Once and Always

  Jason looked at the tempestuous, blue-eyed beauty before him, her cheeks flushed with anger, her titian hair tumbling riotously over her shoulders. In her prim, high-collared white nightdress, she had the innocent appeal of a bewildered, heartbroken child; yet there was defiance in the set of her chin and angry pride blazing in her eyes, warning him not to underestimate her. He remembered her daring impertinence in the library when she deliberately read that note aloud and then made no effort to hide her satisfaction at disconcerting him. Melissa had been the only woman who ever dared defy him, but she did it behind his back. Victoria Seaton did it right to his face, and he almost admired her for it.

  When he made no move to leave, Victoria irritably dashed the tears from her cheeks, tugged the bedcovers up to her chin, and began inching backward until she was sitting up against the pillows. “Do you realize what people would say if they knew you were in here?” she hissed. “Have you no principles?”

  “None whatsoever,” he admitted impenitently. “I prefer practicality to principles.” Ignoring Victoria’s glower, he sat down on the bed and said, “Here, drink this.”

  He held a glass of amber liquid close enough to her face for Victoria to smell the strong spirits. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Absolutely not.”

  “Drink it,” he said calmly, “or I’ll pour it down your throat.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “Yes, Victoria, I would. Now drink it down like a good girl. It will make you feel better.”

  Victoria could see there was no point in arguing and she was too exhausted to put up a physical fight. She took a resentful sip of the vile amber liquid and tried to thrust it back into his hand. “I feel much better,” she lied.

  A spark of amusement lit his eyes, but his voice was implacable. “Drink the rest.”

  “Then will you go away?” she said, capitulating ungraciously. He nodded. Trying to get it over with as if it were bad-tasting medicine, she took two quick swallows; then she doubled over choking as the liquid seared a fiery path all the way down to the pit of her stomach. “It’s awful,” she gasped, falling back against the pillows.

  For several minutes Jason remained silent, giving the brandy time to spread its comforting warmth through her. Then he said calmly, “In the first place, Charles announced our engagement in the newspaper, not I. Secondly, you have no more desire to be betrothed to me than I do to you. Isn’t that correct?”

  “Absolutely,” Victoria averred.

  “Then why are you crying because we aren’t betrothed?” Victoria gave him a look of haughty disdain. “I was not doing anything of the sort.”

  “You weren’t?” Amused, Jason looked at the tears still clinging to her curly lashes and handed her a snowy white handkerchief. “Then why is your nose red, your cheeks puffy, your face pale, and—”

  A self-conscious giggle, induced by the brandy, welled up inside Victoria, and she dabbed at her nose. “It’s very ungentlemanly of you to remark on that.”

  A lazy smile transformed his harsh features. “Surely I haven’t done anything to give you the impression that I’m a gentleman!”

  It was the exaggerated dismay in his voice that brought a reluctant smile to her lips. “Nothing whatsoever,” she assured him. Taking another sip of the brandy, she leaned back against the pillows. “I wasn’t crying over that ridiculous engagement—that only made me angry.”

  “Then why were you crying?”

  Rolling the glass between her palms, she studied the swirling liquid. “I was crying for my mother. Lady Kirby said I would have to live down her reputation, and it made me so furious I couldn’t think what to say.” She shot a quick glance at him beneath her lashes, and because he seemed to be genuinely concerned and approachable for once, she continued haltingly, “My mother was kind and gentle and sweet. I began remembering just how wonderful she was, and it made me cry. You see, ever since my parents died, I have these—peculiar spells where I feel perfectly fine one moment and then suddenly, I start to miss them terribly, and it makes me cry.”

  “It’s natural to cry for people you love,” he said, so gently that she could hardly believe it was him speaking.

  Strangely comforted now by his presence and his deep, resonant voice, Victoria shook her head. “I cry for myself,” she confessed guiltily. “I cry from self-pity because I’ve lost them. I never realized I was so cowardly.”

  “I’ve seen brave men cry, Victoria,” he said quietly.

