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 his 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.