tousled hair out of her eyes, she pulled herself up into a sitting position and leaned back against the pillows.
“Good morning, miss,” Ruth said, standing at the opposite side of the bed.
Victoria stifled a scream of shock.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” the little maid apologized hastily, “but his grace is downstairs and he said to ask if you would join him for breakfast.”
Vastly encouraged by the news that her cousin the duke actually wished to see her, Victoria flung back the covers.
“I’ve pressed your gowns for you,” Ruth said, opening the armoire. “Which one would you like to wear?”
Victoria chose the best of the five—a soft black muslin with a low, square neckline, embellished with tiny white roses she’d carefully embroidered on the full sleeves and hem during the long voyage. Refusing Ruth’s offer to help her dress, Victoria pulled the gown on over her petticoats and tied the wide black sash about her slim waist.
While Ruth made the bed and tidied the spotless room, Victoria slid into the chair at the dressing table and brushed her hair. “I’m ready,” she told Ruth as she stood up, her eyes alight with hopeful anticipation and her cheeks blooming with healthy color. “Could you tell me where to find ... ah... his grace?”
Victoria’s feet sank into the thick red carpet as Ruth led her down the curving marble staircase and across the foyer to where two footmen were standing guard beside a pair of richly carved mahogany doors. Before she had time to draw a steadying breath, the footmen swept the doors open with a soundless flourish, and Victoria found herself stepping into a room perhaps ninety feet in length, dominated by a long mahogany table centered beneath three gigantic chandeliers dripping with crystal. She thought the room was empty at first, as her gaze moved over the high-backed gold velvet chairs that marched along both sides of the endless table. And then she heard the rustle of paper coming from the chair at the near end of the table. Unable to see the occupant, she walked slowly around to the side and stopped. “Good morning,” she said softly.
Charles’s head snapped around and he stared at her, his face draining of color. “Almighty God!” he breathed, and slowly came to his feet, his gaze clinging to the exotic young beauty standing before him. He saw Katherine, exactly as she had looked so many years ago. How well, and how lovingly, he remembered that incredibly beautiful, fine-boned face with its gracefully winged eyebrows and long, thick lashes framing eyes the color of huge iridescent sapphires. He recognized that soft, smiling mouth, the elegant little nose, that tiny, enchanting dimple in her stubborn chin, and the glorious mass of red-gold hair that tumbled over her shoulders in riotous abandon.
Putting his left hand on the back of the chair to steady himself, he extended his shaking right hand to her. “Katherine—” he whispered.
Uncertainly, Victoria put her hand in his outstretched palm, and his long fingers closed tightly around hers. “Katherine,” he whispered again hoarsely, and Victoria saw the sparkle of tears in his eyes.
“My mother’s name was Katherine,” she said gently.
His grip on her hand tightened almost painfully. “Yes,” he whispered. He cleared his throat and his voice became more normal. “Yes, of course,” he said, and shook his head as if to clear it. He was surprisingly tall, Victoria noticed, and very thin, with hazel eyes that studied her features in minute detail. “So,” he said briskly, “you are Katherine’s daughter.”
Victoria nodded, not quite certain how to take him. “My name is Victoria.”
An odd tenderness glowed in his eyes. “Mine is Charles
Victor
Fielding.”
“I—I see,” she mumbled.
“No,” he said. “You don’t see.” He smiled, a gentle smile that took decades off his age. “You don’t see at all.” And then, without warning, he enfolded her in a tight
“Good morning, miss,” Ruth said, standing at the opposite side of the bed.
Victoria stifled a scream of shock.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” the little maid apologized hastily, “but his grace is downstairs and he said to ask if you would join him for breakfast.”
Vastly encouraged by the news that her cousin the duke actually wished to see her, Victoria flung back the covers.
“I’ve pressed your gowns for you,” Ruth said, opening the armoire. “Which one would you like to wear?”
Victoria chose the best of the five—a soft black muslin with a low, square neckline, embellished with tiny white roses she’d carefully embroidered on the full sleeves and hem during the long voyage. Refusing Ruth’s offer to help her dress, Victoria pulled the gown on over her petticoats and tied the wide black sash about her slim waist.
While Ruth made the bed and tidied the spotless room, Victoria slid into the chair at the dressing table and brushed her hair. “I’m ready,” she told Ruth as she stood up, her eyes alight with hopeful anticipation and her cheeks blooming with healthy color. “Could you tell me where to find ... ah... his grace?”
Victoria’s feet sank into the thick red carpet as Ruth led her down the curving marble staircase and across the foyer to where two footmen were standing guard beside a pair of richly carved mahogany doors. Before she had time to draw a steadying breath, the footmen swept the doors open with a soundless flourish, and Victoria found herself stepping into a room perhaps ninety feet in length, dominated by a long mahogany table centered beneath three gigantic chandeliers dripping with crystal. She thought the room was empty at first, as her gaze moved over the high-backed gold velvet chairs that marched along both sides of the endless table. And then she heard the rustle of paper coming from the chair at the near end of the table. Unable to see the occupant, she walked slowly around to the side and stopped. “Good morning,” she said softly.
Charles’s head snapped around and he stared at her, his face draining of color. “Almighty God!” he breathed, and slowly came to his feet, his gaze clinging to the exotic young beauty standing before him. He saw Katherine, exactly as she had looked so many years ago. How well, and how lovingly, he remembered that incredibly beautiful, fine-boned face with its gracefully winged eyebrows and long, thick lashes framing eyes the color of huge iridescent sapphires. He recognized that soft, smiling mouth, the elegant little nose, that tiny, enchanting dimple in her stubborn chin, and the glorious mass of red-gold hair that tumbled over her shoulders in riotous abandon.
Putting his left hand on the back of the chair to steady himself, he extended his shaking right hand to her. “Katherine—” he whispered.
Uncertainly, Victoria put her hand in his outstretched palm, and his long fingers closed tightly around hers. “Katherine,” he whispered again hoarsely, and Victoria saw the sparkle of tears in his eyes.
“My mother’s name was Katherine,” she said gently.
His grip on her hand tightened almost painfully. “Yes,” he whispered. He cleared his throat and his voice became more normal. “Yes, of course,” he said, and shook his head as if to clear it. He was surprisingly tall, Victoria noticed, and very thin, with hazel eyes that studied her features in minute detail. “So,” he said briskly, “you are Katherine’s daughter.”
Victoria nodded, not quite certain how to take him. “My name is Victoria.”
An odd tenderness glowed in his eyes. “Mine is Charles
Victor
Fielding.”
“I—I see,” she mumbled.
“No,” he said. “You don’t see.” He smiled, a gentle smile that took decades off his age. “You don’t see at all.” And then, without warning, he enfolded her in a tight
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