The Fashionable Spy (25 page)

“You dance this well.”

“Thank you,” she murmured in reply, gazing up at him with the famous Dancy smile pinned to her lips. Could her heart be shattered? It felt so terribly crushed and broken.

Chapter 14

“It will be a miracle if I have a strand of hair on my head after this affair,” Victoria complained. Seated at her desk, with Sir Edward far too close for her comfort, she tried again to solve the enigma of the encoded list, if that indeed was what was on the page before her.

“You smell like a garden of lilacs this morning,” Edward replied. This non sequitur dropped into the stillness of the room with the impact of a large feather.

Wisely ignoring this bit of nonsense, Victoria rose from the desk to walk back and forth at some distance from where Sir Edward sat at ease, watching her from beneath hooded lids.

“We get nowhere,,” she cried in frustration. “How dreadfully clever of him, whoever he is.”

“Perhaps we ought to turn our attention to something else for a bit. Like the windmill episode?”

Victoria stopped her pacing. Wary of this handsome man, she faced him with courage. “About last night ...” She had searched her mind for the best way to bring the subject up, and this might be as good as any. “You cannot be serious about this marriage business?”

“But I am, my dear,” Sir Edward replied. “I know you feel something for me, and it can improve, given time. Neither of us courts the rebuff of Society.”

“Utterly absurd.”

“Perhaps for you, but what about young Elizabeth, and the lovely widow, Julia? Do you wish to risk their alienation from Society?”

“We have covered this before.”

“And you are still mixed-up.” He rose from his chair, then crossed to her side, took her chin in his hand, and gazed at her with determination. “Come, let us take my head to the foundry. We can discuss this at greater length on the way, and in the privacy of our carriage.”

“Very well,” she said faintly, wondering if his touch had this effect on other women. She felt something like a puppet, meekly following his will. Of course, her knees were weak and trembly as his hand caressed her face, and the puppet was stiff, rigid, moving precisely.

Victoria fled the room and hurried up the stairs while Edward slowly strolled to the entry area, nodding politely to Evenson when that gentleman came in from the kitchen.

“I am sorry that you were disappointed last evening, Sir Edward,’’ the butler offered in a rare bit of conversation.

“I have a feeling that he will strike tonight. See to it that the servants are silent. I do not want a screaming woman turning the whole thing into a fiasco.” Edward exchanged a knowing look with Evenson, who bowed his head in awareness what silly wigeons maids could be.

“Indeed, sir. May I say that I am most pleased Miss Dancy has a companion? She misses her brother very much, for he’s a fine lad, and they were very close.”

“You may. And I was unaware of that closeness.” Edward wondered if young Dancy would expect to be approached with an offer of marriage for Victoria.

Edward’s inclination remained the same—to get Victoria to the altar as quickly as possible. Waiting was driving him to the brink of distraction. Also, he knew full well the harsh treatment that Society could mete out for one who overstepped the boundary established for proper conduct. Victoria, by his rescuing her from the carriage accident, and then spending two nights with her in that lonely windmill, had gone far beyond what Society allowed. That someone else knew of this and now threatened their future made marriage imperative. Coupled with her venturesome behavior, sculpturing the heads of prominent gentlemen, she was even more vulnerable.

He cherished her far too much to wish her to be humiliated by the tabbies and prattleboxes. And they would gleefully tear the beautiful Miss Dancy, the woman who led such an unconventional life, to bits and pieces.

Upstairs in her room, Victoria searched her wardrobe for the jade pelisse. Her maid entered with the desired garment over her arm, having just sponged and pressed it.

Within minutes Victoria had slipped it over her simple green sprigged jaconet and had set her bonnet carefully on her curls. Gathering up her reticule and York tan gloves, she left the room in a preoccupied daze.

As she neared the bottom of the stairs, she was met by Sir Edward, who gazed at her with what seemed to be decided fondness, if she was any judge. But how did he really feel? Did he act thus merely to make her feel better about what had occurred?

