Victoria kept a smile pasted on her face as Stephen made the introductions. He was secretly glad when all three women were suddenly engaged in conversation, although he had to feel a bit sorry for Victoria when he realized neither Cherice nor Lady Chamberlain knew the girl and were asking as to her family when he approached the viscount.
He wasn’t surprised to overhear her mention the Aimsley name. From what he had read that afternoon in the latest edition of Debrett’s Peerage and Barontage, her father was the youngest brother of the Earl of Aimsley. She was the granddaughter of an earl. She had as much right to a place in Society as anyone else, he supposed. More than me, he realized, feeling rather blessed that his father hadn’t given him the cut direct when Will insisted he join him in London rather than go onto his mother’s house in Kent when they finished their service in the Navy.
“My lord, I apologize for not being able to continue our conversation earlier,” Stephen said, his hands clasping behind his back in order to hide his nervousness.
“Ah, but saving a damsel in distress takes precedent, does it not?” the viscount replied with a grin.
Stephen allowed a slight smile, deciding not to mention that he rather doubted Victoria Comber had ever been in distress and certainly didn’t need saving. Except from him should he get the opportunity to kiss her again.
What the hell? He was supposed to be discussing a job opportunity, not thinking of kisses!
“I am in need of a Navy man in my office at Whitehall. Are you interested?”
Stephen tried hard to keep an impassive expression, but found he could not when Lord Chamberlain was so quick to get to the point. “Yes, of course, my lord.”
“Can you read and write?”
Stunned the man had to ask, Stephen nodded. “Yes. Eton, of course, and then the Royal Naval Academy,” he added, wanting the viscount to know he wasn’t trying to gain a position based on being the son of a marquess.
“How many years on board a ship?”
“Six.”
One of Matthew’s eyebrows arched up. “And how many served with your brother?”
Stephen sighed. “Two, my lord.” He wondered why the viscount would ask him about the time he served under his brother, but soon learned with Lord Chamberlain’s next question.
The viscount allowed a grin. “Come close to killing him a time or two?”
Blinking, Stephen shook his head. “No,” he replied carefully. “We get along rather well, actually.”
This bit of information seemed to intrigue the viscount. “I cannot tell you much about the position here,” he said, waving a hand to indicate the theatre. “However, if you could come to my offices at Whitehall tomorrow, I should like to cover the responsibilities in more detail, and introduce you to one of my operatives.”
Operatives? Stephen had to suppress the urge to cock an eyebrow at the comment. “What time shall I be there?”
Lord Chamberlain gave a shrug. “I’m usually in my office by nine o’ clock,” he replied, watching Stephen closely to determine if the early hour would have him wincing.
“Since I am usually up with the sun, I shall have no trouble being there at nine,” Stephen said with a nod. “Thank you, my lord.”
Matthew Fitzsimmons angled his head. “Don’t thank me yet. You may not like the position. Or let’s hope you decide it’s work you’ve always wanted to do.” He turned his attention to the ladies, who were still engaged in chit-chat. “Caro, I do believe we should be taking our leave,” he said in a quiet voice. “I wish to check on my son before he’s too sound at sleep.”
Caroline Fitzsimmons gave her husband a look of surprise and then covered her mouth with a gloved hand. “Oh, goodness. I apologize, but I must take my leave,” she said to the other two woman. “Chamberlain insists on being home when little Matthew is put to bed,” she murmured, her happy expression at odds with her words.
The Fitzsimmons took their leave of the box, and Stephen found himself once again standing next to Victoria. “Did you wish to join your party now?” he asked, secretly wondering if she had come to the theatre alone. “I’m not sure how much longer the intermission will last,” he added, his manner suggesting she should decline the offer of assistance.
Cherice was quick to intervene on Victoria’s behalf. “Oh, come now. You really must join me in the front row. If your friends are to find you, you must be visible,” she insisted.
Giving Stephen a surreptitious wink, Victoria accepted the marchioness’ invitation and took the seat that had been occupied by Lady Chamberlain.
