as a sister-in-law, I rather like her myself. For all her English leaves much to be desired, her sense of fashion is quite good. She’s been a blessing as I prepare my trousseau.” If that was a veiled criticism of Victoria’s inattention, it was belied by the sparkle in her friend’s eyes.
Victoria raised her brows and reached for a lemon biscuit. “Blessing” was not quite the word she’d use to describe Sara Regalado. But Gwen was indeed right-Sara had a deep love for fashion, and debates about which lace to adorn which gown, new fabrics, and how long a hem should be dominated her every conversation. And the woman seemed to collect fiancйs even more quickly than shoes. Less than a year ago, she and Max had been engaged.
Supposedly.
Victoria had never been able to get a straight answer from Max as to whether he had arranged the betrothal in order for him to be accepted by the Tutela, or a real engagement. It had been vital for him to pretend to be wholly loyal to the Tutela, as well as Nedas, in order to get into the inner circle of vampires and close enough to destroy the demonic obelisk. He’d even had to do the unthinkable in order to be accepted: execute Aunt Eustacia. Knowing that, it shouldn’t surprise Victoria that he’d go so far as to get engaged to a woman who was part of the Tutela… but how much further would he have gone?
The one time she’d pressed him about whether he really would have married Sara, Max had replied, “If it was necessary, I would have.”
Victoria had never actually asked Max if he’d loved his fiancйe-for if he had, he must have been devastated by the fact that Sara’s father, the leader of the Tutela, had been turned to a vampire.
Not to mention the fact that the lady in question seemed to enjoy being around and fed upon by vampires. Victoria had staked the newly undead Conte Regalado herself several months ago when he turned his attentions to wooing Lady Melly. But she wouldn’t be surprised if Sarafina had taken her father’s place-either as the leader of the Tutela, or as a vampire herself.
And now, Sara had arrived in London, ostensibly as George Starcasset’s fiancйe.
And Briyani had been found in a hidden vampire lair. In London.
It couldn’t be a coincidence.
Because of her late nights patrolling streets where the undead might be found, Victoria wasn’t often about during the day. Normally, she spent much of sunlight’s hours catching up on her sleep, practicing her fighting skills with Kritanu, and avoiding her mother. But today she had to make an appearance.
Ironically, the cream of London Society lived much the same schedule as a Venator-sleeping late in the day, often till noon, then rising and dressing for afternoon calls. Late in the afternoon, they returned home to dress for the evening’s events, which could include the theater, a dinner party, or a ball, wherein they ate and danced and gossiped until the early hours of morning.
Victoria’s visit to Gwendolyn today had been made rather earlier than usual. They’d had luncheon together in the private parlor strewn with bolts of lace, silk, and ribbons.
After leaving the Starcasset residence, Victoria fulfilled her mother’s demand to join her for her own afternoon calls. Lady Melly was no longer content to wait for her daughter to make her own entrйe back into Society, and she’d threatened to bring droves of her friends down upon St. Heath’s Row if her daughter didn’t cooperate. Thus, she sat Victoria on the least comfortable chair- which also happened to be the focal point of a room over-filled with parlor chairs, twittering ladies, eaux de toilette of the most sweet scents, and poorly hidden nosiness.
“We are so pleased you’ve returned from your journey to Italy,” crooned Lady Winnie, the Duchess of Farnham and one of Lady Melly’s two cronies. She enveloped Victoria in a smothering hug against her shelflike bosom, her plump arms stronger than they looked. “We had a lovely time visiting you there, but the ton was calling, and of course, we had to return.” When she released Victoria, she moved smoothly to scoop up three little ginger biscuits and a lemon scone.
Victoria smothered a smile. Fortunately, Lady Winnie wasn’t able to recall just how much fun they’d had visiting her, thanks to Aunt Eustacia’s special golden disk. With Wayren’s help, Victoria had been able to eliminate any memories the ladies might have had about their attempt to hunt down and stake the Conte Regalado. Lady Winnie herself had carried a wooden pike as thick as her arm.
“It was quite exciting to be in Rome-or shall I say
“I never had the chance to give you my condolences personally, Lady Rockley,” said Mrs. Winkledon, wedging herself between Ladies Melly and Nilly on the sofa. “About the loss of your dear Rockley. A love match it was, was it not?” Her sharp eyes matched her sharp nose, which nearly quivered with curiosity, as if she expected Victoria to admit that she hadn’t actually loved Phillip. Not that it should matter, for few ton marriages were love matches. In fact, it was almost considered passй to love one’s spouse.
“Thank you, Mrs. Winkledon,” Victoria replied. “I do miss Phillip terribly.” That was at least the truth.
“An accident on a ship?” asked Lady Breadlington, leaning in with a smile. Her teeth, flat instead of curved across the front of her mouth, looked as though they’d been kicked in by a horse. “How terrible that he perished in the cold sea, on his way to-where was it? Spain? His body was never found, was it?”
“No, indeed,” Victoria replied. Unless you counted the pile of ash that had poofed all over her bedchamber. She kept a bit of it in a small container on her dressing table. “But we had a burial service anyway… and, forgive me, but I cannot recall if you were in attendance?”
“Oh, no, I’m so sorry, my dear lady, but we had already repaired to the Country by then. Grouse season.” Lady Breadlington had the grace to look abashed, which had exactly been Victoria’s intention.
Most of the twenty or so women who crowded the Grantworth parlor were not close friends of Victoria’s mother. They were here because they couldn’t stand not to be the first to see the infamous Lady Rockley, who’d married, shockingly, for love, and whose husband had died tragically little more than a month after their wedding. And who hadn’t been seen in Society since, even after her year of mourning.
“Odd,” grumbled elderly Lady Thurling, her shiny, knobby fingers closed over the top of her walking stick, “last time I saw Lord Rockley, he claimed he would attend my granddaughter’s wedding in four days, and yet two days later”-she paused to catch a wheezing breath-“sets off on a voyage without his new wife. And never comes back.” She glared at Victoria with watery blue eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
She’d said exactly what had been on everyone’s mind.
Victoria made what she hoped was a sad smile. “Yes, indeed, it was tragic. He was called away and hardly had the time to say good-bye, and I… well-”
“We thought at the time Victoria was in no
There was a small chorus of sympathetic gasps, and then eyes became rounder and hands began to grasp at and pat Victoria’s, and even a nose or two-the pointiest ones-tinged a bit red on the tips.
Nothing could have been further from the truth, except that it had been Lady Melly’s baseless hope, but Victoria was delighted to have the conversation rerouted. She glanced surreptitiously at the watch pinned to Lady Thurlington’s dress. It was the only one large enough to read from across the tea table, but it was fastened upside down so that the elderly lady could look down and easily read it.
Half past three. She’d been here only an hour.
Victoria endured another twenty minutes of sly queries and sympathy coated more thickly than the iced basil cakes before the opportunity for escape presented itself.
“A turn around the park?” she said. “Why, Mr. and Miss Needleton, I should greatly enjoy that.” She was up and out of her seat before her mother could protest.
Mr. and Miss Needleton-a brother and sister-and their other companion, Miss Durfingdale, were the only visitors who had not been overly inquisitive, and were also in close proximity to Victoria’s own age of twenty.
When Lady Melly opened her mouth-surely to argue-Victoria surged forward to hug her, effectively smothering anything she might have said. Her nostrils filled with the sweet yet comforting milk rose scent her mother always wore, she whispered, “I heard Mr. Needleton has more than forty thousand a year.”
Lady Melly stiffened under her hands, but when she pulled away, Victoria saw that her mother had a most calculating look on her face as she examined the unfortunate Mr. Needleton, whose squashed nose resembled
