Victoria and the Rogue (24 page)

Becky!”

And suddenly all of the tears that had been absent during Victoria’s breakup with Lord Malfrey came

spilling out in torrents reminiscent of the Ganges during monsoon season.

“Vicky!” Rebecca had never seen her younger cousin in tears, and did not know what to do about it.

“Oh, Vicky! My dear! Don’t cry! Oh, he loves you, I’m quite certain of it. He rescued you from those

dreadful fishermen last night, didn’t he?”

This only served to make Victoria weep even harder. Rebecca, at a loss, ran for her mother, who came

away from her dressing table only half-dressed, and did what mothers are supposed to do when they see

one of their children in pain: she folded Victoria to her copious bosom and said, “There, there, now. It

will be all right. All the excitement has finally caught up to her, I think. You’ll stay home tonight with a hot

brick, I think.”

Victoria, horrified, quickly extricated herself from her aunt’s arms and said, “No, no. I’m all right. I’ve

got to go to Almack’s. I’ve got to!”

Because if she were ever to see Jacob Carstairs again, it would be at only one place, the place where

everyone gathered every Wednesday night. And that place was Almack’s.

“I don’t think you’d better, child,” Mrs. Gardiner said worriedly. “You look worn out. Wouldn’t you

rather stay here with Clara and the younger children and—”

“No!” Victoria nearly choked. “No, no!”

Mrs. Gardiner regarded her curiously, then shrugged and said, “Suit yourself. But hurry up, girls; we

leave in half an hour.”

Half an hour was not enough time for Victoria to calm her spirits and repair the damage her tears had

done to her face. And it was not enough time for Rebecca to come to terms with this new creature—a

cousin Vicky who cried, and over, of all people, Jacob Carstairs, who’d once been her sworn enemy. It

was therefore a solemn group that arrived that night at Almack’s… though Rebecca’s equanimity was

soon restored by Charles Abbott, who stepped forward to claim her at once for a quadrille. Victoria was

left to prowl the rooms, searching for one face—one single face—and not finding it.

“He isn’t here,” she wailed to Rebecca when the latter stepped off the dance floor to retie her shoe.

“Captain Carstairs isn’t here!”

“Well, of course not,” Becky said. “It’s early yet, Vicky. Don’t worry.”

But her cousin didn’t understand. She hadn’t heard what Victoria had said to Jacob the night before.

And she didn’t know about Lord Malfrey, and the possibility that Jacob might be lying dead from a bullet

to the brain at that very moment!

And the fact that Lord Malfrey himself had yet to show up was no comfort to Victoria. What kind of

man would dare show his face at Almack’s after the horrible thing he had tried to do to her? No, it was

no wonder Lord Malfrey was nowhere to be seen. But Jacob was another story. Victoria had never

known him to miss a night. He could only be staying away because he was dead… or because he hated

her. Either way Victoria was wretched, and she turned down each and every man who approached her

to ask for a dance, until finally Mrs. Gardiner sidled up to her and said, “My dear, I know you are still

heartsore over your broken engagement with the earl. But don’t you think you ought to give one of these

other nice gentlemen a chance? For you are very young, my dear, and will learn to love again….”

It was somewhat ironic that at the moment these words were coming from Mrs. Gardiner’s lips, in

through the doors came striding a man with collar points that were far too low to be stylish. Victoria did

not have to see the face of the owner of those collar points to know to whom they belonged. Only one

man in London wore his collar points so unfashionably low.

And it was toward this man with a glad cry that Victoria rushed.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Captain Carstairs,” Victoria said, hurrying to Jacob’s side. “Good evening.”

He looked down at her. If there was a touch of surprise in those sardonic gray eyes, he did not express

it. He acted as if Victoria came rushing across dance floors to greet him every day of the week.

“Lady Victoria,” he said with icy politeness.

That politeness, as no unkind word could have, cut Victoria like a knife. Polite! Jacob Carstairs? To

her? Oh, the situation was very bad indeed! Worse even than she’d allowed herself to imagine. A bullet

was really the only thing that could have been more terrible.

Fear clutching her heart, Victoria did the only thing, really, that she could have, under the circumstances.

