Chapter Two

“Where have you been, my gel?”

Virginia’s aunt stood in the hallway in a towering rage, her hands on her hips. The situation called for some serious diplomacy.

“Merely to the bookshop. I took Sarah with me, so I was adequately chaperoned. I’m sorry if you were worried, but there is nothing to read in Uncle’s library.”

“There are heaps of books!” Aunt Lydia looked like a termagant, her aged face red, her nostrils distended, her jaw set. Neither Virginia nor her uncle had counted on Aunt Lydia being so embarrassed about providing a home for an American niece.

“Uncle can hardly be expected to possess women’s novels.”

Her aunt tapped her foot. “If you were at the bookshop, where, then, are your purchases?”

This flummoxed Virginia for only a moment. “They are being delivered. There were too many to carry.” She went to her aunt, put her arm about the woman’s waist, and led her to the sitting room. “Now, tell me. Have you heard from Uncle? Has he arrived safely in Dorset? Did he find all well on his estate?”

The woman’s rigid posture softened only slightly. “He has many things to see to.” Virginia sighed. “Uncle is a dear.”

The remainder of the afternoon was spent doing penance. Virginia embroidered in her aunt’s sitting room and listened to a long list of the woman’s tribulations. All would-be callers were told the ladies were not at home to visitors.

“I can only emphasize that you must be absolutely silent on the manner of your arrival in England.”

“I assure you I have no intention of speaking of it, Aunt.”

Virginia had not been a guest in the house long before she understood completely why her uncle had chosen a life at sea. Had he not been elevated to the peerage by the death of a distant relation, he would undoubtedly have risen to the rank of admiral by now.

The afternoon passed somehow. She was not fond of embroidery and wished mightily that she were awaiting a delivery of novels. Her lack of congenial occupation wore on her, as did her aunt’s company. Virginia missed her home, her country, and most of all her parents.

* * *

The smoke was choking her. The heat of the enormous flames felt like it was searing her alive through her nightgown.

“Mother! Papa!” she screamed, but she could not even hear herself above the roar of the fire and the crashing of the walls in front of her. She could almost feel the blaze sucking her in. Terrified, she turned and ran back toward her bedroom.

She smacked into a solid presence in the smoke.

“Come, chile, Mammy can carry you.”

She dissolved into the comforting figure of her old nurse as though she were indeed a child again. Mammy hurried down the back stairs as walls fell behind them. They were barely out of the house when the ceiling collapsed.

“Mother, Papa!” she screamed again.

Virginia woke screaming, kicking off the constraining quilts. Tears rained down her face.

Mother. Papa.

The sickening reality stole over her for the hundredth time. Her parents were gone, having perished in the fire, along with Mammy’s husband, as they tried to get the house slaves out.

No one ever determined how the fire started. The British were suspected, and for months Virginia’s anger had burned as hot as the flames that destroyed her home. Rage had governed all her actions. Though her kind neighbors had taken her in, she had been obstinately silent.

Her horse had survived, and she had spent hours on its back, trying to run away from her pain and the tragedy that stalked her. Her hatred of the British grew.

Now, she began to shiver in convulsive waves. Drawing the covers back over her, she struggled to leave the memories in the past.

The few people she had met that day were kinder than she had expected. Indeed, she was fighting a fierce attraction to a viscount, of all people! Of course, anything further was impossible. He represented a social system, not to mention a government, she despised. She had never expected to find a country completely untouched by war. If one judged Britain by its high society, one might not even realize a war was taking place with America or with France. The whole situation had a way of deflating her anger. It was as though she had landed on the moon, so far away from home did she feel.

She must live in the present. She must move forward with her life, but when would the nightmares stop? Did she really want them to? The only place her home and parents lived was in her memory.

* * *

The following day her aunt declined visitors again and, after luncheon, retired to take her rest, leaving Virginia free to visit Hatchard’s once more. Before the war there had been advertisements in the Charlottesville newspaper for the grand London bookseller. One could order books. She had begged her mother to do so, but her mother had said such an order would take months to receive.

Now Virginia was determined to try again to visit the bookstore that had so captivated her imagination. It claimed to carry all the latest fiction. Perhaps if she immersed herself in a good book, she could rid herself of the nightmares—or at the very least have something to read when she woke at night.

