‘But she must have said something,’ Laurence demanded.
‘She did, my lord,’ Sally uttered nervously. ‘She—she said it was a mistake and she couldn’t go through with it.’
Laurence turned his back on her. The plain and simple fact was that Victoria had run away.
‘She must have good reason,’ Diana said to her husband.
‘It won’t matter,’ Nathan said in a harsh voice. ‘Unless she can convince Laurence she was forcibly abducted, she’s as good as dead to him.’
‘Please don’t say that. He loves her. Anyone can see that.’
‘I know my brother better than you, Diana,’ Nathan replied, remembering Laurence’s actions on the day Melissa Piggott left him standing at the altar. ‘He’ll never give her another chance to hurt him. If she’s left him voluntarily, she’s as dead to him. Look at his face. He’s already killing any feelings he had for her.’
‘It isn’t so easy to put someone you love from your heart.’
‘Laurence can,’ Nathan argued. ‘He’ll do it so she can never get close to him again.’
* * *
When Ned returned to the Hall, he affirmed that he had taken Victoria to Malton where she had boarded the coach for York.
There was no way to avoid the truth and not enough liquor in the world to douse the rage that was beginning to consume Laurence. Unable to bear being married to him, Victoria had run off. After all his experience with women, he thought bitterly, as his wrath continued to build, he’d fallen prey to a damsel in distress.
Twice!
‘What shall I do with her wedding dress, my lord?’ Sally asked when Lord Rockford came to her mistress’s room.
‘Burn it,’ Laurence bit out, ‘and get rid of everything else she left behind.’
Nathan was right. Victoria Lewis was already dead to Laurence. Beyond that monumentally handsome skull of his was a brain as quick and unforgiving as a guillotine.
* * *
On reaching York, Victoria’s bitter tears of hurt and disappointment had been burning at the back of her throat for almost the entire journey. She wanted nothing more than to be in the quiet of her room in the Fenwick household, where she could give vent to them and, please God, emerge on the other side of this crushing experience.
Thinking of her mother was agony, but she was able to think more clearly now she was away from Stonegrave Hall. If what Clara Ellingham had told her was true—and deep down she believed it was, for it explained so much that had remained unsaid—her mother had been delivered of Lord Rockford’s child. She wasn’t sure what she felt as she wondered if the strange pain in her heart would ever go away again—confused, yes, shocked, yes, but beyond that—what?
How much did she mind that she had a brother, that her mother had been in love with and borne a child to another man, not Victoria’s own kind, gentle father—a child she had never mentioned. How had it happened, how could her mother have given it away? How could she have done that? What kind of a mother could form such an agreement? How could anyone just hand over her child with so cool a detachment? Or be able to hold herself to it? How could she, all these years, have remained silent?
Finding all this out explained why her mother had kept herself withdrawn from her and her father. It broke Victoria’s heart to think that she might have loved her son more than she loved her daughter, but being unable to acknowledge him, to talk about him, must have tortured her every waking moment of her life.
All these things Victoria probed, cautiously, carefully, as if exploring the extent of a wound, and she could not begin to find any answers. She felt terrible. Part of her was in shock, another part acknowledged that she had known, or instinctively suspected, that there was more than Laurence had wanted her to know about the affair between her mother and his father. The state of rage she had been in since Clara Ellingham had spilt her vitriol into her ears had cooled. It was an awful, sad, sordid story, but at least it was no longer a total mystery. She could begin to face it head-on and meet it in the eye, and get to know it.
A terrible thought clutched at her. Had Laurence asked her to marry him to stop the scandal getting out? Where she was concerned, how could she have agreed to marry him? It had been a mistake, she could see that now. Her whole life had been one big mistake. The biggest mistake, of course, was allowing herself to fall in love with Laurence. And, the strangest thing of all was that she loved him still—after all this upheaval, she thought angrily. That was the shameful bit. She still loved Laurence. She always would.
What did become clear to her was that Nathan was her half-brother and that he knew, and had suffered his own kind of torment because of it. Clara Ellingham’s malevolence had reached out and suffocated her. She wanted Laurence, and she would move heaven and earth to get him. She, Victoria, stood in her way and must be removed, and with a few acid words she’d succeeded.
* * *
On Victoria’s arrival at Fenwick House, in the space of seconds, Amelia considered Victoria’s dejection and knew something had gone dreadfully wrong. She noted the total absence of her normal, unaffected warmth and correctly assumed her current attitude of proud indifference was a façade to conceal some sort of deep hurt. Since Laurence was the only one who had the power to truly hurt her, that meant he was the likely cause of the problem.
‘What has happened to make you say you no longer wish to be married to Lord Rockford?’
When she looked into Amelia’s sympathetic eyes, Victoria promptly succumbed to a fresh wave of grief-stricken tears. ‘It didn’t work out as we expected,’ she cried, unable to tell her the truth, that there was something inside her that cried out against Laurence’s deceit and pretence.
‘But what has happened? I thought you would be married by now. Has something happened to Lord Rockford?’
Victoria shook her head. ‘There was no wedding, Amelia. We—we decided we didn’t suit after all.’
