Everything and the Moon (4 page)

A few minutes later the Marquess of Castleford appeared. He was a tall man and looked very much like Robert, except for the little white frown lines around his mouth. And his eyes were different—flatter, somehow.

“You must be Miss Lyndon,” he said.

“Yes,” she replied, holding herself tall. Her world was falling apart, but she wasn't going to let this man see it. “I'm here to see Robert.”

“My son has left for London.” The marquess paused. “To look for a wife.”

Victoria flinched. She couldn't help it. “He told you this?”

The marquess didn't speak, preferring to take a moment to assess the situation. His son had admitted to him that he had planned to elope with this girl, but that she had proven false. Victoria's presence at Castleford, combined with her almost desperate demeanor, seemed to point to the contrary. Obviously Robert had not been in possession of the full facts when he had wildly packed his bags and vowed never to return to the district. But the marquess was damned if he was going to let his son throw his life away over this little nobody.

And so he said, “Yes. It is high time he married, don't you think?”

“I cannot believe you're asking me that.”

“My dear Miss Lyndon. You were nothing but a diversion. Surely you know that.”

Victoria said nothing, merely stared at him in horror.

“I don't know whether my son managed to have his fun with you or not. Frankly I don't particularly care.”

“You can't speak to me like that.”

“My dear girl, I can speak to you any way I damn well please. As I was saying, you were a diversion. I cannot condone my son's actions, of course; it is a touch unsavory to go about deflowering the daughter of the local vicar.”

“He did no such thing!”

The marquess looked at her with a condescending expression. “However, it is your job to keep your virtue intact, not his. And if you failed in that endeavor, well, then that is your problem. My son made you no promises.”

“But he did,” Victoria said in a low voice.

Castleford cocked a brow. “And you believed him?”

Victoria's legs went instantly numb, and she had to clutch the back of a chair for support. “Oh, my good Lord,” she whispered. Her father had been right all along. Robert had never meant to marry her. If he had he would have waited to see why she had not been able to meet him. He probably would have seduced her somewhere on the way to Gretna Green, and then…

Victoria didn't even want to think about the fate that had almost befallen her. She remembered the way Robert has asked her to “show him” how she loved him, how earnestly he'd tried to convince her that their intimacies were not sinful.

She shuddered, losing her innocence in the space of a second.

“I suggest you leave the district, my dear,” the marquess said. “I give you
my
word that I shan't speak of your little affair, but I cannot promise that my son will be as closelipped as I.”

Robert. Victoria swallowed. The thought of seeing him again was agony. Without another word she turned and left the room.

Later that night she spread a newspaper open across her bed, scanning the advertisements for positions. The next day she posted several letters, all applying for the post of governess.

Two weeks later, she was gone.

Norfolk, England

Seven years later

V
ictoria chased the five-year-old across the lawn, tripping over her skirts so frequently that she finally snatched them up in her hands, not caring that her ankles were bared for the world to see. Governesses were supposed to behave with the utmost decorum, but she had been chasing the tiny tyrant for the better part of an hour, and she was about ready to give up on propriety altogether.

“Neville!” she yelled. “Neville Hollingwood! Stop your running this instant!”

Neville didn't show the least inclination of slowing down.

Victoria rounded the corner of the house and halted, trying to discern which way the child had run.

“Neville!” she called out. “Neville!”

No answer.

“Little monster,” Victoria muttered.

“
What
did you say, Miss Lyndon?”

Victoria swung around to face Lady Hollingwood, her employer. “Oh! I beg your pardon, my lady. I did not realize you were here.”

“Obviously,” the older lady said acidly, “or you wouldn't have called my son such filthy names.”

Victoria didn't much think that “little monster” qualified as filthy, but she bit down her retort and instead replied, “I meant it as an endearment, Lady Hollingwood. Surely you must know that.”

“I do not approve of sarcastic endearments, Miss Lyndon. I suggest that you spend your evening reflecting upon the presumptuousness of your ways. It is not your place to assign nicknames to your betters. Good day.”

It was all Victoria could do not to gape as Lady Hollingwood turned on her heel and swept away. She didn't care if Lady Hollingwood's husband was a baron. There was no way in this world that she would ever think of five-year-old Neville Hollingwood as her better.

She gritted her teeth and yelled, “Neville!”

“Miss Lyndon!”

Victoria groaned inwardly. Not again.

Lady Hollingwood took a step toward her, then stopped, lifting her chin imperiously in the air. Victoria had no choice but to walk over to her and say, “Yes, my lady?”

“I do not approve of your uncouth yelling. A lady never raises her voice.”

“I am sorry, my lady. I was only trying to find young Master Neville.”

“If you had been watching him properly, you would not find yourself in this situation.”

