Once and Always

  Victoria abruptly decided ice blue was a lovely color to be married in.

  “Lord Fielding has excellent taste,” Madame continued, her thin brows raised over her bright, alert eyes. “Don’t you agree?”

  “Decidedly,” Victoria said, laughing, and she surrendered herself to the skilled ministrations of the dressmaker.

  Four hours later, when Madame finally released her and whisked her seamstresses off to the shop, Victoria was informed that Lady Caroline Collingwood was waiting for her in the gold salon.

  “Victoria,” her friend exclaimed, her pretty face anxious as she held out her hands, clasping Victoria’s. “Lord Fielding came to our house this morning to tell us about the wedding. I’m honored to be your matron of honor, which Lord Fielding said you wished me to be, but this is all so sudden—your marriage, I mean.”

  Victoria suppressed her surprised pleasure at the news that Jason had thoughtfully remembered she’d need an attendant and had stopped to see the Collingwoods.

  “I never suspected you were developing a lasting attachment to Lord Fielding,” Caroline continued, “and I can’t help wondering. You do wish to marry him, don’t you? You aren’t being, well, forced into it in any way?”

  “Only by fate,” Victoria said with a smile, sinking exhaustedly into a chair. She saw Caroline’s frown and hastily added, “I’m not being forced. It’s what I wish to do.”

  Caroline’s entire countenance brightened with relief and happiness. “I’m so glad—I’ve been hoping this would happen.” At Victoria’s dubious look, she explained, “In the past few weeks, I’ve come to know him better, and I quite agree with Robert, who told me that the things people think about Lord Fielding are the result of gossip started solely by one particularly spiteful, malicious woman. I doubt anyone would have believed all the rumors if Lord Fielding himself hadn’t been so aloof and uncommunicative. Of course, one doesn’t particularly like people who believe terrible things about one, does one? So he probably didn’t feel the slightest obligation to disabuse us. And as Robert said, Lord Fielding is a proud man, which would make it impossible for him to grovel in the face of adverse public opinion, particularly when it was so unfair!”

  Victoria stifled a giggle at her friend’s wholehearted endorsement of the man she had once feared and condemned, but it was typical of Caroline. Caroline refused to see any faults whatever in the people she liked, and she was conversely unwilling to admit there were any redeeming qualities in the people she didn’t. That quirk in her lively personality made her the most loyal of friends, however, and Victoria was deeply grateful to her for her unswerving friendship. “Thank you, Northrup,” she said as the butler came in carrying the tea tray.

  “I can’t think why I ever found him frightening,” Caroline said while Victoria poured the tea. Breathlessly eager to absolve Jason of any blame she might have put on him in the past, she continued, “I was wrong to let my imagination run away with my sense that way. I believe the reason I thought him frightening stemmed from the fact that he is so very tall and his hair is so black, which is perfectly absurd of me. Why, do you know what he said when he left us this morning?” she asked in a voice of intense gratification.

  “No,” Victoria said, smothering another smile at Caroline’s determination to elevate Jason from devil to saint. “What did he say?”

  “He said I have always reminded him of a pretty butterfly.”

  “How lovely,” Victoria declared sincerely.

  “Yes, it was, but not nearly as lovely as the way he described you.”

  “Me? How on earth did all this come up?”

  “The compliments, you mean?” When Victoria nodded, Caroline said, “I had just finished remarking on how happy I am that you are marrying an Englishman and staying here, so we can remain close friends. Lord Fielding laughed and said we complement each other perfectly, you and I, because I have always reminded him of a pretty butterfly, and you are like a wild flower that flourishes even in adversity and brightens up everyone’s lives. Wasn’t that utterly charming of him?”

  “Utterly,” Victoria agreed, feeling absurdly pleased.

  “I think he is far more in love with you than he lets on,” Caroline confided. “After all, he fought a duel for you.”

  By the time Caroline left, Victoria was half-convinced Jason actually cared for her, a belief that enabled her to be quite gay and positive the following morning, when a staggering procession of callers began arriving to wish her happy after learning of her impending marriage.