With her mother looking on sympathetically, with the ties of childhood friendship and long-standing affection tightening around them, Amelia sat down next to Victoria on the sofa. It was more serious than she’d thought. ‘Whatever the argument was about, I am sure it can be sorted out.’
‘No, Amelia, it can’t. How I wish I’d never seen him. He is too high born for me—a lord—an important man,’ she said through her tears, ‘and I am only a school master’s daughter. I am nothing to him. I never was. I should never have reached above my station.’
‘Oh, Victoria, come now,’ Amelia scolded tenderly, patting her shoulder. ‘Lord Rockford wouldn’t have asked you to marry him if he hadn’t wanted to.’
‘Where is he now?’ Mrs Fenwick asked.
‘At the Hall,’ Victoria whispered through her tears.
‘Then I will write to him.’
‘There is nothing more to say. I can’t go back. Can—can I stay?’ she asked tentatively. ‘Until I find employment of some kind—which is what I intend to do. I will not impose on you longer than necessary—but I really have nowhere else to go.’
‘You can stay as long as you like,’ Mrs Fenwick said, getting up and ringing for tea, convinced there was more to this than Victoria was letting on. ‘You are Amelia’s closest friend and you are very dear to us, Victoria. You are most welcome.’
* * *
What had happened had hit Victoria hard. She longed to talk about it, to tell Amelia and Mrs Fenwick, to receive comfort, support and understanding, but she couldn’t. This was too private, too painful, something she was locked into alone, quite alone now. She felt shocked, almost bereaved—she ached, physically—bruised, dragged through an assault course. She had trouble sleeping—her appetite, usually so healthy, so hearty, failed her. Tears overcame her—suddenly, shockingly. Amelia and her mother noticed, asked her if she was all right.
‘Victoria, I know there is somet
hing you haven’t told us. Would you like to talk about it?’ Mrs Fenwick asked, her gentle face soft with concern.
She shook her head, and forced a smile. ‘I don’t think so. No. But thank you. You’re being very kind.’
Mrs Fenwick smiled back and said she understood and hugged her very close.
Realising she owed Laurence an explanation for her actions on their wedding day, Victoria wrote him a long and extremely painful letter, telling him of Miss Ellingham’s visit and that she hoped he would understand why she had acted as she had when he learned what was behind it. She stressed that he should have told her that her mother had given birth to his father’s child and that Nathan was that child—her half-brother. She told him he’d had no right to keep the truth from her, that she had a right to know. She went on to say that she was deeply sorry for any hurt he might have suffered because of her actions, but his deception over this matter had distressed and angered her almost beyond bearing, and the crushing humiliation she had felt when she had learned she owed her education to him and not her father, as she had believed, was unforgivable.
The letter was duly sent. Victoria would have been furious and hurt had she seen Laurence take the letter and crumple it in his hand before consigning it to the fire without bothering to read it.
He did, however, write to Mrs Fenwick—he was, after all, still Victoria’s guardian. The letter was brief and to the point. As far as he was concerned he had been inconvenienced enough of late and if it was agreeable to Mr and Mrs Fenwick, Victoria had his permission to stay with them until she was twenty-one. If she should wish to marry in the meantime he would raise no objections to that. There was only one thing he insisted upon and that was that Victoria should never contact him again for any reason.
* * *
‘Inconvenienced!’ Victoria railed on reading this. Her colour mounted high in her cheeks and warmed her ears. She was incensed. Mrs Fenwick was taken aback by her outburst and went on to explain that Lord Rockford was prepared to meet his obligations and was to provide a generous allowance for her keep and clothing.
On hearing this, Victoria’s humiliation was complete. She accepted that she could not expect to live with the Fenwicks indefinitely without contributing something towards her keep and, since she had no income of her own, she had no choice but to accept what she considered to be Laurence’s charity. But where her clothes were concerned, she had acquired an adequate wardrobe—albeit paid for by Laurence, which galled her to think about—and she did not intend to accept more of his charity than she could afford.
The fact that he made no mention of her letter or its contents and made no further effort to contact her in any way sent anger ripping through her—hot, violent rage. And then her brain turned full circle and she told herself instead that if he had any feelings for her at all, he would want to know at the very least how she was.
* * *
In the weeks that followed she coped in the only way she knew how. Trying not to think about Laurence, she immersed herself in helping Mrs Fenwick with a dozen civic and church activities, and she kept herself going until she dropped into bed at night, exhausted.
Christmas came and went and the days merged into weeks that passed in a blur of activity, but slowly she began to find her balance again. But Laurence was never far from her thoughts. Despite the bitterness still eating away inside her, she found it extraordinarily difficult, even after this considerable time, to think about much else. He obsessed her—she saw his face, heard his voice, remembered him—oh, dear Lord, she remembered him, everywhere, all the time. Time, if anything, increased her desire for him, but she could not forgive his deception.
* * *
There was great excitement when the family prepared to journey to London to partake of the Coronation celebrations for King George IV. He had become king following the death of his father, George III, in January of the previous year. Wishing it to outshine Napoleon Bonaparte’s Coronation, the king declared it would be the grandest ever.
