"She likes to try different styles," Victoria replied, hoping to stave off a long lecture. "I think it looks rather unique."
Fortunately Melly seemed to accept the comment, and turned her attention to fussing with her own gown and fan and indispensable, digging the thick white invitation from its depths and reviewing it once again, and murmuring to herself that it was quite a feat for Duke Mullington to have actually attained the age of fifty, with all of his sins and vices.
Her daughter forbore to mention that his sins, great as they might be, were nothing compared to those of others socializing about London.
Victoria's gown was spring-green silk, a bit heavy for such a warm night, but fashion was fashion. Silk looked and felt expensive, and, according to Lady Melly, Rockley's betrothed must be dressed appropriately. For she was still the fiancee of the marquess, and Melly would ensure she looked every inch of it. Small pink and white rosebuds, trimmed with dark green leaves, blossomed in the lace along her bodice, at the cap sleeves on her arms, and along the furrows of trim near the bottom of the skirt. Now, in the coach, Victoria held a crocheted pink wrap bundled in her lap, and a matching pink indispensable. Her gloves were dark green.
Victoria knew she looked well; if only she felt it. It was all she could do to listen to her mother prattle on about how she must act if she saw Phillip—no, she must think of him as Rockley again—at the ball; how she must be demure and polite and a hint mysterious so as to recapture his attention—if it were indeed waning.
Of course, Lady Melly didn't understand what Victoria had been trying to tell her—his interest hadn't waned so much as evaporated. Poof!
The ride to the Mullingtons' seemed both interminable and much too brief. Victoria was weary from a week of forays into the night, and the events of early this morning in Sebastian's coach and at the hands of the Imperials and Guardians had left her feeling a bit off.
In fact, although she dreaded what would happen when she came face-to-face with Rockley, she was rather relieved to be thrust into what promised to be an evening of normalcy, when she could eat and drink, dance and flirt, gossip and jest with people who didn't have red eyes and long fangs.
Or angelic golden features and very naughty kisses.
Verbena had outfitted her with her stakes, of course, and there was the chance that a stray vampire might show him- or herself at the ball… but it was unlikely, for Mullington House had formerly been an abbey and bore religious relics and symbols throughout, including at the entrance gate. Along with what Sebastian had told her about the vampires holing up in the Chalice due to Victoria's aggressive hunting, she felt certain that it would be an uneventful night. But she was prepared nevertheless.
Sebastian. Victoria felt alternately ill, confused, and uncomfortably warm when she thought about him and what had transpired. He'd kissed her bosom! And she'd let him… enjoyed it, in fact. Quite enjoyed it. Quite, quite enjoyed it.
Even now, at the memory, a gush of warmth reminded her how dangerous and warm and titillating it had been to have those moist lips brushing over her private skin. How, even as it had been happening, she'd struggled with the right and wrong of it. And that it had been no hardship at all to kiss him back.
Had he really delivered her to those vampires?
She couldn't believe he would do that… yet it had happened so smoothly. And… the thing that bothered her most—the things, actually—were, first, that he did not deny it; and second, that he seemed to know they'd arrived just before the carriage had stopped. Just about the time Victoria felt the telltale chill at the back of her neck and sensed that they were in trouble.
"Victoria, stop your woolgathering. We've arrived, and you haven't arranged your shawl!"
Oh, yes, the shawl. She must arrange her shawl.
Victoria stood as straight as she could in the carriage, tilting her head so her hair nearly brushed its roof. She drew the wrap around her shoulders, then let it slip just so to her elbows. The coach staggered as it moved ahead in the line of vehicles waiting to unload the guests, causing her to lurch to one side. She readjusted her wrap and waited, feet spread in an unladylike manner to give her stability.
"Sit down, Victoria," her mother said impatiently.
"I'll stand. We are almost to the head of the line." She was suddenly too jumpy to sit and wait passively. Her stomach twisted and leaped. She knew Rockley would be here tonight. He might have avoided his other societal obligations in the last two weeks, but he would be here. The Mullingtons were distant cousins.
At last she alighted from the warm carriage and into the humid air. The sun had nearly set, sending a pink glow radiating from the horizon, but night's blue-gray tint had already colored the rooftops and stone walls in the distance. Sconces and lamps sent a warm yellow glow over the brick walkway to the grand entrance of the home, open to guests.
When they were announced, Victoria swept her eyes over the crush of guests below the sweeping foyer staircase. She did not see Phillip, thank heaven. Perhaps he hadn't arrived yet. Or perhaps he wasn't going to come at all.
Gwendolyn Starcasset was there, and she greeted Victoria as though she were a long-lost friend. Perhaps she was; Victoria hadn't thought about it recently, but she and Gwendolyn had shared some enjoyable conversation at past events. "How good it is to see you, Victoria!" said the diminutive blond. "I have missed standing on the sidelines with you and discussing the best way to make our picks from the eligibles. But you, of course, have made the match of the Season, so you mustn't worry about that any longer!"
"Indeed." Those two syllables were difficult to bring forth, but Victoria did manage. Why hadn't Phillip posted the announcement in the Times? Why cause her this agony of waiting for that shoe to fall? As soon as it did, she would be ostracized. And then she could stop making these appearances at balls and musicales, and concentrate on hunting vampires.
After all, that was her destiny. That was why she'd given up Phillip.
"My brother George was greatly disappointed to hear that Rockley had claimed your hand. He was quite taken with you at the Steerings' ball."
"And what of your prospects?" asked Victoria, trying to keep from glancing toward the main entrance. She really didn't want to see Rockley anyway. Surely he would cut her, and she would be mortified. Not to mention Lady Melly.
Oh, lud, why hadn't she made sure her mother understood what had happened?
Gwendolyn chattered away about the three eligible men who'd shown interest, until one of them claimed her for a dance. Victoria would have tried to slip off to the room being used as the ladies' lounge, but she did not have a chance. Sir Everett Campington approached and, bowing most elegantly, requested her to join him for the quadrille.