Page 87 of The Heir
But tonight Uncle Sussex stayed at her elbow. Where Aunt Sophia barged through the crowd, Uncle Sussex tripped lightly. He laughed, told absurd stories, and generally exerted himself to please.
It took almost an hour, but Mama moved away from Victoria’s side to speak privately with Baron Stockmar, who had arrived late. This gave Victoria space to signal Lady Charlotte from across the room. Lady Charlotte understood her and went over to her aunt and uncle, who let themselves be steered over to Victoria.
“Hullo, Aunt. I’m glad to see you are feeling better.” Victoria kissed both her cheeks. “Hullo, Uncle. How nice to see you, as well.” She repeated the greeting with him and thought she felt an extra trembling in his shoulders.
“Yes, yes,” sighed Sophia. “My brother has decided I am making too much of a nuisance of myself and must be watched over.” She slapped his arm with her fan.
Uncle Sussex just chuckled. “My sister sees every man as a jailer. I found myself in the mood for a little noise and society for a change. I love my books, but they are very quiet companions!”
“Well, I hope you enjoyed the music,” said Victoria politely. They were being watched, of course. Every guest in the room was glancing in their direction, taking note of how Victoria dealt with her family.
Victoria chose her next words carefully. “I had hoped I might be able to accept your kind invitation soon, Aunt. I tried to come see you the other night, but you were . . . occupied.”
“Oh, yes. Sussex told me you’d arrived. That was some poor planning on my part. This old head of mine!” She sighed and tapped her temple.
“I didn’t know you knew Mr. Rea,” Victoria remarked.
“Oh, yes,” said Aunt Sophia airily. “Keeps the accounts. Has done for years. He and Sir John between them have me on quite the short leash. Probably for the best, eh, brother?”
“It’s not just you, sister.” Uncle Sussex’s smile was meant to be indulgent, but his eyes remained worried. “Managing money has never been one of our family’s strong suits.”
By now Mama had noticed whom Victoria was speaking with, and sailed back to her side.
“Well, well, Sussex and Sophia, how very good to see you both.” Naturally, Mama did not mean a word of it, but they all knew that.
“And you, sister!” boomed Sophia. “So good that I am overwhelmed with feeling. Come, Sussex. Take me back to my rooms. I find I’m quite faint.” She clutched his arm, and he winced but obeyed, steering her slowly through the crowd.
Mama leaned down and whispered sharply in Victoria’s ear. “What did she say to you?”
“She talked about the concert, and how she thought Uncle Sussex was being too managing.”
Victoria was not sure if Mama believed her, but at least she did not ask any more questions.
Now Victoria lay in her bed and waited for Mama to return. She wondered about Aunt Sophia and Uncle Sussex, tucked away in their own wing, where they might as well be on the moon for all she could see or speak with them.
“What did she say to you?” Mama had asked.
Nothing she wanted to. Nothing she hoped to. Why did Uncle Sussex come with her tonight? What was he afraid she was going to do?
She turned these questions over, looking for answers, but to no avail. However, the exercise kept her mind occupied for the time it took for Mama to return, for her to be undressed and settled into bed. For the waiting women to depart to their room, and for the boudoir to finally settle itself.
At last, the sounds of sleep—the slow breathing, the soft rustles, the low snores—rose up around her. Victoria could move now.
The thrill of petty disobedience was unexpectedly heady.
Stop it. You are not a naughty child, Victoria scolded herself.This is serious business.She made herself picture Gerald Maton and his searching confusion. She pictured Dr. Maton collapsed, alone, on the green. She pictured Sir John dealing out his smooth reassurances and confident lies, convincing everyone that he would rule her life, even when she came to rule a kingdom.
The sense of mischief died.
Victoria shoved her covers back and planted her stockinged feet on the carpet. The room was black. She could see nothing but vague shadows, even though her eyes were well adapted to the dark. Still, she moved with confidence and practiced silence. If anyone peeled open an eye and saw her now, they would think she needed to use the commode waiting in its cabinet. Not even Dash stirred in his basket.
Running on her tiptoes, Victoria made for the door. Her dance master would be pleased at how lightly she crossed the floor. The door handle turned. Thankfully, Mama had hectored the staff so that the hinges on all these doors were well oiled and did not squeak, as they did elsewhere in the palace. Victoria slipped from the boudoir into the dressing room, and from there into the sitting room and then into the morning room.
Now the risk set in. There was no reason for her to be here. No excuse she could offer. If Mama woke and saw she was gone . . . if Dash woke, uneasy at some sensed movement, and barked . . . they would discover that she crept out at night, and that she knew how to do so. Mama would lock all the doors and hide all the keys. She’d set maids and footmen to stay awake all night to watch.
Don’t think about it. Be quick.
With the door closed behind her, Victoria did not need to be as cautious. She could draw back the curtain. The blurred moonlight fell across the carpet. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.
