.
A week after giving Emily the star sapphire, Victor found that he could not put Charles off any longer and finally consented to meet his friend for lunch. Charles had a taste for trying new restaurants even if they took him to odd places, and Victor reluctantly allowed himself to be dragged to a place that Charles claimed served the best chicken in the city.
Victor had to admit the chicken was good. At the very least, it was good enough that it made Charles dragging out the entire story of his engagement easier rather than harder.
At the end of it, Charles sat back in his chair and stared at Victor.
“So, you truly do not know why she came to London?”
Victor shrugged.
“It’s not important. Nothing short of betrayal could be more important than spending my life with Emily.”
Charles grinned.
“I admire your resolve. A true love match for you, then. Congratulations.”
“Thank you. I was surprised that I had come to it myself.”
“I do not think I could be as trusting as you are,” Charles said thoughtfully. “But perhaps it is only that I have known women less fine than your Lady Emily. No, don’t give me that look, I am not going to take her away from you...”
Victor ate his food because it was easier than trying to hide the instinctive glare he gave his friend. God, he might have another fifty years of being Emily’s husband. He needed to learn to rein his jealousy in.
“I never thought you were.”
“No, when I marry, it shall hopefully be a girl with a fine fat inheritance first and a pretty face second.”
Victor gave Charles a narrow look and wondered if Charles was still wounded after that mess in Devon. It was years in the past, but Charles would never have said such a thing before.
“I am looking forward to your wedding and meeting the woman who stands up with you,” Victor said finally.
He might have said more, but then there was a terrible screech from the street and the loud and horribly familiar screaming of horses. For a moment, Victor was back in the Sierra Morena mountains, and then he realized, no, he was in London.
He leaped from his seat and ran into the street, where he immediately saw what was the matter. The street outside of the restaurant was terribly narrow, and in trying to pass, one cart had drawn up on the curb. Unfortunately, the cart had been loaded too heavily, causing it to topple, and it had taken a passing carriage down with it. One horse was flat on its side and alarmingly still while the other, bloodied but just barely on its feet, was still hitched to the toppled cart and its fallen companion. The scene was chaos, with the carriage driver shouting at the cart driver, opportunists making off with the spilled packages from the cart, and the hubbub of a street stopped in its tracks.
Charles was by Victor’s side, looking appalled at the mess.
Victor shook his head.
“I’m sorry, I’m pressing you into service, Wendington. Get some men and see about the cart horses. If that one starts to kick, it could kill someone. I’ll go after the carriage horses and see about who’s inside.”
Charles threw Victor a mock salute, but he went off to do as Victor said. The carriage horses, despite being hitched to a toppled carriage, were mostly unhurt. With a knife commandeered from a man who was stealing packages, Victor cut them free and handed the reins to the carriage driver, giving him something to do besides shout at the man driving the cart.
Now that he was closer to the carriage, Victor could hear a hiccupping sob, and he climbed on top of the carriage, standing on its side as he pulled open the door. To his relief, the inside was mostly intact, no one crushed or mauled, but there was an older man in a dead faint in the bottom and a small child weeping as if the world was ending next to him.
“No, no, sweetheart, it’s fine, it’s fine. We’ll get you out of this. It is fine, I promise.” Victor realized he was speaking Spanish and switched to English.
“Will you give me your hand, darling? I’ll pull you out and then we can see about helping your papa.”
The child, dressed in a striped dress of modest wool and with gleaming gold hair plaited in neat braids, gave him a long look and then, as if deciding he was safe, held up both arms to him. He pulled her out of the carriage, but as soon as she was free, she refused to let go. She wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his belly, and when he gently tried to tug her free, she wailed again.
Fortunately, there were now more people helping to clear away the mess, and as Victor stepped back with the little girl in his arms, others hauled the man out of the wreckage. He was breathing strongly, Victor realized with relief, and he glanced over at the little girl balanced on his hip.
“Your papa’s going to be just fine,” he said.
“That is Mr. Wick. He is not my father,” she said with a child’s precision.
“Ah, well. Shall we step into the restaurant? They have ices that you may like, and then we can wait until Mr. Wick wakes up and takes you where you need to go.”
He started carrying her into the restaurant, but what she said next made him freeze in his tracks.
“I know where I am meant to go. I am to be taken to Lady Caverly’s house, where I will see my mama.”
Victor looked at the child’s blond hair and bright blue eyes, and he felt his stomach lurch.
“I... see. And do you know your mama’s name?”
She gave him a look that really did clear any doubt of whose daughter she was.
“Of course, I do. I am four, not a baby. My mama is Lady Emily Allensby. She is tall and has hair like mine, and she went to London when it was cold. I have not seen her since.”
“Smart girl,” Victor said, and she allowed him to sit her down at the table he and Charles occupied, telling the waiter that she should be given whatever she liked.
Charles came back in, slightly disheveled but no worse for the wear.
“The unconscious man was taken into the house next door and the surgeon has been sent for. I see you have the child; we should take her to him so that he does not panic when he wakes.”
“Let her eat what she likes, food will cushion the shock, and then take her to the man. Arrange for their passage to Lady Caverly’s house on Whitting Street.”
“Why are they going—”
“Because this girl is Emily’s illegitimate daughter,” Victor said coldly. “And I need to have a word with Emily immediately.”
Mr. Wick could not be very precise about when he and Sophie would be arriving in London, but Emily knew that it would be today or tomorrow. In the middle of all the wedding preparations, she had found the time to set up the small bedroom next to hers for Sophie, decorating it with a comforter and a rug in green, Sophie’s favorite colors.
