“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.
Two weeks later, she was gone.
Chapter 4
Norfolk, England
Seven years later
Victoria chased the five-year-old across the lawn, tripping over her skirts so frequently that she finally snatched them up in her hands, not caring that her ankles were bared for the world to see. Governesses were supposed to behave with the utmost decorum, but she had been chasing the tiny tyrant for the better part of an hour, and she was about ready to give up on propriety altogether.
“Neville!” she yelled. “Neville Hollingwood! Stop your running this instant!”
Neville didn't show the least inclination of slowing down.
Victoria rounded the corner of the house and halted, trying to discern which way the child had run.
“Neville!” she called out. “Neville!”
No answer.
“Little monster,” Victoria muttered.
“What did you say, Miss Lyndon?”
Victoria swung around to face Lady Hollingwood, her employer. “Oh! I beg your pardon, my lady. I did not realize you were here.”
“Obviously,” the older lady said acidly, “or you wouldn't have called my son such filthy names.”
Victoria didn't much think that “little monster” qualified as filthy, but she bit down her retort and instead replied, “I meant it as an endearment, Lady Hollingwood. Surely you must know that.”
“I do not approve of sarcastic endearments, Miss Lyndon. I suggest that you spend your evening reflecting upon the presumptuousness of your ways. It is not your place to assign nicknames to your betters. Good day.”
It was all Victoria could do not to gape as Lady Hollingwood turned on her heel and swept away. She didn't care if Lady Hollingwood's husband was a baron. There was no way in this world that she would ever think of five-year-old Neville Hollingwood as her better.
She gritted her teeth and yelled, “Neville!”
“Miss Lyndon!”
Victoria groaned inwardly. Not again.
Lady Hollingwood took a step toward her, then stopped, lifting her chin imperiously in the air. Victoria had no choice but to walk over to her and say, “Yes, my lady?”
“I do not approve of your uncouth yelling. A lady never raises her voice.”
“I am sorry, my lady. I was only trying to find young Master Neville.”
“If you had been watching him properly, you would not find yourself in this situation.”
It was Victoria's opinion that the boy was as slippery as an eel and that Admiral Nelson himself couldn't have held on to him for more than two minutes, but she kept these thoughts private. Finally she said, “I am sorry, my lady.”
Lady Hollingwood's eyes narrowed, clearly indicating that she didn't for one minute believe that Victoria's apology was sincere. “See that you behave with more decorum this evening.”
“This evening, my lady?”
“The house party, Miss Lyndon.” The older woman sighed as if it were the twentieth time she'd had to explain this to Victoria, when in truth she'd never before mentioned it. And the lower servants never spoke to Victoria, so she was rarely privy to gossip.
“We will be entertaining guests for the next few days,” Lady Hollingwood continued. “Very important guests. Several barons, a few viscounts, and even an earl. Lord Hollingwood and I move in lofty circles.”
Victoria shivered as she remembered the one time she had had occasion to brush shoulders with the nobility. She hadn't found them particularly noble.
Robert. His face came unbidden to her mind.
Seven years and she could still remember every detail. The way his eyebrows arched. His laugh lines when he smiled. The way he had always tried to tell her he loved her when she least expected it.
Robert. His words had been proven false, indeed.
“Miss Lyndon!”
Victoria snapped out of her reverie. “Yes, my lady?”
“I would prefer it if you would endeavor not to cross paths with our guests, but if that proves impossible, do try to conduct yourself with the appropriate decorum.”
Victoria nodded, really wishing that she didn't need this job so badly.