Gayle Buck (13 page)

After dinner the gentlemen did not spend long over their wine, but instead joined the ladies in the drawing room. Anticipation was high as Victoria handed a worn leather sketch case to Lady Hortense. “He spoke of you with affection, ma’am. I think you should be the first to open it,” she said.

“Oh, my dear,” said Lady Hortense with a speaking look. She opened the sketch case and brought out a handful of loose drawings. She handed them to Dorothea, who sat beside her on the sofa, while Evelyn leaned over the back. “There is a sketch pad as well,” said Lady Hortense. She began to leaf through the pages.

“Do but look, Evelyn! One can even see the trim on the ladies’ hats,” exclaimed Dorothea, entranced.

Hardly hearing her, Evelyn was staring at another drawing. He whistled slowly. “Charles certainly knew his trade. This cavalry charge looks damnably real. St. Claire, you will be certain to recognize this business.”

The drawings were quickly distributed around, and even Margaret felt herself drawn by curiosity. Finally the sketch pad made the rounds. Victoria was besieged for explanations and hardly had a spare moment to look at the drawings in her own hands. The drawings were a random collection of scenes drawn from military life and Lisbon society with a few portraits thrown in. As she described the scenes and named the people, Victoria found her mind flooded with memories.

Lord Damion held up a swiftly done portrait of almost rough vibrancy. “Who is this rugged gentleman?” he asked curiously. The man’s dark eyes stared boldly from a face of strong lines and only a faint touch of humor softened the harshness of his expression.

Victoria smiled in recognition. “That is Carlos Silva y Montoya.” Her voice held respect and even pride.

“I remember that you mentioned the name before. I believe you said that he helped your father in his horse breeding. He was obviously a very old and valued friend.”

“Yes,” said Victoria. Her attention was then claimed by a brusque demand from Sir Aubrey for information on a sketch.

Margaret remained beside Lord Damion throughout the entire evening and thought she had done fairly well in holding his interest despite the novelty of the sketches. But as he studied each drawing, he seemed to grow ever more distant to her and did not respond as readily to her witticisms. She became increasingly frustrated as the moment passed.

Lord Damion’s memories of his own participation in the Peninsular War were rekindled by many of the sketches of the familiar Portuguese scenes. But it was the portrait of Carlos Silva y Montoya that most captured his interest. He studied the portrait once more, feeling for some odd reason that the man was somehow familiar to him.

Eventually the novelty of the drawings wore off and Lady Hortense gathered them together. “Thank you, dear Lady Victoria. This has been a very special evening,” she said softly.

“I am only happy that I was able to make it so,” said Victoria warmly.

Evelyn challenged his cousin to a game of billiards and Lord Damion good-naturedly accepted. Margaret was chagrined to find herself truly abandoned. Sir Aubrey demanded that the card table be set up and at his insistence a card party was got up. When he called on Victoria for a partner, she firmly declined and suggested Dorothea in her place. Dorothea accepted with clarity and Sir Aubrey was forced to accept her, though he did so with ill grace. Lady Hortense and Margaret made up the rest of the party.

Left to herself, Victoria took the drawings back out of the case so she could look at them at her leisure and without interruption. As she lingered over several, a smile sometimes flitted over her features. She was unaware that Lord Damion glanced her way often.

It was after eleven when the card game broke up, Sir Aubrey and Dorothea emerging the winners. He was in a cheerful mood and even went so far as to compliment Dorothea on her shrewd play. “You’ve some card sense in that pretty little head. I’ve always liked women who could hold their own in a friendly game with the pasteboards,” he said gruffly.

Dorothea looked up at him in great amusement. “I am happy that I have met with your approval, sir.” She excused herself and joined Evelyn with the remark that it was very late. He immediately took the gentle hint and offered to escort her upstairs. Their exit became the signal for the evening to end and the rest of the company soon found their own beds.

Chapter Fourteen

The maid was pulling back the curtains to reveal a leaden sky when Victoria woke early the following morning.

“Good morning, m’lady,” said Mary cheerfully. “I ‘ave taken the liberty of ordering a bath for your ladyship. I hope I did right.”

Victoria stretched under the bedclothes. “Oh yes, Mary! A bath will be marvelous.”

Delighted that she had correctly anticipated her new mistress’s needs, Mary said eagerly, “I ‘ave towels and a robe ready, m’lady, and if your ladyship should care for it, I shall order up a cup of chocolate.”

