“How is Eleanor? Did you speak with her?”
“She was nearly hysterical and took to her bed, but the Stanfields are still planning to attend the house party.” She harrumphed. “Unless they have locked Lady Eleanor away.”
“Perhaps Lord Berkwith will offer for Eleanor.” The earnestness in the lord’s eyes had swayed her opinion of him, but did he truly love Eleanor? Or was she simply a pretty, pliable, suitable lady with a very attractive dowry?
“Men like Berkwith only care about what someone can do for them. Eleanor is a sweet girl. She deserves better than to be saddled with a man like him.” It was perhaps the most honest conversation Victoria had ever had with her mother about the nature of love and marriage.
“Why did you marry Father?” The question popped out, and by the way her mother’s eyebrows rose, it surprised them both.
“From the moment I met your father, I recognized his intelligence and ambition. I was ambitious too.” Something similar to her father’s rock-hard fortitude shimmered in her mother like the reflection on a lake. Perhaps they weren’t as ill-suited as Victoria had assumed.
Victoria had never considered her mother ambitious, but she supposed it depended on one’s viewpoint. Her mother had been the daughter of a country squire. Now she was the wife of a man who had earned a knighthood and was welcomed along the edges of society. If Victoria made a good marriage, the Hawkins family might be accepted into the heart of the ton.
“You will bathe, change into something appropriate, and then join us for dinner. Lord and Lady Tilbury are also staying here on their way to the Barclays.” Her mother’s tone turned speculative. “As is their son Lord Percival. A second son, but with prospects. Your presence—smiling and charming—will go a long way to quash any talk. If anyone inquires, you traveled from London with us and have been resting in your room.”
“Of course, Mother.” Victoria didn’t have to force an agreeable tone. Considering the alternative was a possible marriage to Lord Berkwith, she would play her part to dispel any talk. It seemed Lord Percival had emerged as a dark horse for her hand. How could she hobble his chances?
Her mother swept out of the room, and Victoria only had time to remove the padding under her dress before her mother’s maid, Margery, appeared. Not five minutes later, a knock on the door signaled the arrival of a shallow tub and pitchers of steaming water.
Her bath was perfunctory, even though she wanted to revel in the warmth and ease her soreness. The long hours of riding, plus her morning activities with Thomas, had left her aching in all sorts of places. She dressed in a long-sleeved gown of dark blue with golden accents around the modest neckline and matching gold braiding around the cuffs and hem.
Margery pinned Victoria’s hair up, her frustration with the escaping curls manifesting itself in a rough jab with the final pin. Victoria stared at her reflection. How odd that she didn’t look any different when everything had changed.
“Your mother will be waiting.” Margery bustled out without a backward glance.
Victoria didn’t move for a long moment, wishing the girl in the wavery looking glass could offer a nugget of wisdom. She was at a tipping point. One direction would send her into a safe, albeit unhappy, marriage with a virtual stranger. The other direction was shrouded. That future could well be a disaster, but hope lurked. Could she abandon the faint hope of true happiness for comfort and acceptance?
She didn’t have the strength to untangle her feelings tonight. Tonight she would paste on a smile and pretend nothing had changed. Her determination was challenged the moment she entered the private dining room of the inn.
Thomas had tucked himself into a corner and surveyed the scene like his nickname, the Hawk. He had bathed as well, and his dark hair was still damp. She was staring, yet she couldn’t stop herself.
She knew what his hands felt like on her skin, knew what he tasted like, knew the pleasure of having him between her legs, and she wanted more. She wanted to wake up next to him every morning and discuss politics and science and art while threading her fingers through his hair.
She almost threw her head back and laughed like a mad woman. Untangling her feelings proved to be simple once she’d cast aside her fears. She loved Thomas Garrick and would happily sacrifice a life as some lord’s wife to be with him.
Would he be willing to step into the unknown at her side? No, not completely unknown. The future would be riddled with challenges. Thomas would lose his position for betraying her father’s trust. She had been focused on the risks she would incur by wanting Thomas, but he would lose far more. What if he didn’t consider her worth the risk? The thought soured her appetite.
“Victoria.” Her mother snapped her name.
Victoria gathered herself. The gentlemen were standing and waiting for her to take her seat between her mother and Lord Percival. His father, the Viscount of Tilbury, was at the head, and Sir Hawkins and the viscountess were across the table.
“I’m so pleased our travel plans coincided,” Victoria murmured while taking her seat and forcing a smile.
Thomas was behind her and her nape heated. His big hand had grasped her there and guided their lips together. Was he recalling the same moment?
Her father was watching her closely. Of course he watched everything closely. It was why he excelled at subterfuge. A glass of wine was placed in front of her. Victoria glanced at her mother, who nodded. Perhaps her mother understood Victoria needed help to loosen her tongue.
She drained half the glass before taking a bite of food. The warmth settled in her belly. While she wasn’t relaxed, she found herself answering questions and making small talk with Lord Percival, even though she couldn’t remember a blink later what they had discussed.
Finally, dinner ended. As everyone would rise early to travel to the Barclay’s manor house, the party broke up and retired to their rooms, eschewing after-dinner port or any gossiping among the ladies. Lord Percival fell into step alongside Victoria.
“I enjoyed our dinner conversation immensely, Miss Hawkins.” Lord Percival was a nice-enough-looking fellow, if a bit spindly and sallow-faced.
“As did I.” She prayed he wouldn’t quiz her on her favorite topic.
Shooting her a shy smile, he took her hand and pressed a light kiss on the back. “I hope to further our acquaintance at the house party.”
“That would be very pleasant, my lord.” She retrieved her hand from his grasp and didn’t linger.
Her father waited in the hallway outside of her room. “I would speak with you a moment.”
Dread tied her stomach into a knot. “Of course, Father.”
Was he going to ask her if Thomas had acted inappropriately? Or would he know that she was the one who had instigated their encounter? Would she lie to keep their secret or tell the truth? She lowered herself into the velvet chair, which she realized immediately was a mistake. Even though he wasn’t a large man, his presence filled the room as he paced.
“I have been unable to locate the men who attempted to abduct you. What can you tell me?”
“There were two men. Big. Rough.”
“How were they dressed? What did they smell like?”
She blinked at the questions, then closed her eyes. “Woolen jackets. One dark blue, the other brown. Unpatched, but worn heavily around the elbows. The man who grabbed me smelled like…” She took a breath through her nose, searching for the scent in her memories. “Onions? Ale?”