The Skilled Seduction (24 page)

Meg closed the door behind them, turning the lock, before speaking in an exasperated tone, “Oh, Lady Victoria, have you heard? Oh, of course you did, you poor dear. Why else would you be roaming the servants’ corridor?”

“To what are you referring, Meg?” Victoria asked as the slender woman paced the room with nervous energy.

“Oh, it is a disaster!” Meg continued, glancing at Victoria with an apologetic look before returning her attention to her feet. “Forgive me for saying so, Lady Victoria, but this is a disaster the likes of which I have never before seen.”

“Meg?” When Victoria failed to get the woman’s attention, she crossed the room and grabbed her friend by the shoulders. “For heaven’s sake, what are you prattling on about?”

“You didn’t hear! Oh, no, you didn’t hear!” Meg sank in a faded, oversized chaise under the windows as if she were about to swoon.

An icy chill crept up Victoria’s spine. “What has happened, Meg?” she managed, anxiety reaching a crescendo within her chest.

Meg’s face turned ashen, quickly transforming Victoria’s previous angst into sheer terror, squeezing her heart until she was sure it would stop beating at any moment.

“His Grace knows,” Meg muttered at last, her lips quivering.

Victoria leaned against the sturdy wall for support.

“I’m so sorry, La—”

“Who told him?” Victoria’s voice shook from a combination of fear and shame. Someone had beaten her to it and it was now official. Not only had she disappointed her eldest brother, but she had now disgraced and alienated the man who was more of a father to her than their own had ever been.

Victoria swallowed hard. “Please tell me who informed him, Meg.”

“I don’t know. His Grace confronted Mr. MacAlistair earlier. Smythe told me. He could hear them outside the duke’s study, as Smythe was trimming the hedges.” Meg paused then pursed her lips, as if thoroughly repulsed by the topic.

Tori couldn’t blame her for the sentiment.

“That sneak, Smythe, peered through one of the windows and saw His Grace and Mr. MacAlistair fighting,” Meg’s tone became even more animated. “Physically fighting, I mean – fisticuffs.”

Victoria grabbed Meg’s arm. “Is Sebastian well?”

“A bloody lip is all. According to Smythe, Mr. MacAlistair refused to fight back at first. Not until …” Meg bit her lower lip, as if she couldn’t speak the horrible truth.

“Until what?” Victoria demanded, squeezing her friend’s shoulders. “Tell me, Meg.”

“My Lord compared you to …” Meg clenched her hands into tight fists before adding “this mustn’t be correct. Smythe must have heard wrong, Lady Victoria.”

Victoria’s pulse pounded like a drum in her temples, the noise so loud that she barely heard Meg’s answer.

“A whore,” Meg muttered before wiping her hands upon her apron, as if she could so easily remove the filth of her words.

On weak knees, Victoria stumbled then fell to the floor. Her brother considered her to be a whore?

Meg ran to her mistress, sinking to her knees, before taking Victoria’s hand. “Smythe said that was when Mr. MacAlistair erupted, demanding that His Grace never refer to you as such again. The duchess arrived soon after to break up their row.”

“Gwen knows the truth, too?” Victoria muttered. “Is there anyone within the near proximity who does not?”

Meg shrugged, an expression of sheer terror marring her animated features.
 

Apparently Victoria’s disgrace was already the topic du jour. Add to that a physical altercation between the Duke of Davenport and his brother-in-law and a substantial scandal was born.

“I dare say that my complete ruination occurred at a record pace.” Tori tried unsuccessfully to be her usual sarcastic self but this statement rang true.

“My Lady,” Meg’s empathetic tone caught Victoria’s attention. “The duke and duchess sent Mr. MacAlistair away. His Grace has ordered Mr. MacAlistair’s belongings to be delivered to Ainsley.”

Gwen disowned her own twin? “I’m next.”
 

“No,” Meg muttered. “The duke would never do such a thing to you.”

