by Amy Corwin
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Lady Victoria’s Mistake
Amy Corwin
Series Select
Scarsdale Publishing
COPYRIGHT © 2017 Lady Victoria’s Mistake by Amy G. Padgett
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations imbedded in critical articles or reviews.
Editorial Services Provided by: Vince Dickinson
Judy Lynn, Judicious Revisions LLC
Publishing History
First Edition, 2017
SP
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
One Good Gentleman
Chapter One
He’d seen her before. Each time, the easy smile in her large gray eyes, fringed with thick lashes, and the sense of calm confidence surrounding her caught at him, stirring something deep inside. As he watched, the cool spring breeze plucked one of her soft brown curls loose and twitched it across her lovely face. She laughed, tucking it back under the brim of her bonnet as she walked. Everyone around her faded into unimportance.
“I’m going to marry that woman,” John Archer stated matter-of-factly as he let his gaze linger on the slim figure of the elegant young woman strolling through Hyde Park. The statement held a deep sense of rightness.
Several of the duke’s other sons were already married, after all. They were busy setting up their homes and forming their own families, so why shouldn’t he do the same?
He took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh April air laced with the green scent of new growth, along with the earthier fragrance of horses. Pausing in his own perambulations, John waved at an acquaintance driving by in a green-paneled curricle drawn by a beautiful, high-stepping pair of bay horses.
“What woman?” Toby Wickson asked, holding an utterly unnecessary monocle up to his left eye to focus on the pedestrians walking on a path that threatened to converge upon their own walkway within a mere fifty yards. His perfect vision disrupted by the device, he sighed, lowered it, and blinked rapidly as he swung the monocle by its black ribbon off one pudgy finger. “Surely not that horse-faced creature in the puce pelisse?”
“An unfortunate choice of color, yes, but a vicious and untrue description of the lady wearing it.” John took a deep breath, smiled, and clasped his hands behind his back. “Nonetheless, yes. She is the one.” He kept his gaze fixed on the woman walking arm-in-arm with an older lady, no doubt her mother, as there was a marked similarity in their delicately narrow, thoroughly aristocratic faces.
Not horse-faced—never that—just finely-honed features framed by the loveliest pale brown curls that made him long to thread his fingers through them. A hint of delicate rose tinted her cheeks from the brisk breeze tugging at her skirt, revealing tantalizing glimpses of beautifully well-turned ankles and small feet. Something about her drew him and resonated deep within him, like the mellow knell of a church bell. He could not take his eyes off her. Yes, indeed. She was most definitely the one for him.
The feeling only grew stronger each time he saw her, and his first, immediate sense of a situation was usually correct. He’d certainly relied upon his instincts more than once to his betterment, and to his credit—or occasional downfall—he never dithered or later regretted any quick decision.
Others might complain that he was a loose screw and a reckless gambler, but if nothing else, at least he was decisive. One could not fault him for woolliness.
Wickson laughed and snorted into a large blue handkerchief adorned with large yellow polka dots. “Do you know who that is?”
“No, but that can be easily remedied.” John eyed the round face of his merry companion briefly. “By you, if I am not mistaken.”
“The chit is Lady Victoria, the daughter of the Marquess of Longmoor.” He blew his red-tipped nose into his handkerchief, folded it to wipe his brow, and then tucked it back into his bulging pocket. With an adept movement that spoke of long practice, he withdrew a sweet from the same pocket and popped it into his mouth. Shifting the confection to the side of his mouth, he said, “Bit above your touch, my lad, ain’t she?”
“Not at all. The son of a duke may certainly look as high—or higher.”
“Perhaps the son of a duke might. But you ain’t, being born on the wrong side of the blanket, as it happens.” Wickson crunched the sweet between his teeth and backed up a step, his eyes fixed on John’s hand as it tightened around his walking stick. A sword was concealed within the lacquered wood, and Wickson showed no desire to introduce himself to the point of it. He took a hasty breath and rushed on to distract his longtime friend. “I’ll wager a hundred pounds you won’t even manage an introduction, much less an engagement.”
“Which shall it be, then?”
Wickson stared at him, his protuberant blue eyes giving him the startled appearance of a fish yanked out of the water by an experienced fisherman. “Which what?”
“Introduction or engagement?”
“There’s many a slip ‘twixt cup and lip.” Wickson smiled and rocked back on his heels, his teeth crushing the last of the sweet. “Marriage, I should say. No mistaking that—not once the papers are signed.”
“Done!” John grabbed his friend’s plump hand and pumped it. “Marriage it shall be then!”
“What? What?” Goggle-eyed, Wickson stared at him. He cleared his throat. “Not serious, Archer.” He frowned, his hand fumbling around in his bulging pocket again. “Bad taste.” Another sweet disappeared between his lips.
“Nonsense.” John’s gaze followed the two ladies. “Nothing could be more romantic—she’ll be entranced. Love at first sight. Romeo and Juliet. All in the very best English tradition.”