All the while she had been in her room, her mind had whirled round about in the same struggle that had been going on for hours. Could she yield to his persuasion? No matter what her personal feelings might be, she truly did not wish her dear sisters to be ostracized from Society. And, she supposed. Sir Edward would be a most agreeable husband, from what she’d observed of the man.

He escorted her to his phaeton while her mind feverishly mulled over a way to discover how he truly felt toward her. She’d not force him to wed her, Society or no.

The footman brought the bust out to the carriage, and Victoria insisted upon holding it before her, even though it was painstakingly wrapped so no damage could come to it on the journey.

The horse clopped along, and Victoria braced her feet so she could retain firm hold on the parcel, as well as herself.

“Now,” Sir Edward began, “I firmly believe we have no choice but to wed. To this end, I propose our marriage. Will you accept my offer, Victoria?” he said most properly.

She looked at that aristocratic profile; the imperious nose, noble brow, and that sensual mouth. “Do I have an alternative?” She knew the answer, but hoped he might think of a way out of this coil. He was terribly clever; she had seen that time and again. He also set her on fire with his touch, put her senses reeling, and in general caused havoc with her thinking process. She no longer trusted her own judgment.

“Would it be so terrible? A compromising situation in the beginning, perhaps, but we seem to deal well enough together. Many a marriage has a worse foundation.” He glanced at her before returning his attention to the street ahead.

They were traversing an unpleasant part of the city, and it appeared to bother Sir Edward that she went to this area often. The buildings were sturdy brick—not all that old—but the streets teemed with drays and wagons, people of the lower orders who were coarse in language and of vulgar ways. She had not allowed it to concern her in the past.

Victoria mulled over his words. She had to admit that he was right in his assessment of contemporary matrimony, for she knew many marriages of the
ton
were arranged, that the couples scarcely knew one another, and what they did know often repelled them. At least she and Sir Edward appeared to get along reasonably well. Most of the time.

They reached the foundry, and Sir Edward walked around the carriage, using his cane to clear debris from his path. By the time he reached Victoria, he frowned with dismay.

“This place lacks a certain something, I should say,” he commented in a prodigious understatement.

She repressed a smile. “It is not so bad, really, And it does have Mr. Greene. He is the wizard who turns my wax heads into elegant and enduring bronze. Come,” she pleaded, with a smile over her shoulder as she daintily stepped over a brick while making her way to the front door of the building.

The business was conducted much as usual, only this time Edward observed the process, watching with keen eyes as Victoria ordered things to her wishes with sure knowledge of what she desired. He seemed impressed. Mr. Greene also bowed to Victoria’s orders. They were not questioned in the least, an unusual occurrence in this day and age when men ruled and ran nearly everything.

When she accepted Edward’s arm to leave the foundry, he appeared at a loss of words. He tucked her into the phaeton, then drove off toward the center of London in silence.

“A penny for them,” Victoria said at last.

“I wondered what our children will think of that head in years to come,” came his audacious reply.

“You
are
taking a lot for granted, are you not?”

“Give over, Victoria. Think of it this way ... we can work together, plotting and planning, and have a good life in the process. I intend to send off a notice to the papers immediately. Which church do you attend? I shall have the banns posted at once, for there is no need to wait. You undoubtedly would like your brother to be here, but we have no notion as to when he will return, or if a message sent to him will even reach him in time. The decision must be yours. But think of him. Make the wrong choice, and you could harm his chances for a respectable marriage as well. You know how scandal can stick like cold porridge to those near and dear.’’

Victoria studied him as they neared the park. He wound through the arch of greenery, although she ignored the lovely trees and flowers to be seen on a fine spring day. “I expect you are correct. I attend St. George’s, but perhaps we might be married at home, in the evening?”

“That would require a special license, and I want no breath of anything out of the ordinary for our wedding. No hasty visit to Doctor’s Commons for us, my dear.”

“But,” she objected, “most of the
ton
prefer such ceremonies today.’’

