Virginia And The Wolf

by Lynne Connolly

  She smiled. “Indeed. I intended it for one of my orphanages.”

  Sir Bertram shot her a startled look. “Indeed, my lady? Then I shall trouble you no longer. I wouldn’t like to deprive the orphans of a home.”

  She had no idea he was so concerned about her project, but at least that was one less buyer bothering her.

  Not that she would be selling it.

  She needed to reacquaint herself with the house and discover why people wanted to buy it all of a sudden. She wanted to know why everyone was so interested in the place.

  And she would have to look over this one for herself. If she could trust no one, she’d have to do it alone. No problem—she was used to that. But a sense lingered, something she was unaccustomed to. A moment later, she had it. Loneliness.

  How could she be feeling lonely when she’d spent the last four years happily living by herself? Why would she feel the need to confide in somebody now?

  Chapter 6

  Francis shot Virginia a glance as they bowled around a corner. “You’re very quiet.”

  “Do I have to engage you in constant inconsequential chatter?” She bestowed a sweet smile on him that didn’t reach her eyes. “I suppose society expects it. But I find Sir Bertram somewhat exhausting.”

  He grunted a laugh. “I know what you mean. He never ceases, does he? Everything is about himself.”

  “In my experience, that is the truth for a great many people,” she commented acidly.

  Her sharp tone surprised him. “Is present company included?” He kept his voice smooth, fought to retain the edge of humor he usually used as a shield.

  “Not at all.” But she said the words after a pause, small but significant.

  Her comments didn’t surprise him. Francis preferred to let events center on him, while he watched events and remarked on them. Surprising what people let escape when they thought they weren’t being observed. He could talk and listen at the same time, a skill that did not come easily to everyone.

  Least of all Sir Bertram. The man was a boor, convinced the world revolved around him, but Francis had always believed he had good intentions. He leaned to County rather than Country, which was not surprising, but he worked hard and took care of his tenants.

  “He only speaks to me when he cannot avoid it.”

  “Count yourself fortunate,” she said. “But I do not snub him.”

  “Hmm.” He paused, thinking.

  Virginia’s position as a widow meant she was excused a number of activities. It also meant she should not be welcoming single men into her house, but devil take that. He would not be observing that particular rule; he’d just make sure nobody noticed.

  “Take care, Virginia, or you’ll find yourself sponsoring all his daughters, and you’ll find yourself cooking to death in a court mantua. He needs a sponsor to present his wife and daughters. You would be most convenient.”

  The elaborate, old-fashioned gown women were obliged to wear for court was floor-length and made from a heavy material, with plenty of precious metal and spangles.

  “Not like the utterly charming gown you’re wearing today.”

  Light and fresh, her habit was shorter, to allow for walking on grass, and plain in color, enhancing her shape beautifully. Virginia needed no elaborate enhancements.

  At the thought, his body flushed hot. Capturing her, holding down a willing Virginia while he explored all the delectable curves beneath her not-so-prim gown had given him far more illicit dreams than he had any right to, especially recently. He’d almost accustomed himself to his body readying itself for something it would not receive when he was in her vicinity.

  “What are your plans for the summer?” she asked him then.

  “I’m expected at Chatsworth, then I’m planning to visit Dunmore. He has a neat little hunting box in Leicestershire where we plan to enjoy a few weeks at the start of the hunting season.”

  “You’re celebrating the Glorious Twelfth?” The Twelfth of August, the start of the shooting season.

  “Yes, why not?”

  “No reason.”

  She sounded subdued, so he risked another glance, although the traffic was getting somewhat thicker. He slowed the horses. They were reasonably amenable now, having had their outing. She was staring at her hands, twisting them together in her lap.

  “What’s wrong?” Rapidly he reviewed their conversation. “Is it the Twelfth?”

  Turning her head, she stared at the passersby, although the people appeared fairly unremarkable. He suspected she didn’t even see them.

  “I do not celebrate the mass shooting of so many beautiful creatures.”

  He had to strain to hear her.

  “Your husband enjoyed the season thoroughly, and you invited all the neighbors to the estate.” Except for his mother, so he had not attended, either.

  “Ralph said you were too good a shot,” she said with a wan smile.

  She must know as well as he did that was not the reason his mother had not been invited.

  “But you did not enjoy it.” This time he didn’t make his words a question.

  “I enjoy other things more. If I had made my dislike obvious, I would have been roasted dreadfully for it. The best way to attract attention is to dislike the very thing everyone is there to do. Doing that would have been very unmannerly of me, would it not?”

  “I see.” Francis seethed on Virginia’s behalf. If he had been in Ralph’s place, he would have ensured she did not have to be there. He’d have found another hostess, or better still, not held the parties at all. “How about hunting foxes?”

  “I enjoy that much more.” Animation entered her tones, much more than the slaughter of the birds had. “Foxes are vermin. I confess the kill doesn’t interest me, but I enjoy the challenge of the ride.”

