Once and Always
Page 11
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Victoria gasped, her mind reeling, her empty stomach clenching into a tense knot. Stretched out before her in all its magnificent splendor was a three-story house that altogether surpassed her wildest imaginings. Built of mellow brick with huge forward wings and steep rooftops dotted with chimneys, it loomed before her—a palace with graceful terraced steps leading up to the front door and sunlight glistening against hundreds of panes of mullioned glass.
They drew to a stop before the house and Victoria tore her gaze away long enough for one of the farmers to help her down from the wagon seat. “Thank you, you’ve been very kind,” she said, and started slowly up the steps. Apprehension turned her feet to lead and her knees to water. Behind her, the farmers went to the back of the wagon to remove her bulky trunk, but as they let down the back gate, two squealing piglets hurtled out of the wagon into empty air, hit the ground with a thud, and streaked off across the lawns.
Victoria turned at the sound of the farmers’ shouts and giggled nervously as the red-faced men ran after the speedy little porkers.
Ahead of her, the door of the mansion was flung open and a stiff-faced man dressed in green and gold livery cast an outraged glance over the farmers, the piglets, and the dusty, disheveled female approaching him. “Deliveries,” he told Victoria in a loud, ominous voice, “are made in the rear.”
Raising his arm, he pointed imperiously toward the drive that ran alongside the house, Victoria opened her mouth to explain she wasn’t making a delivery, but her attention was diverted by a little piglet, which had changed direction and was headed straight toward her, pursued by a panting farmer.
“Get that cart, those swine, and your person out of here!” the man in the livery boomed.
Tears of helpless mirth sprang to Victoria’s eyes as she bent down and scooped the escaped piglet into her arms. Laughing, she tried to explain. “Sir, you don’t under—”
Northrup ignored her and glanced over his shoulder at the footman behind him. “Get rid of the lot of them! Throw them off—”
“What the hell is going on here?” demanded a man of about thirty with coal black hair, stalking onto the front steps.
The butler pointed a finger at Victoria’s face, his eyebrows levitating with ire. “That woman is—”
“Victoria Seaton,” Victoria put in hastily, trying to stifle her mirth as tension, exhaustion, and hunger began pushing her perilously close to nervous hysteria. She saw the look of unconcealed shock on the black-haired man’s face when he heard her name, and her alarm erupted into hilarity.
With uncontrollable laughter bubbling up inside her, she turned and dumped the squirming piglet into the flushed farmer’s arms, then lifted her dusty skirts and tried to curtsy. “I fear there’s been a mistake,” she said on a suffocated giggle. “I’ve come to—”
The tall man’s icy voice checked her in mid-curtsy. “Your mistake was in coming here in the first place, Miss Seaton. However, it’s too close to dark to send you back to wherever you came from.” He caught her by the arm and pulled her rudely forward.
Victoria sobered instantly; the situation no longer seemed riotously funny, but terrifyingly macabre. Timidly, she stepped through the doorway into a three-story marble entrance hall that was larger than her entire home in New York. On either side of the foyer, twin branches of a great, curving staircase swept upward to the next two floors, and a great domed skylight bathed the area in mellow sunlight from high above. She tipped her head back, gazing at the domed glass ceiling three stories above. Tears filled her eyes and the skylight revolved in a dizzy whirl as exhausted anguish overcame her. She had traveled thousands of miles across a stormy sea and rutted roads, expecting to be greeted by a kindly gentleman. Instead she was going to be sent back, away from Dorothy— The skylight whirled before her eyes in a kaleidoscope of brilliant blurring colors.
“She’s going to swoon,” the butler predicted.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” the dark-haired man exploded, and swept her into his arms. The world was already coming back into focus for Victoria as he started up the right-hand branch of the broad marble staircase.
“Put me down,” she demanded hoarsely, wriggling in embarrassment. “I’m perfectly—”
“Hold still!” he commanded. On the landing, he turned right, stalked into a room, and headed straight for a huge bed surrounded by blue and silver silk draperies suspended from a high, carved wood frame and gathered back at the corners with silver velvet ropes. Without a word, he dumped her unceremoniously onto the blue silk coverlet and shoved her shoulders back down when she tried to sit up.
The butler rushed into the room, his coattails flapping behind him. “Here, my lord—hartshorn,” he panted.
My lord snatched the bottle from his hand and rammed it toward Victoria’s nostrils.
“Don’t!” Victoria cried, trying to twist her head away from the terrible amoniac odor, but his hand persistently followed her face. In sheer desperation, she grasped his wrist, trying to hold it away while he continued to force it toward her. “What are you trying to do,” she burst out, “feed it to me?”
“What a delightful idea,” he replied grimly, but the pressure on her restraining hand relaxed and he moved the bottle a few inches away from her nose. Exhausted and humiliated, Victoria turned her head aside, closed her eyes, and swallowed audibly as she fought back the tears congealing in her throat. She swallowed again.
“I sincerely hope,” he drawled nastily, “that you are not considering getting sick on this bed, because I’m warning you that you will be the one to clean it up.”
Victoria Elizabeth Seaton—the product of eighteen years of careful upbringing that had, until now, produced a sweet-tempered, charming young lady—slowly turned her head on the pillow and regarded him with scathing animosity. “Are you Charles Fielding?”
“No.”
“In that case, kindly get off this bed or allow me to do so!”
His brows snapped together as he stared down at the rebellious waif who was glaring at him with murder in her brilliant blue eyes. Her hair spilled over the pillows like liquid golden flame, curling riotously at her temples and framing a face that looked as if it had been sculpted in porcelain by a master. Her eyelashes were incredibly long, her lips as pink and soft as—
Abruptly, the man lunged to his feet and stalked out of the room, followed by the butler. The door closed behind them, leaving Victoria in a deafening silence.
