Everything and the Moon

  “Tell her I've cut you off without a farthing!” Castleford yelled. “See if she'll have you then. See if she loves you when you have nothing.”

  Robert turned, his eyes narrowing ominously. “Are you telling me that I have been disinherited?” he asked, his voice chillingly soft.

  “You're perilously close to it.”

  “Have I or have I not?” Robert's tone demanded an answer.

  “You may very well be. Do not cross me on this measure.”

  “That isn't an answer.”

  The marquess leaned forward, his eyes steady on Robert's. “If you were to tell her that marriage to her would almost certainly result in a vast loss of fortune, you would not be lying.”

  Robert hated his father in that moment. “I see.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes.” And then almost as an afterthought, he added, “Sir.” It was the last time he addressed his father with that title of respect.

  Chapter 3

  Tap. Tap tap tap.

  Victoria slammed awake, sitting bolt upright in the space of a second.

  “Victoria!” came the hissed whisper from her window.

  “Robert?” She crawled down the bed and peered out.

  “I need to talk with you. It's urgent.”

  Victoria glanced around the room, quickly judged that the household was fast asleep, and said, “Very well. Come in.”

  If Robert thought it was odd that she was inviting him into her room—something she had never before done—he did not mention it. He climbed through the window and sat down on her bed. Oddly he made no attempt to kiss her or pull her into his arms—his usual methods of greeting her when they were alone.

  “Robert, what is wrong?”

  He didn't say anything at first, just stared out the window at the north star.

  She put her hand on his sleeve. “Robert?”

  “We must elope,” he said baldly.

  “What?”

  “I have analyzed the situation from every direction. There is no other solution.”

  Victoria touched his arm. He always approached life so scientifically, treating every decision as a problem to be solved. Falling in love with her was probably the only illogical thing he'd ever done in his life, and it made her love him all the more. “What is wrong, Robert?” she asked softly.

  “My father has cut me off.”

  “Are you certain?”

  Robert looked into her eyes, stared into those fabulous blue depths, and then made a decision he wasn't proud of. “Yes,” he said, “I'm certain,” neglecting to mention that his father had only said, “Almost certainly.” But he had to be sure. He didn't think it was possible, but what if Victoria really was more dazzled by the possessions than she was by the man?

  “Robert, that is unconscionable. How could a father do such a thing?”

  “Victoria, you must listen to me.” He grabbed her hands in his, clutching them with a ferocious intensity. “It doesn't matter. You are more important to me than the money. You are everything.”

  “But your birthright…How can I ask you to give that up?”

  “It is my choice to make, not yours, and I choose you.”

  Victoria felt tears stinging her eyes. She had never dreamed that she might cause Robert to lose so much. And she knew how important the respect of his father was to him. He had worked his whole life to impress him, always trying and always coming up just a little bit short. “You must promise me one thing,” she whispered.

  “Anything, Torie. You know I would do anything for you.”

  “You must promise me that you will try to make amends with your father after the marriage. I—” She swallowed, hardly able to believe that she was putting a condition on her acceptance of his proposal. “I won't marry you unless you do. I couldn't live with myself knowing that I was the cause of your rift.”

  A strange expression crossed Robert's face. “Torie, he is most stubborn. He—”

  “I didn't say you have to succeed,” she said quickly. “Just that you have to try.”

  Robert lifted her hands to his lips. “Very well, my lady. I give you my vow.”

  She offered him a smile that pretended to be stern. “I'm not ‘your lady’ yet.”

  Robert only grinned and kissed her hand again. “I would leave with you tonight if I could,” he said, “but I will need a bit of time to amass some funds and supplies. I don't intend to drag you across the countryside with nothing but the clothes on our backs.”

  She touched his cheek. “You're such a planner.”

  “I don't like leaving anything to chance.”

  “I know. It's one of the things I love best about you.” She smiled sheepishly. “I'm forever forgetting things. When my mother was alive she always said that I would forget my head if I weren't in possession of a neck.”

  That prompted a smile. Robert said, “I'm glad you have a neck. I'm rather fond of it.”

  “Don't be silly,” she said. “I was merely trying to say that it is nice to know that I'll have you to keep my life in order.”

  He leaned forward and brushed the gentlest of kisses on her lips. “It's all I want to do. Just keep you happy.”

  Victoria looked up at him with damp eyes and curled her face into the crook of his shoulder.

  Robert let his chin rest on the top of her head. “Can you be ready in three days time?”

  Victoria nodded, and they spent the next hour making plans.

  Robert shivered against the night wind, checking his pocket watch for what must have been the twentieth time. Victoria was five minutes late. Nothing to be alarmed about; she was terribly disorganized and was frequently five or ten minutes late for their outings.

  But this was no ordinary outing.

  Robert had planned their elopement to the last detail. He'd taken his curricle from his father's stables. He would have preferred a more practical vehicle for the long journey to Scotland, but the curricle belonged to him, not his father, and Robert didn't want to feel beholden.

