Once and Always

by Judith McNaught

  A smile hovered about his lips. “You are, but you’ve no reason to be.” He laid his hand against her heated face, slowly running it back to smooth her heavy hair. “I will hurt you only once, and then only because it’s unavoidable.”

  “What—why?”

  His jaw tensed. “Perhaps it won’t hurt after all. Is that it?”

  “Is what it?” Victoria cried a little hysterically. “I wish you wouldn’t speak in riddles when I’m already so confused I can scarcely think.”

  With one of his quicksilver changes of mood, he dismissed the matter with a cool shrug. “It doesn’t matter,” he said curtly. “I don’t care what you did with Bainbridge. That was before.”

  “Before?” Victoria repeated in rising tones of frustrated incomprehension. “Before what?”

  “Before me,” he said in a clipped tone. “However, I think you ought to know in advance that I won’t tolerate being cuckolded. Is that clear?”

  Victoria’s mouth dropped open. “Cuckolded! You’re mad. Utterly mad.”

  His lips quirked in a near-smile. “We’ve already agreed on that.”

  “If you continue speaking in insulting innuendos,” she warned, “I’m going upstairs to the sanctuary of my room.”

  Jason looked down into her stormy blue eyes and repressed the sudden urge to gather her into his arms and again devour her mouth with his. “Very well, we’ll talk about something mundane. What is Mrs. Craddock preparing?”

  Victoria felt as if the world, and everyone in it, was revolving in one direction, while she was constantly turning in the opposite direction, dizzy and lost. “Mrs. Craddock?” she uttered blankly.

  “The cook. See, I have learned her name. I also know that O’Malley is your favorite footman.” He grinned. “Now, what is Mrs. Craddock preparing for supper?”

  “Goose,” Victoria said, trying to recover her balance. “Is—is that acceptable?”

  “Perfectly. Are we dining at home?”

  “I am,” she replied, deliberately noncommittal.

  “In that case, naturally, so am I.”

  He was playing the role of husband already, she realized dazedly. “I’ll inform Mrs. Craddock then,” she said, and turned away in a trance of confusion. Jason said he was attracted to her. He wanted to marry her. Impossible. If Uncle Charles died, she would have to marry him. If she married him now, perhaps Uncle Charles would find the will to live. And children—Jason wanted children. She wanted them too, very much. She wanted something to love. Perhaps they could be happy together; there were times when Jason could be charming and engaging, times when his smile made her feel like smiling. He had said he wouldn’t hurt her. . . . She was halfway across the room when Jason’s calm voice stopped her.

  “Victoria—”

  Automatically, Victoria turned toward him.

  “I think you’ve already made your decision about our marriage. If it is yes, we ought to see Charles after supper and tell him we’re setting the date for our wedding. He’ll like that, and the sooner we tell him, the better.”

  Jason was insisting on knowing if she intended to marry him, Victoria realized. She stared across the room at the handsome, forceful, dynamic man—and the moment seemed to freeze in time. Why did she think he was tense as he waited for her answer? Why did he have to ask her to marry him as if it was a business proposition?

  “I—” Victoria began helplessly, while Andrew’s sweet, formal proposal suddenly tolled through her mind. “Say you will marry me, Victoria. I love you. I’ll always love you . . .”

  Her chin came up in angry rebellion. At least Jason Fielding didn’t mouth words of love he didn’t feel. Neither, however, had he proposed to her with any show of sentimental affection, so she accepted his proposal in the same unemotional way it had been offered. She looked at Jason and nodded stiffly. “We’ll tell him after supper.”

  Victoria could have sworn the tension seemed to leave Jason’s face and body.

