"A hack? Madam, I cannot allow you to take a hack home in the middle of the night. Please allow me the pleasure to escort you to St. Heath's Row."
Victoria should be used to being called madam, but she was not. It made her eyes water because she bit her tongue instead of saying what she truly felt. The title might have been important to another woman, and certainly she didn't begrudge the comfort and wealth she'd attained by marrying Phillip, but she'd have forgone all of it if she could still have him. And every time someone used the title, it reminded her of her loss.
For before Phillip, she had merely been miss.
Unexpectedly, her eyes dampened. Mr. Starcasset must have noticed, for he reached for her arm, guiding it firmly around his, and said comfortingly, "This has been a trying night for you, I'm certain, Lady Rockley. Please allow me to see you home in the comfort of my carriage."
"Very well, Mr. Starcasset. Thank you for your insistence." Victoria gave a wave to Barth, who had slid bravely from his seat and was not troubling to hide the stake in one hand and the pistol in the other. If nothing else, he was prepared for any eventuality, including protection provided by the large crucifix that dangled from his neck.
She turned to climb into the offered carriage and, in doing so, brushed against Starcasset.
"What is that you are holding?" he asked, reaching for the hand that still held her stake.
Victoria slid it back under her coat before he could grasp it. "A stick."
"I am certainly glad that I came upon you when I did, madam, for I fear that stick would not have served you well in your defense against those thugs." The carriage jolted as he climbed in after her.
"Indeed." Victoria kept her response to a murmur and, shifting in her seat, slipped the stake into its pocket on the inside of her coat.
The carriage rumbled off, taking Victoria away in a much smoother, more sedate manner than she'd arrived in St. Giles. She and Starcasset sat in silence for a turn, Victoria mulling over the presence of another vampire that seemed to have run away from her… or, the thought struck her, perhaps it had wished for her to follow it.
"Lady Rockley, if I may be permitted to ask, how have you been faring these last months? Gwendolyn tells me you are still receiving only a very few visitors. I think of you often."
"Thank you, Mr. Starcasset. Your sentiments are much appreciated. And as to how I have fared… it has been a long year, but I am of the hope and belief that the worst is over. I told your sister only last week that I am preparing to make a full return to Society."
In the low lantern light that bobbed in rhythm with the cobbled bricks below, his smile was exceedingly warm.. "May I say that I am very pleased to hear this. And I know that Gwendolyn has missed your presence quite abominably at the functions this Season. But now that it is drawing to a close, I am sure you know we are preparing to repair to Claythorne. And if I may not be considered too forward, I do believe it would be a great delight to my sister should you attend us there."
"Indeed. How very kind of you, Mr. Starcasset." Victoria found herself wanting to blush under his warm stare, which made it all too clear that he would be the one most delighted with her presence. "Gwendolyn did speak to me of it."
"We were just talking Wednesday last in regards to our house party, which we make on an annual basis, as a celebration of the beginning of grouse season. Of course, last year you would have been invited, but… oh, forgive me, madam. It was not the best of times for you." He brushed off the lapels of his coat in a rather nervous gesture. "Gwendolyn was musing aloud as to whether you would be able to attend this year. And how felicitous that I should have the opportunity to reiterate the invitation in person!"
Victoria forbore to point out that felicity had played little role in their meeting on the dark, dank streets of St. Giles. Danger and happenstance, perhaps… but not felicity. "I am most honored and have already decided to accept the invitation," she replied. It was time that she at least shed the black clothing she'd been wearing. Of course, she would never be able to wholly embrace the dances and the fetes and the fashions and the teas that were part of Society as fully as she had done before… but perhaps she could find some sort of balance betwixt her two lives.
Or perhaps she would be destined to the loneliness of walking the streets at midnight, instead of riding home with a handsome beau after a long night of dancing.
"I will be delighted to join you at Claythorne," she added with real pleasure.
"Splendid! I shall tell her tomorrow that you have accepted, although"—he coughed genteelly—"I shall not divulge to her the exact circumstances as to how we have met up." His lips stretched in a jovial grin.
"Indeed. I would and do appreciate your reticence in that matter." Victoria smiled back at him, realizing that his grin was so very pleasant as to make anyone want to join him in his humor. She hoped that he would honor his statement and not share with Gwendolyn or any other person of their Society the fact that he had found her walking alone on the streets at night. Although she supposed if he did, few would believe him.
As she settled back in the carriage, it occurred to her to wonder, then, just exactly what had taken the Viscount Claythorne's heir himself to those same dangerous streets during the same dark night.
Chapter 4
In Which Verbena Has Her Way
" 'Tis long past time to see ye in a color other than black." Verbena clucked as she tied Victoria's stays. "Ye cudda gone to half mournin' six months ago and been wearin' that pretty pearl gray. Even when ever'one was mournin' for Princess Charlotte, God rest her soul, they went to grays after six months. But no, no, you woulden and can't say't I blame ye, what with losin' the marquess so horribly, but my lady, yer skin's been missin' the pretty colors like yeller an' that peach. It's right to be liven your cheeks up a bit."Victoria knew better than to attempt a word when her maid was in lecture mode. Likely Verbena had been saving it up the last nine or ten months and wouldn't be dissuaded from saying her piece regardless of what her mistress might wish to interject.
"All I can say is, I'm glad I talked ye into leaving all them black and gray gowns back at home. This is a house party, and ye should have fun. Ye deserve it, my lady. Ye deserve it." Her impossibly hued orange hair was gathered into two springy bunches, one below each ear, and stuck out like fistfuls of stiff netting.
Their eyes met in the mirror, one pair a sparkling, good-humored blue, the other thick lashed, almond shaped, and serious. "But I'm glad't'see," Verbena added more gently, "that ye didn't leave off your vis bulla. What would we do wit'out ye, and the other Venators?"