Once again she took her maid, Sarah, and left the house. She hailed the first hackney to pass them and directed the jarvey to Hatchard’s Book Emporium.

As the establishment came into view, the store’s appearance—which she had not had a chance to discern the day before—delighted her. With an entrance set back from the street, it had large, many-paned windows showing off the collection inside. It looked to be a place in which one could lose oneself—just exactly what she required today.

She and Sarah entered the store, and while her maid sat in an armchair by an open fire, Virginia began browsing the shelves looking for the newest fiction. Delighted to find several books she had not read, she dipped into them to sense whether she would enjoy them. While she was thus employed, a blonde sprite with dancing amber eyes approached her, saying, “Ooh, that is a very good one! Pride and Prejudice.”

Virginia smiled at her. “You have read it, then?”

“Yes. I wish the author was not anonymous. I would love to meet her.”

“Is there anything else you can recommend?” Virginia asked.

The girl studied her openly. “You speak like an American.”

“I am an American, actually. My name is Miss Virginia Livingstone.”

“And I am Miss Arabella Saunders. You have probably heard of my brother. Everyone calls him Beau, but he is Viscount Wellingham.”

Saunders! Any connection to the Saunders she had met on the voyage? Unlikely, surely.

“I have arrived in London only recently, Miss Saunders. But it is lovely to meet you.”

“May I recommend another anonymous lady author to you? She is a friend of mine. Her latest book is The Curious Affair at Staley-in-the-Wold. It is a bit like the books by the author of Pride and Prejudice, only more humorous. In a very dry way, of course.”

Virginia grew animated. “You know the author? How exciting! What is she like?”

The little blonde replied eagerly, “She is very extraordinary. I cannot say much, or you would recognize her. But she is deeply involved in charity work, a gifted musician, and one of the kindest people I have known. She ranks very highly in society since her marriage, but she is not at all unapproachable.”

“She sounds brilliant,” said Virginia. “And how kind of you to speak to me. As yet I know few people in London. Were you at Lady Fotheringhill’s ball the other night?”

Miss Saunders made a face. “I am not yet out, unfortunately.” She gave a dramatic sigh. “I must live my life in the pages of my books. That is why I am such a great reader.” She laughed and continued, “I am with my governess, Miss Graham, today. Come, I will introduce you. She is probably looking at atlases. She longs to travel someday.”

“I would be happy to meet her.”

Miss Graham proved to be a tall, awkward woman of middle age. Virginia’s heart went out to her immediately. Obviously she had never married and had been forced into this situation of servitude—really the only one for women of gentle birth and little means here in England. Fervently grateful that she herself had a fortune coming to her when she was of age, Virginia greeted the woman kindly.

“Your pupil and I have been having a wonderful chat about books,” Virginia said.

“Oh! You are an American!” said Miss Graham. “I do so want to go to America! I want to visit a plantation as well as New Orleans.”

“I grew up on a cotton plantation,” Virginia said.

“Oh, how romantic! You are from the South, then?”

“Yes. From the Commonwealth of Virginia. But I have never been to New Orleans.”

The woman leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Forgive me if I am asking an awkward question, but I am dying to know. How do you happen to be in England with the war between our two countries?”

Virginia drew a deep breath. Surely the woman was impertinent? “Personal reasons make it a necessity,” she said. “I am visiting Lord and Lady Ogletree.”

The governess’s eyes were full of speculation, and Virginia knew she wanted to ask how she had traveled to England with war raging on the high seas. As she was sworn to secrecy on the subject, Virginia changed topics.

“Miss Saunders says you long to travel. Where else would you like to go?”

The governess said, “I know it is probably impossible, but I wish to see Egypt and India.”

“So do I,” said Virginia truthfully. “I should really like to go even farther abroad—to China.”

Miss Saunders interrupted in her bubbling manner, “You should meet my brother’s tutor from Oxford, Miss Livingstone. He has traveled all over the Far East. Even Japan.”

Before Virginia could frame a reply, the girl continued, “I say, I would love to go for an ice at Gunter’s. Have you been to Gunter’s yet? Have you ever had an ice?”