And that was grab Jacob by the arm and drag him into the closest alcove, where they could have it out at

last.

“Victoria,” Jacob said, sounding considerably annoyed as she shoved him behind a velvet portiere,

where they were shielded from the prying gazes of Almack’s other patrons. “Good Lord, what is the

matter?”

Victoria could not believe he could just stand there and ask what was the matter when all day long she’d

felt as if her heart were breaking.

“What is the matter?” she demanded. “What is the matter? Why didn’t you answer my note?”

He shrugged, trying to put his coat to rights after the way Victoria had pulled on it in order to get him

into the alcove. “Why should I have?” he asked. “I knew I’d see you tonight.”

Victoria narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh, you knew you’d see me tonight, did you?”

“Why do you keep repeating everything I say?” Jacob wanted to know. “And why do you look like

that?”

Victoria’s hands went instantly to her face. “Like what? What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know,” Jacob said. “You look… flushed. It isn’t any wonder after everything you went through

last night. You’re probably feverish. Your aunt and uncle oughtn’t to have let you come. I’d better have a

word with them—”

“Jacob!” Victoria cried, furiously stamping her foot.

He gave her a curious look. “What is it now?”

“Why are you acting like this?” she demanded.

“Like what?” He looked genuinely blank.

“So… so polite?” Victoria pointed her fan at him threateningly. “You’d better stop it. I told you I was

sorry in my note for what I said last night.”

One corner of his mouth went up. But the other one stayed down. “So you did,” he said. “Although you

neglected to mention just which of the many unpleasant things you said to me last night you meant.”

“You know perfectly well which one I meant,” Victoria said haughtily. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Oh, I think you’d better,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “I think you owe me that much, at

least.”

Knowing that she was blushing furiously, but unable to do anything about it, Victoria said, with her gaze

on the floor, “I’m… I’m sorry I said I didn’t care about you.”

But Jacob wasn’t satisfied. He continued to regard her with his arms folded. “Because…?”

“Because… I do. Care, I mean. A little.”

“A little.”

“Yes.” She looked up and felt a wave of righteous indignation sweep over her as she saw that he was

smirking. “Well, I hope you don’t expect me to say that I love you, after the way you’ve treated me!”

“The way I’ve treated you! Oh, that’s rich. And how have I treated you, except far better than you

deserved?”

Victoria snorted. “Please! Calling me Miss Bee, and telling me what to do, and then… then leaving me

alone all day long without a word! Jacob, I thought you might be dead!”

“Dead?” He seemed, if she wasn’t mistaken, to be enjoying himself no end. “Why on earth would you

think that?”

“Well, because you didn’t come see me, and you didn’t answer my note, and… well, you know. Lord

Malfrey.”

“Ah, yes.” He did not look so pleased anymore. “Lord Malfrey. Well, Victoria, it might interest you to

know that the reason I did not stop by or answer your note is because I was busy. Busy dealing with

friends of yours, actually.”

“Friends of mine?” Victoria looked astonished. “But who on earth…?”

“Young Master Peter, for one,” Jacob said. “I’ve offered him an apprenticeship in one of my offices,

and my offer was, you’ll be happy to hear, accepted.”

Victoria wasn’t certain she had heard him correctly. “You… you what?”

“Well, I gave it some thought and decided you were right. We couldn’t leave those children in that cellar.

One of my clerks has taken him and his sisters in. They have plenty of room; their own son is

commanding a ship of mine headed for the West Indies. Peter and his sisters seemed to be settling in

nicely when I left them. Mr. Pettigrew and his wife are terribly fond of children. But I’m afraid I had to

draw the line at taking in the cats….”

Victoria gazed up at Jacob in utter astonishment. She really was not at all certain that she believed what

her ears were telling her. “But… but… I thought… I thought you’d gone to shoot Lord Malfrey.”

“Oh, I thought about it,” Jacob admitted. “But it didn’t seem worth it. Despite the fact that you didn’t

seem to put much value on it, I like my life, and was loath to risk giving it up for a blighter like Malfrey.”

“Oh, Jacob,” Victoria began, tears filling her eyes exactly as they’d done in Rebecca’s bedroom earlier

that evening. “I never—”

“No, I had a better idea,” Jacob said. “I went to Lord Malfrey and made him—and his mother—an

offer they couldn’t refuse.”

