“My great-grandmother forced you to do it,” Victoria said, her eyes stormy.
“Were they happy—your mother and father, I mean? I’ve always wondered what sort of marriage they had, but I’ve been afraid to ask.”
Victoria remembered the awful scene she had witnessed so many Christmases ago between her parents, but it was outweighed by the eighteen years of kindness and consideration they’d shown each other. “Yes, they were happy. Their marriage wasn’t at all like a ton marriage.”
She spoke of a “ton marriage” with such aversion that Charles smiled curiously. “What do you mean by a ton marriage?”
“The sort of marriage nearly everyone here in London has—except for Robert and Caroline Collingwood and a few others. The sort of marriage where the couple is rarely in each other’s company, and when they happen to meet at some affair, they behave like polite, well-bred strangers. The gentlemen are always off enjoying their own amusements, and the ladies have their cicisbeos. At least my parents lived together in a real home and we were a real family.”
“I gather you intend to have an old-fashioned marriage with an old-fashioned family,” he teased, looking very pleased at the idea.
“I don’t think Jason wants that sort of marriage.” She couldn’t bring herself to tell Charles that Jason’s original offer was for her to give him a son and then go away. She consoled herself with the knowledge that, even though he’d made that offer, he’d seemed to prefer that she remain with him in England.
“I doubt very much if Jason knows what he wants right now,” Charles said gravely. “He needs you, child. He needs your warmth and your spirit. He won’t admit that, even to himself yet—and when he finally does admit it to himself, he won’t like it, believe me. He’ll fight you,” Charles warned gently. “But sooner or later, he’ll open his heart to you, and when he does, he’ll find peace. In return, he’ll make you happier than you’ve ever dreamed of being.”
She looked so dubious, so skeptical, that Charles’s smile faded. “Have patience with him, Victoria. If he weren’t so strong in body and mind, he’d never have survived to the age of thirty. He has scars, deep ones, but you have the power to heal them.”
“What sort of scars?”
Charles shook his head. “It will be better for both of you if Jason himself is the one to finally tell you about his life, especially his childhood. If he doesn’t, then you can come to me.”
In the days that followed, Victoria had little time to think about Jason or anything else. No sooner had she left Charles’s bedroom than Madame Dumosse arrived at the house with four seamstresses. “Lord Fielding has instructed me to prepare a wedding gown for you, mademoiselle,” she said, already walking around Victoria. “He said it is to be very rich, very elegant. Individual. Befitting a queen. No ruffles.”
Caught somewhere between annoyance and laughter at Jason’s high-handedness, Victoria shot her a sidelong look. “Did he happen to select a color, too?”
“Blue.”
“Blue?” Victoria burst out, prepared to do physical battle for white.
Madame nodded, her finger thoughtfully pressed to her lips, her other hand plunked upon her waist. “Yes, blue. Ice blue. He said you are glorious in that color—‘a titian-haired angel,” he said.”
Victoria abruptly decided ice blue was a lovely color to be married in.
“Lord Fielding has excellent taste,” Madame continued, her thin brows raised over her bright, alert eyes. “Don’t you agree?”
“Decidedly,” Victoria said, laughing, and she surrendered herself to the skilled ministrations of the dressmaker.
Four hours later, when Madame finally released her and whisked her seamstresses off to the shop, Victoria was informed that Lady Caroline Collingwood was waiting for her in the gold salon.
“Victoria,” her friend exclaimed, her pretty face anxious as she held out her hands, clasping Victoria’s. “Lord Fielding came to our house this morning to tell us about the wedding. I’m honored to be your matron of honor, which Lord Fielding said you wished me to be, but this is all so sudden—your marriage, I mean.”
Victoria suppressed her surprised pleasure at the news that Jason had thoughtfully remembered she’d need an attendant and had stopped to see the Collingwoods.
“I never suspected you were developing a lasting attachment to Lord Fielding,” Caroline continued, “and I can’t help wondering. You do wish to marry him, don’t you? You aren’t being, well, forced into it in any way?”
“Only by fate,” Victoria said with a smile, sinking exhaustedly into a chair. She saw Caroline’s frown and hastily added, “I’m not being forced. It’s what I wish to do.”
Caroline’s entire countenance brightened with relief and happiness. “I’m so glad—I’ve been hoping this would happen.” At Victoria’s dubious look, she explained, “In the past few weeks, I’ve come to know him better, and I quite agree with Robert, who told me that the things people think about Lord Fielding are the result of gossip started solely by one particularly spiteful, malicious woman. I doubt anyone would have believed all the rumors if Lord Fielding himself hadn’t been so aloof and uncommunicative. Of course, one doesn’t particularly like people who believe terrible things about one, does one? So he probably didn’t feel the slightest obligation to disabuse us. And as Robert said, Lord Fielding is a proud man, which would make it impossible for him to grovel in the face of adverse public opinion, particularly when it was so unfair!”
Victoria stifled a giggle at her friend’s wholehearted endorsement of the man she had once feared and condemned, but it was typical of Caroline. Caroline refused to see any faults whatever in the people she liked, and she was conversely unwilling to admit there were any redeeming qualities in the people she didn’t. That quirk in her lively personality made her the most loyal of friends, however, and Victoria was deeply grateful to her for her unswerving friendship. “Thank you, Northrup,” she said as the butler came in carrying the tea tray.
“I can’t think why I ever found him frightening,” Caroline said while Victoria poured the tea. Breathlessly eager to absolve Jason of any blame she might have put on him in the past, she continued, “I was wrong to let my imagination run away with my sense that way. I believe the reason I thought him frightening stemmed from the fact that he is so very tail and his hair is so black, which is perfectly absurd of me. Why, do you know what he said when he left us this morning?” she asked in a voice of intense gratification.