  Victoria was to meet him here, at the end of the road leading to her cottage. They had decided that she would have to slip out on her own. It would be far too noisy if Robert drove the curricle to her house, and he didn't want to leave it unattended. It would only take five minutes for Victoria to make her way to him, and the area had always been quite safe.

  But damn it, where was she?

  Victoria scanned her room, checking for any last item she might have missed. She was running late. Robert expected her five minutes ago, but at the last minute she decided that she might need a warmer dress, so she had to repack her bag. It wasn't every day a young woman left home in the middle of the night. She ought to at least be certain that she packed the right belongings.

  The miniature! Victoria smacked herself on her forehead as she realized that she couldn't possibly leave without the small painting of her mother. Mrs. Lyndon had had two done, and Mr. Lyndon had always said that Victoria and Ellie would each take one when they married so they would never forget their mother. They were tiny paintings; Victoria's fit in the palm of her hand.

  Still clutching her satchel, Victoria tiptoed out of her room and into the hall. She made her way to the sitting room, silently crossing the rug to the end table where the small portrait sat. She snatched it up, stuffed it into her bag, and then turned around to go back to her room, where she planned to leave through the window.

  But as she turned, her bag connected with a brass lamp, sending it crashing to the floor.

  Within seconds the Reverend Mr. Lyndon came storming through the doorway. “What the devil is going on here?” His eyes took in Victoria, who was frozen with fright in the middle of the sitting room. “Why are you awake, Victoria? And why are you dressed?”

  “I…I…” Victoria shook with fear, unable to force a word from her mouth.

  The vicar spied her bag. “What is that?” In two steps he crossed the room and snatched it from her. He yanked out clothing, a Bible…And then hi
s hand rested on the miniature. “You're running away,” he whispered. He looked up at her, staring at her as if he could not believe that one of his daughters would possibly disobey him. “You're running away with that man.”

  “No, Papa!” she cried. “No!”

  But she had never been a very good liar.

  “By God!” Mr. Lyndon shouted. “You'll think twice before you disobey me again.”

  “Papa, I—” Victoria couldn't finish the sentence, for her father's hand had come across her face with such blinding force that she was knocked to the ground. When she looked up she saw Ellie, standing motionless in the doorway, her expression petrified. Victoria shot her sister an entreating look.

  Ellie cleared her throat. “Papa,” she said in a gentling tone. “Is something amiss?”

  “Your sister has chosen to disobey me,” he snarled. “Now she will learn the consequences.”

  Ellie cleared her throat again, as if that were the only way she could summon the courage to speak. “Papa, I'm sure there has been a grave misunderstanding. Why don't I take Victoria to her room?”

  “Silence!”

  Neither girl made a sound.

  After an interminable pause, the vicar grabbed Victoria's arm and roughly hauled her to her feet. “You,” he said with a vicious yank, “are not going anywhere tonight.” He dragged her into her room and shoved her onto her bed. Ellie followed fearfully behind, hovering in the corner of Victoria's chamber.

  Mr. Lyndon poked his finger at Victoria's shoulder and growled, “Do not move.” He took a few steps toward the door, and that was all the time Victoria needed to make a mad dash for the open window. But the vicar was fast, and his strength was fueled by rage. He threw her back down on the bed, giving her face another vicious slap. “Eleanor!” he barked. “Get me a sheet.”

  Ellie blinked. “I-I beg your pardon?”

  “A sheet!” he bellowed.

  “Yes, Papa,” she said, scurrying off to the linen closet. In a few seconds she emerged, carrying a clean white sheet. She handed it to her father, who then began to methodically tear it into long strips. He bound Victoria's ankles together, then tied her hands in front of her. “There,” he said, surveying his handiwork. “She won't be going anywhere this evening.”

  Victoria stared at him mutinously. “I hate you,” she said in a low voice. “I will hate you forever for doing this.”

  Her father shook his head. “You'll thank me someday.”

  “No. I won't.” Victoria swallowed, trying to work the quiver out of her voice. “I used to think that you were second only to God, that you were all that was good and pure and kind. But now—Now I see that you are nothing but a small man with a small mind.”

  Mr. Lyndon shook with rage, and he raised his hand to strike her again. But at the last moment he brought it back down to his side.

  Ellie, who'd been chewing on her lower lip in the corner, stepped timidly forward and said, “She'll catch a chill, Papa. Just let me cover her.” She pulled the blankets up over Victoria's shaking body, leaning down to whisper, “I'm so sorry.”

  Victoria shot her sister a grateful look, and then rolled herself over so she was facing the wall. She didn't want to give her father the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

  Ellie sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at their father with what she hoped was a gentle expression. “I'll just sit with her, if you don't mind. I don't think she should be alone just now.”

  Mr. Lyndon's eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?” he said. “I'll not leave you to untie her and let her run off to that lying bastard.” He yanked on Ellie's arm and pulled her to her feet. “As if he would ever marry her,” he added, shooting a scathing glance at his elder daughter.

  Then he pulled Ellie from the room and proceeded to tie her up, too.

  “Goddamn it,” Robert bit out. “Where the hell is she?”