Every few hours, she would peek into the room, and her heart would swell, knowing that Sophie would be with her soon. She had met Sophie when the little girl had turned two, and they had never been apart after that, not until Emily had to go to London.
No matter how much she explained the situation to Sophie, Sophie would not be comforted. According to Mrs. Wick, she asked about Emily every night, asking if she was any closer to coming home.
Now all of that waiting and grief was justified, and Emily resolved that no matter what, she was never going to be separated from Sophie again.
A footman appeared at the drawing-room door, and Emily looked up, her heart in her throat.
“His grace, the Duke of Wellford, has arrived, Lady Emily.”
“Oh, of course, please show him in.”
She stood to greet Victor with a smile on her lips. She had expected to introduce Victor and Sophie in a few days, after Sophie had had her fill of exploring and was more settled, but now she wondered if it was better to introduce them sooner.
“Victor, I’m so glad you are here...”
The footman closed the door behind him, and she went up to Victor, wrapping her arms around him. Instead of taking her in his embrace, however, Victor stepped back as she were some mad stranger on the street.
Emily blinked, looking up at him, and she felt a trill of alarm go through her as she saw his blank expression. She had seen that expression before, on her own face after she received the letter that came with Sophie, grief so great that it eradicated everything else.
“Victor, talk to me, what has happened? Are you all right? Is it Sir Eugene, or Charles? What is the matter, speak to me...”
She went up to touch his face, but his hand lashed out, curling around her wrist and holding her in a ferocious grasp. Emily gasped in pain, and his grip loosened, but he did not release her.
“Victor!”
“Here.”
He let her go and gave her a cream-colored envelope.
“Victor, what is it?” she whispered. This wasn’t grief, she thought belatedly. It looked like rage, and suddenly she wondered if she should be afraid. This must have been what Victor looked like in Spain, when life and death waited in the balance.
“Open it,” he said, and it was so far from a lover’s teasing tone that it made her shiver.
Obediently, she opened the envelope, and what she read made her eyes widen.
“What does this mean? Why are you settling some property called Meadford Grange on me?”
“It is located in the north of England,” Victor said, his voice level. “It is yours to be kept or sold or passed on as you please. It has an income of around four thousand pounds a year I am told, perhaps more. I believe it is an adequate compensation for breaking our engagement.”
Emily went pale, letting the paper fall unheeded to the ground.
“Victor, what are you saying?”
“You are an intelligent woman, Emily, and I would hardly think you could misunderstand me. I am ending our engagement, and I am giving you Meadford Cottage to make sure that you do not suffer any kind of repercussions from being formally attached to me, even for such a short period of time. We have no connection as of this point, no further need to speak to one another.”
“Why are you doing this? Why are you being so cold?” Emily exclaimed. She wanted to reach for Victor again, but the pain of being grabbed so roughly kept her warily back. This wasn’t the man she knew and loved. This was some kind of doppelganger who had taken his place.
“I do not need a reason to end a marriage with an upstart nobody who arrived in London proclaiming herself a fortune hunter. I do not owe you anything at all.”
To her shock, he turned to go, and she realized he intended to make those the last words he spoke to her. Leaving her fear behind, she lunged for him, wrapping both arms around his arm and digging in her heels.
Victor only looked down at her with a mild kind of disgust.
“You are making a scene of yourself.”
“I would do worse if you make me! Victor, my god, you sound like a madman! Do not leave it like this. At least tell me what I have done to wrong you. This is terrible. You cannot think to do this without a word after everything we have shared, everything we have felt.”
When Victor spoke, there was a calm, almost meditative quality to his voice.
“Do you know, it is strange. A few hours ago, I would have agreed with you. Now, everything we have done together and everything we have shared actually makes this easier somehow. Goodbye. If you see me on the street, do not address me at all. You would not like the consequences if you do.”
She was so shocked by the cold tone of his words that she let him go, and then he was gone. Emily didn’t realize that her knees had given way until she was sitting on the floor, looking at the closed door and thinking that this was not happening. She loved Victor, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he loved her as well. There was no way this could be happening.
The minutes ticked by. He did not return, and Emily realized that he would not. Everything in the world felt distant and distorted. She stood at some point and absently picked up the deed to Meadford Grange, made out in her name. She was a wealthy woman now.
Somehow, she made her way to her room. Mrs. Evans, the housekeeper, stopped to have a word with her, but by the time Emily closed her door behind her, she had forgotten what it was Mrs. Evans had said.
The temptation was to climb into bed and dream this all away. Perhaps when she woke up, the world would make more sense, and none of this would have happened.
Then a streak of pure grief and pain tore through her, and Emily knew that wouldn’t happen.
“Damn him,” she gasped. “Damn him!”
She didn’t know what to do with the love inside her now that Victor was gone. It turned hot, more like rage than love, and to get away from it, to give herself something to do, she went to her closet and started pulling out her clothes. She left behind the silks and the satins she had worn in London, pulling out the dresses she had pushed to the back. The muslins and linens were all she wore home at Everly, and she dragged them to the bed, where she started folding them up for travel. She raged through her room, eschewing the powders and paints for her old books, her straw bonnet, and other homey items.
“Oh, goodness gracious, my darling, whatever are you doing?”
Aunt Winnie looked at her with some fear, and Emily paused long enough to go to her aunt and to embrace her. Aunt Winnie would be fine. She had all her London friends and Sir Eugene, of course.
“I need to go home to Everly,” Emily whispered brokenly. “I can’t stay here. I just can’t.”