Icy tentacles of fear slid around Tori’s body, tugging tight until she thought she would surely sink beneath their frozen depths.

What if Sebastian refused to allow Victoria her funds?
 

What would she do then?

“Is Tristan all right?” Victoria asked, her raspy voice no louder than a whisper. “Did my brother hurt him?”

Meg nodded. “Smythe said that he was tossed about quite a bit. Once Her Grace appeared, Smythe didn’t observe any longer for fear that he’d be caught spying, and rightly so if you ask me. He told me all that had transpired. Though he refused to admit how many he told before me, I swore him to secrecy. He won’t dare tell anyone. I threatened to kill him in his sleep if he utters one word about this,” Meg reassured her.

Victoria looked Meg straight in the eyes. “He will narrate all that transpired to anyone within earshot, dearest Meg. If he hasn’t done so already, that is.”

Her maid’s lips pursed in indignation.
 

“While I appreciate your loyal devotion to me,” Victoria placed her palm on Meg’s cheek, “I will not allow you to execute your threat to murder Smythe. I dare say we’ve met our quota for ladies suffering complete ruination on this particular day.”
 

The two grinned, though tearfully. Meg seemed heartbroken for her mistress and the fact caused Tori to feel even worse. Tears stung the backs of her eyes as she thanked her friend. She then glanced towards the door. “I know that I must confront Sebastian and Gwen but I need to compose myself first.”

“Oh, Lady Victoria. You can stay down here for as long as you’d like,” Meg managed a smile. Or at least Victoria thought it was a smile, as the corners of the sweet woman’s lips twitched. Upon further inspection, her mouth was rather distorted and Victoria could easily discern that her maid was frightened at the prospect of defying the duke by concealing his sister in the servants’ wing.

Victoria stood with her shoulders straight and walked to the door, placing her hand on the knob then opening it wide causing a rather loud squeaking sound.

“What are you doing, my Lady?” Meg shrieked, tugging at Victoria’s arm. “You can’t do that. It is a door.”
 

Victoria expelled a deep breath. “So it is.”

“But you can’t be seen down here,” Meg scratched her face absentmindedly.
 

Attempting to add some levity to her dire situation, Victoria shrugged her shoulders, “My eldest brother thinks I’m a whore. Who could blame me for choosing this as my escape route?”

Meg pursed her lips again, as if sucking on a lemon.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! The entire household staff has been apprised of my absolute ruin, Meg. In comparison to my other sins, exiting through the servants’ wing is the least of my offenses. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Meg opened her mouth to protest but Victoria silenced her.

“As I alluded before, if you think Smythe hasn’t already informed everyone within earshot, you are a complete dolt.” Tori wagged her finger at her maid. “And since I know you to be sharp as a blade, it bears repeating that I forbid you from murdering Smythe in his sleep. It will be a difficult charge to defend you from, especially since the only barrister in our family has been disowned,” she added, referring to Tristan.

Meg placed her hands on her hips and stifled a “Harrumph.”

“Dearest Meg, there is only so much humor I can muster,” Victoria attempted a grin. “My whole plan as to how to handle this situation has combusted and I require time to think before I face Sebastian. Please allow me to depart.”

“You’ll—you will hurt yourself,” Meg muttered in a final, albeit feeble, attempt at dissuading Victoria.

Tilting her head to the side, Victoria blinked in an effort to understand her maid’s logic. “I shall take my chances,” Victoria inhaled a deep, calming breath before steeling her shoulders and walking down the corridor towards the servants’ exit, her posture proud, exuding strength and confidence. She was her mother’s daughter after all.
 

The Dowager Duchess of Davenport never cowered, nor would her daughter.
 

Not any longer.
 

Victoria’s life may have turned into one Greek tragedy. Or was it a farce? She was, after all, exiting through the servants’ wing, was she not? Yes, her life had become a farce, but she wouldn’t allow anyone else to bear witness to her anguish.