  “Because it requires skill.” When there were so many birds provided for guests, shooting them was not the most difficult challenge.

  “Yes.”

  “But you do not have to do that now. You may do as you wish.”

  “Within reason, yes indeed. I will not be celebrating the Twelfth of August by shooting anything.”

  They had arrived at her street. Francis tossed the reins to his tiger and alighted from his perch, electing to help her down himself, although one of her footmen had come out of the house to help. He swung her down, enjoying the way his hands spanned her waist. And yet she was not tightly laced. She wore some kind of soft corset, perhaps a leather one, which gave him a teasing sense of her soft flesh.

  He would give a great deal to touch that skin, to kiss and taste it, to stroke it with the flat of his hands. Not that the opportunity seemed likely to occur, but a man could dream.

  Allowing her time to find her feet gave him time to relish her proximity. Her lush lips moved, and he took a moment to listen to what she was saying.

  “I wish you joy of your birds. I shall make a quiet appearance with Mrs. Dauntry at a perfectly staid country assembly.” She smiled. “Perhaps not the hotbed of Exeter, though.”

  “If you let me know when, I will forego the pleasures of the hunting lodge and join you.”

  “Give up the slaughter for a few hours in an assembly room with indifferent wine and uneven floors?” She laughed him to scorn as she took a step back.

  Alarmed he had forgotten he was holding her in the public street, he tried one of his tip-tilted smiles. “Even that. My mother enjoys them.”

  He’d brought her into the conversation deliberately. Hearing her response might cool him down and remind him of his purpose.

  “Then I will look forward to seeing her there.” Before he could ask her outright about his mother, she went on. “Though I have heard of the goings-on in those hunting boxes,” she added. “You may not see the light of day at all, and not even one feather.”

  “I shall bring one
for you.”

  Her reply was hasty. “Oh please do not. In fact, after today I would ask you not to come to my house again. People are gossiping, and you have no more intention of offering for me than I have of accepting. The alternative is something I have been avoiding for years. Men feel a widow is there as a personal challenge to them.”

  Anger suffused him, to think of anyone harassing her.

  “Tell me who,” he said, baring his teeth. “If anyone dares distress you, I will take them up on it at once.”

  Her laugh tinkled, but her eyes were grave. “That would be to do exactly what we are trying to avoid. I am perfectly well, and able to take care of myself. I shall travel down to Devonshire smothered in servants. I’ll even hire a pair of outriders.”

  “I see.” But he had no intention of leaving her alone, not until he was sure she was perfectly safe.

  Leave her alone, the ruffians had told him. Well they could whistle for that. Or did the person who’d sent them know that would act as a challenge and instead bring him closer to her? If he or she had, it didn’t matter. Francis’s first consideration was Virginia, and despite her annoying propensity to go off on her own without telling him, she would continue to be so.

  “I will not do anything scandalous, I promise,” he said. “Only I will be a good neighbor.”

  Turning, she stumbled, her hat pitching backward and her skirts getting tangled around her legs. Quicker than thought, he had her again, catching her by the waist and yanking her upright. She fell against him, her body coming into full, glorious contact with his.

  Acting on instinct, he pulled her closer, tilted up her chin, and kissed her. Swiftly, but that burning contact seared through him, pushing him into mindless passion. Was it because they were talking about danger that he went into full protector mode? He had no idea. Because she responded, sighing as she opened her mouth.

  That was an invitation if ever he felt one. She wasn’t innocent; she was a widow, so she must know that a response like that would drive any red-blooded male to distraction. His basic instincts overtook his sense of social survival. Anyone could see them, and he didn’t care.

  Dimly he became aware of a pressure against his chest.

  She was pushing him away.

  That was the only thing that would have stopped him. Reluctantly, he separated from her and let her step back, keeping his hands up in case she fell again.

  Virginia looked adorable. Her lips were reddened, her bosom heaving as she drew deep breaths. The sweet curve of her waist, spreading into swelling hips, which were emphasized by the padding of her skirts, tempted him to take hold. All he had to do was to put his hands there and draw her in….

  A sharp cry of laughter brought his senses roaring back.

  “In the street!” someone cried.

  Tears made Virginia’s eyes glossy. As he watched, one precious drop spilled over and trickled down her cheek. She didn’t have to say anything. He knew what he’d done. And he didn’t have to look around to know they had been seen.

  He had committed the deepest sin, behaving in a vulgar way instead of merely scandalous.

  “Hit me,” he murmured. “Slap my face, Virginia.”

  She should have done it immediately, and then he could take the blame. After that, he’d have to stick to the role of spurned suitor and keep his distance. If he could win back what he’d lost her by that one impulsive act, he would do it, even if it killed him, which it might well do.

  After all his good intentions, after his promises, he had let her down.

  But she left it too late, and the observers were upon them.

  “My word,” said Lord Meredith, husband to the biggest gossip in London, “an interesting move, what?”