It was Victoria's opinion that the boy was as slippery as an eel and that Admiral Nelson himself couldn't have held on to him for more than two minutes, but she kept these thoughts private. Finally she said, “I am sorry, my lady.”

Lady Hollingwood's eyes narrowed, clearly indicating that she didn't for one minute believe that Victoria's apology was sincere. “See that you behave with more decorum this evening.”

“This evening, my lady?”

“The house party, Miss Lyndon.” The older woman sighed as if it were the twentieth time she'd had to explain this to Victoria, when in truth she'd never before mentioned it. And the lower servants never spoke to Victoria, so she was rarely privy to gossip.

“We will be entertaining guests for the next few days,” Lady Hollingwood continued. “Very important guests. Several barons, a few viscounts, and even an earl. Lord Hollingwood and I move in lofty circles.”

Victoria shivered as she remembered the one time she had had occasion to brush shoulders with the nobility. She hadn't found them particularly noble.

Robert
. His face came unbidden to her mind.

Seven years and she could still remember every detail. The way his eyebrows arched. His laugh lines when he smiled. The way he had always tried to tell her he loved her when she least expected it.

Robert. His words had been proven false, indeed.

“Miss Lyndon!”

Victoria snapped out of her reverie. “Yes, my lady?”

“I would prefer it if you would endeavor not to cross paths with our guests, but if that proves impossible, do try to conduct yourself with the appropriate decorum.”

Victoria nodded, really wishing that she didn't need this job so badly.

“That means you mustn't raise your voice.”

As if anyone other than nasty Neville ever gave her cause to raise her voice. “Yes, my lady.”

Victoria watched as Lady Hollingwood stalked off again, making sure that she was well out of sight. Then, as she resumed her search for Neville, she took great pleasure in saying, “I'm going to find you, you bloody little beast.”

She tramped into the west garden, each step she took punctuated by a mild mental curse. Oh, if her father could hear her thoughts! Victoria sighed. She hadn't seen her family in seven long years. She still corresponded with Eleanor, but she'd never returned to Kent. She couldn't forgive her father for tying her up that fateful evening, and she couldn't bear to face him, knowing that he had been correct in his judgment of Robert.

But governessing had not proven easy, and Victoria had held three positions in the past seven years. It seemed most ladies didn't like their children's governesses to have silky sable hair and dark blue eyes. And they certainly didn't like them to be quite so young and pretty. Victoria had become quite adept at fending off unwanted attentions.

She shook her head as she scanned the lawn for Neville. In that measure, at least, Robert had not proven any different from the other young men of his class. All they seemed to be interested in was luring young women to their beds. Especially young women whose families were not powerful enough to demand marriage after the act.

The Hollingwood position had seemed a godsend. Lord Hollingwood wasn't interested in anything besides his horses and hounds, and there were no older sons to plague her on their visits home from university.

Unfortunately there was Neville, who had been a little terror from the first day. Spoiled and ill-mannered, he practically ruled the household, and Lady Hollingwood had forbidden Victoria from disciplining him.

Victoria sighed as she walked across the lawn, praying that Neville hadn't gone into the hedgerow maze. “Neville!” she called out, trying to keep her voice down.

“In he-ere, Lyndon!”

The little wretch always refused to call her
Miss
Lyndon. Victoria had brought the matter up with Lady Hollingwood, who had only laughed it off, remarking on how original and clever her son was.

“Neville?” Please, not the maze. She'd never learned her way around it.

“In the maze, you clodhead!”

Victoria groaned and muttered, “I hate being a governess.” And it was true. She hated it. Hated every second of this beastly subservience, hated having to pander to spoiled children. But most of all she hated the fact that she'd been forced into this. She'd never been given a choice. Not really. She hadn't believed for one moment that Robert's father wasn't going to spread vicious gossip about her. He wanted her out of the district.

It was governessing or ruin.

Victoria entered the maze. “Neville?” she asked cautiously.

“Over here!”

It sounded like he was to her left. Victoria took a few steps in that direction.

“Oh, Lyndon!” he shrieked. “I bet you can't find me!”

Victoria ran around a corner, and then another, and another. “Neville!” she yelled. “Where are you?”

“Here I am, Lyndon.”

Victoria nearly screamed with frustration. It sounded as if he was straight through the hedge to her right. The only problem was that she had no idea how to get to the other side. Maybe if she went around that corner…

She made a few more twists and turns, wretchedly aware that she was completely lost. Suddenly she heard an awful sound.

Neville's laugh. “I'm free, Lyndon!”

“Neville!” she yelled, her voice growing shrill. “Neville!”

“I'm going home now,” he taunted. “Have a nice night, Lyndon!”

Victoria sank down onto the ground. When she made her way free, she was going to
kill
that boy. And she was going to enjoy doing it.

