Page 44 of Not the Duke's Virgin

Over toasted bread with jam and steaming pots of tea and chocolate, Victoria and Madeline chatted lightly about inconsequential matters. They shared amused recollections about some of the more eccentric personalities amongst the party guests.

Too soon, their peaceful interlude was interrupted by the arrival of several other young ladies. The group decided to take advantage of the fine weather and walk about the ornamental gardens. Victoria and Madeline agreed to join them.

As the giggling cluster of ladies filed out onto the grounds, Victoria felt her tension begin to dissipate. Here, surrounded by verdant beauty, her troubles did not seem so pressing.

Madeline’s eyes widened in delight at the varied shrubs and flowers they passed. “I have never seen such varieties! Roses, lilacs, peonies and more. However, does the gardener organize them all so they bloom at staggered intervals?”

“It is a carefully orchestrated dance,” Victoria told her cousin with a smile. “Different bulbs and seeds are planted at calculated times, so there are always new blooms to behold.”

Madeline shook her head in wonderment. “I shall have to take notes on which specimens thrive best in this climate. I would love to enhance our garden at home.”

They wandered slowly through the grounds, impressed by the marble statues and cleverly designed fountains. Victoria let the calm trickle over her spirit. For a brief time, she could almost fool herself into believing she was just an ordinary young lady enjoying a garden stroll. Not a vulnerable pawn trapped in a web of secrets and lies.

All too soon, the ladies returned inside to dress for luncheon. Victoria selected an elegant gown of ivory silk. Its slim bodice featured intricate embroidery in a floral motif. She hoped its maidenly style would discourage Oliver from paying her undue attention this afternoon.

Madeline wore a pretty frock of striped green muslin, its short, puffed sleeves and simple silhouette suiting her youthful charm.

“You look lovely,” Victoria assured her cousin warmly before they descended the grand staircase.

In the dining room, Victoria was relieved to be seated at some distance from Oliver. She conversed pleasantly with a baronet on one side and a young scholar on the other. Neither seemed inclined to flirtation, for which she was grateful.

The meal concluded. Some of the guests retired to the music room, others to the library, and still more drifted onto the back terrace to sip liqueurs and admire the gardens. Victoria remained close by Madeline’s side, not wanting to be cornered.

“Would you care for a turn around the gallery?” Victoria suggested.

Perusing the painted Hayward ancestors would be an innocent diversion to while away the afternoon.

“I should like that very much,” Madeline acquiesced with an eager smile.

The cousins wandered slowly through the long gallery, studying the dignified visages gazing out from ornate gilt frames. Victoria could discern traces of Simon in several of his patrician forebears. The cool reserve in their eyes, the firmly set jawlines, the impeccable self-control.

“It is a rather imposing family legacy, is it not?” Victoria murmured. “I confess, I am glad the Reynolds’ blood does not run through my veins.”

Madeline nodded in somber agreement. Privately, Victoria gave thanks that her lineage was rather less august. Her family valued kindness far more than pedigree. If only her father had not fallen prey to insecurity and ambition, wanting so desperately to rise in station, then Aurora would not be in such a terrible predicament now. And Victoria would be free of Oliver’s loathsome hold over her.

Lost in melancholy reflections, Victoria was unprepared for the sound of approaching voices in the corridor outside. To her dismay, she immediately recognized Oliver’s cultured baritone. He was deep in conversation with another gentleman.

Victoria froze, panic rising within her. There was no other exit from the gallery. In mere moments, she would be trapped.

Madeline read her cousin’s sudden tension and glanced at her in surprise. But before Victoria could say a word, the gentlemen entered the gallery.

Oliver halted upon noticing them, an inscrutable look flashing across his handsome features. “Lady Victoria, Miss Russell, what a delightful surprise. I was just showing my esteemed friend Mr. Carter some of our finer paintings.”

Victoria dipped into a dutiful curtsy. “Good afternoon, Lord Oliver.”

As she straightened up, she caught the gleam in his pale eyes that always put her on edge.

Mr. Carter, Simon’s friend and solicitor, greeted them graciously. “We must not interrupt your time together, ladies. Come, Lord Oliver, let us continue and give them privacy.”

Before Victoria could voice a protest, Oliver waved his hand. “Nonsense, let us all enjoy the gallery in company.” He moved to her side, offering his arm. “My dear Lady Victoria, will you walk with me?”

Victoria swallowed hard, seeing no way to refuse without appearing rude. Forcing her lips into a facsimile of a smile, she laid her hand on his sleeve. “Of course.”

They walked slowly down the row of paintings, Victoria concentrating on keeping her face smooth and her voice light. Inside, her nerves were stretched taut at being so near to him. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the solicitor shooting them curious looks.

When they paused before a portrait of some 17th-century Reynolds ancestor, her unwanted companion leaned in closely. “You are very skilled at keeping up appearances, my dear,” he murmured, lips nearly brushing her ear. “No one would ever guess what a sham our supposed affection is.”

Victoria stiffened, resisting the urge to jerk away.

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