The impetuous girl was charming, but Virginia guessed she must be a handful for her governess. “No, I haven’t. What is an ice?”

Miss Saunders’s eyes sparkled. “You shall see. They are absolutely divine. The next best thing to heaven.”

“I must pay for my purchases,” Virginia said. “And collect my maid.”

* * *

Gunter’s proved to be a high-ceilinged, bright tea shop—a perfect beehive of activity. At this hour it was filled with ladies and gentlemen eating a frozen confection served in tall fluted goblets. Curious, Virginia ordered a raspberry ice for herself and a lemon for her maid, whom she insisted should sit with them at their table. She knew it was probably scandalous, but she couldn’t bring herself to send Sarah off by herself in a corner. Miss Saunders and Miss Graham didn’t seem to mind.

Virginia’s first taste of her ice was blissful. “Oh, my. This is divine. In fact, there should be an even higher superlative for it. What a marvelous invention!”

“I am so glad I could be the one to introduce it to you,” said Miss Saunders.

Miss Graham bade her tell them what life on a plantation was like. Virginia, always sensitive on the subject of slaves, managed to avoid the topic and dwell instead on her former day-to-day life. “I imagine it is very much the same as life on an estate here,” she said. “We grow . . . grew cotton. I had a governess and a horse I adored. My father and I used to ride in the steeple chase. We also had fox hunting.”

“It does sound much the same,” said Miss Saunders.

“There is actually a big difference,” said Miss Graham.

Virginia winced, knowing what she was about to say.

“We have tenant farmers,” the governess said. “The Americans have black slaves from Africa.”

But Miss Saunders wasn’t listening. Her eyes were fixed on a grand-looking couple making their way toward them. “Oh, look, our friend the Duchess of Ruisdell has seen us. She is coming over to our table!”

A strikingly beautiful woman with black hair and dark-blue eyes stopped next to them, accompanied by an elegant gentleman with a quizzing glass dangling from his watch chain. His eyes were crinkled with delight at spying Miss Saunders.

Oh, dear. A duke, of all people. I have never thought to meet an actual duke.

Virginia noticed that Sarah was suddenly uncomfortable. “I will wait for you outside, miss,” she said and swiftly left the table. She may not be a slave precisely, but she was taught to act like one.

Looks of concern puckered the duchess’s brows, but she mercifully said nothing about Sarah’s departure.

“My darling Arabella,” said the black-haired woman. “I pray you will introduce us to your friend. I have not met her before.”

“Indeed I shall, Your Grace,” said Miss Saunders, rising and giving the woman a small curtsy. “Miss Livingstone, I have the honor of presenting the Duke and Duchess of Ruisdell. Your Graces, this is Miss Livingstone, from America. This is her first visit to Gunter’s!”

Unsure what she should do, Virginia rose as well, offering her best curtsy. Words froze in her throat.

“How lovely to meet you!” the duchess declared. Turning to her husband, she said, “Is this not the young lady you were inquiring about at luncheon yesterday, my dear?”

“I don’t understand,” said Virginia. “Your Grace was inquiring about me?”

“I was taxed with the job of learning about you for my friend Viscount Strangeways. I believe you met him at Lady Fotheringhill’s ball?”

The news of Lord Strangeways’s interest pleased and panicked her at the same time. Even before the incident with Mr. Hale, she had been drawn to his warm golden eyes and attractively crooked smile. Most of all, he was kind when she hadn’t expected to find kindness. But Aunt Lydia would not be pleased Virginia made an impression that brought her to the attention of a duke and duchess. The two of them were not at all what Virginia had expected when imagining English aristocracy. She had never thought to find friendliness in such a quarter.

“Shall you join us?” Miss Saunders asked the duchess. “You remember my governess, Miss Graham?”

The tall spinster had been standing throughout and offered a curtsy.

“Yes, Miss Graham. It is lovely to see you again,” said the duchess. Her husband seated her, and they all followed.

“I understand you have some connection to Lady Ogletree?” the duchess inquired of Virginia.

“Yes. She is my aunt.”

“I do not know the lady well, but her husband is a friend of the duke’s, is he not, my dear?”

The woman’s smile was full of warmth. The duke and duchess acted genuinely interested in Virginia and fond of Miss Saunders.