  Victoria was entertaining a group of young ladies who’d come to call on her for exactly that reason when the object of their romantic discussion strolled into the blue salon. The laughter trailed off into nervous, uncertain murmurs as the young ladies beheld the dangerously impressive figure of the unpredictable Marquess of Wakefield, garbed in a coal black riding jacket and snug black breeches that made him look overwhelmingly male. Unaware of his impact on these impressionable females, many of whom had cherished secret dreams of captivating him themselves, Jason favored them with a glinting smile. “Good morning, ladies,” he said; then he turned to Victoria and his smile became far more intimate. “Could you spare me a moment?”

  Excusing herself at once, Victoria followed him into his study.

  “I won’t keep you away from your friends long,” he promised, reaching into the pocket of his jacket. Without another word, he took her hand in his and slid a heavy ring onto her finger. Victoria gazed at the ring, which covered her finger all the way to her knuckle. A row of large sapphires was flanked by two rows of dazzling diamonds on both sides. “Jason, it’s beautiful,” she breathed. “Breathtakingly, incredibly, beautiful. Thank—”

  “Thank me with a kiss,” he reminded her softly, and when Victoria tipped her face up to his, his lips captured hers in a long, hungry, thorough kiss that drained her mind of thought and her body of all resistance. Shaken by his ardor and her body’s helpless response to it, Victoria stared into his smoky jade eyes, trying to understand why Jason’s kisses always had this shattering effect on her.

  His gaze dropped to her lips. “Next time, do you think you could find it in your heart to kiss me without being asked?” It was the thread of disappointed yearning Victoria thought she heard in his voice that melted her heart. He had offered himself as her husband; in return he asked for very little—only this. Leaning up on her toes, she slid her hands up along his hard chest and twined them around his neck, and then she covered his lips with hers. She felt a tremor run through his tall frame as she innocently brushed her lips back and forth over his, slowly exploring the warm curves of his mouth, learning the taste of him, while his parted lips began to move against hers in a wildly arousing kiss.

  Lost in the mounting turmoil of their kiss and unaware of the hardening pressure against her stomach, Victoria let her fingers slide into the soft hair at his nape while her body automatically fitted itself to his—and suddenly everything changed. Jason’s arms closed around her with stunning force, his mouth opening on hers with fierce hunger. He parted her lips, teasing her with his tongue until he coaxed her to touch her own tongue to his lips, and when she did, he gasped, pulling her even closer, his body taut with fiery need.

  When he finally lifted his head, he stared down at her with an odd expression of bemused self-mockery on his ruggedly chiseled features. “I should have given you diamonds and sapphires the other night, instead of pearls,” he commented. “But don’t kiss me like this again until after we’re married.”

  Victoria had been warned by her mother and by Miss Flossie that a gentleman could be carried away by his ardor, which would lead him to behave in an unspecified—but very unsuitable—way to the young lady who wrongly permitted him to lose his head. She realized instinctively that Jason was telling her he had been very close to losing his head. And she was feminine enough to feel a tiny twinge of satisfaction because her inexperienced kiss could so affect this very experienced man—especially since Andrew had neve
r seemed so affected by her kiss. On the other hand, she had never kissed Andrew in the way Jason liked her to kiss him.

  “I see you have my meaning,” he said wryly. “Personally, I have never particularly prized virginity. There are distinct advantages to marrying women who have already learned how to please a man. . . .” He waited, watching her closely as if expecting—hoping for—some sort of reaction from her, but Victoria merely looked away, her spirits drooping. Her virginity, or so it was said, should have been a highly valued gift to her husband. She certainly couldn’t offer him any experience in “pleasing a man,” whatever that entailed. “I—I’m sorry to disappoint you,” she said, embarrassed at the subject. “Things are very different in America.”

  Despite the haggard strain in Jason’s voice, his words were gentle. “You’ve no need to apologize or look so miserable, Victoria. Don’t ever fear telling me the truth. No matter how bad the truth is, I can accept it and even admire you for having the courage to say it.” His hand lifted to caress her cheek. “It doesn’t matter,” he said soothingly. Abruptly, his manner turned brisk. “Tell me if you like your ring, then run along back to your friends.”

