"Victoria, stop your woolgathering. We've arrived, and you haven't arranged your shawl!"
Oh, yes, the shawl. She must arrange her shawl.
Victoria stood as straight as she could in the carriage, tilting her head so her hair nearly brushed its roof. She drew the wrap around her shoulders, then let it slip just so to her elbows. The coach staggered as it moved ahead in the line of vehicles waiting to unload the guests, causing her to lurch to one side. She readjusted her wrap and waited, feet spread in an unladylike manner to give her stability.
"Sit down, Victoria," her mother said impatiently.
"I'll stand. We are almost to the head of the line." She was suddenly too jumpy to sit and wait passively. Her stomach twisted and leaped. She knew Rockley would be here tonight. He might have avoided his other societal obligations in the last two weeks, but he would be here. The Mullingtons were distant cousins.
At last she alighted from the warm carriage and into the humid air. The sun had nearly set, sending a pink glow radiating from the horizon, but night's blue-gray tint had already colored the rooftops and stone walls in the distance. Sconces and lamps sent a warm yellow glow over the brick walkway to the grand entrance of the home, open to guests.
When they were announced, Victoria swept her eyes over the crush of guests below the sweeping foyer staircase. She did not see Phillip, thank heaven. Perhaps he hadn't arrived yet. Or perhaps he wasn't going to come at all.
Gwendolyn Starcasset was there, and she greeted Victoria as though she were a long-lost friend. Perhaps she was; Victoria hadn't thought about it recently, but she and Gwendolyn had shared some enjoyable conversation at past events. "How good it is to see you, Victoria!" said the diminutive blond. "I have missed standing on the sidelines with you and discussing the best way to make our picks from the eligibles. But you, of course, have made the match of the Season, so you mustn't worry about that any longer!"
"Indeed." Those two syllables were difficult to bring forth, but Victoria did manage. Why hadn't Phillip posted the announcement in the Times? Why cause her this agony of waiting for that shoe to fall? As soon as it did, she would be ostracized. And then she could stop making these appearances at balls and musicales, and concentrate on hunting vampires.
After all, that was her destiny. That was why she'd given up Phillip.
"My brother George was greatly disappointed to hear that Rockley had claimed your hand. He was quite taken with you at the Steerings' ball."
"And what of your prospects?" asked Victoria, trying to keep from glancing toward the main entrance. She really didn't want to see Rockley anyway. Surely he would cut her, and she would be mortified. Not to mention Lady Melly.
Oh, lud, why hadn't she made sure her mother understood what had happened?
Gwendolyn chattered away about the three eligible men who'd shown interest, until one of them claimed her for a dance. Victoria would have tried to slip off to the room being used as the ladies' lounge, but she did not have a chance. Sir Everett Campington approached and, bowing most elegantly, requested her to join him for the quadrille.
Glad to have something to do other than try not to stare at the main entrance, Victoria agreed and actually found herself beginning to enjoy the lively movement of the quadrille. She and Sir Everett stepped together, then apart, then promenaded down between a row of other couples. Victoria twirled and swirled, curtsied and spun, and realized after a while that she was smiling.
There was only one moment during the dance when she forgot herself, and that was when she and Sir Everett did one particularly enthusiastic spin, linked elbow to elbow. Victoria forgot that she was much stronger than he, and sent her dance partner stumbling across the floor with the force of her movement.
It was when he returned and they linked arms again, this time side by side, that she looked up and laughed in pure pleasure, then executed a turn that sent her facing the cluster of people standing on the edge of the floor. And whirled right past Phillip.
Victoria didn't even stumble. She wasn't sure how she managed that, but she was thankful beyond belief. When the dance ended, Sir Everett looked down at her and asked, "Shall we find Rockley? I'm certain he will want to claim the next dance."
"Oh, I had rather hoped for something to drink," Victoria replied airily, firmly facing in the direction away from where she'd seen Phillip. "I'm not certain whether Rockley has even arrived tonight."
Sir Everett bowed in acquiescence, and if he knew she was lying, he was too gentlemanly to correct her. "Of course, Miss Grantworth. Let us find some punch."
Victoria managed to keep herself very busy for the next thirty minutes. She danced with three other gentlemen, including Gwendolyn's brother, who was just as blond and pretty as his sister. She drank at least six glasses of punch, thankfully, for with all the exertion of dancing on such a hot evening, she was thirsty. And because of those six glasses of punch, she was obligated to visit the necessary twice.