The duke answered, “Yes. Since he came into the barony, your uncle has been a member of my club, but I do not see him there often. After all his years at sea, I believe he is not fond of Town life.”

“You are correct,” said Virginia. “I am sad to report that he has left for Dorset.”

She was charmed to see the duke accompanying his wife for an outing to the tea shop. Though there were men in abundance, they appeared to be in groups with other men.

“I am so anxious to see your new little marquess,” said Miss Saunders. “Is he doing well?”

“Very well, thank you. You will have to bring Miss Graham and Miss Livingstone and come calling some afternoon.”

Miss Saunders blushed a fiery hue and said, “Oh, dear. I was not angling for an invitation! Beau always says my tongue is all thumbs. I was rather inviting you to call on us!”

“Nevertheless, I should love to see you, dear.” Turning to Virginia, the duchess asked, “Are you here for a long visit?”

“Yes,” she replied, striving to keep the sadness out of her voice.

The duke said, “I hope you will enjoy our country. London society has a few peculiarities, but Dorset is a lovely place.”

“I long to see it,” said Virginia. “I understand it is on the coast.”

“Very scenic,” said the duke. “Cliffs. Crashing waves. Are you a country dweller or city bred?”

“I was raised on a plantation in Virginia,” she told him. “But today I fulfilled one of my dreams. I visited Hatchard’s, where I met Miss Saunders and Miss Graham.”

An animated discussion of books followed. All the ladies appeared to be avid fans of Scott, Blake, Wordsworth, and the author of Pride and Prejudice. The duchess was very enthusiastic about Lord Byron as well.

Virginia saw an amused look in the duke’s eyes as he watched his wife, and she wondered at it. He was obviously smitten with her and not the least toplofty.

“My brother does not approve of Lord Byron,” said Miss Saunders sadly. “But I will be out from under his thumb one day, and I intend to read all of Lord Byron’s works, then. I have heard The Corsair is divine.”

“You will have to come to my next literary luncheon, my dear,” the duchess said to Virginia, her eyes alight. “I have many particular friends who love books as you do. We have a little group and meet from time to time to discuss what we are reading. I am convinced you would enjoy meeting them. And Miss Graham and Arabella, you will join us, of course.”

“How splendid!” said Miss Saunders.

“How very kind,” Virginia said. She was overwhelmed by the attention. Whatever would her aunt say?

“I shall invite your aunt, of course,” the duchess said as though reading her mind. She rose. “Now we must get along to the child. I shall send you all invitations when I have decided upon a date.”

Virginia stood as well. “I cannot tell you how good it has been to meet you both. I am quite overcome by your kindness.”

Surely it was not at all the done thing for a duchess to extend her hospitality in such a manner, especially to one who might be termed an enemy of her country! However, once the duke and duchess were out of earshot, Miss Saunders enlightened her. “I know I absolutely should not tell you this, but I am fairly bursting! Her Grace is the author of that book you bought—The Curious Affair at Staley-in-the-Wold. You must swear not to tell anyone!”

Virginia was stunned. “I was bantering about books with an author? A duchess? Oh, my heavens.”

“She is a very unusual duchess. She was just Miss Edwards when she married the duke. It was a love story that shook the ton. He fought a duel for her, though I am not to mention that either. The duke has been a friend of my brother’s since Oxford days. Part of the reason he is so unstuffy is that he never expected to be a duke. He was serving as a general on the Peninsula when he came into the title. Some kind of peculiar circumstance . . . I have never known the exact details.”

Virginia found the story interesting, but reminded herself never to tell Miss Saunders anything she did not want the world to know.

“My aunt must be missing me by now,” Virginia said. “Thank you for a most thrilling afternoon. You must call on me. I live at Shipley House on Half Moon Street.”

“Oh, I shall do so soon, I promise! Be certain to read the duchess’s book.”

“I am looking forward to it,” Virginia said.

On her way home in the cab, she reflected on what a surprising afternoon it had been. Again she had met English people she could like, in spite of their rank. The blue devils had vanished for the moment, but she decided not to give a full report to her aunt. The woman was bound to be distressed that her American niece had made the acquaintance of a duke and duchess.