“No, I’m not.”
He turned fully around then, his eyes like shards of icy green glass. “When you walk down that aisle tomorrow, Victoria, your precious Andrew isn’t going to be waiting for you, I am. Remember that. If you can’t face the truth, don’t come to the church.” He had come here to tell her he had gotten her an Indian pony; he had intended to tease her and make her smile. He left without another word.
Chapter Twenty-one
THE SKY WAS CLOUDY AND gray as Jason’s shiny, black-lacquered coach swayed gently through the crowded London streets, drawn by four prancing chestnut horses in magnificent silver harness. Six outriders in green velvet livery led the procession, followed by four more mounted, uniformed men behind the coach. Two coachmen sat proudly erect atop the coach and two more clung to the back of the vehicle.
Victoria huddled in the deep, luxurious squabs of Jason’s coach, wrapped in a gown of incredible beauty and wildly extravagant expense, her thoughts as bleak as the day outside.
“Are you cold, my dear?” Charles asked solicitously from his place across from her.
Victoria shook her head, wondering nervously why Jason had insisted upon making such a grand spectacle of their marriage.
A few minutes later, she put her hand in Charles’s and stepped down from the coach, walking slowly up the long shallow steps of the massive Gothic church like a child being led to a frightening event by her parent.
She waited beside Charles at the back of the church, trying not to think of the enormity of what she was about to do, letting her gaze wander aimlessly over the crowds of people. Her apprehensive mind fastened haphazardly on the vast differences between the London aristocrats garbed in silks and fine brocades who had come to witness her wedding and the simple, friendly villagers she had always expected to have near her on her wedding day. She scarcely knew most of these people—some she had never even seen before. Carefully averting her gaze from the altar, where Jason, not Andrew, would soon be waiting for her, she stared at the pews. An empty place, reserved for Charles, was vacant on the first bench on the right, but the rest of them were filled with guests. Directly across the aisle on the first bench, which would normally have been reserved for the bride’s immediate family, there was an elderly lady leaning on an ebony cane, her hair concealed by a vivid purple satin turban.
The turbaned head seemed vaguely familiar, but Victoria was much too nervous to remember where she had seen it, and Charles diverted her attention by nodding toward Lord Collingwood, who was coming toward them.
“Has Jason arrived?” Charles asked when Robert Collingwood had reached them.
The earl, who was Jason’s best man, kissed Victoria’s hand, smiled reassuringly, and said, “He’s here, and he’s ready when you are.”
Victoria’s knees began to shake. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready to do this at all!
Caroline straightened the train of Victoria’s diamond-studded blue satin gown and smiled at her husband. “Is Lord Fielding nervous?”
“He says he isn’t,” Robert said. “But he would like to get this proceeding under way.”
How cold, Victoria thought, her fear escalating to panic. How unemotional. How Jason.
Charles was fidgety, eager. “We’re ready,” he said enthusiastically. “Let’s begin.”
Feeling like a marionette whose strings were being pulled by everyone else, Victoria placed her hand on Charles’s arm and began the endless walk down the candlelit aisle. She moved through the candlelight in a luxurious swirl of shimmering blue satin with diamonds sparkling like tiny twinkling lights in her hair, at her throat, and scattered across her veil. In the wide loft above, the choir sang, but Victoria didn’t hear them. Behind her, moving farther away with each step, were the laughter and carefree days of her girlhood. Ahead of her . . . ahead of her was Jason, dressed in a splendid suit of rich midnight blue velvet. With his face partly shadowed, he looked very tall and dark. As dark as the unknown . . . as dark as her future.
Why are you doing this?! Victoria’s panicked mind screamed at her as Charles led her toward Jason.
I don’t know, she cried in silent answer. Jason needs me.
That’s no reason! her mind shouted. You can still escape. Turn and run.
I can’t! her heart cried.
You can. Just turn around and run. Now, before it’s too late.
I can’t! I can’t just leave him here.
Why not?
He’ll be humiliated if I do—more humiliated than he ever was by his first wife.
