Chapter Twenty-eight

Victoria went to London and stayed for four days, hoping against hope that Jason might come after her, growing lonelier and more frustrated by the hour when he didn’t. She went to three musicales and to the opera, and visited with her friends. At night she lay awake, trying to understand how a man could be so warm at night and so cold during the day. She couldn’t believe he saw her only as a convenient receptacle for his desire. That couldn’t be true— not when he seemed to enjoy her company at the evening meal so much. He always lingered over each course, joking with her and urging her to converse with him on all manner of subjects. Once he had even complimented her on her intelligence and perception. Several other times he had asked her opinions on subjects as diverse as the arrangement of furniture in the drawing room and whether or not he ought to pension off the estate manager and hire a younger man.

On the fourth night, Charles escorted her to a play, and afterward she returned to Jason’s townhouse in Upper Brook Street to change her clothes for the ball she’d promised to attend that night. She was going to go home tomorrow morning, she decided with a mixture of exasperation and resignation; she was ready to cede this contest of wills to Jason and to resume the battle for his affection on the home front.

Wrapped in a spectacular ball gown of swirling silver-spangled gauze, she walked into the ballroom with the Marquis de Salle on one side and Baron Arnoff on the other.

Heads turned when she entered, and Victoria noticed again the rather peculiar way people were looking at her. Last night she’d had the same uncomfortable sensation. She could scarcely believe the ton would find any reason to criticize her simply because she was in London without her husband. Besides, the glances she was receiving from the elegant ladies and gentlemen were not censorious. They watched her with something that resembled understanding, or perhaps it was pity.

Caroline Collingwood arrived toward the end of the evening, and Victoria pulled her aside, intending to ask Caroline if she knew why people were behaving oddly. Before she had the opportunity, Caroline provided the answer. “Victoria,” she said anxiously, “is everything all right—between Lord Fielding and you, I mean? You aren’t estranged already, are you?”

“Estranged?” Victoria echoed blankly. “Is that what people think? Is that why they’re watching me so strangely?”

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” Caroline assured her hastily, casting an apprehensive glance about to make certain that Victoria’s devoted escorts were out of hearing. “It’s just that, under the circumstances, people are jumping to certain conclusions—the conclusion that you and Lord Fielding are not in accord, and that you’ve, well, you’ve left him.”

“I’ve what!” Victoria burst out in a disgusted whisper. “Whyever would they think such a thing? Why, Lady Calliper isn’t with her husband, and Countess Graverton isn’t with hers, and—”

“I’m not with my husband either,” Caroline interrupted desperately. “But you see, none of our husbands were married before. Yours was.”

“And that makes a difference?” Victoria said, wondering what outrageous, unknown convention she’d broken this time. The ton had rules governing behavior in every category, with a long list of exceptions that made everything impossibly confusing. Still, she could not believe that first wives were permitted to go their own way in society, while second wives were not.

“It makes a difference,” Caroline sighed, “because the first Lady Fielding said some dreadful things about Lord Fielding’s cruelties to her, and there were people who believed her. You’ve been married for less than two weeks, and now you’re here, and you don’t look very happy, Victoria, truly you don’t. The people who believed the things the first Lady Fielding said have remembered them, and now they’re repeating what she said and pointing to you as confirmation.”

Victoria looked at her, feeling absolutely harassed. “I never thought, never imagined, they’d do so. I was planning to go back home tomorrow anyway. If it weren’t so late, I’d leave tonight.”

Caroline laid her hand on Victoria’s arm. “If there’s something bothering you, something you don’t wish to discuss, you know you can stay with us. I won’t press you.”

Shaking her head, Victoria hastily assured her, “I want to go home tomorrow. For tonight, there’s nothing I can do.”

“Except try to look happy,” her friend said wryly.

Victoria thought that was excellent advice, and she set out to follow it with a slight modification of her own. For the next two hours, she endeavored to speak to as many people as possible, managing skillfully to bring Jason’s name into her conversation each time and to speak of him in the most glowing terms. When Lord Armstrong remarked to a group of friends that it was becoming impossible to satisfy his tenants, Victoria quickly remarked that her husband was on the best of terms with his. “My Lord Fielding is so wise in the management of estates,” she finished in the breathless voice of a besotted bride, “that his tenants adore him and his servants positively worship him!”

“Is that right?” said Lord Armstrong, shocked. “I shall have to have a word with him. Didn’t know Wakefield gave a jot for his tenants, but there you are—I was mistaken.”

To Lady Brimworthy, who complimented Victoria on her sapphire necklace, Victoria replied, “Lord Fielding showers me with gifts. He is so very generous, so kind and thoughtful. And he has such excellent taste, does he not?”

“Indeed,” agreed Lady Brimworthy, admiring the fortune in diamonds and sapphires at Victoria’s slender throat. “Brimworthy flies into the boughs when I buy jewels,” she added morosely. “Next time he rings a peal over my head for being extravagant, I shall mention Wakefield’s generosity!”

When elderly Countess Draymore reminded Victoria to join her tomorrow for a Venetian breakfast the countess was giving, Victoria replied, “I’m afraid I cannot, Countess Draymore. I’ve been away from my husband for four days now, and to tell you the truth, I miss his company. He is the very soul of amiability and kindness!”

Countess Draymore’s mouth dropped open. As Victoria moved away, the old lady turned to her cronies and blinked. “The soul of amiability and kindness?” she repeated in puzzlement. “Where did I conceive the idea she was married to Wakefield?”