she slipped inside without a word of farewell. Up in her room she peeked out the window.

He stared up at her curtains for more than an hour. It was disconcerting, that.

 

Robert stood in front of Victoria's building and assessed it with the eye of a man who leaves nothing to chance. He had reached his boiling point. No, he had gone far, far beyond it. He had tried his best to be patient, had wooed Victoria not with expensive gifts but with thoughtful tokens that he felt would be more meaningful. He had tried to talk sense into her until he ran out of words.

But that night had been the straw that had broken the proverbial camel's back. Victoria didn't realize it, but every time Robert followed her home, MacDougal followed them both, about ten paces behind. Usually MacDougal waited for Robert to seek him out, but that night he had made his way to his employer's side the moment Victoria slipped into her boarding house.

A man had been stabbed, MacDougal said. It had happened the night before, right in front of Victoria's boardinghouse. Robert knew that her building had a sturdy lock, but that did little to ease his mind as he regarded the bloodstains on the cobblestones. Victoria had to walk back and forth to work every day; sooner or later someone was bound to try to take advantage of her.

Victoria didn't even like stepping on ants. How the devil was she supposed to defend herself against an attack?

Robert lifted his hand to his face, his fingers pressing against the muscle that was jumping spasmodically in his temple. Deep breaths did little to ease the fury or sense of impotence that was growing within him. It was becoming obvious that he would not be able to protect Torie properly, as long as she insisted on remaining in this hellhole.

Clearly the current state of affairs could not be allowed to continue.

 

Robert acted very strangely the next day. He was more silent and brooding than usual, but he seemed to have an awful lot to discuss with MacDougal.

Victoria grew suspicious.

He was waiting for her, as usual, at the end of the day. Victoria had long since given up arguing with him when he forced her to accept his escort. It required too much energy, and she hoped that eventually he'd give up and leave her alone.

Whenever she pondered that possibility, however, she felt an odd stab of loneliness in her heart. Like it or not, she'd grown accustomed to having Robert about. It would be quite odd once he was gone.

Victoria tightened her shawl around her shoulders for the twenty-minute walk home. It was late summer, but there was a chill in the air. When she stepped through the door and onto the street, however, she saw Robert's carriage parked outside.

“I thought we might drive home,” Robert explained.

Victoria raised a questioning brow.

He shrugged. “It looks as if it might rain.”

She looked up. The sky wasn't particularly overcast, but then again it wasn't particularly clear either. Victoria decided not to argue with him. She was feeling a bit tired; she'd spent the entire afternoon catering to an extremely demanding countess.

Victoria allowed Robert to help her up into the carriage, and she settled back against the plush squabs. She let out an audible sigh as her tired muscles relaxed.

“Busy day at the dress shop?” Robert inquired.

“Mmmm, yes. The Countess of Wolcott came in today. She was rather exacting.”

Robert raised his brows. “Sarah-Jane? Good God, you deserve a medal if you managed to keep yourself from clouting her over the head.”

“Do you know but I rather think I do,” Victoria said, allowing herself a little grin. “A vainer woman I have never met. And so rude. She called me a clodhead.”

“And what did you say?”

“I couldn't say anything, of course.” Victoria's smile turned sly. “Out loud.”

Robert chuckled. “What, then, did you say in your mind?”

“Oh, any number of things. I expounded upon the length of her nose and the size of her intellect.”

“Small?”

“Very small,” Victoria replied. “Her intellect, that is. Not her nose.”

“Long?”

“Very long.” She giggled. “I was quite tempted to shorten it for her.”

“I should have liked to have seen that.”

“I should have liked to have
done
it,” Victoria retorted. Then she laughed, feeling giddier than she had in a long time.

“Goodness,” Robert said wryly. “One might actually think you were enjoying yourself. Here. With me. Imagine that.”

Victoria clamped her mouth shut.

“I am enjoying
myself
,” he said. “It is good to hear you laugh. It has been a long time.”

Victoria was silent, not sure how to respond. To deny that she had been having fun would clearly have been a lie. And yet it was so difficult to admit—even to herself—that his company brought her joy. So she did the only thing she could think to do, and yawned. “Do you mind if I nod off for a minute or two?” she asked, thinking that sleep was a good way to ignore the situation.