  * * *

  Technically, it was the evening of her engagement, and Victoria decided to use the occasion to try to set a better pattern for their future. The morning of the duel, Jason had said he enjoyed her laughter. If, as she suspected, he was as lonely and empty inside as she herself often felt, then perhaps they could brighten each other’s lives. Barefoot, she stood in front of the open wardrobe, surveying her loveliest gowns, trying to decide what to wear for this mock-festive occasion. She finally decided on an aqua chiffon gown with an overskirt dusted with shimmering gold spangles and a necklace of gold-encrusted aquamarines Jason had given her as a gift the night of her come-out. Ruth brushed her hair until it shone, then parted it at the center and let it fall in gleaming waves that framed Victoria’s face and spilled over her shoulders and back. When Victoria was satisfied with her appearance, she left her room and went down to the drawing room. Jason had evidently followed the same impulse, for his tall frame was formally clad in an immaculately tailored claret velvet coat and trousers with a white brocade waistcoat and ruby studs winking in his shirtfront.

  He was pouring champagne into a glass when he looked up and saw her, and his bold eyes moved over her with unhidden masculine appreciation. Pride of ownership was evident in his possessive gaze and Victoria’s stomach jumped nervously when she saw it. He had never looked at her like this before—as if she were a tasty morsel he was planning to devour at his leisure.

  “You have the most disconcerting ability to look like an enchanting child one moment, and an incredibly alluring woman, the next,” he said.

  “Thank you,” Victoria said uncertainly, “I think.”

  “It was intended as a compliment,” he assured her, smiling slightly. “I’m not usually so clumsy with compliments that you can’t identify them. I’ll be more careful in future.”

  Touched by this small indication that he intended to try to change to please her, Victoria watched as he deftly poured the sparkling liquid into two glasses. He handed her one and she started to turn toward the settee, but he put a restraining hand on her bare arm and drew her back. With his other hand he opened the lid of a large velvet jeweler’s box lying beside his glass and withdrew a triple strand of the largest, most magnificent pearls Victoria had ever seen. Wordlessly he turned her toward the mirror above the side table and pushed her long hair aside. His fingers sent tiny tremors down her spine as he removed the aquamarines and laid the wide, heavy pearl choker around her slim neck.

  In the mirror, Victoria watched his expressionless features as he fastened the diamond clasp at the back of her neck, then lifted his eyes to hers, studying the pearl choker at her throat. “Thank you,” she began awkwardly, turning around.

  “I’d rather be thanked with a kiss,” Jason instructed patiently.

  Victoria leaned up on her toes and obediently but self-consciously pressed a kiss on his smooth, freshly shaven cheek. Something about the way he gave her pearls and coolly expected a kiss in return bothered her very much—it was as if he was purchasing her favors, beginning with a kiss in exchange for a necklace. That notion was rather frighteningly confirmed when he said about her kiss: “That isn’t much of a kiss for so beautiful a necklace,” and took her lips with sudden, demanding insistence.

  When he let her go, he smiled quizzically into her apprehensive blue eyes. “Don’t you like pearls, Victoria?”

  “Oh, I do—truly!” Victoria said nervously, angry with herself for her inability to control her foolish, fanciful fears. “I’ve never seen such beautiful ones as these. Even Lady Wilhelm’s weren’t so huge. These are fit for a queen.”

  “They belonged to a Russian princess a century ago,” he said, and Victoria was oddly touched that he apparently thought her worthy of such a priceless necklace.

  After supper, they went upstairs to see Charles. His delight when they quietly told him of their decision to go ahead with the wedding plans took years off his face, and when Jason fondly put his arm around Victoria’s shoulders, the bedridden invalid actually laughed with jo
y. He looked so happy, so confident that they were doing the right thing, that Victoria almost believed they were, too.

  “When’s the wedding to be?” Charles asked suddenly.

  “In one week,” Jason said, earning a surprised glance from Victoria.

  “Excellent, excellent!” Charles averred, beaming at them. “I intend to be well enough by then to attend myself.”

  Victoria started to protest, but Jason’s fingers tightened on her arm, warning her not to argue.

  “And what have you there, my dear?” Charles asked, beaming at the necklace at her throat.

  Her hand went automatically to the object of his gaze. “Jason gave me these tonight, to seal our barg—betrothal,” she explained.

  When the interview with Charles was finished, Victoria pleaded exhaustion and Jason walked her to the door of her bedroom suite. “Something is bothering you,” he said calmly. “What is it?”