For the rest of the play, Stephen wondered if Victoria would be mentioning what happened in Lord Weatherstone’s garden while she spoke in quiet whispers with Cherice.
Chapter 26
An Evening at the Theatre, Part Two
Stephen leaned over toward his father. “Thank you for arranging the introduction to Lord Chamberlain,” he whispered.
William regarded his son a moment. “That’s what fathers are for,” he murmured. “And when we get back to the house, I expect you’ll be required to explain how you know this young lady,” he warned with a hint of amusement.
Giving his father a nod, Stephen resettled himself in his seat behind Victoria and tried to concentrate on the play. He found it was no surprise Antonio couldn’t pay back the loan, but found Shylock’s reaction rather barbaric. Just because his daughter had married a Christian and taken most of the moneylender’s money, and probably because Antonio had been rather rash with his antisemitism, Shylock was determined to get his pound of flesh. Stephen figured that since Bassanio and Portia had married and were off to Venice to repay the loan, Shylock would be more than satisfied with twice the loan amount. Stunned that Shylock insisted on taking Antonio to court to claim his pound of flesh, Stephen rolled his eyes. Shylock had obviously never been to war, had never seen a mortal wound, or he wouldn’t be so quick to demand the pound of flesh.
Stephen’s mind wandered a bit, wondering if Will had found Barbara and then wondering if Victoria had come to the theatre with a chaperone. If she hadn’t, he would have to insist on seeing her home, although he had no idea where that might be. After what she had said at the ball, it was possible she was staying in Cheapside. Or the Seven Dials!
Damnable woman!
First she crashes a ball and then gets me in the garden for a round of kissing... He had to shake his head in an attempt to clear the memory, for his body had already reacted to his thoughts of her kisses, of how her body had been pressed against the front of his, of how her fingers clutched his shoulders as his arms held her upright. She had tasted of champagne and smelled like lemon and honeysuckle. Or maybe they had merely been standing near a honeysuckle bush. He didn’t know nor did he care just then. The entire episode had been so intense, he had barely been able to stand up for the duration of it let alone keep his wits about him.
Perhaps it would be better if he didn’t offer her an escort to wherever she was staying, he decided. What if she wished to renew what they had started in the gardens? He would deflect her advances, of course. Insist she keep her hands off of him. Deny they had shared anything more than chaste conversation during the ball. None of that had been his fault, he reasoned. Victoria had been rather fast when he gave it some more thought. A wanton. Why, he shouldn’t even be seen in her company!
When his attention was once again back on the play, he listened closely as a doctor of the law espoused the importance of mercy. “Mercy is twice blest: It blesseth him that gives and him that takes,” he heard, realizing almost immediately that the man wasn’t a man at all, but rather Portia, attempting to talk Shylock out of taking his pound of flesh.
Although Shylock refused any compensation, insisting on his pound of flesh, Stephen considered Portia’s words. Perhaps Victoria wasn’t entirely responsible for what had happened in the gardens the night before. Of course, he would see to her safety once the play was over. Offering her a ride and an escort to her wherever she was staying w
as the least he should do. He would feel awful should something happen to the chit.
The rest of the play seemed mired in legalities, the tale similar to one his mother had made him read when he was between semesters at Eton. Once again bored, Stephen wondered if Victoria had any suitors—she had assured him she wasn’t married despite the pink gown she wore. He wondered how old she was. Wondered when the damned play would end so he could offer her his arm and escort her to the Devonville coach...
The roar of applause had Stephen jerking in his seat. Pulled from his reverie, it took a moment for Stephen to realize Antonio’s wealth had been restored to him and he wasn’t missing any of his flesh. Everyone in the play seemed to have made amends.
A happy ending.
Rising slowly to his feet, he found his gaze settling on Victoria. Cherice was already engaging her in conversation, something about the next time they might meet.
“In the event Miss Comber is without an escort home, would it acceptable for me to offer her a ride in the coach with us?” Stephen asked of his father.