“Not at all,” he replied. “I'll shut the curtains for you.”

Victoria let out a sleepy sigh and drifted off, never noticing the wide smile that had broken out on Robert's face.

 

It was the quiet that woke her. Victoria had always been convinced that London was the noisiest place on earth, but she didn't hear a sound save for the clop-clop of the horses' hooves.

She forced her eyelids open.

“Good morning, Victoria.”

She blinked. “Morning?”

Robert smiled. “Just an expression. You fell quite asleep.”

“For how long?”

“Oh, about half an hour or so. You must have been very tired.”

“Yes,” she said absently. “I was quite.” Then she blinked again. “Did you say half an hour? Shouldn't we be at my home now?”

He didn't say anything.

With an extremely ominous feeling in her heart, Victoria moved to the window and pulled back the curtain. Twilight hung in the air, but she could clearly see trees, and shrubs, and even a cow.

A cow?

She turned back to Robert, her eyes narrowing. “Where are we?”

He pretended to flick a piece of lint from his sleeve. “Well on our way to the coast, I imagine.”

“The coast?” Her voice rose to a near shriek.

“Yes.”

“Is that all you're going to say on the subject?” she ground out.

He smiled. “I suppose I could point out that I've abducted you, but I imagine you've already figured that out on your own.”

Victoria went for his throat.

V
ictoria had never thought of herself as a particularly violent person—indeed, she didn't even have much of a temper—but Robert's oh-so-casual statement pushed her right over the edge.

Her body reacted without any direction whatsoever from her brain, and she launched herself at him, her hands clutching perilously close to his neck. “You fiend!” she screamed. “You godawful, bloody, blasted fiend!”

If Robert wanted to comment upon her less-than-ladylike language, he kept it to himself. Or perhaps his reticence had something to do with the way her fingers were pressing into his wind-pipe.

“How dare you?” she shrieked. “How dare you? All that time you were just pretending to listen to my talk of independence.”

“Victoria,” he gasped, trying to pry her fingers from his throat.

“Have you been plotting this all along?” When he didn't answer she began to shake him. “Have you?”

When Robert finally managed to get her off him, it required such force that Victoria was sent sprawling across the carriage. “For the love of God, woman,” he exclaimed, still gasping for air, “were you trying to kill me?”

Victoria glared at him from her position on the floor. “It does seem a meritorious plan.”

“You'll thank me for this someday,” he said, knowing full well that such a condescending statement would enrage her.

He was right. He watched as her face grew redder by the half second. “I have never been so furious in my entire life,” she finally hissed.

Robert rubbed his sore throat and said with great feeling, “I believe you.”

“You had no right to do this. I can't believe you respect me so little that you would—you would—” She broke off and snapped her head around, a horrible thought occurring to her. “Oh my God! Did you poison me?”

“What the devil are you talking about?”

“I was very tired. I fell asleep so quickly.”

“That was nothing but a lucky coincidence,” he said with a little wave of his hand. “One for which I was most grateful. It really wouldn't have done for you to have been screaming your way through the London streets.”

“I don't believe you.”

“Victoria, I am not the villain you seem to think me. Besides, was I anywhere near your food today? I didn't even give you a box of pastries.”

That much was true. The day before, Victoria had delivered a stinging diatribe on the wastefulness of one person being given so much food, and extracted a promise from Robert that he would donate any pastries he'd already purchased to a needy orphanage. And as furious as she was with him, she had to admit that he was not the sort to use poison.

“If it makes any difference,” he added, “I had no plans to abduct you until yesterday. I had been hoping that you would come to your senses before drastic measures became necessary.”

“Is it so very difficult for you to believe that I regard a life without you as sensible?”

“When such a life includes living in the worst sort of slum, yes.”

“It isn't the ‘worst' sort of slum,” she said peevishly.

“Victoria, a man was stabbed to death in front of your building two nights ago!” he shouted.

She blinked. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” he hissed. “And if you think I am going to stand by idly until the inevitable happens and you become the victim—”

“I beg your pardon, but it appears I
am
a victim. Of kidnapping at the very least.”

He looked down at her with an irritated expression. “And at the very most?”

“Rape,” she shot back.

He leaned back smugly. “It wouldn't be rape.”