They drew to a stop before the house and Victoria tore her gaze away long enough for one of the farmers to help her down from the wagon seat. “Thank you, you’ve been very kind,” she said, and started slowly up the steps. Apprehension turned her feet to lead and her knees to water. Behind her, the farmers went to the back of the wagon to remove her bulky trunk, but as they let down the back gate, two squealing piglets hurtled out of the wagon into empty air, hit the ground with a thud, and streaked off across the lawns.
Victoria turned at the sound of the farmers’ shouts and giggled nervously as the red-faced men ran after the speedy little porkers.
Ahead of her, the door of the mansion was flung open and a stiff-faced man dressed in green and gold livery cast an outraged glance over the farmers, the piglets, and the dusty, disheveled female approaching him. “Deliveries,” he told Victoria in a loud, ominous voice, “are made in the rear.”
Raising his arm, he pointed imperiously toward the drive that ran alongside the house, Victoria opened her mouth to explain she wasn’t making a delivery, but her attention was diverted by a little piglet, which had changed direction and was headed straight toward her, pursued by a panting farmer.
“Get that cart, those swine, and your person out of here!” the man in the livery boomed.
Tears of helpless mirth sprang to Victoria’s eyes as she bent down and scooped the escaped piglet into her arms. Laughing, she tried to explain. “Sir, you don’t under—”
Northrup ignored her and glanced over his shoulder at the footman behind him. “Get rid of the lot of them! Throw them off—”
“What the hell is going on here?” demanded a man of about thirty with coal black hair, stalking onto the front steps.
The butler pointed a finger at Victoria’s face, his eyebrows levitating with ire. “That woman is—”
“Victoria Seaton,” Victoria put in hastily, trying to stifle her mirth as tension, exhaustion, and hunger began pushing her perilously close to nervous hysteria. She saw the look of unconcealed shock on the black-haired man’s face when he heard her name, and her alarm erupted into hilarity.
With uncontrollable laughter bubbling up inside her, she turned and dumped the squirming piglet into the flushed farmer’s arms, then lifted her dusty skirts and tried to curtsy. “I fear there’s been a mistake,” she said on a suffocated giggle. “I’ve come to—”
The tall man’s icy voice checked her in mid-curtsy. “Your mistake was in coming here in the first place, Miss Seaton. However, it’s too close to dark to send you back to wherever you came from.” He caught her by the arm and pulled her rudely forward.
Victoria sobered instantly; the situation no longer seemed riotously funny, but terrifyingly macabre. Timidly, she stepped through the doorway into a three-story marble entrance hall that was larger than her entire home in New York. On either side of the foyer, twin branches of a great, curving staircase swept upward to the next two floors, and a great domed skylight bathed the area in mellow sunlight from high above. She tipped her head back, gazing at the domed glass ceiling three stories above. Tears filled her eyes and the skylight revolved in a dizzy whirl as exhausted anguish overcame her. She had traveled thousands of miles across a stormy sea and rutted roads, expecting to be greeted by a kindly gentleman. Instead she was going to be sent back, away from Dorothy— The skylight whirled before her eyes in a kaleidoscope of brilliant blurring colors.
“She’s going to swoon,” the butler predicted.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” the dark-haired man exploded, and swept her into his arms. The world was already coming back into focus for Victoria as he started up the right-hand branch of the broad marble staircase.
“Put me down,” she demanded hoarsely, wriggling in embarrassment. “I’m perfectly—”
“Hold still!” he commanded. On the landing, he turned right, stalked into a room, and headed straight for a huge bed surrounded by blue and silver silk draperies suspended from a high, carved wood frame and gathered back at the corners with silver velvet ropes. Without a word, he dumped her unceremoniously onto the blue silk coverlet and shoved her shoulders back down when she tried to sit up.
The butler rushed into the room, his coattails flapping behind him. “Here, my lord—hartshorn,” he panted.
My lord snatched the bottle from his hand and rammed it toward Victoria’s nostrils.
“Don’t!” Victoria cried, trying to twist her head away from the terrible amoniac odor, but his hand persistently followed her face. In sheer desperation, she grasped his wrist, trying to hold it away while he continued to force it toward her. “What are you trying to do,” she burst out, “feed it to me?”
“What a delightful idea,” he replied grimly, but the pressure on her restraining hand relaxed and he moved the bottle a few inches away from her nose. Exhausted and humiliated, Victoria turned her head aside, closed her eyes, and swallowed audibly as she fought back the tears congealing in her throat. She swallowed again.
“I sincerely hope,” he drawled nastily, “that you are not considering getting sick on this bed, because I’m warning you that you will be the one to clean it up.”
Victoria Elizabeth Seaton—the product of eighteen years of careful upbringing that had, until now, produced a sweet-tempered, charming young lady—slowly turned her head on the pillow and regarded him with scathing animosity. “Are you Charles Fielding?”
“No.”
“In that case, kindly get off this bed or allow me to do so!”
His brows snapped together as he stared down at the rebellious waif who was glaring at him with murder in her brilliant blue eyes. Her hair spilled over the pillows like liquid golden flame, curling riotously at her temples and framing a face that looked as if it had been sculpted in porcelain by a master. Her eyelashes were incredibly long, her lips as pink and soft as—
Abruptly, the man lunged to his feet and stalked out of the room, followed by the butler. The door closed behind them, leaving Victoria in a deafening silence.