  “I love it,” she said, trying to keep up with his swift, incomprehensible changes of mood. “It’s so beautiful I’m already terrified of losing it.”

  Jason shrugged with complete indifference. “If you lose it, I’ll buy you another.”

  He left then, and Victoria looked down at her betrothal ring, wishing he hadn’t been so cavalier about its potential loss. She wished the ring was more important to him, and less easily replaced. On the other hand, as a token of his affection, it was dismally appropriate, since she was unimportant to him and easily replaced.

  He needs you, child. Charles’s words came back to reassure her and she smiled, remembering that, at least when she was in his arms, Jason seemed to need her very much. Feeling somewhat reassured, she went back to the salon, where her ring was immediately noted and duly exclaimed over by all the young ladies.

  In the days that preceded her wedding, nearly three hundred people came to call on Victoria to wish her happiness. Elegant carriages paraded up and down the street, discharging their passengers and returning a correct twenty minutes later to pick them up again, while Victoria sat in the salon, listening to handsome middle-aged matrons offering advice on the difficult tasks of running large houses and entertaining on the lavish scale required of the nobility. Younger married women talked to her about the problems of finding proper governesses and the best way to locate acceptable tutors for children. And in the midst of all the cheerful chaos, a comforting sense of belonging began to take root deep in Victoria. Until now, she’d had no occasion to know these people better than slightly or to converse with them about anything other than the most superficial topics. She had been inclined to see them for the most part as wealthy, pampered females who never gave a thought to anything except gowns, jewels, and diversion. Now she saw them in a new light—as wives and mothers who also cared about performing their duties in an exemplary fashion—and she liked them much better.

  Of everyone she knew, only Jason stayed away, but he did so for the sake of appearances, and Victoria had to be grateful for that, even though it sometimes gave her the uneasy feeling she was marrying an absentee stranger. Charles came downstairs often to charm the ladies with his conversation and make it clear that Victoria had his wholehearted support. The rest of the time he remained out of sight, “to gather his strength” as he told Victoria, so that he could have the honor of giving her away. Neither Victoria nor Dr. Worthing could dissuade him from his determination to do that. Jason didn’t bother to try.

  As the days passed, Victoria truly enjoyed the time she spent in the salon with her callers—except on those occasions when Jason’s name was mentioned and she sensed a familiar undercurrent of apprehension amongst them. It was obvious her new friends and acquaintances admired the social prestige she would enjoy as the wife of a fabulously wealthy marquess, but Victoria had the uneasy feeling there were some who still had serious reservations about her future husband. It bothered her because she was coming to like these people very much, and she wanted them to like Jason, too. Occasionally, as she chatted with one visitor, she overheard snatches of conversation about Jason from another part of the room, but the conversations always stopped abruptly when Victoria turned attentively to listen. It prevented her from coming to his defense, because she didn’t know what to defend him against.

  The day before they were to be married, the pieces of the puzzle finally fell into place, forming a lurid picture that nearly sent Victoria reeling to the floor. As Lady Clappeston, the last visitor of the afternoon, took her leave, she gave Victoria’s arm a fond pat and said, “You’re a sensible young woman, my dear. And unlike some of the foolish doomhangers who worry about your safety, / have every faith you’ll deal well with Wakefield. You’re nothing like his first wife. In my opinion, Lady Melissa deserved everything she said he did to her, and more. The woman was nothing but a trollop!”

  With that, Lady Clappeston sailed out of the salon, leaving Victoria staring at Caroline. “His first wife?” she uttered, feeling as if she were in the midst of a nightmare. “Jason was married before? Why—why didn’t someone tell me?”

  “But I thought you knew at least that much,” Caroline burst out, anxious to acquit herself. “I naturally assumed your uncle or Lord Fielding would have told you. Surely you must have heard at least some gossip?”

