Punish Me With Roses - a Victorian Historical Romance (8 page)

Remembering what he'd said earlier about his interest in her brought a smile to her face. Surely, he couldn't know anything or that wouldn't be true. But she also feared that he'd teased her and joked about why he was so curious about her past. Still, if that were true, would he have kissed her?

Right or wrong, the only thing she was sure of was that Alexander could never care for her if he knew what she'd done and she could never relax with that secret hanging between them.

Whichever way one looked at it, she was damned.

All Victoria knew, she'd learned at Henley House.

The stories she'd told Alex were all true, but with an important difference. Her parents had been alive and well when she'd visited Mrs. Georgia Henley. In fact, they'd stayed there countless times and it had always been...interesting. Georgia had been the only one who would talk to her about anything. Some things had been frightening, like the frank talks on sex, but usually those things were also the most fascinating. And so it was her mother's best friend who prepared Victoria for her experience with Alex...even though she hadn't known it at the time.

It was Mrs. Georgia Henley who taught her that when a man troubled and confused you, there was only one thing to do. Avoid him.

Men had a way of confusing you even more--she'd said--when one is unsure of something. Better to wait until it's all been figured out before seeing him again, no matter how difficult. And it
would
be difficult.

Alex came back the very next day, but she told the maid to tell him she was ill and not accepting callers. He went away dejected, or so she thought, looking down at him from an upstairs window.

She went to the next room to get a better look, then was too distracted by the room she'd entered to continue her spying.

The room she was in had been Fiona Fyn's room and it was as feminine and personal as the day she'd left it. Personal items, such as perfume, powder, and gloves, rested on the dresser. Impetuously, she opened the wardrobe and saw that it was full of dresses fashionable in the height of the Regency period. Above the fireplace hung an unfinished watercolor of Fiona.

She wanted to know something about the aunt she'd never gotten a chance to meet. It wasn't right to know nothing about her. She was family, after all.

She left the room and a little later, when she was sure Alex must be gone, decided to venture from her uncle's house. What harm could it do? He'd even suggested it to her the night before. Or maybe that was only so she wouldn't feel the need for Alex's company, or any other single male in the area. Although he hadn't actually caught them kissing, he'd seen enough.

But after she left the house, she didn't know where to go. She didn't want to ask the surly maid and her uncle was already at work. So finally, she just picked a direction and started walking. She hoped she was headed towards the main part of town, but she really couldn't remember anything about that first night.

She was tempted to use her exploratory walk as an excuse to think about Alex, but forced herself not to. Maybe a new perspective on her surroundings would enable her to understand him better. She laughed at loud at the thought.

She walked past the perfectly trimmed hedgerows and meandering patches of wild primroses. They were all beautiful, heavenly scented, and so different from what she was used to. Somehow it made her feel out of place. It was strange that even something of beauty could make her feel like the outsider. But that was her life. She'd done something terrible; she'd run away from it, and now she had to live with herself, surrounded by people she hardly knew.

Continuing her trek, she--at long last--came upon a small lake. It was at the edge of a copse of trees. She was struck with the urge to sit down and spared only a small thought for the old dress she wore. She made herself comfortable on the grass.

She hadn't been seated long when she heard the tinkling laughter of a young child. Was there a cottage nearby? Victoria looked toward the sound and saw nothing. She shivered, wondering what kind of spirits might haunt lonely copses and still waters. Then she heard it again and felt sure that the joyful intruder was very much alive.

Thinking that she should have heard an adult's voice as well, she didn't feel comfortable ignoring it. She would take a look...just to be safe. She stood up and entered the copse.

She was soon glad she did. Chasing a butterfly was a little boy who couldn't have been more than two years old. There was no one else to be seen.

"Hello," she said, waiting to be noticed.

The child had light brown hair and was dressed well.
Where was his nanny
? She wondered. He had probably escaped her somehow, caught up in his own world. He still hadn't noticed her and was running around in random circles.

She moved closer. "Where is your nanny?"

Finally, she got his attention and he proceeded to behave like any other boy of his age. He stared at her with wide eyes and a bemused expression.

There was only one thing to do. "Why don't we find your nanny?" She offered her hand, but he only stared.

He looked around. "Mommy?"

Her heart broke. "We can go see mommy, if you like."

The little boy started to cry and plunged to the ground.

Victoria wished she'd had more experience with children, but she could only work with what she had. She approached him cautiously, thankful that he didn't bolt. She wished he would stop crying. "Let's go see Mommy," she said and grabbed for his hand. He pulled his chubby fingers from her grasp and continued to sob.

"Okay, we'll have to do this the difficult way." She picked him up, straining at his surprising weight, and balanced him on her hip. He struggled a little bit, but he actually cried less. It was something.

She walked deeper into the copse, knowing that if the boy hadn't come from her direction, he must have come from the opposite. Desperately hoping she would find someone soon before her arms gave out, she gloried in the sound of a woman's voice.

"I don't care what other
important
things you have to do; this is my son we're talking about! I've been looking for a half-hour and I just can't--" the woman finished with a sob, muffling her companion's response to Victoria's ears.

The little boy squirmed in her arms, trying to move in the direction of the voice, and whimpered, "Mommy."

"I told you we'd find her."

The cottage came into view, as did the frantic mother. She saw the man she must have been arguing with, but their conversation had become less heated. Victoria let go and the boy ran to his mother.

It was a joyous reunion. She approached slowly, giving the woman space to cry and rejoice.

The man tipped his hat. "I guess you won't be needing me after all." He looked at Victoria. "Thank you for finding Mary's boy and saving me the trouble."

Mary sneered at him and didn't seem sad to see him go. After he'd left, she approached Victoria. "I don't know how I can thank you."

"There's no need. I found him by the lake and I wondered where his nanny was."