Wickson snorted, but went along willingly enough when John grabbed his arm and set a brisk pace designed to intercept the two ladies when their path merged with their own. As they neared the women, John elbowed his friend and jerked his chin at the pair.
Clearing his throat, Wickson stepped forward to block the way. “Lady Longmoor, good afternoon!” He bowed with a flourish only slightly ruined by the rattle of the hard sweet against his teeth. “And Lady Victoria—what a pleasant surprise.”
From Lady Longmoor’s raised brows and widened eyes, it was clear that she was indeed surprised though not, perhaps, pleasantly. “Mr. Wickson,�
� she said. Her tone was civil, but heavily weighted toward the chilly side.
Lady Victoria caught John’s stare and blushed before gazing down at the brown toes of her delicate walking boots. He smiled when she finally glanced up again to look at him shyly through her thick lashes.
“May I introduce Mr. Archer, Lady Longmoor?” Wickson continued, bowing again and gesturing to John. “Good friend, you know. Same schools—grew up together, one could say. Childhood friends.”
Lady Longmoor’s gray eyes, so similar to her daughter’s, rested on John for a moment. “Archer… Are you a relation of His Grace, the Duke of Peckham?”
Aye, there was the rub. John noted Wickson’s slight flinch, but maintained a confident smile. Best to be vague and avoid the question of legitimate or illegitimate relationships altogether.
“We are quite close,” he murmured with a vague wave of his hand.
Lady Longmoor’s expression grew even more remote, but she had the grace to avoid the possible embarrassment of more specific questioning. She had undoubtedly noted his lack of a title.
Risking another glance at Lady Victoria, he was pleased to see her gray eyes alight with interest and a smile curving her pale pink lips. A frisson of excitement ran down his back. He grinned back before she dropped her gaze again.
Most definitely the one. He’d never seen more lovely gray eyes.
“Fine weather, eh?” Wickson blurted out in a loud voice. He nervously crushed the hard candy between his teeth. “Beautiful day for a walk.”
“Yes,” Lady Longmoor replied. “And we should resume ours, if you don’t mind?”
“Eh? Uh…” Wickson glanced from Lady Longmoor to John. “We would be delighted to escort you, Lady Longmoor.”
John held out his arm to Lady Victoria. She dropped her mother’s arm and stepped closer to him, only to have her mother slip a forceful hand around her elbow and drag her back.
“Lady Victoria,” Lady Longmoor murmured in a low, warning tone. She nodded sharply to John, clearly dismissing him. “Quite unnecessary. We are going in the opposite direction, and there is no need to take you so completely out of your way, Mr. Wickson. Though we appreciate the offer.” She gave her daughter’s arm a barely perceptible shake.
“Oh, yes.” Lady Victoria glanced from her mother’s face to John’s. A small, perplexed frown drew the corners of her mouth down. “It is very kind of you, but Papa will have the carriage waiting at Grosvenor Gate.”
“And we must hurry if we are not to be late. You know how your father dislikes tardiness, my dear.” Lady Longmoor smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Wickson.” She nodded again and pulled her daughter away, striding quickly in the direction of the gate before John or his friend could say anything else.
“Well, there you are, Archer,” Wickson said, watching the ladies move away with such rapidity that their skirts flapped around their ankles.
They almost appeared to be running.
The wide, pale blue silk ribbons of Lady Victoria’s bonnet fluttered over her shoulder as John studied her retreating form. “Yes,” he said.
Wickson shook his head. “I’d recommend you reconsider that wager, except I could use the one hundred pounds. Lady Longmoor has taken against you, if I don’t miss my guess. Didn’t take her long, either, to guess there was something off about you.”
“Forbidden fruit.” John chuckled and gave Wickson’s plump shoulder a punch. “Couldn’t have asked for a better introduction. Lady Victoria’ll be twice as interested, now.”
“Don’t know about that, my fine lad.” Wickson shook his head. “Parents have the last word, at least in my experience. But I won’t complain.” He patted his side. “My wallet won’t complain, either, when it swallows the fruits of your wager.”
Laughing, John led the way back in the direction of the shallow Serpentine before turning left to the Stanhope Gate. A little opposition didn’t frighten him. It only added spice to the rescue of the fair maiden from the clutches of her disapproving family.
After gazing into her brilliant gray eyes, he’d felt only the briefest moment of doubt.
No, no. There could be no doubt. He would win her over. He was nearly sure of it.
Chapter Two
Lady Victoria walked beside her mother for several yards in silence, resting her gaze on the lovely fresh green of spring leaves coming to life all around them. Birds fluted their evening songs, and she tried to pay attention to their calls, silently naming first one and then another that she recognized. But despite her attempts to feel that nothing out of the ordinary had happened, warmth blazed over her cheeks as her thoughts strayed to the men they’d met as they walked along the lovely, winding paths in Hyde Park.
