by Dorothy Mack
“What happened, Vicky?”
“Are you hurt, Miss Seymour?”
The young girls were beside Vicky in an instant, assisting her to her feet. She leaned against Elaine and said somewhat breathlessly, “No, I’m not really hurt at all, just gave my stupid ankle a twist. It will be fine in a moment or two, but I am persuaded I ought not try to tramp through the trees quite yet. You girls go ahead without me.”
Both girls protested that they wouldn’t think of leaving their friend to make her own way back to the carriage with an injured foot, but Vicky was adamant. She declared herself quite content to sit on the wooden seat under the huge chestnut tree in the churchyard for a while and urged the two girls to go ahead with their plans if they did not wish to make her feel she had spoiled their outing.
It took some little argument yet, but they went at last, reluctantly, leaving Vicky weaving her toils on the seat beneath the tree. The first part of her scheme had gone according to design, but there was no guarantee that matters would continue to fall out as she wished when the men returned.
As it happened, the outcome hung in the balance briefly while Vicky held her breath and tried to look regretful. She had explained the girls’ absence and her own incapacity before offering to remain where she was until everyone should return from the manor.
Sir Hugh glanced at the sky in some concern. “The weather seems to be changing rapidly — we are in for a storm, and not very many minutes hence, unless I miss my guess.”
“There is an umbrella in the carriage,” said the practical Vicky. “Do not worry about me. You three had best go after the girls before the rain starts. I’ll go back to the carriage and wait for you there.”
Sir Hugh headed for the carriage almost at a run, and Vicky bravely began to follow him at a hesitant hobble.
“Someone must stay to help Miss Seymour,” said Lord Ellerby abruptly. “Stop, Vicky, you must not try to walk unaided. I’ll help you back.”
“No, I’ll stay with her. You and Lanscomb go for the others.”
Vicky’s eyes, which had closed in defeat when Gregory proposed to remain with her, flew open and briefly met the dark, unsmiling glance of Mr. Massingham. She had the sense to remain silent until first Gregory and then Sir Hugh, carrying the umbrella, passed them, heading for the path the girls had followed earlier. Mr. Massingham then offered his arm and they started slowly back toward the lych-gate, with Vicky leaning lightly on this support. She hadn’t dared to look at him again, and now that she had achieved her object, her brain refused to function, leaving her incapable of formulating one single sentence.
Had it depended on her conversational ingenuity, the entire trip might have been accomplished in silence, but after a long moment Mr. Massingham said evenly, “I apologise for inflicting my presence on you, but I knew Drucilla would infinitely prefer Ellerby as a rescuer.”
“Do you mind very much?” Vicky’s voice was low and hesitant and her expressive face was full of compassion as she turned to him.
They had stopped walking by tacit consent. Mr. Massingham stared past her and shrugged his shoulders. “I am much too old for her. Ellerby will make her a better husband.”
Vicky’s eyes sank. “I … I’m sorry,” she managed awkwardly.
“Spare me the platitudes, Miss Seymour. We both know you intended to prevent my marriage to Drucilla from the beginning.”
“Yes, but not if you were in love with her! I would never have done that!” Vicky was appalled, and Mr. Massingham grimaced and bowed exaggeratedly.
“Again I apologise, Miss Seymour. You recognised a fortune hunter at a glance. My compliments on your perspicacity.” He flashed her a mocking smile and offered his arm again.
Vicky stared at him in mute dismay. This meeting was not progressing along the lines she had envisioned. She must make him understand that she no longer thought of him in those terms! “I … I beg you will not believe… What was that?”
“Just a flash of lightning. It wasn’t close.” Mr. Massingham glanced down at the white-faced girl beside him, and his own eyes widened in surprise. “Is something wrong, Miss Seymour?”
A deafening crash swallowed up Mr. Massingham’s question, but Vicky was not attending in any case. She had started violently at the noise, then froze in terror, her fingers digging into her companion’s arm with a grip that astonished him by its strength. He prised her fingers loose and took her hand.
“Come, let us hurry back to the carriage before we get drenched. The rain is beginning already.” To his surprise, she resisted his efforts to pull her after him.
“Sit in a carriage during a thunderstorm? Never!”
