***
“Your mother wishes to see you, miss.”
Victoria looked up to find Davis, their stalwart butler, standing over her. She immediately moved her hand to cover the letter she’d been writing, hopeful that the ink had dried sufficiently already.
“Tell her I’ll be along momentarily. I’m just finishing up here.” Davis shifted his feet and cleared his throat. Victoria turned to him again. “What is it, Davis?”
“It’s just that . . . milady said not to allow you to make any excuses. She wants to see you—now.”
“You may tell milady that I am four-and-twenty, and I will come when I am good and ready.” Victoria’s temper bubbled. She knew she should try and control it, but she couldn’t. “How dare she? I’m not a child anymore, Davis. She can’t insist that I drop everything simply because she wants to see me. Part of me wants to take even longer than I need finishing this letter just to spite her.” She held up a hand to Davis, who stood there quietly, listening to her rant. “Yes, I know I’m being childish, but she treats me like a child! What does she expect?”
She stopped and stared up at him, not really waiting for a response. He wasn’t one to offer up opinions. But then he did speak, much to Victoria’s surprise.
“I’m sorry, miss,” he said, a pained look crossing his features. “In this instance, I think it is best you go to your mother.”
Victoria felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. How humbling to be told what to do by ones servant. However, she was too dumbfounded to say anything but, “All right,” as she vacated her chair and walked numbly to her mother’s chambers.
Three
“Well, well, well, isn’t this surprising?”
Fin startled and his brush flew across Victoria’s face—in the painting, of course. He whirled around to scold the intruder, but his frustration turned to joy when he saw who stood in the doorway to his studio.
“Tom!” he shouted as he crossed the room to his old friend. “I thought you were still in Jamaica. When did you arrive home?”
They shook hands and then Tom sloughed off to the sofa. He landed on it sideways, in a reclined position. “Just this morning,” he said. “Finally. It’s a bloody long trip from Jamaica, you know?”
“No, but I can imagine,” said Fin. “Have you seen Victoria? I’m sure she’ll be thrilled you’re home.”
This piqued Tom’s interest. “Why’s that?”
“She can’t stand to have me looking after her. She likes when I’m her friend, but not her guardian. I’m certain she’ll be happy to have you back in that role.”
Tom chuckled and leaned back further to stare up at the ceiling. “I don’t have any intentions of following my sister around. She’s too damned headstrong. I don’t know why you even bothered.”
“Headstrong and secretive and deceptive . . . yes, I’m quite aware of Victoria’s shortcomings.” Fin moved back to his painting of her and stared into the eyes he’d painted just a half hour earlier. They were still wet and glossy, as if filled with tears.
“Apparently you don’t find the shortcomings to be with her looks, though.”
Fin turned to his old friend. “I’m not painting her because I find her attractive. I’m painting her so I can yell at the painting instead of her when she drives me to madness.”
Tom erupted into laughter. “In that case, perhaps you should paint one for me as well.”
The Robber Bride (Regency Historical Romance) Page 5
