Alone again, Taviston still felt slightly queasy but didn’t want to sit down. He walked over to one of the windows in the room. He cranked it open and breathed in the fresh air. After a moment he leaned his shoulder against a nearby bookcase and gazed out into the night.
What on earth was that all about? Peyton had never shown interest in any particular woman before. He was certainly enthralled with all women in general, but never one specifically. And why Miss Forster? To Taviston’s knowledge the two of them had never even met. He hadn’t liked cautioning Peyton, but it was necessary for the protection of a young lady. Any honorable man would have done the same.
The previous six days had been decidedly calm. He credited that to his overwhelmingly successful campaign to avoid Miss Forster. If he was honest with himself, he would also admit that the previous six days had been undeniably boring.
He had no desire to be honest with himself.
Chapter Fifteen
Victoria twirled around her bedchamber in her chemise. Four agonizingly long days had passed, but it was finally the night of the Northfields’ dinner party. Anticipation swam through her veins at a vigorous rate because Jane had promised to invite an eligible gentleman or two who might suit her. At last, she could advance her
plan to make a safe match and escape her cousin’s home.
The day before she’d met with Mr. Ripley and handed over a third set of sketches. He’d flashed her a brilliant smile and given her an extra pound, claiming her artwork had significantly increased sales of Hither and Yon.
To make matters even better, she had not seen Taviston in the last four days. That meant she had only encountered him once in the past ten days. And that made her happy because without him around, she could focus on other, more appropriate gentlemen.
Alas, no matter how hard she tried, she could not banish him from her thoughts.
He was in her dreams, doing wonderfully delicious—and surely illicit—things with his lips and tongue. His face filled her mind at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. She imagined she heard his voice in a crowded salon or ballroom. Two nights ago she would have sworn on her mother’s grave that she even caught a scent of him at Lady Smitherton’s card party. It was all completely inane, but there was nothing she could do about it. So, she pretended he didn’t fill her every waking and sleeping thought and told herself she was elated she had not seen him lately.
The presence of a few marriageable gentlemen this evening would surely drive the duke from her overly active imagination. There must be other handsome men in society to whom she could find herself attracted. However, she was perfectly willing to be reasonable and take any respectable offer she received.
Unfortunately, two other matters, besides the Duke of Taviston, threatened to spoil Victoria’s high spirits. One was that, as her guardians, Louisa and Mr. Browne had been invited to the dinner party as well.
Second was that Louisa had chosen yet another ugly gown for her to wear. It lay on her white counterpane, staining it like a large amount of cat sick. Yes, the color was that atrocious. She had yet to try it on because she knew the yellowish-green color would do her no justice. She wasn’t sure it would do anyone justice. It was that frightful. But she had no choice. She was here, in London, having her Season by the graces, such as they were, of the Brownes. She hadn’t yet earned enough money from Mr. Ripley to purchase a gown of her own and truthfully, she thought it better to save her funds. So, she had to wear whatever atrocious bit of fabric Louisa brought her.
“Are you ready to dress then, miss?” Molly asked as she entered the room.
Victoria heaved a dramatic sigh and grinned. “If I must.”
“I’m sure no one will regard the color,” Molly said smartly.
“Certainly not. I shall simply fade into the walls. The gentlemen won’t even know I am there.”
“Now, miss. Your pretty face and wonderful personality will outshine the gown,” Molly reassured her.
“We can only hope so. Let’s see how it looks.” Molly helped her into her corset first, then the gown and soon Victoria was shielding her eyes from the sight of herself in the mirror. It was worse than she had thought.
“”Tis actually a lovely cut for a gown,” Molly told her as she hooked up the back.
Victoria had to admit she was right. The style of the dress was fashionable, with its high waist, small puff sleeves and low neckline. She stared at the amount of her bosom showing above the neckline. After a moment she smiled to herself. Well, it can only help when one is trying to attract a gentleman’s attention.
In a trice, Molly had arranged her hair, she had stepped into her slippers—not dyed to match the dress, thank goodness—and she was out the door with her cousin and Mr. Browne.
As they walked up the steps to the Northfields’ front door, Victoria took a deep breath and let it out contently. Tonight, she might meet her future husband.
TAVISTON SAT IN HIS bedchamber, clad only in his trousers. His valet, Dunne, was in his dressing chamber hurriedly pressing a shirt. Dunne had been mortified when he had brought out the shirt and discovered it had not one, but two, wrinkles. He had ignored Taviston’s request to select a different shirt and had insisted on pressing out the wrinkles this very instant. Dunne had a high opinion of his own knowledge of fashion and never failed to keep Taviston up to his fastidious standards. As for himself, he didn’t much care about fashion, but he did like Dunne’s personality and the sage advice the man always felt necessary to impart as he dressed his employer.
The wait for his shirt was short in comparison to the last four agonizing days. Taviston knew, without a doubt, that Jane and Northfield had invited Victoria to their dinner party tonight. It was the next step in their machinations, and he dreaded the evening. His friends should trust him to know whether or not he wished to pursue a woman. He did not wish to pursue this woman.
He knew his protestations would fall on deaf ears, so he intended to ignore what the Northfields were doing. If he showed no reaction it would drive them crazy. Eventually they would desist in their matchmaking efforts. All he had to do was ignore Miss Forster and the way she made him feel.
“Right then, Your Grace. Here’s your shirt, free of wrinkles of any kind,” Dunne pronounced as he entered from the connecting dressing room.
Taviston rose and took the shirt from the short, entirely bald valet. “Thank you, Dunne. Not that the wrinkles would have been visible beneath my waistcoat and coat.”
Dunne stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “You have no idea whom you might meet at this dinner party, sir. It would not do to meet, say, your future wife, in a wrinkled shirt.”