“Well, then, we’ll head for the church. The entrance porch should be unlocked at least.”
The rain now began in earnest and increased in intensity as they ran with linked hands through the church grounds. Lightning slashed through the sky, seemingly on all sides simultaneously, and the thunder reverberated around them before Mr. Massingham flung open the entrance door and half-pushed, half-dragged Vicky inside.
“Whew, that storm blew up as fast as they used to in Spain!” he exclaimed as he shut the door in the teeth of a sudden gust of wind. “Did you get very wet?” He was shaking the water from his hat as he spoke, and he glanced around at his silent companion. Quick concern leaped into his eyes at the sight of the bedraggled girl pressed against the wall of the porch. Her once elegant hat was a sodden lump on wet hair, and water dripped down her face, but it was the sight of the redoubtable Miss Victoria Seymour half-crouching with her hands clapped over her ears and her eyes squeezed shut that gave him pause.
“Miss Seymour, you are quite safe now,” he said bracingly. “Come, sit on this bench against the wall and take off your wet hat. You will feel much better.” His voice trailed away as he realised that his words, if they penetrated her terror at all, were having no effect on the taut figure against the wall. So far she had not uttered a sound, but as two deafening claps of thunder in rapid succession rattled the windows, a small moan escaped her lips and she pressed closer against the wall. As he put his hands on her shoulders and eased her down onto the bench, she reacted not at all, merely turning her head against the high sides of the settle as another crash of thunder sounded.
Mr. Massingham had often seen soldiers frozen by fear in battle situations, but nothing had ever affected him like the sight of Vicky cowering in the corner of that inhospitable settle. For another moment he stood there helplessly, feeling her renewed terror at each succeeding sound of the raging storm, before exclaiming in torment, “I can’t stand this!”
He flung himself down beside her and gathered the huddled figure into his arms. “It’s all right, Vicky. Don’t be afraid, Angel, it will be over in a few minutes.” As her trembling gradually subsided and she relaxed against his chest, he continued to murmur a stream of soothing nonsense. Perhaps Vicky heard none of it — he didn’t even know what he said as he rocked her gently in his arms — but he felt his voice was of some benefit to her during those awful moments at the storm’s zenith. He held her gently, but every nerve was aware of just the point when her fear subsided and she snuggled closer to him in gratitude (or contentment?). For an instant, restraint weakened and his arms tightened involuntarily about her until she breathed a regretful little sigh and pulled back, sitting upright within the circle of his reluctantly loosened arms.
“I … I beg your pardon,” she whispered ashamedly. “I can imagine what you must think of me, but I have always been t-terrified of electrical storms. When I was a little girl, I was used to hide under my mother’s bed during a storm.” She gave a pathetic little laugh. “It would seem I haven’t progressed very far in all these years.”
“Don’t, Angel, it’s all right.” Unthinkingly, Mr. Massingham leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers to dam the apologetic torrent.
Vicky became utterly still. The intermittent sounds of the fast-moving storm faded from her consciousness. She was aware of nothing
save warm lips on her mouth. Suddenly his arms tightened like a vice, and those lips began to move persuasively over hers. Excitement and joy raced through her veins, and she gave herself over to the exquisite agony of being kissed until she was gasping for breath. She had just decided that breathing could be dispensed with when Drew pulled away from her with an abruptness that rocked her on the hard settle as he leaped to his feet and put all the distance the small porch afforded between them.
“My God, I never meant to do that!” he exclaimed, breathing raggedly and running a hand through his hair in a distracted gesture. “Vicky … Miss Seymour… What can I say except that I apologise most sincerely?”
Vicky had regained control of her own breathing by now. The wet hat had been dislodged during that passionate embrace and her smooth hairstyle was somewhat disarranged and damp, but her manner was totally composed, except that her eyes glowed with love as she smiled at the aghast man facing her across the dim interior. “I am persuaded that a man who has kissed a girl in such a fashion should be permitted the use of her given name,” she said irrelevantly.
“That’s beside the point! This shouldn’t have happened! We can’t… You and I… Vicky, it’s impossible, and well you know it!”