 

Eight hours later Victoria still hadn't found the exit. After two hours of searching, she finally sat down and cried. Tears of frustration were becoming increasingly common these days. She couldn't imagine that the household had failed to note her absence, but she rather doubted that Neville had confessed to leading her into the maze. The wretched boy had probably sent whomever was looking for her in the exact opposite direction. Victoria would be lucky if she only had to spend
one
night outside.

She sighed and looked up at the sky. It was probably nine in the evening, but twilight still hung in the air. Thank goodness Neville hadn't thought to play his prank in the winter, when the days were short.

The tinkle of music floated through the air, a sign that the festivities of the house party had begun, obviously without a thought to the missing governess.

“I hate being a governess,” Victoria muttered for about the twelfth time that day. It didn't make her feel better to say it out loud, but she did so anyway.

And then finally, after she had begun to fantasize about the scandal that would ensue once the Hollingwoods found her dead body in the maze three months hence, Victoria heard voices.

Oh, thank the heavens. She was saved. Victoria jumped to her feet and opened her mouth to shout out a greeting.

Then she heard what the voices were saying.

She shut her mouth. Oh,
blast
.

“Come here, you big stallion,” a female voice giggled.

“You're always so original, Helene.” The male voice epitomized civilized boredom, but he did sound slightly interested in what the lady had to offer.

Oh, this was just her luck. Eight hours in the maze and the first people to join her were a pair of trysting lovers. Victoria rather doubted they would be pleased to learn of her presence. Knowing the nobility, they would probably find some way to make this awkward situation look as if it were
her
fault.

“I hate being a governess,” she breathed hotly, sitting back down on the ground. “And I hate the nobility.”

The female voice interrupted its giggles long enough to say, “Did you hear something?”

“Shut up, Helene.”

Victoria sighed and clapped her hand to her forehead. The couple was beginning to sound quite amorous, despite the man's somewhat lazy rudeness.

“No, I'm sure I heard something. What if it's my husband?”

“Your husband knows what you are, Helene.”

“Did you just insult me?”

“I don't know. Did I?”

Victoria could just imagine the man crossing his arms and leaning against the hedgerow.

“You're very naughty, did you know that?” Helene said.

“You certainly like to remind me of it.”

“You make me feel naughty, too.”

“I don't think you've ever needed assistance in that endeavor.”

“La, sir, I'm going to have to punish you.”

Oh,
please
, Victoria thought, sliding her hand to cover her eyes.

Helene let out another trill of high-pitched giggles. “Catch me if you can!”

Victoria heard the rhythm of running feet and sighed, thinking that she would be trapped in the maze with this couple for an extremely awkward amount of time. Then the footsteps came closer and closer. Victoria looked up just in time to see a blond woman come tearing around the corner. She didn't even have time to yell out before Helene tripped over her and landed ungracefully on the ground.

“What the
hell
?” Helene screeched.

“Now, now, Helene,” came the male voice from around the corner. “Such language is unbecoming to your pretty mouth.”

“Shut up, Macclesfield. There is a
girl
here. A girl.” Helene turned to Victoria. “Who the devil are you? Did my husband send you?”

But Victoria didn't hear her. Macclesfield?
Macclesfield
? She shut her eyes in agony. Oh, dear Lord. Not Robert. Please, anyone but Robert.

Heavy, booted footsteps rounded the corner. “Helene, what the hell is going on?”

Victoria slowly looked up, her blue eyes huge and terrified.

Robert.

Her mouth went dry. She couldn't breathe. Oh, God. Robert. He looked older. His body was still rock hard and powerful, but there were lines on his face that hadn't been there seven years ago, and his eyes looked forever grim.

He didn't see her at first, his attention still on the fuming Helene. “She's probably that misplaced governess Hollingwood was talking about.” He turned to look at Victoria. “Been missing since—”

The blood drained from his face. “
You
.”

Victoria swallowed nervously. She'd never thought to see him again, had never even tried to prepare herself for how she might feel if she did. Her body felt strange, rather queer, and she wanted nothing more than to dig a hole in the ground and bury herself in it.

Well, that was not entirely true. Part of her wanted very much to scream out her fury and rake her nails across his cheeks.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he bit out.

Victoria gathered up her pride and looked back at him defiantly. “I am the misplaced governess.”

Helene kicked Victoria in the hip. “You'd better call him ‘my lord' if you value your position, girl. He is an earl, and you would do well not to forget it.”

“I am well aware of what he is.”

Helene flicked her head in Robert's direction. “Do you know this girl?”

“I know her.”

It took all of Victoria's will not to cringe at the ice in his voice. She was wiser now than she'd been seven years ago. And stronger, too. She rose to her feet, stood straight, looked him in the eye, and said, “Robert.”

“That's a fine greeting,” he drawled.

“What's the meaning of this?” Helene demanded. “Who is she? What are you—” Her head swung from Victoria to Robert. “Did she call you
Robert
?”