Remember what your father said—never let anyone convince you that you can be happy with someone who doesn’t love you. Remember how unhappy he was. Run! Quick! Get out of here before it’s too late!
Victoria’s heart lost the battle against terror as Charles put her frozen hand in Jason’s warm one and stepped away. Her body tensed for flight, her free hand grasped her skirts, her breath quickened. She started to jerk her right hand from Jason’s grasp at the same moment that his fingers clamped around hers like a steel trap and he turned his head sharply, his intense green eyes locking onto hers, warning her not to try it. Then suddenly his grip slackened; his eyes became aloof, blank. He released her hand, letting it fall to her side in front of her wide skirts, and he looked at the archbishop.
He’s going to stop it! Victoria realized wildly as the archbishop bowed and said, “Shall we begin, my lord?”
Jason curtly shook his head and opened his mouth.
“No!” Victoria whispered, trying to stop Jason.
“What did you say?” the archbishop demanded, scowling at her.
Victoria lifted her eyes to Jason’s and saw the humiliation he was hiding behind a mask of cynical indifference. “I’m only frightened, my lord. Please take my hand.”
He hesitated, searching her eyes, and relief slowly replaced the iron grimness on his features. His hand touched hers, then closed reassuringly around her fingers.
“Now, may I proceed?” whispered the archbishop indignantly.
Jason’s lips twitched. “Please do.”
As the archbishop began reading the long service, Charles gazed joyously upon the bride and groom, his heart swelling until it felt ready to burst, but a flash of purple seen from the corner of his eye combined with an eerie feeling that he was being watched suddenly drew his attention. He glanced sideways, then stiffened in shock as his eyes clashed with the pale blue ones belonging to the Duchess of Claremont. Charles stared at her, his face alive with cold triumph; then, with a final contemptuous glance, he turned from her and pushed her presence from his mind. He watched as his son stood beside Victoria, two proud, beautiful young people taking vows that would unite them forever. Tears stung his eyes as the archbishop intoned, “Do you, Victoria Seaton . . .”
“Katherine, my love,” Charles whispered to her in his heart, “do you see our children here? Aren’t they beautiful together? Your grandmother kept us from having children of our own, my darling—that victory was hers, but this one is ours. We shall have grandchildren instead, my sweet. My sweet, beautiful Katherine, we shall have grandchildren. . . .” Charles bent his head, unwilling to let the old woman across the aisle see that he was crying. But the Duchess of Claremont could see nothing through the tears that were falling from her own eyes and racing down her wrinkled cheeks. “Katherine, my love,” she whispered to her in her heart, “look what I have done. In my stupid, blind selfishness I prevented you from marrying him and having children with him. But now I have arranged it so that you shall have grandchildren instead. Oh, Katherine, I loved you so. I wanted you to have the world at your feet, and I wouldn’t believe that all you wanted was him . . .
When the archbishop asked Victoria to repeat her vows, she remembered her bargain to make it appear to everyone that she was deeply attached to Jason. Raising her face to his, she tried to speak out clearly and confidently, but when she was promising to love him, Jason’s gaze suddenly lifted toward the domed ceiling of the church, and a sardonic smile t
ugged at his lips. Victoria realized he was watching for lightning to strike the roof, and her tension dissolved into a muffled giggle, which earned a deeply censorious frown from the archbishop.
Victoria’s mirth vanished abruptly as Jason’s deep, resonant voice echoed through the church, endowing her with all his worldly goods. And then it was over. “You may kiss the bride,” the archbishop said.
Jason turned and looked at her, his eyes gleaming with a triumph that was so intense, so unexpected, and so terrifying that Victoria stiffened when his arms encircled her. Bending his head, he claimed her trembling lips in a long, bold kiss that caused the archbishop to glower and several guests to chuckle; then he released her and took her arm.
“My lord,” she whispered imploringly as they walked up the aisle toward the doors leading from the church, “please—I can’t keep up with you.”
“Call me Jason,” he snapped, but he slowed down. “And the next time I kiss you, pretend you like it.”