  Victoria studied his hard, sculpted features. Even with the softening effect of candleglow on his face, he looked supremely invulnerable. It was impossible to imagine him with tears in his eyes. With her normal reserve greatly diminished by the brandy, Victoria tipped her head to the side and asked softly, “Have you ever cried?”

  Before her disappointed gaze, his expression became aloof. “No.”

  “Not even when you were a little boy?” she persisted, trying to lighten his mood by teasing him.

  “Not even then,” he said shortly.

  Abruptly he made a move to stand up, but Victoria impulsively laid her hand on his sleeve. His gaze narrowed on her long fingers resting on his arm, then lifted to her wide, searching eyes. “Mr. Fielding,” she began, awkwardly trying to maintain their short truce and to strengthen it if possible. “I know you don’t like having me here, but I won’t be staying long—only until Andrew comes for me.”

  “Stay as long as you like,” he said with a shrug, his expression cool.

  “Thank you,” Victoria said, her lovely face mirroring her bewilderment at his abrupt changes of mood. “But what I wanted to say was that I would like it very much if you and I could be on, well, friendlier terms.”

  “What sort of ‘friendlier terms’ did you have in mind, my lady?” Mellowed by the brandy, Victoria missed the sarcasm in his voice. “Well, if you don’t put too fine a point on it, we’re distant cousins.” She paused, her eyes searching his enigmatic face for some sign of warmth. “I haven’t any relations left, except Uncle Charles and you. Do you suppose we could treat each other like cousins?”

  He looked stunned by her proposal, then amused. “I suppose we could do that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Get some sleep now.”

  She nodded and snuggled down under the covers. “Oh, I forgot to apologize—for the things I’ve said to you when I’m angry, that is.”

  His lips twitched. “Do you regret any of them?”

  Victoria lifted her brows, eyeing him with a sleepy, impertinent smile. “You’ve deserved every word.”

  “You’re right,” he admitted, grinning. “But don’t press your luck.”

  Suppressing the urge to reach out and tousle her heavy hair, Jason went back to his own room and poured a brandy for himself, then sat down and propped his feet up on the table in front of his chair. Wryly, he wondered why Victoria Seaton should bring out this odd streak of protectiveness in him. He had intended to send her straight back to America when she arrived—and that was before she had disrupted his household. Perhaps it was because she was so lost and vulnerable—and so young and dainty—that she made him feel paternal. Or perhaps it was her candor that threw him off balance. Or those eyes of hers that seemed to search his face as if she were looking for his soul. She had no flirtatious wiles; she didn’t need any, he thought wryly—those eyes could seduce a saint.

  Chapter Eight

  “I CAN’T TELL YOU HOW sorry I am about last night,” Charles told her at breakfast the next morning, his face lined with worry and contrition. “I was wrong to announce your betrothal to Jason, but I had so hoped the two of you might suit. As for Lady Kirby, she is an old hag, and her daughter’s been dangling after Jason for two years, which is why they both came galloping over here to have a look at you.”

  “There’s no need to explain all that again, Uncle Charles,” Victoria said kindly. “No harm was done.”

  “Perhaps not, but in addition to all her other unpleasant qualities, Kirby is the
worst of gossips. Now that she knows you’re here, she’ll make certain everyone else does, which means we’ll soon be deluged with visitors eager to have a look at you. That, in turn, means a suitable chaperone will have to be present so that no one can cast aspersions on you for living with two men.” He glanced up as Jason walked in, and Victoria tensed, praying that their truce of last night would hold up in the light of day.

  “Jason, I was just explaining to Victoria the need for a chaperone. I’ve sent for Flossie Wilson,” he added, referring to his maiden aunt, who had once helped care for little Jamie. “She’s a complete peagoose, but she’s my only female relative, and the only acceptable chaperone for Victoria that I know of. Despite her lack of sense, Flossie does know how to go about in society.”

  “Fine,” Jason said absently, coming to stand beside Victoria’s chair. He looked down at her, his expression unfathomable. “I trust you’re suffering no ill effects from your foray into deprivation last night with the brandy?”