“We will have a church wedding with banns and everything,” he replied, as stubborn and firm as a rock on the subject. “I want to see you in white silk and a lace veil down your back.”

“As you wish.” She would let him win this small battle. Indeed, she would be far too concerned about any number of other matters to be worried about the ceremony. Not even her gown or the other particulars occupied her concern. She was determined to make him fall in love with her, and the sooner the better.

A flower seller had established herself at the edge of the park, offering a variety of blooms for sale. Sir Edward drew the carriage to a halt, then beckoned to the girl. He bought three bunches of fragrant spring flowers, handing them to Victoria before setting off for the Dancy house again.

Victoria inhaled the scent with pleasure. At least her husband would be thoughtful. Until . . .

“I don’t know what is going on in your mind, but forget it for a time,” he ordered. “We have a full day ahead of us.” He drew the carriage to a halt before her home. “Part of me wants to proceed with that special license and marry you today, now. The sensible part realizes that we must wait.” He reached out to caress her face, realizing that he exerted some sort of effect on her— how much, he wasn’t sure. But he needed everything in his power to convince her that their marriage was a necessity, for many reasons.

Again he wondered if he ought to confess that he had fallen madly for her. It wasn’t the thing for a gentleman to do nowadays. Would she laugh at him?

He had begun the process that first day, when he undressed her in the windmill lest she catch a dreadful cold, or worse. He had been improper. She was aware he had slipped her wet clothes from her, to prevent an illness. But, he rebutted the imaginary confrontation, he had not taken near the liberties he had desired. Both then and now she captivated him. Then, he had grown in interest, fighting it when he thought her a spy for the French. Yet she said nothing, and he wondered how to persuade her.

It would be with great pleasure that he would make Victoria Dancy his.

Shaken by the intensity of his softly spoken words, not to mention that gentle and evocative touch, Victoria darted a cautious glance at him, then left him to enter the house, her preoccupied air surrounding her like a cloak. He was being sensible? But what if he wished otherwise?

She found Julia in the morning room, sitting quietly with the girls playing near her. They babbled in their incomprehensible way, while Julia half-listened, her mind obviously elsewhere.

“Trouble?” Victoria wondered how her sister would accept the news of the coming wedding.

“I was merely thinking about what Lord Temple said yesterday. He is taking the miniature down to his mother in the country and will be there for a time, then return to London. He offered no clue as to what he wants to talk to me about, but, oh, Victoria, I shall see him once again.”

“Oh.” Victoria sank down upon a chair and stared at Julia, her mind in a spin. Never had she seen Julia look so entranced by anything. If Lord Temple had an improper proposal to make her sister, Victoria would personally shoot him.

“What about you?” Sir Edward took you to the foundry this morning?” Julia caressed Tansy’s curls when she came to lean against her mother’s knee.

“We are to be married, Julia,” Victoria announced with not a jot of finesse. “He received a packet that contained a drawing of a windmill, just like the one in which we took refuge. I thought and thought of a way out of this coil, but after last night I realized there
is
no way. Sir Edward paraded me from one end of the Rutland ballroom to the other, proclaiming in his offhand manner that we were about to stroll down the aisle.”

“But, that is wonderful.” Yet there was a hint of doubt in her voice.

“I shall marry a man who is compelled to wed me because we have spent two nights together—with me unconscious part of the time—and our main affinity is a shared fascination with ciphers.” Her laugh was decidedly dejected.

“That is not at all unusual, love. At least, the lack of common ground,” Julia offered with the wisdom of one who has listened to countless hours of shared confidences from her married friends. “If you are clever, you can build on that.”

“Truly? That sets my mind at ease, I suppose.” Victoria leaned back in near-collapse. She felt tense with worry, worn with fatigue from hours spent awake in the night. His kisses had stirred her to want more of them, and she longed to slip down the hall to her own room, to again know his passion. From what little she knew, a wife was not supposed to possess such yearnings. Perhaps she was more suited to the role of a mistress?

“Do not worry about Elizabeth and me. We shall do quite well, you know,” Julia assured her quietly.