  Victoria was now more than an hour late. Robert imagined her raped, beaten, killed—all of which were extremely unlikely to have occurred on her short walk down the road, but his heart was still icy with fear.

  Finally he decided to throw caution to the wind, and he left his curricle and belongings unattended as he ran up the road to her house. The windows were dark, and he crept alongside the outer wall to her window. It was open, its curtains ruffling gently in the breeze.

  A sick sensation formed in his stomach as he leaned forward. There, in the bed, was Victoria. She was facing away from him, but there was no mistaking that glorious black hair. Cozily bundled beneath her quilts, she appeared to be asleep.

  Robert sank to the ground, landing in a silent heap.

  Asleep. She'd gone to bed and left him waiting in the night. She hadn't even sent a note.

  He felt something turn in his gut as he realized that his father must have been right all along. Victoria had decided that he wasn't such a catch without his money and title.

  He thought about the way she'd pleaded with him to make amends with his father—amends that would surely result in the restoration of his fortune. He thought she'd asked that out of concern for his well-being, but now he realized she'd never been concerned with anyone's well-being but her own.

  He'd given her his heart, his soul. And it wasn't enough.

  Eighteen hours later, Victoria was racing through the woods. Her father had kept her prisoner through the night and morning and well into the afternoon. He had untied her with a stern lecture about behaving herself and honoring her father, but she let only twenty minutes go by before she climbed through her window and ran off.

  Robert was going to be frantic. Or furious. She didn't know which, and she was more than a little apprehensive about finding out.

  Castleford Manor came into view, and Victoria forced herself to slow down. She had never been to Robert's home; he had always come to call at her cottage. She realized now, after the marquess's vehement opposition to their betrothal, that Robert had been afraid his father would treat Victoria rudely.

  With a trembling hand she knocked on the door.

  A liveried servant answered, and Victoria gave him her name, telling him that she wished to see the Earl of Macclesfield.

  “He is not here, miss,” was the reply.

  Victoria blinked. “I beg your pardon.”

  “He left for London early this morning.”

  “But that's not possible!”

  The servant gave her a condescending look. “The marquess did ask to see you, should you call.”

  Robert's father wanted to speak with her? That was even more unbelievable than the fact that Robert had left for London. Numbly Victoria let herself be led through the great hall and into a small sitting room. She glanced around her surroundings. The furnishings were far more opulent than anything she and her family had ever owned, and yet she knew instinctively that she had not been shown to the best sitting room.

  A few minutes later the Marquess of Castleford appeared. He was a tall man and looked very much like Robert, except for the little white frown lines around his mouth. And his eyes were different—flatter, somehow.

  “You must be Miss Lyndon,” he said.

  “Yes,” she replied, holding herself tall. Her world was falling apart, but she wasn't going to let this man see it. “I'm here to see Robert.”

  “My son has left for London.” The marquess paused. “To look for a wife.”

  Victoria flinched. She couldn't help it. “He told you this?”

  The marquess didn't speak, preferring to take a moment to assess the situation. His son had admitted to him that he had planned to elope with this girl, but that she had proven false. Victoria's presence at Castleford, combined with her almost desperate demeanor, seemed to point to the contrary. Obviously Robert had not been in possession of the full facts when he had wildly packed his bags and vowed never to return to the district. But the marquess was damned if he was going to let his son throw his life away over this little nobody.

  And so he said, “Y
es. It is high time he married, don't you think?”

  “I cannot believe you're asking me that.”

  “My dear Miss Lyndon. You were nothing but a diversion. Surely you know that.”

  Victoria said nothing, merely stared at him in horror.

  “I don't know whether my son managed to have his fun with you or not. Frankly I don't particularly care.”

  “You can't speak to me like that.”

  “My dear girl, I can speak to you any way I damn well please. As I was saying, you were a diversion. I cannot condone my son's actions, of course; it is a touch unsavory to go about deflowering the daughter of the local vicar.”

  “He did no such thing!”

  The marquess looked at her with a condescending expression. “However, it is your job to keep your virtue intact, not his. And if you failed in that endeavor, well, then that is your problem. My son made you no promises.”

  “But he did,” Victoria said in a low voice.

  Castleford cocked a brow. “And you believed him?”

  Victoria's legs went instantly numb, and she had to clutch the back of a chair for support. “Oh, my good Lord,” she whispered. Her father had been right all along. Robert had never meant to marry her. If he had he would have waited to see why she had not been able to meet him. He probably would have seduced her somewhere on the way to Gretna Green, and then…

  Victoria didn't even want to think about the fate that had almost befallen her. She remembered the way Robert has asked her to “show him” how she loved him, how earnestly he'd tried to convince her that their intimacies were not sinful.

  She shuddered, losing her innocence in the space of a second.

  “I suggest you leave the district, my dear,” the marquess said. “I give you my word that I shan't speak of your little affair, but I cannot promise that my son will be as closelipped as I.”

  Robert. Victoria swallowed. The thought of seeing him again was agony. Without another word she turned and left the room.

  Later that night she spread a newspaper open across her bed, scanning the advertisements for positions. The next day she posted several letters, all applying for the post of governess.