Instead, she walked into the cool mist hovering above the grounds and quickened her pace as she placed her ermine hood over her head, well aware of what she must do next.

If her brother were to toss her from his home the way he had done to Tristan, there was someone she needed to see first.

The time had come for her to face her indiscretion with Tristan and face her future. Out of all of the people in her life, there was only one person who could possibly understand. Tori would hold on to her only lifeline, aware that she needed all the strength she could muster for her upcoming confessions.

God, give me strength for what lies ahead.

* * *

Victoria made her way through the thick fog, the moist mist clinging to her face and hair like a cold, intricately woven web. The scent of wet earth permeated her nostrils as her leather boots slid in the mud beneath her feet.

She clutched her cloak to ward off the chill, fully aware that she couldn’t turn back. Not until she had reached her destination. Instead, Tori stopped at a bank of wildflowers hidden within a maze of thick shrubbery.
 

Her mother loved wildflowers, she recalled, digging deep into the recesses of her mind to remember her mother’s statement. What had she said? That wildflowers weren’t the most admired of their breed, usurped by the more beautiful roses. But they were sturdy, beneath their colorful façade.

How Victoria could learn a thing or two from them.

Her heart ached with the knowledge that in spite of his refusal to ever care for her, Tristan defended her to Sebastian and, in doing so, sacrificed his twin sister in the process. Meanwhile, Victoria planned to confess to her brother and run as far away from Tristan as she could possibly get, resigned to a fate of losing everyone she had ever loved and the only place she had ever called home.

All because she refused to marry a man who would never love her.

Victoria squeezed the stems tighter, the dampness seeping into her leather gloves as she advanced towards her destination at a brisk pace. What would she say once she got there? How does one admit to being morally corrupt, completely selfish and self-destructive? Victoria glanced over her shoulder then hastened her pace. She needed to speak aloud what she’d been grappling with for the past several days.

She needed to confess the awful truth that was choking her!

Riddled with guilt, Victoria had been tortured by a paralyzing fear that kept her awake at night, ever since her encounter with Tristan. Then there was the humiliation that came from loving a man so completely that she willingly offered herself to him only to realize she meant nothing to him.

As much as she was ashamed of herself and angered by her own behavior, she was equally as enraged by Tristan. For destroying all she ever loved about him, the man he was before his dark transformation.

For the very first time, she realized how much Tristan disliked himself. Perhaps he was ashamed at the fool he’d been with Eve? Could that be the same shame Victoria felt from romanticizing him, loving him, making love to him so wholeheartedly?

At last, Victoria had something in common with him … she despised herself almost as much as Tristan despised himself. Both of their siblings now knew just how unworthy of affection they each were though, the truth of the matter was that whatever Tristan or anyone else might think of her was nothing compared to the intense disgust she felt towards herself.

Victoria shivered as she approached her destination. It had been so long since she’d been here … too long. Her gloved fingers fumbled with the latch before she managed to open the gate. Tears welled in her eyes, as she opened her heart at last to the pain of the past few days.

“I’m sorry I haven’t visited you recently,” Victoria tore her eyes from the small mausoleum in front of her then glanced in the direction of the mausoleum several feet away. Hands trembling ever so slightly, she clutched the fistful of flowers in a firm grip.

It was still difficult to face her father. Even after all these years, with that fateful night all but a distant memory now, Victoria still wished they’d interred Mama farther away from him. It would be easier to ignore what happened if she never had to be near the man, though she would never be able to forget let alone forgive.

Victoria again focused on the light gray marble that housed her mother’s remains. She dropped to her knees, the wet grass seeping into the fabric of her skirts, as she placed the bouquet upon a shiny marble step, slick with condensation.

“Tristan said that I know nothing of loss, of pain, of deception,” Victoria paused, taking a moment to adjust a petal that was bent out of place. “But you and I know better, don’t we?”