William arched an eyebrow. “I would expect you to do nothing less,” he replied with a nod. “Since you’ve asked about it, I’m made to wonder if you already know she’s without an escort. Is that the case?”
Stephen gave a shrug. “I cannot yet answer that,” he said with a sigh, almost hoping there was an escort somewhere in the building. For if there was not, then Victoria Comber was a truly improper young lady. She had come to the theatre by herself. Probably in a hackney.
Stephen was saved from having to ask, for when the ladies stood up and turned to regard the gentlemen, Cherice angled her head and said, “We’ll be giving Miss Comber a ride home this evening. I do hope it’s not inconvenient?”
William and Stephen exchanged knowing glances and shook their heads. “Not at all.”
By the time the Devonville town coach finally made it to the head of the queue of carriages waiting out in front of the Drury Lane Theatre, a light rain had begun to fall. Since the theatre didn’t feature a portico in front, the Devonville party waited until the driver had the coach door open before making their way down the steps and to the equipage.
Having brought along a shawl, Cherice merely raised it over her elaborate coiffure and grasped her skirts in front of her so they were somewhat protected from the rain. Victoria, however, had nothing in the way of a shawl or mantel, her long-sleeved gown’s velvet of a weight suitable for cooler weather. Realizing she would be drenched before they made it to the coach, Stephen removed his topcoat and draped it over Victoria’s shoulders.
Rather surprised by his show of chivalry, Victoria regarded him for a moment before giving him a nod. “Thank you, my lord,” she murmured before following on Cherice’s heels and allowing the driver to assist her up the step and into the coach. Ensuring she was facing against the direction of travel—she didn’t think it appropriate to take the seat next to the marchioness—Victoria allowed a giggle as she settled herself.
The warmth of Stephen’s topcoat enveloped her in comfort, the scent of amber a subtle reminder of how close he had been to her in the theatre box. How close he had been the night before when they had kissed in the Weatherstone gardens. She barely had a second to take in the luxurious interior of the coach—the red leather squabs more comfortable than any hackney could boast, the lanterns next to each window bathing the maple veneer in a golden light—before the marquess entered and seemed to pause before taking the seat next to his wife. Stephen followed, his expression indicating his surprise at finding he would be sitting next to Victoria as opposed to the marquess.
The driver’s head ducked into the coach. “Where to, my lord?”
William Slater gave Stephen an arched eyebrow. “Devonville House. I’d like to get my marchioness home before she catches a chill. Then you can see to getting our guest to her home,” he added, his attention suddenly on Stephen.
“I truly appreciate the offer of a ride, my lord. I could have easily taken a hackney,” Victoria said.
“Not without an escort, Miss Comber,” he replied sternly. “Especially this time of night. Aimsely would not be pleased to learn his niece was traveling by herself.”
The hint of warning in his voice was unmistakable, making Victoria realize she had erred in thinking she could attend the theatre alone when her aunt backed out of chaperoning at the last moment. It wasn’t as if she had walked to the theatre, or thought she could walk home. She merely thought taking a hackney was the answer.
Goodness! There was so much to learn about being a proper young lady!
“Are you warm enough?” Stephen murmured, rather glad the close quarters afforded a warmer ride than if there had just been the two of them.
“Oh, quite,” Victoria replied, feeling ever so embarrassed so that her cheeks were red. “In fact, would you like your coat? I don’t really need it,” she said in a quiet voice, not wanting to disturb the marquess and marchioness. They both seemed lost in thought as they sat holding hands in the dim light.
Although she didn’t mean to stare, she couldn’t help but notice how the two seemed so comfortable with each other. Almost as much as her own mother and father, who any number of times could be found holding hands or sneaking kisses after dinner. She hadn’t expected it of their ilk, though. Didn’t aristocrats marry out of duty rather than because they felt affection for one another?
“Did you like the play?” Cherice asked, her attention suddenly back on Victoria.
