you want to go, Becky?” Victoria inquired of her cousin, with what she hoped
would be taken for very ladylike concern. “Because we needn’t stay if you don’t feel entirely up to it.”
Rebecca, descending from the coach-and-four with care, for she was attired in another of Victoria’s
borrowed gowns, this one in the palest of pinks, looked cross.
“I told you before, Vicky,” she said irritably, “it is nothing to me. He is nothing to me.”
Victoria was very relieved to hear this. Still, she was not entirely convinced.
“Because we can still give our excuses, you know,” she said in a low voice as the two girls trailed behind
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, as they ascended the stone steps to the front door of Jacob Carstairs’s Mayfair
town house. “We can say I’m not feeling well, and turn right around for home.”
Becky cast her cousin a disparaging look over one slim shoulder. She had been, ever since learning of
her mother’s acceptance of Captain Carstairs’s invitation to dine, coolly indifferent about the situation.
But that, Victoria was quite certain, was all an act.
Or so Victoria had thought, until her cousin’s next words hit her like a slap in the face.
“If you ask me, Vicky,” Rebecca said in a very sour voice, “you’re the one who seems to have a
problem dining at Captain Carstairs’s table this evening. For I certainly don’t care. My affections belong
entirely to another now.”
Victoria, exceedingly taken aback, declared, “I beg your pardon, Becky, but I do not have a problem
with dining at Captain Carstairs’s table this evening. Far from it. It’s you I cannot help feeling concerned
for. You did, after all, once confess yourself in love with him.”
“I’m not half as in love with him as you are, Vicky,” said Becky very snidely indeed.
And when Victoria—as she had every right to—let out a snort of indignation at this, her cousin had the
nerve to add, “Well, anyone who hates a man half so much as you profess to hate Captain Carstairs can
only be in love with him. In fact, I think Lord Malfrey and I got it all wrong: It isn’t the captain who’s in
love with you. It’s you who’s in love with the captain.”
It was on the tip of Victoria’s tongue to tell her cousin precisely what she thought of this very absurd
statement—not to mention what she thought of Becky herself—when the front door to Captain
Carstairs’s town house was thrown open, and they were all ushered inside by an extremely competent
butler.
“Girls,” Victoria’s aunt said through gritted teeth as her wrap was being taken, “kindly do not squabble
so. Mr. Gardiner and I would like to have a pleasant meal with Captain Carstairs and his mother.”
“I am not the one who is squabbling,” Victoria asserted, flattening a hand to her chest. “I am only
defending myself against your daughter, who seems to be casting aspersions against my character.”
Becky said in a hiss, “I am doing nothing of the kind!”
“What do you call accusing a person of being engaged to one man but in love with another?” Victoria
replied in a hiss of her own.
“I call her by her name, Lady Victoria Arbuthnot,” Becky snapped.
And in truth it was a good thing that Captain Carstairs’s butler announced them just then, or Cousin
Becky might have found her ears boxed; Victoria was that incensed.
Well, and what else could she have expected, really? Victoria’s ayah had warned her that few, if any,
people seemed to know what was best for them, and that Victoria should not expect anyone to be
grateful for the very kind help she was continuously offering them. The red ants Victoria saved from
drowning by coaxing them onto a stick and rescuing them from the gardener’s watering can would turn
around and sting her at their first opportunity. And the mongrel she saved from the village children’s
stones would bite her, even as she attempted to feed it.
But for Becky to have
would be taken for very ladylike concern. “Because we needn’t stay if you don’t feel entirely up to it.”
Rebecca, descending from the coach-and-four with care, for she was attired in another of Victoria’s
borrowed gowns, this one in the palest of pinks, looked cross.
“I told you before, Vicky,” she said irritably, “it is nothing to me. He is nothing to me.”
Victoria was very relieved to hear this. Still, she was not entirely convinced.
“Because we can still give our excuses, you know,” she said in a low voice as the two girls trailed behind
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, as they ascended the stone steps to the front door of Jacob Carstairs’s Mayfair
town house. “We can say I’m not feeling well, and turn right around for home.”
Becky cast her cousin a disparaging look over one slim shoulder. She had been, ever since learning of
her mother’s acceptance of Captain Carstairs’s invitation to dine, coolly indifferent about the situation.
But that, Victoria was quite certain, was all an act.
Or so Victoria had thought, until her cousin’s next words hit her like a slap in the face.
“If you ask me, Vicky,” Rebecca said in a very sour voice, “you’re the one who seems to have a
problem dining at Captain Carstairs’s table this evening. For I certainly don’t care. My affections belong
entirely to another now.”
Victoria, exceedingly taken aback, declared, “I beg your pardon, Becky, but I do not have a problem
with dining at Captain Carstairs’s table this evening. Far from it. It’s you I cannot help feeling concerned
for. You did, after all, once confess yourself in love with him.”
“I’m not half as in love with him as you are, Vicky,” said Becky very snidely indeed.
And when Victoria—as she had every right to—let out a snort of indignation at this, her cousin had the
nerve to add, “Well, anyone who hates a man half so much as you profess to hate Captain Carstairs can
only be in love with him. In fact, I think Lord Malfrey and I got it all wrong: It isn’t the captain who’s in
love with you. It’s you who’s in love with the captain.”
It was on the tip of Victoria’s tongue to tell her cousin precisely what she thought of this very absurd
statement—not to mention what she thought of Becky herself—when the front door to Captain
Carstairs’s town house was thrown open, and they were all ushered inside by an extremely competent
butler.
“Girls,” Victoria’s aunt said through gritted teeth as her wrap was being taken, “kindly do not squabble
so. Mr. Gardiner and I would like to have a pleasant meal with Captain Carstairs and his mother.”
“I am not the one who is squabbling,” Victoria asserted, flattening a hand to her chest. “I am only
defending myself against your daughter, who seems to be casting aspersions against my character.”
Becky said in a hiss, “I am doing nothing of the kind!”
“What do you call accusing a person of being engaged to one man but in love with another?” Victoria
replied in a hiss of her own.
“I call her by her name, Lady Victoria Arbuthnot,” Becky snapped.
And in truth it was a good thing that Captain Carstairs’s butler announced them just then, or Cousin
Becky might have found her ears boxed; Victoria was that incensed.
Well, and what else could she have expected, really? Victoria’s ayah had warned her that few, if any,
people seemed to know what was best for them, and that Victoria should not expect anyone to be
grateful for the very kind help she was continuously offering them. The red ants Victoria saved from
drowning by coaxing them onto a stick and rescuing them from the gardener’s watering can would turn
around and sting her at their first opportunity. And the mongrel she saved from the village children’s
stones would bite her, even as she attempted to feed it.
But for Becky to have
Similar Books