"He doesn't have one." She gripped her son's hand tightly, smiling down at him as she spoke. "I don't know if I could trust anyone else to watch him. He's quite a handful."

She smiled, admiring Mary's friendly demeanor.

"As you've probably assumed, I'm Mary. This is my son, Jack."

She held out her hand. "Victoria Fyn."

"You must come inside for tea," she said, looking back at the cottage. "It's the least I can do."

"Oh, that isn't necessary."

She shook her head vigorously, strands of her brown hair slipped from her topknot as she replied, "Perhaps I phrased the invitation poorly. I would love to have the company."

"Then I accept."

"Wonderful!" Still holding Jack's hand, she led the way toward her humble dwelling. "It's nice to have a little adult conversation every once in a while."

"Your husband, he's away a lot?"

"I'm not married." She stopped walking then and looked down at her son. "I would understand if you'd like to postpone that conversation." Her soulful eyes revealed much more than her words could ever say.

"Why would I? I'm here now." She smiled.

Mary laughed. "How right you are! Then let's get inside and have some tea."

Victoria followed, knowing that she'd made at least one friend in such a strange place.

The burning desire to see Victoria was undeniable, no matter how hard he tried.

Alexander Trevelyn wasn't a man used to convincing himself of untruths, but he'd lately found himself doing it more and more. How many times had he told himself that he just wanted to get information out of Victoria and that he would do whatever it took to get it? He discovered what a falsehood that was yesterday afternoon. Alex wanted more than a confession from Victoria...a lot more.

In fact, part of him wanted her to confess to some attraction to him more than confess to murder. But then, perhaps that made sense. His long-term plans were not without budding conflicts. He was truly starting to doubt that Victoria--his main and only suspect--had done anything.

He was sitting on the coast, away from the shipyard and docks, but close enough to hear the sailor's excited clamor. As he sat there, he asked himself what he really knew about what had happened at Blackmoore. He knew that Victoria had motive and anger enough to do it, if Mark's letters were to be believed. He also knew that she'd left her home very soon after it had happened: a guilty action if he'd ever heard one. Then again, maybe she'd just wanted to get away from a house of misery. That would also be understandable.

But an innocent woman wouldn't pretend to have never been there.

She had to be quite skillful, if not truly inculpable. After all, she had him so that he forgot his plans every time he was near her. It would be acceptable if he was distracted by her potent sexuality, but he had to admit that it wasn't that. He'd just as soon hug her tense body as touch her glowing skin.

He went back into the trees to retrieve his horse. So far it seemed that Alexander hadn't been doing anything right. All he needed then was for someone to reveal his scheme to Victoria. He'd started to think he should have left the entire business to Michael. His brother was extremely insensitive and a pretty face had never been enough to change his plans. Of course, he usually managed to get the girl along with accomplishing his goals. Alexander didn't like that idea in the least.

He rode back quickly. When he arrived his father was waiting for him in the study. "Any progress with the girl?"

"I'm taking things slowly."

"A little too slowly for my taste."

Alexander threw his hat onto the ottoman. "She's a smart woman. I won't get anywhere if she catches on to my motives."

His father made a disgusted sound in the bottom of his throat. "Surely you can be secretive, but at a considerably faster pace." He shook his head, his mustache bobbing. "I can't believe she's been living it up at Fyn's place--not even touching the huge inheritance she got by killing Mark--and you only just thought to tell me about it."

"I wouldn't say that she's living it up." Alex moved toward one of the tall, wax candles. "Have you seen the Fyn place? I wouldn't be surprised if they used rush lights. Actually, I've already smelled their tallow."

"It doesn't matter how she's living," he sneered. "Mark doesn't have the pleasure of living anywhere, considering the fact that he's dead! I bet you she loves pretending that it's only place she can go. But with all that money she's got stashed away, she could do anything."

"I don't see why it bothers you so much, Father."

"We're talking about murder!"

"It's not something your past is empty of."

His face reddened, his white mustache becoming the only thing on his face that didn't appear to be pink. His eyes were as red as the rest of him. "Just do what you're supposed to, Alex! I won't be happy if you fail me."

"But--"

"Don't be a fool and fall for her charms!" It was obvious that he'd been drinking most of the morning away.

"I've done nothing of the sort."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes! If I've desired her, it's only been physically."

He tipped his glass and another few drams of port disappeared down his throat. "That kind of desire is preferable, of course. You can be sure that I don't want to see you becoming womanish on us again. It was terribly humiliating when you rejected Jane Winston's advances on our last trip to London. The bitch could have been a good pastime for you."

"I have no wish to dally with those of such easy virtue."

"Suit yourself." His father gave him another disgusted look. "I hope you realize that hungering after the Clavering girl can be just as dangerous if you're not careful. Jane would let you hump her without asking twice, but if you raped Victoria, the game would be over."

The thought disgusted him. "I'm not going to do anything like that."

"Perhaps it's time to discuss what we'll do if we find out, without a doubt, that she did it."

"I'm going to handle it in a legal manner. I don't care what you or Michael says, we're not going to string her up on a gibbet and post her at a crossroads."

He laughed. "You know that sort of thing isn't done any more."

"When has that ever stopped you?"

"Tell me, son, what gives you the impression that doing this by the book isn't exactly what I want?" He frowned at his empty glass and jumped into the hall to grab a maid. Literally.

Even though his father was no longer listening to him, he shook his head and muttered, "Everything."

He hadn't been joking.

Victoria watched Mr. Trevelyn step over the bramble-covered path, as usual not inquiring whether she desired his company. She wasn't a fool and his latest appearance confirmed her suspicion that he hadn't been making fun of her when he'd claimed his interest. Unfortunately, she still hadn't found the time to think things through. She was still bewildered by what had happened in the drawing room.