Once and Always
Page 69
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He needs you, child. Charles’s words came back to reassure her and she smiled, remembering that, at least when she was in his arms, Jason seemed to need her very much. Feeling somewhat reassured, she went back to the salon, where her ring was immediately noted and duly exclaimed over by all the young ladies.
In the days that preceded her wedding, nearly three hundred people came to call on Victoria to wish her happiness. Elegant carriages paraded up and down the street, discharging their passengers and returning a correct twenty minutes later to pick them up again, while Victoria sat in the salon, listening to handsome middle-aged matrons offering advice on the difficult tasks of running large houses and entertaining on the lavish scale required of the nobility. Younger married women talked to her about the problems of finding proper governesses and the best way to locate acceptable tutors for children. And in the midst of all the cheerful chaos, a comforting sense of belonging began to take root deep in Victoria. Until now, she’d had no occasion to know these people better than slightly or to converse with them about anything other than the most superficial topics. She had been inclined to see them for the most part as wealthy, pampered females who never gave a thought to anything except gowns, jewels, and diversion. Now she saw them in a new light—as wives and mothers who also cared about performing their duties in an exemplary fashion—and she liked them much better.
Of everyone she knew, only Jason stayed away, but he did so for the sake of appearances, and Victoria had to be grateful for that, even though it sometimes gave her the uneasy feeling she was marrying an absentee stranger. Charles came downstairs often to charm the ladies with his conversation and make it clear that Victoria had his wholehearted support. The rest of the time he remained out of sight, “to gather his strength” as he told Victoria, so that he could have the honor of giving her away. Neither Victoria nor Dr. Worthing could dissuade him from his determination to do that. Jason didn’t bother to try.
As the days passed, Victoria truly enjoyed the time she spent in the salon with her callers—except on those occasions when Jason’s name was mentioned and she sensed a familiar undercurrent of apprehension amongst them. It was obvious her new friends and acquaintances admired the social prestige she would enjoy as the wife of a fabulously wealthy marquess, but Victoria had the uneasy feeling there were some who still had serious reservations about her future husband. It bothered her because she was coming to like these people very much, and she wanted them to like Jason, too. Occasionally, as she chatted with one visitor, she overheard snatches of conversation about Jason from another part of the room, but the conversations always stopped abruptly when Victoria turned attentively to listen. It prevented her from coming to his defense, because she didn’t know what to defend him against.
The day before they were to be married, the pieces of the puzzle finally fell into place, forming a lurid picture that nearly sent Victoria reeling to the floor. As Lady Clappeston, the last visitor of the afternoon, took her leave, she gave Victoria’s arm a fond pat and said, “You’re a sensible young woman, my dear. And unlike some of the foolish doomhangers who worry about your safety, I have every faith you’ll deal well with Wakefield. You’re nothing like his first wife. In my opinion, Lady Melissa deserved everything she said he did to her, and more. The woman was nothing but a trollop!”
With that. Lady Clappeston sailed out of the salon, leaving Victoria staring at Caroline. “His first wife?” she uttered, feeling as if she were in the midst of a nightmare. “Jason was married before? Why—why didn’t someone tell me?”
“But I thought you knew at least that much,” Caroline burst out, anxious to acquit herself. “I naturally assumed your uncle or Lord Fielding would have told you. Surely you must have heard at least some gossip?”
“All I ever heard were snatches of conversations that always stopped as soon as people noticed I was present.” Victoria returned, white with rage and shock. “I’ve heard the name Lady Melissa mentioned in connection with Jason, but no one ever referred to her as his wife. People usually spoke of her in such disapproving tones that I assumed she had been . . . involved . . . with Jason, you know,” she finished awkwardly, “in the same way Miss Sybil someone-or-other was involved with him until now.”
“Was involved?” Caroline repeated in surprise at Victoria’s use of the past tense. She caught herself immediately, and looked down, apparently fascinated with the pattern of the upholstery on the blue silk sofa.
“Naturally, now that we are going to be married, Jason won’t—or will he?” she asked.
“I don’t know what he’ll do,” Caroline said miserably. “Some men, such as Robert, do give up their paramours when they marry, but others do not.”
Victoria rubbed her temples with her fingertips, her mind in such turmoil that she was sidetracked by this discussion of mistresses. “Sometimes, England is so strange to me. At home, husbands do not give their time or affection to women other than their wives. At least, I never heard about it. Yet I’ve heard remarks here that make me think it is perfectly acceptable for wealthy married gentlemen to consort with— with ladies who are not their wives.”
Caroline turned the conversation to a more pressing topic. “Does it matter terribly to you that Lord Fielding was married before?”
“Of course it does. At least I think it does. I don’t know. What matters most right now is that no one in the family told me about it.” She stood up so abruptly that Caroline jumped. “If you’ll excuse me, I want to go up and talk to my Uncle Charles.”
Uncle Charles’s valet put his finger to his lips when Victoria tapped at Charles’s door and informed her the duke was asleep. Too upset to wait for him to awaken so her questions could be answered, Victoria marched down the hall to Miss Flossie’s room. In recent weeks, Miss Flossie had virtually relinquished her duties as Victoria’s chaperone to Caroline Collingwood. As a result, Victoria had scarcely seen the lovable little yellow-haired woman except at an occasional meal.
Victoria tapped at her door, and when Miss Flossie cheerfully invited her to enter, she stepped into the pretty little sitting room that adjoined Miss Flossie’s bedroom.