His icy tone hit her like a bucketful of freezing water, but somehow Victoria managed to stand between Charles and Jason outside the church and smile tightly at all of the 800 guests who paused to wish them both happy.
Charles turned aside to talk to one of his friends just as the last guest emerged from the church, leaning heavily on the jeweled handle of her ebony cane.
Ignoring Jason completely, the duchess approached Victoria, peering steadily into her blue eyes. “Do you know who I am?” she demanded without preamble when Victoria smiled politely at her.
“No, ma’am,” Victoria said. “I’m very sorry, but I do not. I believe I’ve seen you somewhere before, for you look familiar, and yet—”
“I am your great-grandmother.”
Victoria’s hand tightened spasmodically on Jason’s arm. This was her great-grandmother, the woman who had refused to offer her shelter and who had destroyed her mother’s happiness. Victoria’s chin lifted. “I have no great-grandmother,” she said with deadly calm.
This flat denouncement had a very odd effect on the dowager duchess. Her eyes glowed with admiration and a hint of a smile softened her stern features. “Oh, but you do, my dear,” she said. “You do,” she repeated almost fondly. “You are very like your mother in looks, but that defiant pride of yours came from me.” She chuckled, shaking her head as Victoria started to argue. “No—do not bother to disavow my existence again, for my blood flows in your veins and it is my own stubbornness I see in your chin. Your mother’s eyes, my willfulness—”
“Stay away from her!” Charles hissed furiously, his head jerking around. “Get out of here!”
The duchess stiffened and her eyes snapped with anger. “Don’t you dare use that tone on me, Atherton, or I’ll—”
“Or you’ll what?” Charles bit out savagely. “Don’t bother to threaten me. I have everything I want now.”
The Dowager Duchess of Claremont regarded him down the full length of her aristocratic nose, her expression triumphant. “You have it because I gave it to you, you fool.” Ignoring Charles’s stunned, furious stare, she turned to Victoria again and her eyes warmed. Reaching out, she laid her frail hand against Victoria’s cheek while moisture misted her eyes. “Perhaps you will come to Claremont House to see Dorothy when she returns from France. It has not been easy keeping her away from you, but she would have spoiled everything with her foolish chatter about old scand—old gossip,” the duchess corrected quickly.
She turned to Jason then and her expression became very severe. “I am entrusting my great-granddaughter into your keeping, Wakefield, but I shall hold you personally responsible for her happiness, is that clear?”
“Quite clear,” he said in a solemn voice, but he eyed the tiny woman who was issuing vague threats to him with thinly veiled amusement.
The duchess scrutinized his tranquil features sharply, then nodded. “So long as we understand one another, I will take my leave.” She lifted her wrist. “You may kiss my hand.”
With perfect equanimity, Jason took her upraised hand in his and pressed a gallant kiss to the back of it.
Turning to Victoria, the duchess said bleakly, “I suppose it would be too much to ask—?” Victoria could make little sense of what had transpired in the minutes since her great-grandmother had walked up to her, but she knew beyond any doubt that the emotion she saw in the old woman’s eyes was love—love, and a terrible regret.
“Grandmama,” she whispered brokenly, and found herself wrapped tightly in her great-grandmother’s arms.
The duchess drew back slightly, her smile gruff and self-conscious; then she bent an imperious look on Jason. “Wakefield, I’ve decided not to die until I’ve held my great-great-grandson in my arms. Since I cannot live forever, I shall not countenance any delays on your part.”
“I will give the matter prompt attention, your grace,” Jason said, straight-faced, but with laughter lurking in his jade eyes.
“I shall not countenance any shilly-shallying about on your part either, my dear,” she warned her blushing great-granddaughter. Patting Victoria’s hand, she added rather wistfully, “I’ve decided to retire to the country. Claremont is only an hour’s ride from Wakefield, so perhaps you will visit me from time to time.” So saying, she beckoned to her solicitor, who was standing at the church doors, and said grandly, “Give me your arm, Weatherford. I’ve seen what I wished to see and said what I wished to say.” With a final, triumphant look at a dazed Charles, she turned and walked away, her shoulders straight, her cane barely brushing the ground.