  “None at all,” she said brightly. “Actually, I rather liked it, once I became accustomed to it.”

  A lazy smile slowly dawned across his tanned face and Victoria’s heart skipped a beat. Jason Fielding had a smile that could melt a glacier! “Beware of liking it overmuch—” he said, and teasingly added, “—cousin.”

  Lost in hopeful plans to make Jason her friend, Victoria paid no further attention to what the men were discussing until Jason spoke directly to her. “Did you hear me, Victoria?”

  Victoria looked up blankly. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening.”

  “On Friday, I’m expecting a visit from a neighbor who has just returned from France,” Jason repeated. “If he brings his wife, I’d like to introduce you to her.” Victoria’s momentary flash of pleasure at his ostensibly friendly overture was doused by his blunt explanation for it. “The Countess of Collingwood is an excellent example of how you ought to conduct yourself in society. You would be wise to observe her behavior and emulate her.”

  Victoria flushed, feeling like an ill-behaved child who has just been told she ought to follow someone else’s example. Moreover, she had already met four English aristocrats—Charles, Jason, Lady Kirby, and Miss Johanna Kirby. With the exception of Charles, she found them all very difficult to deal with, and she did not relish the prospect of meeting two more. Nevertheless, she stifled her ire and set aside her dread. “Thank you,” she said politely. “I’ll look forward to meeting them both.”

  Victoria spent the next four days pleasantly occupied with writing letters or in Charles’s company. In the afternoon of the fifth day, she went down to the kitchens for another plate of scraps for Willie.

  “That animal is going to be fat enough to ride if you continue feeding him this way,” Mrs. Craddock warned her good-naturedly.

  “He has a long way to go before that,” Victoria said, returning her smile. “May I have that large bone over there, too—or are you planning to use it for soup?”

  Mrs. Craddock assured her she was not, and gave the huge bone to Victoria. Thanking her, Victoria started to leave, then remembered something and turned back. “Last night, Mr. Field—I mean, his lordship,” she corrected herself, watching the servants freeze at the mere mention of Jason, “said the roast duck was the best he has ever tasted. I’m not certain he remembered to mention it to you,” Victoria explained, knowing perfectly well that Jason would probably never bother to do so, “but I thought you would like to know.”

  Mrs. Craddock’s plump cheeks reddened with pleasure. “Thank you, my lady,” she replied politely.

  Victoria dismissed the title with a smile and a wave, then vanished out the door.

  “Now, there is a true lady,” Mrs. Craddock said to the others when Victoria left. “She is gentle and kind and not at all like those insipid misses you find in London, or the high-and-mighty ones his lordship has brought here from time to time. O’Malley says she’s a countess. He heard his grace say so the other night to Lady Kirby.”

  Victoria carried the food out to the spot where she had been bringing Willie his meals for the last nine days. Instead of hanging back in the safety of the trees for several minutes, as he usually did, he trotted out a few steps when he saw her. “Here,” she said, laughing softly, “look what I’ve brought for you.”

  Victoria’s heart began to pound with victory as the huge silver and black dog came nearly to within her reach—much closer than ever before. “If you’ll let me pet you, Willie,” she continued, inching closer to him and holding out the bowl, “I’ll bring you another delicious bone tonight after supper.”

  He stopped short, watching her with a mixture of fear and mistrust. “I know you want this,” she continued, taking another tiny step toward him, “and I want to be your friend. You probably think this food is a bribe,” she continued, slowly bending down and putting the bowl between them. “And you’re quite right. I’m as lonely as you are, you see, but you and I could be great friends. I’ve never had a dog, did you know that?”

  His glittering eyes shifted greedily to the food and then back to her. After a moment he moved closer to the bowl, but his eyes never left her, not even when he bent his head and began wolfing down his meal. Victoria continued talking softly to him as he ate, hoping to reassure him. “I can’t imagine what Mr. Fielding was thinking of when he chose your name—you don’t look at all like a Willie. I’d have named you Wolf, or Emperor—something as fierce-sounding as you look.”