“That’s better.” She smiled as she rose from the settle and glided over to the man watching her warily. Her expression was thoughtful as she said with assumed censure, “There is a name for men who play with the affections of unsuspecting maidens when they have no real intentions in their direction.”
“And there is a name for seductresses masquerading as unsuspecting maidens,” promptly countered Mr. Massingham. He spoiled the effect of this riposte, however, by succumbing to the invitation in her eyes as he took her in his arms and possessed himself of her willing mouth once more.
Passion flared between them again, and Vicky was shaking slightly when Drew put her away from him at last. “I have been longing to do that ever since you looked up at me with those beautiful amber eyes after Shadow threw you,” he said soberly, devouring her features with hungry eyes. “I didn’t know whether to beat you or kiss you then, and it suddenly dawned on me that since I was never likely to be in a position to kiss you, it would be much safer to follow the other alternative, figuratively speaking.”
“So that was why you were so objectionable at every opportunity!” cried Vicky. “I thought you simply resented my trying to prevent your marriage to Drucilla.”
“I had just realised what a fool I’d been, but I couldn’t cry off if she still wanted to marry me. I had dug my own grave voluntarily.”
“Fortune hunter!”
Vicky made the accusation smilingly, but Drew was serious. “It wasn’t quite that bad, but I offered for Drucilla without having formed a sincere attachment. I deserved everything that happened to me. And I’m in no position to offer for you now. I’m in debt, my house is leased, and it will be another year before I am in any position to support a wife. It will be damnably hard to wait, but —”
“I don’t want to wait a month, let alone a year!” protested Vicky passionately. “I thought I would never know this feeling, and I hoped that you felt the same way…” She turned away, blinking tears out of her eyes, and her despair was the undoing of Drew’s honourable resolutions.
“People will say I’m a fortune hunter,” he objected weakly.
“Or they will say I compromised you in a church. Both are equally true or false, and are of no slightest significance.”
“I have no home to offer you for a year or more.”
“I have a lovely home here, and a house in London. You may take your pick.”
“My nature is very domineering. I’ll demand instant obedience from my wife.”
“You won’t get it, but I will love you forever,” said Vicky, moving into his arms again.
When a loud thunderclap echoed through the porch, both surfaced reluctantly from another enchanted interval.
“That’s very likely the dying gasp of the storm,” Mr. Massingham said reassuringly to his beloved.
“What storm?” Vicky’s voice was dreamy as she concentrated on tracing the line of his eyebrows and cheekbones down to the cleft in his strong chin.
Mr. Massingham chuckled. “At all events, we seem to have discovered the cure for your fear of electrical storms, my darling.”
“The storm! Oh, my goodness, the others! I had forgotten them completely!” Vicky’s expression was a blend of guilt and contrition as she peered through the small window at the fast-dispersing clouds.
“Is there any place they could have taken shelter?”
“Well, there is a little Grecian-style temple on the grounds, but it is open on two sides,” said Vicky doubtfully.
“Then that is where we shall probably discover them, if you are not afraid of wetting your shoes through.”
“The way I feel at this moment, I wouldn’t even notice if I were wading through a stream,” confessed Vicky.
Drew was holding open the door for her. “I feel as though I could walk on water myself right now,” he confided with the flashing smile that always caught at Vicky’s breath. It did now, and she stared at him for a moment, mesmerised with happiness. There was a world of meaning in his glance as he held out his hand to her. Unhesitatingly she placed her hand into his, and they walked together into the storm-washed landscape.
***
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ALSO BY DOROTHY MACK
The Substitute Bride
The Raven Sisters
The Impossible Ward
A Companion in Joy
The Belle of Bath
The Last Waltz
An Unconventional Courtship
The Steadfast Heart
A Prior Attachment
The Reluctant Heart
The General’s Granddaughter
The Unlikely Chaperone
The Mock Marriage
The Courtship of Chloe
The Lost Heir
The Awakening Heart
Temporary Betrothal
The Counterfeit Widow
The Gamester’s Daughter
The Gold Scent Bottle
The Abducted Bride
Published by Sapere Books.
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United Kingdom
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Copyright © Dorothy Mack, 1984
Dorothy Mack has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events, other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales are purely coincidental.
eBook ISBN: 9781913335625