  “Among other things, I feel wretched about being married before my mourning period for my parents is past. I’ve felt guilty every time I’ve gone to a ball. I’ve had to be evasive about when my parents died so people wouldn’t realize what a disrespectful daughter I am.”

  “You’ve done what you had to do, and your parents would understand that. By marrying me immediately, you’re giving Charles a reason to live. You saw how much better he looked when we told him we’ve set the date for the wedding. Besides, the original decision to cut short your mourning period was mine, not yours, and so you had no choice in the matter. If you must blame someone, blame me.”

  Logically, Victoria knew he was right, and she changed the subject. “Tell me,” she said, her smile lightly accusing, “now that I’ve just discovered we decided to be married in one week, could you tell me where we decided to be married?”

  “Touché,” he grinned. “Very well; we’ve decided to be married here.”

  Victoria shook her head emphatically. “Please, Jason, can’t we be married in church—in the little village church I saw near Wakefield? We could wait a little longer until Uncle Charles can make the trip.” Astonished, she watched a look of cold revulsion flash through his eyes at the mention of a church, but after a moment’s hesitation, he acquiesced with a curt nod. “If a church wedding is what you want, we’ll have it here in London at a church large enough to accommodate all the guests.”

  “Please, no—” Victoria burst out, unconsciously laying her hand on his sleeve. “I’m very far from America, my lord. The church near Wakefield would be better—it reminds me of home, and ever since I was a little girl, I’ve dreamed of being married in a little village church—” She’d dreamed of being married in a little village church to Andrew, Victoria realized belatedly, and wished she’d never thought of the church at all.

  “I want our marriage to take place in London, before the ton,” Jason said with absolute finality. “However, we’ll compromise,” he offered. “We’ll be married in church here, and then we’ll go to Wakefield for a small celebration.”

  Victoria’s hand slid from his sleeve. “Forget I mentioned a church at all. Invite everyone here to the house. It would be little short of blasphemy to enter a church and seal what is nothing more than a cold business arrangement.” With a lame attempt at humor, she added, “While we were vowing to love and honor one another, I’d be waiting for lightning to strike.”

  “We’ll be married in a church,” Jason said curtly, cutting short her diatribe. “And if lightning strikes, I’ll bear the expense for a new roof.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “GOOD AFTERNOON, MY DEAR,” CHARLES said cheerfully, patting the edge of the bed beside him. “Come sit down. Your visit last night with Jason has restored my health beyond belief. Now, tell me more about your wedding plans.”

  Victoria sat down beside him. “Truthfully, it’s all very confusing, Uncle Charles. Northrup has just told me Jason packed the things from his study this morning and has moved back to Wakefield.”

  “I know,” Charles said, smiling. “He came in to see me before he left and told me he’d decided to do it ‘for the sake of appearances.’ The less time he spends in close proximity to you, the less chance there is for any further gossip.”

  “So that’s why he left,” Victoria said, her worried expression clearing.

  Laughter shook Charles’s shoulders as he nodded. “My child, I think this is the first time in his life that Jason has ever made a concession to propriety! It irked him to do it, but he did it anyway. You have a decidedly good influence on him,” Charles finished merrily. “Perhaps you can teach him next to stop scoffing at principles.”

  Victoria smiled back at him, relieved and quite suddenly very happy. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about the wedding arrangements,” she admitted, “except that it’s to take place in a big church here in London.”

  “Jason is taking care of everything. He took his secretary with him to Wakefield, along with the main staff from here, so they can make the preparations. After the ceremony, a wedding celebration will take place at Wakefield for your close friends and some of the villagers. I believe the invitation list and the invitations are already in the process of being prepared. So you have nothing to do except remain here and enjoy everyone’s surprise when they realize you are well and truly to be the next Duchess of Atherton.”

  Victoria dismissed that and hesitantly brought up something that was much more important to her. “The night you were so very ill, you mentioned something about my mother and you—something you had intended to tell me.”