“I could never want you again after what you've done to me.”

“You'll always want me. You might not want to want me just now, but you do.”

Silence reigned for a moment. Finally, with eyes like slits, Victoria said, “You're no better than Eversleigh.”

Robert's hand closed around her shoulder with stunning force. “Don't you
ever
compare him to me.”

“And why not? I think the comparison is most apt. You have both abused me, both used force—”

“I have not used force,” he said between gritted teeth.

“I haven't seen you open the door to this carriage and give me the option of leaving.” She crossed her arms in an attempt to appear resolute, but it was hard to maintain one's dignity while on the floor.

“Victoria,” Robert said in an excruciatingly patient tone of voice, “we are in the middle of the Canterbury Road. It is dark, and there is no one around. I can assure you that you do not want to exit the carriage at this time.”

“Goddamn you! Do you have any idea how much I hate it when you presume to tell me what I want?”

Robert gripped the seat of the carriage bench so hard his fingers shook. “Do you want me to stop the carriage?”

“You wouldn't do it even if I asked.”

With a movement that spoke of barely leashed violence, Robert slammed his fist against the front wall three times. Within seconds the carriage came to a halt. “There!” he said. “Get out.”

Victoria's mouth opened and closed like a dying fish.

“Would you like me to help you down?” Robert kicked open the door and jumped out. He held out his hand for her. “I live to be of service to you.”

“Robert, I don't think—”

“You haven't been thinking all week,” he snapped.

If she could have reached him, she would have slapped him.

MacDougal's face appeared next to Robert's. “Is aught amiss, my lord? Miss?”

“Miss Lyndon has expressed an interest in departing our company,” Robert said.

“Here?”

“Not here, you idiot,” Victoria hissed. And then, because MacDougal looked so affronted, she was compelled to say, “I meant Robert, not you.”

“Are you getting down or not?” Robert demanded.

“You know I'm not. What I would like is for you to return me to my home in London, not abandon me here in—” Victoria turned to MacDougal. “Where the devil are we, anyway?”

“Near to Faversham, I would think.”

“Good,” Robert said. “We'll stop there for the night. We have made excellent time, but there is no sense exhausting ourselves by pushing on to Ramsgate.”

“Right.” MacDougal paused, then said to Victoria, “Wouldn't you be more comfortable on the bench, Miss Lyndon?”

Victoria smiled acidly. “Oh, no, I'm
quite
comfortable here on the floor, Mr. MacDougal. I prefer to feel every rut and bump in the road intimately.”

“What she prefers is to be a martyr,” Robert muttered under his breath.

“I heard that!”

Robert ignored her and gave some instructions to MacDougal, who disappeared from view. He then climbed back into the carriage, shut the door, and ignored Victoria, who was still fuming on the floor. Finally she said, “What is in Ramsgate?”

“I own a cottage on the shore. I thought we might enjoy a bit of privacy there.”

She snorted. “Privacy? Now there is a frightening thought.”

“Victoria, you are beginning to try my patience.”

“
You
are not the one who has been abducted, my lord.”

He cocked a brow. “Do you know, Victoria, but I am beginning to think that you are enjoying yourself.”

“You suffer from too much imagination,” she shot back.

“I do not jest,” he said, thoughtfully stroking his chin. “I think there must be something appealing in being able to vent one's offended sensibilities.”

“I have every right to be outraged,” she growled.

“I'm sure you think you do.”

She leaned forward in what she hoped was a menacing manner. “I truly believe if I had a gun right now I would shoot you.”

“I thought you were partial to pitchforks.”

“I am partial to anything that would do you bodily harm.”

“I do not doubt it,” Robert said, chuckling.

“Don't you care that I hate you?”

He let out a long breath. “Let me make one thing clear. Your safety and well-being are my highest priorities. If removing you from that slum you insisted on calling home means that I must live with your hatred for a few days, then so be it.”

“It won't be only a few days.”

Robert didn't say anything.

Victoria sat there on the floor of the carriage, trying to collect her thoughts. Tears of frustration pricked at her eyes, and she started to take frequent and shallow breaths—anything to prevent her tears' mortifying spill down her cheeks. “You did the one thing…” she said, her words tinged with the nervous laughter of one who knows she has been beaten. “The one thing…”

He turned his head to face her. “Would you like to get up?”