The Fenwicks were to reside with Mrs Fenwick’s mother, the dowager Lady Elsworthy, who lived in a fine mansion in the north of London. Unlike Amelia, who was tremendously excited about visiting the metropolis and the social gatherings she would attend, Victoria viewed London as a wider scope to seek employment.
‘What you need,’ Amelia said as she surveyed her extensive wardrobe, ‘is some fun. You’ve never been to London and I just know you are going to love it. Perhaps you’ll meet someone who will make you forget that you ever knew Laurence Rockford—when he no longer matters.’
Victoria looked at her friend with quiet dignity. ‘When he stops mattering to me, then I’ll be ready for someone else. Not before.’
Amelia knew better than to pursue the subject, but on reaching London she had every intention of drawing her dear friend out of the doldrums and into society at every opportunity.
* * *
Amelia was right. Victoria found London a delight, but she would have preferred to spend her time quietly seeing the sights and visiting the galleries than attending the many social events Amelia insisted upon.
It was at one such gathering that she overheard it mentioned that Nathan Rockford and his wife were in town for the celebrations and that his sister-in-law Clara Ellingham had accompanied them. They had taken a suite at the grand Pulteney Hotel, which, like every other hotel, was full to bursting with people converging on London to celebrate the Coronation. She also heard some gossip concerning Laurence, of how he had been left waiting at the altar while his bride—one Victoria Lewis with no connections and of no possible consequence—absconded.
Clara Ellingham was right. Victoria was ill equipped to deal with society. The noble tribe was arguably the hardest of all in which to gain acceptance. Its language, its customs, its initiation ceremonies were all absolutely exclusive, no experience of any other people could prepare for it. While Victoria was only trying to gain acceptance as a member, when it became known that she was the same Victoria Lewis who had jilted Lord Rockford, she was seen, by the women within the circle, as an interloper of the highest order, a thief stealing a glittering and unearned prize. Most people in Lady Elsworthy’s circle treated her with an initially overt and gushing politeness and then proceeded to ignore her, occasionally tossing her a courtesy smile.
She tried to cope with it all, to learn to act quite skilfully at the life there, the self-indulgent, egocentric gatherings, to sit and smile at least at the homes and the parties, but she didn’t like it. She felt lonely, small, of no importance.
She was there on sufferance because she had nowhere else to go.
She had made the Fenwicks aware of the full extent of the events leading up to her cancelled wedding to Laurence, and although they were understanding of her situation and tried so hard to protect her from the humiliation of the gossip—which made her feel guilty in itself—it was a situation she could not accept for much longer.
* * *
The answer to her dilemma came from Lady Elsworthy. Aware that Victoria was seeking employment as a governess, she had heard from a reliable source that a Mr and Mrs Levinson, a wealthy American couple, were looking for an English governess for their seven-and five-year-old daughters. They were staying at the Pulteney Hotel and were to return to America shortly.
Victoria lost no time in writing to apply for the position. An appointment for an interview came almost immediately. Knowing Nathan was resident in the same hotel, she wrote asking if he would meet her. It was something she had been thinking about for some time. Giving the day and the time, she told him that if he didn’t wish to meet her, she would understand. Whether it was a reckless gesture or not, she felt it only right that she approach him. He would still probably not want to have anything to do with her, but she had to try.
* * *
Her interview went well and she liked Mr and Mrs Levinson immediate
ly. They were warm and friendly and their children polite, well behaved and absolutely adorable. They had two more ladies to interview and would contact her when they had made their decision. Victoria was hopeful.
The interview had finished with time to spare before her meeting with Nathan—if he deemed to show up. It was early afternoon and the hotel was quiet. Glancing through the open doors into the luxuriously appointed dining room, the candelabras glowed, burnishing the gilding throughout the room and gleaming upon the fine silver and exquisite painted china.
She sat waiting in the vestibule among an arrangement of palm fronds and huge white lilies and neatly arranged chairs, her heart thundering with dread and hope and uncertainty. She saw him before he saw her. Rising, she looked at him with new eyes as he strode in her direction. His hair was fair like her own, but that was where the similarity ended. He had their mother’s eyes and he had a way of holding his head that reminded her of their mother. An inexplicable pain penetrated her heart.
Then he saw her and stopped, taking her in. She could feel his eyes examining her, exploring her. There was a barrier of aloofness about his manner and lines of strain about his mouth that moved her. The fact that he had agreed to stand beside Laurence at their wedding told her he might have been softening towards her. But that was then. As Laurence’s brother and knowing how close they were, Nathan would despise her for leaving Laurence, for hurting him, and the scandal that ensued.
He approached her slowly. His eyes holding hers seemed to be trying to say something to her. She was disconcerted by what she saw on his face. He seemed oppressed and weary. Instantly the look was gone, replaced by cool formality, but thankfully the hostility that had governed their last meeting at Stonegrave Hall was absent. But what took its place bewildered her even more. Looking into his eyes she saw compassion, a certain wariness and regret, and despite herself, Victoria felt her heart go out to him. Despite her misgivings, he was her brother.
The Master of Stonegrave Hall Page 17