  Charles turned his head away, gazing out the window, and Victoria said quickly, “You needn’t tell me if it will upset you to speak of it.”

  “It’s not that,” he said, slowly returning his gaze to her face. “I know how understanding and sensible you are, but you’re still very young. You loved your father, probably as much as you loved your mother. Once I tell you what I have to say, you might begin to think of me as an interloper in their marriage, although I swear to you I never communicated with your mother after she married your papa. Victoria,” he explained miserably, “I’m trying to tell you I don’t want you to despise me, and I fear you might when you hear the story.”

  Victoria took his hand in hers and said gently, “How could I possibly despise someone with the good sense to love my mother?”

  He looked down at her hand and his voice was choked with emotion. “You inherited your mother’s heart as well, do you know that?” When Victoria remained silent, his gaze returned to the windows and he began the story of his involvement with Katherine. Not until he was done did he look at Victoria again, and when he did he saw no condemnation in her eyes, only sorrow and compassion. “So you see,” he finished, “I loved her with all my heart. I loved her and I cut her out of my life when she was the only thing worth living for.”

  “My great-grandmother forced you to do it,” Victoria said, her eyes stormy.

  “Were they happy—your mother and father, I mean? I’ve always wondered what sort of marriage they had, but I’ve been afraid to ask.”

  Victoria remembered the awful scene she had witnessed so many Christmases ago between her parents, but it was outweighed by the eighteen years of kindness and consideration they’d shown each other. “Yes, they were happy. Their marriage wasn’t at all like a ton marriage.”

  She spoke of a “ton marriage” with such aversion that Charles smiled curiously. “What do you mean by a ton marriage?”

  “The sort of marriage nearly everyone here in London has—except for Robert and Caroline Collingwood and a few others. The sort of marriage where the couple is rarely in each other’s company, and when they happen to meet at some affair, they behave like polite, well-bred strangers. The gentlemen are always off enjoying their own amusements, and the ladies have their cicisbeos. At least my parents lived together in a real home and we were a real family.”

  “I gather you intend to have an old-fashioned marriage with an old-fashioned family,” he teased, looki
ng very pleased at the idea.

  “I don’t think Jason wants that sort of marriage.” She couldn’t bring herself to tell Charles that Jason’s original offer was for her to give him a son and then go away. She consoled herself with the knowledge that, even though he’d made that offer, he’d seemed to prefer that she remain with him in England.

  “I doubt very much if Jason knows what he wants right now,” Charles said gravely. “He needs you, child. He needs your warmth and your spirit. He won’t admit that, even to himself yet—and when he finally does admit it to himself, he won’t like it, believe me. He’ll fight you,” Charles warned gently. “But sooner or later, he’ll open his heart to you, and when he does, he’ll find peace. In return, he’ll make you happier than you’ve ever dreamed of being.”

  She looked so dubious, so skeptical, that Charles’s smile faded. “Have patience with him, Victoria. If he weren’t so strong in body and mind, he’d never have survived to the age of thirty. He has scars, deep ones, but you have the power to heal them.”

  “What sort of scars?”

  Charles shook his head. “It will be better for both of you if Jason himself is the one to finally tell you about his life, especially his childhood. If he doesn’t, then you can come to me.”

  In the days that followed, Victoria had little time to think about Jason or anything else. No sooner had she left Charles’s bedroom than Madame Dumosse arrived at the house with four seamstresses. “Lord Fielding has instructed me to prepare a wedding gown for you, mademoiselle,” she said, already walking around Victoria. “He said it is to be very rich, very elegant. Individual. Befitting a queen. No ruffles.”

  Caught somewhere between annoyance and laughter at Jason’s high-handedness, Victoria shot her a sidelong look. “Did he happen to select a color, too?”

  “Blue.”

  “Blue?” Victoria burst out, prepared to do physical battle for white.

  Madame nodded, her finger thoughtfully pressed to her lips, her other hand plunked upon her waist. “Yes, blue. Ice blue. He said you are glorious in that color—‘a titian-haired angel,’ he said.”