She shook her head. “All I wanted was a bit of control over my own life. Was that so much to ask?”

“Victoria—”

“And then you did the one thing that would take that away from me,” she interrupted, her voice growing louder. “The one thing!”

“I acted in your best int—”

“Do you have any idea what it feels like to have someone take your decisions away from you?”

“I know what it feels like to be manipulated,” he said in a very low voice.

“It's not the same thing,” she said, turning her head so he wouldn't see her cry.

There was a moment of silence as Robert tried to compose his words. “Seven years ago I had my life planned out to the very last detail. I was young, and I was in love. Madly, desperately in love. All I wanted was to marry you and spend the rest of my life making you happy. We'd have children,” he said wistfully. “I always imagined them looking like you.”

“Why are you saying this?”

He stared at her, drilling her with his eyes, even though she refused to return his gaze. “Because I know what it feels like to have one's dreams ripped away. We were young and stupid, and if we'd had any sense we would have realized what our fathers did to keep us apart. But it wasn't our fault.”

“Don't you understand? I don't care about what happened seven years ago anymore. It doesn't matter to me.”

“I think it does.”

She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. “I don't want to talk about it any longer.”

“Very well.” Robert picked up a newspaper and began to read.

Victoria sat on the floor and tried not to cry.

 

Twenty minutes later the carriage rolled to a halt in front of a small inn just off the Canterbury Road in Faversham. Victoria waited in the carriage while Robert went in to procure rooms.

A few minutes later he emerged. “Everything is arranged,” he said.

“I hope you got me my own room,” she said stiffly.

“Of course.”

Victoria declined—somewhat forcefully—his offer of assistance, and she jumped down from the carriage on her own. Excruciatingly aware of his hand on the small of her back, she was led into the building. As they passed through the front room, the innkeeper called out, “I do hope you and your wife enjoy your stay, my lord.”

Victoria waited just until they had turned the corner on the way to the staircase. “I thought you said we have separate rooms,” she hissed.

“We do. I had no other option than to tell him you are my wife. It is clear that you are not my sister.” He touched a lock of her sable hair with exquisite tenderness. “And I did not want anyone to think that you are my paramour.”

“But—”

“I imagine the innkeeper simply thinks that we are a married couple who do not enjoy each other's company.”

“At least part of that statement is true,” she muttered.

He turned to her with a surprisingly radiant smile. “I always enjoy your company.”

Victoria stopped in her tracks and just stared at him, utterly dumbfounded by his apparent good humor. Finally she said, “I cannot decide if you are insane, stubborn, or merely stupid.”

“I opt for stubborn, if I get a vote.”

She let out an exasperated breath of air and marched ahead of him. “I'm going to my room.”

“Wouldn't you like to know which one it is?”

Victoria could positively feel his grin at her back. “Would you care to tell me,” she said between clenched teeth, “the number of my room?”

“Three.”

“Thank you,” she said, and then wished that courtesy hadn't been so methodically drummed into her at a young age. As if he deserved her gratitude.

“I'm number four,” he called out helpfully. “Just in case you want to know where to find me.”

“I'm sure that won't be necessary.” Victoria reached the top of the stairs, turned the corner, and began to look for her room. She could hear Robert a few paces behind her.

“One never knows.” When she didn't comment, he added, “I can think of a host of reasons you may need to contact me.” When she continued to ignore him, he added, “A thief might try to invade your room. You might have a nightmare.”

The only bad dreams she might have, Victoria thought, would be about him.

“The inn might be haunted,” he continued. “Just think of all the scary ghosts lurking about.”

Victoria was quite unable to ignore that one. She turned slowly around. “That is the most implausible idea I have ever heard.”

He shrugged. “It could happen.”

She merely stared at him, looking very much as if she was trying to determine how to get him admitted to an asylum.

“Or,” he added, “you might miss me.”

“I rescind my earlier statement,” she snapped. “
That
is the most implausible idea I have ever heard.”

He clasped his heart dramatically. “You wound me, my lady.”

“I am not your lady.”

“You will be.”

“Ah, look,” she said with patently false brightness. “Here is my room. Good night.” Without waiting for Robert to respond, Victoria entered her room and shut the door in his face.