“Victoria, my dear, you’re looking as radiant as a bride!” Miss Flossie said with her bright, vague smile and usual lack of discernment, for in truth Victoria was deathly pale and visibly overwrought.
In the days that preceded her wedding, nearly three hundred people came to call on Victoria to wish her happiness. Elegant carriages paraded up and down the street, discharging their passengers and returning a correct twenty minutes later to pick them up again, while Victoria sat in the salon, listening to handsome middle-aged matrons offering advice on the difficult tasks of running large houses and entertaining on the lavish scale required of the nobility. Younger married women talked to her about the problems of finding proper governesses and the best way to locate acceptable tutors for children. And in the midst of all the cheerful chaos, a comforting sense of belonging began to take root deep in Victoria. Until now, she’d had no occasion to know these people better than slightly or to converse with them about anything other than the most superficial topics. She had been inclined to see them for the most part as wealthy, pampered females who never gave a thought to anything except gowns, jewels, and diversion. Now she saw them in a new light—as wives and mothers who also cared about performing their duties in an exemplary fashion—and she liked them much better.
Of everyone she knew, only Jason stayed away, but he did so for the sake of appearances, and Victoria had to be grateful for that, even though it sometimes gave her the uneasy feeling she was marrying an absentee stranger. Charles came downstairs often to charm the ladies with his conversation and make it clear that Victoria had his wholehearted support. The rest of the time he remained out of sight, “to gather his strength” as he told Victoria, so that he could have the honor of giving her away. Neither Victoria nor Dr. Worthing could dissuade him from his determination to do that. Jason didn’t bother to try.
As the days passed, Victoria truly enjoyed the time she spent in the salon with her callers—except on those occasions when Jason’s name was mentioned and she sensed a familiar undercurrent of apprehension amongst them. It was obvious her new friends and acquaintances admired the social prestige she would enjoy as the wife of a fabulously wealthy marquess, but Victoria had the uneasy feeling there were some who still had serious reservations about her future husband. It bothered her because she was coming to like these people very much, and she wanted them to like Jason, too. Occasionally, as she chatted with one visitor, she overheard snatches of conversation about Jason from another part of the room, but the conversations always stopped abruptly when Victoria turned attentively to listen. It prevented her from coming to his defense, because she didn’t know what to defend him against.
The day before they were to be married, the pieces of the puzzle finally fell into place, forming a lurid picture that nearly sent Victoria reeling to the floor. As Lady Clappeston, the last visitor of the afternoon, took her leave, she gave Victoria’s arm a fond pat and said, “You’re a sensible young woman, my dear. And unlike some of the foolish doomhangers who worry about your safety, I have every faith you’ll deal well with Wakefield. You’re nothing like his first wife. In my opinion, Lady Melissa deserved everything she said he did to her, and more. The woman was nothing but a trollop!”
With that. Lady Clappeston sailed out of the salon, leaving Victoria staring at Caroline. “His first wife?” she uttered, feeling as if she were in the midst of a nightmare. “Jason was married before? Why—why didn’t someone tell me?”
“But I thought you knew at least that much,” Caroline burst out, anxious to acquit herself. “I naturally assumed your uncle or Lord Fielding would have told you. Surely you must have heard at least some gossip?”
“All I ever heard were snatches of conversations that always stopped as soon as people noticed I was present.” Victoria returned, white with rage and shock. “I’ve heard the name Lady Melissa mentioned in connection with Jason, but no one ever referred to her as his wife. People usually spoke of her in such disapproving tones that I assumed she had been . . . involved . . . with Jason, you know,” she finished awkwardly, “in the same way Miss Sybil someone-or-other was involved with him until now.”
“Was involved?” Caroline repeated in surprise at Victoria’s use of the past tense. She caught herself immediately, and looked down, apparently fascinated with the pattern of the upholstery on the blue silk sofa.
“Naturally, now that we are going to be married, Jason won’t—or will he?” she asked.
“I don’t know what he’ll do,” Caroline said miserably. “Some men, such as Robert, do give up their paramours when they marry, but others do not.”
Victoria rubbed her temples with her fingertips, her mind in such turmoil that she was sidetracked by this discussion of mistresses. “Sometimes, England is so strange to me. At home, husbands do not give their time or affection to women other than their wives. At least, I never heard about it. Yet I’ve heard remarks here that make me think it is perfectly acceptable for wealthy married gentlemen to consort with— with ladies who are not their wives.”
Caroline turned the conversation to a more pressing topic. “Does it matter terribly to you that Lord Fielding was married before?”
“Of course it does. At least I think it does. I don’t know. What matters most right now is that no one in the family told me about it.” She stood up so abruptly that Caroline jumped. “If you’ll excuse me, I want to go up and talk to my Uncle Charles.”
Uncle Charles’s valet put his finger to his lips when Victoria tapped at Charles’s door and informed her the duke was asleep. Too upset to wait for him to awaken so her questions could be answered, Victoria marched down the hall to Miss Flossie’s room. In recent weeks, Miss Flossie had virtually relinquished her duties as Victoria’s chaperone to Caroline Collingwood. As a result, Victoria had scarcely seen the lovable little yellow-haired woman except at an occasional meal.
Victoria tapped at her door, and when Miss Flossie cheerfully invited her to enter, she stepped into the pretty little sitting room that adjoined Miss Flossie’s bedroom.
“Victoria, my dear, you’re looking as radiant as a bride!” Miss Flossie said with her bright, vague smile and usual lack of discernment, for in truth Victoria was deathly pale and visibly overwrought.