“An offer?” Victoria stared up at him, puzzled. “What kind of offer?”

“Well,” Jacob said amiably, “I told them I’d give them free crossing to France on one of my ships, if they

promised never again to set foot in London.”

Victoria blinked, forgetting about the tears beneath her eyelids. One drop slid out, and fell, unheeded,

down her cheek.

“Why,” she heard herself asking, “should they accept such an offer? Oh, Jacob, I hope you didn’t tell

them that if they didn’t, you’d go to the magistrates. I don’t want anyone to know what happened to me!

And if it should get out—”

“No, no, have no fear for your precious Mr. Abbott. I said nothing like that.” Jacob reached into his

waistcoat pocket and drew out a handkerchief, which he handed to her as matter-of-factly as if he were

handing her a cup of tea. “I told you I had a very busy day. Before paying my call on the Rothschilds,

you see, I paid a visit first to the consistory courts.”

“The consistory courts?” Victoria shook her head. “But what—”

“Oh, they keep records there,” Jacob informed her conversationally. “In Doctors’ Commons. Quite

remarkable, really. Anyone can stroll in and look at them. Takes some doing, and it’s quite dusty work,

but do you know my persistence paid off? I came across the most curious fact about your Lord

Malfrey.”

“He isn’t my Lord Malfrey,” Victoria snapped.

“He most certainly isn’t. He belongs—or should I say belonged—to one Mary Gilbreath.”

Victoria forgot her annoyance over his having called Lord Malfrey her Lord Malfrey and asked

curiously, “Who is that?”

“Don’t you know? I’m rather surprised you don’t. But then, India is a large country, and you might not

have happened to run into her. Mary Gilbreath is—or rather was—the first Lady Malfrey.”

Victoria knitted her brows. “You mean… the dowager was the eighth earl’s second wife?”

“Not at all,” Jacob said. “Mary Gilbreath was Hugo Rothschild’s first wife.”

“Wife?” Victoria was so shocked she had to grab hold of the velvet portieres to keep from falling over,

as there was no chair nearby to sit upon. “Hugo has been married before?”

“Oh, yes,” Jacob said, clearly enjoying himself. “Shipboard wedding, don’t you know. Not on one of

my ships, of course, or I should have been aware of it. No, but he did do it on his way out to India, after

throwing over my sister. Miss Mary Gilbreath was an heiress, rather like… well, you… who was on her

way to visit relatives in Bombay. She became the first Lady Malfrey en route.”

Victoria said, “But then… then Lord Malfrey is a widower? How did she die?” She sucked in her

breath. “Oh, Lord, Jacob! He didn’t kill her, did he?”

“Good heavens, no,” Jacob said. “You really do have a morbid imagination, Victoria; has anyone ever

told you that? Malfrey’s a rogue, but he isn’t a murderer….”

“Well,” Victoria said, feeling a bit nettled by his teasing. Then again, what else was new? “What

happened to her, then?”

“Nothing happened to her, least as far as I know,” Jacob said. “I suppose Malfrey ran through all her

money—he would. He had his mother to support, too, don’t forget, back in England. And then he left

her.”

“His mother?”

“No, Victoria. Mary Gilbreath.”

“Left her? Left his wife?” Victoria, startled, cried, “Then he’s a bigamist?”

“Nothing quite that dramatic, I’m afraid,” Jacob said with a grin. “They’re divorced.”

“Divorced?” Victoria felt as if she’d been struck. “Lord Malfrey… divorced?”

“Yes,” Jacob said, appearing to take pity on her. “They keep divorce records at the consistory courts,

Victoria. That’s why I went there. I had a sneaking suspicion about your Lord Malfrey. And I’ll admit…

I’d heard rumors.”

“That he’d divorced his first wife?”

“Rather the other way around, I’d wager,” Jacob said. “But that’s the way the records read, anyway.

Lord Malfrey divorced his wife, undoubtedly collecting a tidy sum from her relations, who surely paid for

the proceedings, as divorce is expensive, as you know. But the poor girl’s family probably would have

paid anything to be rid of the blighter. I know I would have, if it had been my sister.”