First excitement and then fear simmered around Mr. Archer. Victoria’s skin tingled and flushed as she recalled the admiration in his gaze. But she’d seen—or thought she’d seen—admiration before. She chewed on her lower lip. She’d mistaken greed for affection in Mr. Laverick’s eyes, and he had felt anything but attraction for her.
In the end, even the promise of a large dowry wasn’t enough to make him marry her. The thought made her eyes burn. She blinked rapidly and took a deep breath.
Her judgement was faulty—she couldn’t forget that. And the twisting pain under her heart reminded her to be careful. Still unsure and vulnerable, tearing grief wrenched out of the darkness to rip at her when she’d turned away from Mr. Archer. Laverick was still too much on her mind, too fresh. The bond of affection that had felt so strong to her had been only the sheerest gossamer to him—easily brushed away when he decided his wager to marry a wealthy heiress could be won just as easily with a rich widow.
And yet, despite that brush of pain, a heady feeling of excitement—of possibility—bubbled inside her. Mr. Archer had been so energetic that his wiry frame seemed to hum with energy and life. He made her smile whether she wanted to or not.
She flashed a glance sideways at her mother. Lady Longmoor’s face appeared serene as always to the casual observer, but Victoria knew her too well to be deceived. The slight thinning of her lips and a nearly imperceptible wrinkle between her eyebrows indicated she was considering something, and it was something she didn’t wish to consider. Something unpleasant.
Victoria took a deep breath. “He was rather handsome, don’t you think?” She cast another quick glance at her mother and noticed with a sinking heart that Lady Longmoor’s lips tightened still more. The line from her nose to the downturned corners of her mouth grew more pronounced.
“If you appreciate that type.” Her mother’s nose rose higher, as if she’d suddenly caught an unpleasant scent. “Really, dearest, I had no notion that you cherished a preference for stout men. We can certainly add a few to the list, however. If you wish.”
“Stout?” Victoria stumbled as the toe of her boot caught the hem of her walking dress, and she grasped at her mother’s arm to avoid falling. At least she hadn’t heard her gown rip.
“Yes. Decidedly stout.”
Mr. Archer wasn’t stout at all, Victoria thought. He was slender and moved in a way that suggested an energetic, wiry strength. Another warm flush rose to her cheeks, and she walked a little faster. What could her mother mean?
When the pressure on her arm increased, Victoria slowed to match her mother’s stately pace. Then she recalled the man who’d introduced them. She’d hardly noticed him, but now that she’d been reminded, she realized he was rather plump. A smile raced across her face.
Plump—just like a fat little partridge goggling with protuberant eyes at a child who’d flushed it from the underbrush. The thought made her grin widen, and she imagined the partridge flapping away into the blue sky before she sobered and ventured another quick look at her mother.
“No, Mama. Not the fat—er, plump—one. I meant Mr. Archer.”
Her mother stiffened. Their pace toward the gate increased. “Mr. Archer? I can only say that I’m surprised and appalled that Mr. Wickson approached us and had the audacity to i
ntroduce him, knowing—” She cut her words off and pressed her lips together. “I’m sorry, dearest.” A heavy sigh escaped her as she patted Victoria’s arm. “Forget I mentioned it—I would not cause you more pain for all the silk in China.”
“And you do love silk,” Victoria answered, trying to sound flippant and uncaring. Her mother’s oblique reference to Laverick and the recent, unfortunate events in Victoria’s life didn’t bother her so much as her mother’s obvious concern to avoid that very thing.
“I love you, my dearest child, and wish you had never met that person.”
“Well, he’s safely married now and living in Italy, so it matters not a whit.”
“But that is why I did not wish you to be introduced to that Archer creature—he is of precisely the same stamp as your Mr. Laverick, a gambler and wastrel. You discovered Mr. Laverick’s mortifying wager made at your expense before it was too late, and I would not have you suffer that pain again.” Lady Longmoor patted Victoria’s arm again, and like a mother bird defending her young, bent toward her protectively. “Is there no one on our list who might earn your affection? Your father and I have no wish to contract an alliance with someone you do not care for, but we would dearly love to see you happy and comfortable in your own household.” She paused and blinked, obviously considering some unspoken notion before she gave one sharp nod of her head. “If you are interested in Mr. Wickson, he would not be utterly out of the question. He comes from a respectable family and is not entirely without resources.”
Victoria slowed, dragging her feet along the path. A leaden, sinking feeling filled her. The brief flicker of interest, of hope in what was increasingly looking like a deadly bleak future, withered in a puff of smoke. “If Mr. Archer is a wastrel, I would have thought his companion would be one, as well.”
“Perhaps. However, he is not a…” Her mother’s cheeks flushed. She waved her free hand in the air in front of her face. “Never mind. Let us simply say that Mr. Wickson is less of a scoundrel than Mr. Archer.”