Many of the wedding guests were still milling about, waiting for their carriages, when Jason guided Victoria through the throngs and into his own luxurious vehicle. Victoria automatically smiled as people waved and watched them leave, but her mind was so battered by the emotion-charged day that she did not become aware of her surroundings again until they were approaching the village near Wakefield. With a guilty start, she realized she hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words to Jason in over two hours.
Beneath her lashes she stole a swift glance at the handsome man who was now her husband. His face was turned away from her, his profile a hard, chiseled mask, devoid of all compassion or understanding. He was angry with her for trying to leave him at the altar, she knew—angry and unforgiving. Fear of his possible revenge jarred through her nervous system, adding more tension to her already overburdened emotions. She wondered frantically if she had created a breach between them that might never heal. “Jason,” she said, timidly using his given name, “I’m sorry about what happened in the church.”
He shrugged, his face emotionless.
His silence only increased Victoria’s anxiety as the coach rounded a bend and descended into the picturesque little village near Wakefield. She was about to apologize again when church bells suddenly began tolling, and she saw villagers and peasants lining the road ahead, dressed in their holiday best.
They smiled and waved as the coach passed by, and little children, holding bouquets of wild flowers clutched tightly in their fists, ran forward, offering their posies to Victoria through the open coach window.
One little boy of about four caught his toe on a thick root at the side of the road and landed in a sprawled heap atop his bouquet. “Jason,” Victoria implored, forgetting about the uneasiness between them, “tell the driver to stop—please!”
Jason complied, and Victoria opened the door. “What lovely flowers!” she exclaimed to the little boy, who was picking himself up from the road beside their coach while some older boys jeered and shouted at him. “Are those for me?” she asked enthusiastically, nodding to the bedraggled flowers.
The little boy sniffed, rubbing the tears from his eyes with a grimy little fist. “Yes, mum—they was for you afore I falled on ’em.”
“May I have them?” Victoria prodded, smiling. “They would look lovely right here in my own bouquet.”
The little boy shyly held out the decapitated stems to her. “I picked ’em myself,” he whispered proudly, h
is eyes wide as Victoria carefully inserted two stems into her own lavish bouquet. “My name’s Billy,” he said, looking at Victoria with his left eye, his right eye skewing up toward the corner near his nose. “I live at the orphanage up there.”
Victoria smiled and said gently, “My name is Victoria. But my very closest friends call me Tory. Would you like to call me Tory?”
His little chest swelled with pride, but he shot a cautious look at Jason and waited for the lord’s nod before he nodded his head in an exuberant yes.
“Would you like to come to Wakefield someday soon and help me fly a kite?” she continued, while Jason watched her in thoughtful surprise.
His smile faded. “I don’t run so good. I fall down a lot,” he admitted with painful intensity.
Victoria nodded understanding^. “Probably because of your eye. But I may know a way to make it straight. I once knew another little boy with an eye like yours. One day when we were all playing Settlers and Indians, he fell and hurt his good eye, and my father had to put a patch on it until it healed. Well, while the good eye was covered up, the bad eye began to straighten out—my father thought it was because the bad eye had to work while the good eye was covered up. Would you like me to visit you, and we’ll try the patch?”
“I’ll look queer, mum,” he said hesitantly.
“We thought Jimmy—the other little boy—looked exactly like a pirate,” Victoria said, “and pretty soon we were all trying to wear patches on one eye. Would you like me to visit you and we’ll play pirate?”
He nodded and turned to smile smugly at the older children. “What did the lady say?” they demanded as Jason signaled the driver to continue.
Billy shoved his hands into his pockets, puffed out his chest, and proudly declared, “She said I can call her Tory.”
The children joined in with the adults, who formed a procession and followed the coach up the hill in what Victoria assumed must be some sort of festive village custom when the lord of the manor married. By the time the horses trotted through the massive iron gates of Wakefield Park, a small army of villagers was following them and more people were awaiting them along the tree-lined avenue that ran through the park. Victoria glanced uncertainly at Jason, and she could have sworn he was hiding a smile.