But at last she could avoid the confrontation no longer.
Just as she was turning to walk onto the dance floor with Lord Waverley, a calm voice stopped her in her tracks.
"Waverley, I believe this dance is mine."
She turned, her throat suddenly dry when she tried to swallow. "Rockley." She tried to sound delighted but failed miserably.Lud, but he looked… handsome, defeated, irritated, tired… familiar. Comfortable. His eyes might be a bit heavier-lidded, the blue in them might be a little colder, his mouth might be thinner. But he was still Phillip. And he was holding out a bent arm for her to take.
She took it, sliding her green-gloved hand around it in a gentle grip. They walked away from Waverley without another word to him or to each other.
It was a waltz. Of course.
He spun her perhaps a bit too quickly, too abruptly, into the waltz position, square in the center of the room, as if to be sure everyone saw them. And they began to dance.
Victoria kept her attention focused over his shoulder; she was afraid to meet his eyes. The irony of the situation didn't fail to amuse her, somewhere deep inside where she couldn't laugh: She had no qualms about facing two, three, even eight deadly vampires… but to look in the eyes of the man she loved took more courage than she had at that time.
After two full turns about the dance floor, he said, "It might be nice if you looked at me, Victoria. Perhaps even smiled a bit. People will begin to talk."
She obliged by looking up, but could not form much of a smile.
"You look very beautiful tonight," he told her, holding her eyes for a moment even as he executed a perfect maneuver around a couple who were out of time with the music. "It's no wonder you had no shortage of dance partners."
One… two—three; one… two—three… There was nothing between them but the count of the music and the sense of unfinished business.
"I expected you to cut me. Why did you ask me to dance?"
His eyebrows rose and his eyelids lifted. "In the eyes of Society you are still my fiancee, Victoria. I was not about to let you waltz with someone else."
"Then why do we not put an end to what Society thinks, Phillip? There is no sense in prolonging it. You will be free to court whomever you like, and I'll be free to do what I like."
Her unanswered question hung between them until the dance ended. Phillip released her hand and shifted the arm that had been around her waist to allow her to grip his elbow again, then led her off the floor. "Would you care for some fresh air? You look a bit flushed."
She was flushed, and—heaven forbid!—perspiring from all of the activity. "Yes, that would be lovely." She dug out her fan, snapped it open, and began to wave it in hopes of drying the gentle moisture on her bosom.
They paused near the edge of the dance floor to obtain two small glasses of iced tea, or what had been iced tea until the heat turned it lukewarm. Sipping the sweet drink, Victoria allowed Phillip to escort her through the doorless entrances hung with vines of clematis to keep the flies out but let the fresh air in. He brushed aside the leafy, flowering strands and she stepped out into the welcome air.
Instead of stopping on the terrace where the potted gardenias and roses added scent and color to the evening, Phillip drew her along with him past the end of the brick terrace and down one of the four paths that spiked from it.
As his healthy stride slowed to a stroll and he remained silent, Victoria could hold back no longer. "Why have you not posted the announcement in the Times?"
"I have been wondering the same thing about you."
"But… thank you. That's very kind of you to help me save face. But it's no matter to me."
They had walked quite far from the party, and Victoria was just about to speak again when they rounded a bend in the pea-gravel path and came upon a small arbor. A stone bench sat under the archway, and more clematis and climbing roses were tangled in it.
Victoria thought Phillip meant for her to sit when he slid his arm from her grip, but as she moved toward the bench, he pulled her back—and into his arms.
He kissed her… oh, he kissed her. She recognized there the same emotion she'd felt upon seeing him again: familiarity, comfort, and something new… need. It told her all she needed to know.
After a long interval, in which she found her fingers loosening the hair clubbed at the nape of his neck and her belly pulled up against his, Phillip pulled back and looked down at her. "I have missed you. I meant to stay away and let you do what you would tonight, for I have no further claim to you, but in the end, I could not. And it wasn't because of what Society thinks. It was because of what I wanted."
Victoria blinked rapidly. "I've missed you too, Phillip. I checked the paper every day, sure that the announcement would appear. And it never did."
"I thought you would be the one to cry off."
"But I did not. Phillip, you said…" She stepped back and he let the hands clasped at the base of her back release. "Nothing has changed. I cannot tell you what you wish to know."