  “All I ever heard were snatches of conversations that always stopped as soon as people noticed I was present.” Victoria returned, white with rage and shock. “I’ve heard the name Lady Melissa mentioned in connection with Jason, but no one ever referred to her as his wife. People usually spoke of her in such disapproving tones that I assumed she had been . . . involved . . . with Jason, you know,” she finished awkwardly, “in the same way Miss Sybil someone-or-other was involved with him until now.”

  “Was involved?” Caroline repeated in surprise at Victoria’s use of the past tense. She caught herself immediately, and looked down, apparently fascinated with the pattern of the upholstery on the blue silk sofa.

  “Naturally, now that we are going to be married, Jason won’t—or will he?” she asked.

  “I don’t know what he’ll do,” Caroline said miserably. “Some men, such as Robert, do give up their paramours when they marry, but others do not.”

  Victoria rubbed her temples with her fingertips, her mind in such turmoil that she was sidetracked by this discussion of mistresses. “Sometimes, England is so strange to me. At home, husbands do not give their time or affection to women other than their wives. At least, I never heard about it. Yet I’ve heard remarks here that make me think it is perfectly acceptable for wealthy married gentlemen to consort with—with ladies who are not their wives.”

  Caroline turned the conversation to a more pressing topic. “Does it matter terribly to you that Lord Fielding was married before?”

  “Of course it does. At least I think it does. I don’t know. What matters most right now is that no one in the family told me about it.” She stood up so abruptly that Caroline jumped. “If you’ll excuse me, I want to go up and talk to my Uncle Charles.”

  Uncle Charles’s valet put his finger to his lips when Victoria tapped at Charles’s door and informed her the duke was asleep. Too upset to wait for him to awaken so her questions could be answered, Victoria marched down the hall to Miss Flossie’s room. In recent weeks, Miss Flossie had virtually relinquished her duties as Victoria’s chaperone to Caroline Collingwood. As a result, Victoria had scarcely seen the lovable little yellow-haired woman except at an occasional meal.

  Victoria tapped at her door, and when Miss Flossie cheerfully invited her to enter, she stepped into the pretty little sitting room that adjoined Miss Flossie’s bedroom.

  “Victoria, my dear, you’re looking as radiant as a bride!” Miss Flossie said with her bright, vague smile and usual lack of d
iscernment, for in truth Victoria was deathly pale and visibly overwrought.

  “Miss Flossie,” Victoria said, plunging straight in, “I’ve just come from Uncle Charles’s room, but he was asleep. You are the only other person I can turn to. It’s about Jason. Something is terribly wrong.”

  “Good heavens!” Miss Flossie cried, setting her needlework aside. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “I’ve just discovered that he was married before!” Victoria burst out.

  Miss Flossie tipped her head to one side, an elderly china doll in a little white lace cap. “Dear me, I thought Charles had told you—or Wakefield himself. Well, in any event, Jason was married before, my dear. So now you know.” Having dispatched that problem, Miss Flossie smiled and picked up her needlework again.

  “But I don’t know anything. Lady Clappeston said the oddest thing—she said Jason’s wife deserved everything he did to her. What did he do?”

  “Do?” Miss Flossie repeated, blinking. “Why, nothing that I know of for certain. Lady Clappeston was foolish indeed to say he did anything, for she couldn’t know either, unless she was married to him, which I can assure you she was not. There, does that make you feel better?”

  “No!” Victoria burst out a little hysterically. “What I wish to know is why Lady Clappeston believes Jason did bad things to his wife. She must have reason to think so, and unless I miss my guess, a great many people think as she does.”

  “They may,” Miss Flossie agreed. “You see, Jason’s wretched wife, may she rest in peace—though I don’t know how she could do so, when one considers how wickedly she behaved when she was alive—cried to everyone about Wakefield’s abominable treatment of her. Some people evidently believed her, but the very fact that he didn’t murder her should prove that he is a man of admirable restraint. If I had a husband, which of course I don’t, and I did the things Melissa did, which of course I would never do, he would surely beat me. So if Wakefield beat Melissa, which I don’t know for certain he did, he would be more than justified in it. You may take my word on that.”