The young woman straightened in the squabs. “Oh, very much. I thought Mr. Kean was magnificent,” she replied. “If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought Shakespeare had written the part of Shylock specifically for him to play.”
Cherice gave her a grin. “It is his role,” she agreed. “And what did you think, Stephen? Did you have a favorite?”
Having spent most of the second half of the play daydreaming, he was about to say, “Not particularly,” when he remembered Portia. Or her thoughts on mercy, rather. “I was rather impressed by Portia’s speech about mercy,” he said thoughtfully. “Shylock would have proved himself a better man had he taken her advice, but then the play would have been shorter.”
Stephen was aware of Victoria’s gaze on him, of how her brow furrowed before she seemed to slump into the squabs. Before Cherice could respond, the town coach suddenly halted. From the slight jerk behind him, Stephen knew the driver had stepped down from his box. A quick look out his window and he realized they were already at Devonville House.
“Well, it was very good to meet you, Miss Comber. I’m sure we’ll see you again soon,” Cherice said before she allowed her husband to help her from the carriage. She turned her attention to Stephen, giving him an arched eyebrow before she stepped out of the coach.
“Would you like to sit in the direction of travel?” Stephen wondered, curious if Cherice thought he should depart the coach and allow Victoria to ride alone or if she wanted him to accompany their guest.
“I’m quite fine right here,” she insisted. “Unless...” At Stephen’s quick glance in her direction, she added, “You would prefer me to sit across from you?”
Stephen allowed a wan smile. “You’re fine where you are.”
The trap door in the top of the coach opened. “Where to, my lord?”
Giving Victoria a nod, Stephen waited for her to reply.
“King Street. Where it meets Foubert’s Place,” she said as she gave Stephen a nervous glance. “Carnaby.”
Well, that address wasn’t quite what he expected. “Who lives there?” he asked lightly, hoping she wouldn’t think him too nosey.
Victoria allowed a sigh. “My aunt. My mother’s older sister, Mildred Regan,” she finally said. “She agreed to be my sponsor for the Season, but, unfortunately, she doesn’t go to many events.”
“Not even the theatre?” Stephen asked with a quirked lip.
Giving him a quelling glance, Victoria huffed. “She was supposed to be there. She p
romised. And then...”
Stephen frowned. “What happened?” he wondered, a bit worried about the health of Mildred Regan.
“She claimed she overdid it whilst we were paying calls this afternoon, and she begged off after her maid had already done my hair and dressed me.” A tear appeared in the corner of her eye. “Please, I beg you, do not tell the marchioness.”
Turning his body so he could reach for her shoulder, Stephen stared at Victoria. Was she truly about to cry? Or was she merely putting on a show for his benefit? “I won’t tell her,” he agreed, “But you must tell me something. And you must be truthful.”
A quizzical expression replaced the one of sorrow. “Of course,” she agreed, turning so she faced him on the shallow seat, one shoulder sinking into the squabs.
“How many men have you kissed?”
Victoria blinked. And blinked again as she straightened on the seat. “I do not see how that is any of your concern, sir,” she replied, rather indignant just then.
Stephen narrowed his own eyes at her. “I am one. How many others are there?” Try as he might, he couldn’t get the hint of anger out of his voice. He didn’t even know why it was there, or even why he wanted to know how often she kissed other men. But for some reason, at that moment, he wanted to know. He needed to know.
Victoria’s resolve to ignore his question melted away after a moment. “One. My second cousin,” she finally admitted. “We were five at the time.”
Furrowing his brows, Stephen considered her answer for a moment. “Did he put his tongue in your mouth?”
Victoria allowed a rather loud gasp. “Of course not!” she replied, now really indignant. “He was five!”
“Did you put your tongue into his?”
Stephen realized after the fact that he really should have been more aware of the fact that her right arm was entirely unencumbered, even by his topcoat resting over her shoulders, for when she suddenly leaned back and swung at him, he felt the full force of her open hand as it impacted his left cheek.
The Caress of a Commander Page 18