  As soon as he finished, the dog started to retreat, but Victoria quickly held out her left hand, showing him the huge bone she held. “You must take it from my hand if you want it,” she warned. He eyed the bone for only a moment before his huge jaws clamped down on it, tugging it from her hand. She expected him to race into the woods with it, but to her delight, after a tense, wary pause, he flopped down near her feet and began chewing it to splinters. Suddenly Victoria felt as if the heavens were smiling down on her. No longer did she feel unwanted and unwelcome at Wakefield—both Fielding men were now her friends, and soon she would have Willie as a companion, too. She knelt down and stroked his huge head. “You need a good brushing,” she said, watching his sharp ivory fangs gnaw on the bone. “I wish Dorothy could see you,” she continued wistfully. “She loves animals and she has a way with them. Why, she’d have you doing tricks for her in no time at all.” The thought made Victoria smile, and then it made her ache with loneliness.

  It was midafternoon of the following day when Northrup came to impart the intelligence that Lord Collingwood had arrived and that Lord Fielding desired her to come to his study.

  Victoria glanced apprehensively in the mirror above her dressing table and then sat down to pin her hair into a neat chignon, preparing to meet a stout, coldly proud aristocrat of Lady Kirby’s age.

  * * *

  “Her coach broke down on the way here and two farmers took her up with them,” Jason was telling Robert Collingwood, a dry smile on his face. “In the course of removing her trunk from the cart, two of the piglets escaped, and Victoria caught one of them just as Northrup opened the door. He saw the piglet in her arms and mistook her for a peasant girl, so he told her to go round the back to make her delivery. When Victoria balked at that, he ordered a footman to evict her from the property,” Jason finished, handing Robert Collingwood a glass of claret.

  “Good God,” said the earl, laughing. “What a reception!” Lifting his glass in a toast, he said, “To your happiness and your bride’s continued patience.”

  Jason frowned at him.

  Trying to clarify what he saw was a confusing toast, Robert explained, “Since she didn’t turn around and take the first ship back to America, I can only assume Miss Seaton has a great deal of patience—a most desirable trait in a bride.”

  “The betrothal announcement in the Times was Charles’s doing,” Jason said flatly. “Victoria is a distant cousin of his. When he learned she was without family, and was coming here to him, he decided I ought to marry her.”
br />   “Without first consulting you?” Robert said incredulously.

  “I learned I was betrothed in exactly the same way everyone else learned it—by reading the Times.”

  The earl’s warm brown eyes lit with amused sympathy. “I imagine you were surprised.”

  “Infuriated,” Jason corrected. “Since we’re on that subject, I was hoping your wife would accompany you today so Victoria could meet her. Caroline is only a few years older than Victoria and I think they could become friends. To be frank, Victoria is going to need a friend here. Evidently there was some scandal in the ton when her mother married an Irish physician, and old Lady Kirby is obviously planning to stir up the pot again. In addition, Victoria’s great-grandmother is the Duchess of Claremont, and she apparently isn’t going to acknowledge the girl. Victoria is a countess in her own right, but that alone won’t gain her real acceptance in society. She’ll have Charles’s support behind her, of course, and that will help. No one will dare give her the cut direct.”

  “She’ll have the weight of your influence behind her too, and that is considerable,” Collingwood pointed out.

  “Not,” Jason disagreed dryly, “when it comes to trying to establish a young woman’s reputation as a virtuous innocent.”

  “True.” Robert chuckled.

  “In any event, Victoria has met only the Kirby women as samples of the English aristocracy. I thought your wife might give her a better impression. In fact, I suggested she view Caroline as a good example of acceptable manners and behavior—”

  Robert Collingwood threw back his head and burst out laughing. “Did you indeed? Then you’d better hope Lady Victoria doesn’t follow your advice. Caroline’s manners are exquisite—exquisite enough to fool even you, I gather, into believing she’s a model of propriety—but I’m constantly bailing her out of scrapes. I’ve never known a more willful young woman in my life,” he finished, but his words were threaded with tenderness.