  In a whirl of skirts, Virginia turned and strode up the steps to her front door. It opened before she had time to knock, and she swept in.

  “My fault entirely,” he said, turning a bright smile to his lordship. “A man has to steal his pleasures where he may, must he not?”

  His lordship shrugged. “I dare say, but I never knew you and the beauteous Lady Dulverton were so intimately acquainted, what?” He drew out his snuffbox, but didn’t offer it, an omission Francis noted.

  “We aren’t, but the lady is maddeningly lovely. I confess, frustration drove me to make the move, and I will beg her pardon when I see her next.”

  He started to stroll up the street, so his lordship had to walk with him. The tiger walked behind, the clop of his horses following him.

  “I should not have done what I did, but the fault is entirely mine.” He touched his lips with his fingers. “And I cannot be altogether sorry, although I doubt she will let me close to her ever again.” He gave Meredith a knowing smile, and the man responded with a smirk.

  “But it was a good show,” his lordship said, not altogether condemnatory now, but in concert with Francis. If he could turn what Meredith had seen, the incident would still be laid at his feet.

  Virginia should have struck him.

  * * * *

  Never one to hide from her problems, Virginia headed to the residence of Angela Childers the next day.

  When she stepped out of her front door, nobody spat at her, not that she was really expecting that, but they did not shun her either.

  A couple of neighbors passing by gave her a civil greeting but did not stop. Since they had a dog on a leash that was busily trying to strangle itself in its eagerness to get to the park, they did not stop. Virginia got into her carriage and rode the short distance to Angela’s house.

  She had spent the night tossing and turning, reliving that kiss, balanced between wanting more and feeling utterly humiliated by what Wolverley had done. Kissing in the street like a common whore! Heat tinged her ears and then made her uncomfortable for an altogether different reason.

  He had recovered first. She should have slapped him, as he requested, but she’d been so stunned that her senses had not reformed by the time his friend had hurried up to where they stood, staring at each other. What else could she do than run up the steps as fast as she dared?

  Mrs. Dauntry had always said she was too kind to her suitors. But Wolverley wasn’t a suitor, although they had become friends since her husband’s death. She couldn’t possibly see him as a lover.

  Except she did.

  She got down from her carriage in the courtyard and walked up the steps to Angela’s front door.

  Since most of her wealth stemmed from her bank, Angela tended to spend more of her time in the City of London. Childer’s Bank didn’t pause during the summer months. So the house in Piccadilly, hard by Burlington House, served as her main residence. It was much larger than the usual London house, more of the style of mansion popular in the last century, and since only she lived there, contained a number of rooms she barely used.

  One of those, at the end of a wing, she’d given over to the Society for Single Ladies. Since men had so many clubs, why could women not have them? That was her argument, and such was her influence that few caviled at it. Only at the selection of ladies who went there.

  The only criteria were that they were single when invited and Angela approved of them, since they were using her house. She provided rooms for their exclusive use. Governesses and princesses had visited the club. Under that roof, everyone was considered equal.

  Virginia entered the main room to smiles and nods. Although the club was thin of company at this time of the season, there were still a dozen women present. She loved the lack of ceremony and effusive welcomes. When she flourished the folder she had tucked under her arm, several people lifted their heads.

  Miss Manners, a woman about the same age as Virginia but with a less fortunate story, got to her feet, her brown hair displaying gold streaks as she walked through a steam of sunshine. Miss Manners was a handsome woman with a modest dowry, but that had not prevented her failing
to find a husband. Becoming a single lady, she was passed from family to family, caring for children not her own or accompanying young women on their dazzling debuts.

  However, she was planning a far more exciting future for herself, although few people knew that yet. Angela had helped her, as she had helped others, with advice and finance, and most important of all, confidence.

  As Virginia spread the papers on the large table before the window, Miss Manners leaned over. “Oh, maps! I adore maps.”

  “Plans.”

  The door opened, the rustle of silk heralding someone else coming in. Virginia did not put her papers away. She trusted everyone here. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Angela approaching them, a smile on her lips. “What do we have here?”

  “Plans to a small house I own in Devonshire. I planned to set up one of my orphanages there, since it is standing empty. Suddenly it’s a popular place. Nobody took much notice of it before, and after Ralph died, I had other matters to occupy me with the main estate. It’s a modest manor house, in an exposed position on a cliff. When I announced my plans for it, the current Lord Dulverton, Ralph’s cousin, offered to buy it. That was just after Lord Wolverley made me an offer. He wants it for his mother, he says, because she was born and brought up there.”

  “So after years of nobody taking any notice of it, suddenly everyone wants to buy it?” Angela leaned over the plans, studying the layout.

  “And Sir Bertram Dean came to London with his family. He is a staid man, vastly prefers the countryside, but he has taken the time to come to town, at the end of the season, when Parliament isn’t sitting. He did have his family with him, but this is the wrong time of year to present young women. The last ball of the season was last night. And you’d expect him to call on me. But I heard nothing until we came upon him in the park.”