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, “Yes. 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.”