Victoria laughed and shook her head as she got out of bed. “Coffee would suit me better, Mary. I fear I am unfashionable in that I dislike anything sweet when I rise.” As she spoke, Victoria crossed the room to the fireplace. She stepped behind the screen that had been placed around it to capture the heat from the fire and ward off any drafts. A brass hip bath filled with warm water stood in front of the fire.

Victoria dropped her chemise to the carpet and stepped naked into the hip bath. She slid down into the warm scented water until it lapped under her chin. “1 cannot begin to tell you how marvelous this is, Mary. You are truly a jewel.”

The maid flushed at her praise and picked up the discarded chemise. “Thank you, m’lady. Is there aught else your ladyship will be needing at the moment?”

Victoria smiled up at the eager young face. “You have amply cared for me, Mary. Thank you.”

The maid bobbed a curtsy and left her mistress alone. Victoria found the washcloth and soap and sudsed herself thoroughly. She could very easily become used to such service, she admitted to herself. She had always had at least one servant, but never a lady’s maid. When she returned to Portugal she would engage the services of a personal dresser. She could afford it. The breeding stables that her dear father established had prospered under her and Charles, especially since the British army so desperately needed mounts that could survive the Portuguese climate.

As she washed her hair Victoria wondered if Mary would consider accompanying her when she returned to Lisbon. She voiced her thoughts a little while later when the maid returned to pour rinse water over her head. “What do you think, Mary? Would you like to return to Portugal with me? I promise you all the comforts of home,’ said Victoria, accepting the towel that Mary handed her.

“Oh m’lady, I couldn’t say.
I’ve family here and all,” stammered Mary. She said hurriedly, “But I am that honored your ladyship thought enough of me, I’m sure.”

“I shan’t be returning home for some little time, so you shall have awhile to think about it,” said Victoria. “I won’t press you for an answer now.”

“Thank you, milady,” said Mary gratefully. She heard a knock on the door. “That’ll be your ladyship’s coffee.” Bobbing a quick curtsy, she hurried out from behind the screen.

Victoria slipped into her thin undergarments and stockings. Mary had thoughtfully laid the dressing gown over the back of a chair where it could be warmed by the fire’s heat and Victoria put it on, belting the robe loosely around her trim waist.

As she came from around the screen she heard Mary exclaim, “Ye cannot, m’lord. M’lord!”

Startled, Victoria found herself looking directly into Lord Damion’s gray eyes. Mary hovered behind him, making distressed noises and wringing her hands. Unconsciously Victoria clutched tight the front of her dressing gown.

“Perish the thought, Lady Victoria.” Lord Damion’s glance raked over her slim figure and he suddenly grinned. A wicked light dancing in his eyes, he said, “But I must admit that as a rake I find the temptation hard to withstand.”

Victoria flushed bright scarlet. Her stomach tightened with half-pleasant suspense. With all the dignity she could muster, she said strongly, “What the devil are you doing in my room, Lord Damion?”

Lord Damion allowed his gaze to linger a moment longer on her body before he met the molten gold sparks in her eyes. “It is as you predicted. Starfire is foaling early.”

Victoria nodded affably. “Of course. Your presence is now made perfectly clear. You did not think a polite message given through my maid to be sufficiently dramatic. So you decided to deliver it personally.”

Lord Damion blinked at her, then flushed under his tan. “My apologies, Lady Victoria. I shall await you more correctly in the hall.” He sketched a bow and turned on his heel to leave the room.

Mary closed the door behind him with a decided snap. “Well! Ye certainly taught him, m’lady. To think he came in bold as brass with your ladyship but half dressed. I’ll never fathom the gentlemen, I’m sure.”

Trembling in reaction, Victoria laughed. The little knot of tension eased in her stomach. She could not remember the last time a man had affected her so. “I don’t believe any of us ever understand them, Mary. But help me now quickly. My lord was right; I do want to see Starfire”

Mary ran to the wardrobe to fulfill her mistress’s requirements. Ten minutes later Victoria was attired in a serviceable riding habit and sturdy boots. She threw a cloak over her arm and went into the hall to join Lord Damion.

As he took her arm to escort her, Lord Damion spared her a brief glance and was surprised by her composure. She met his eyes with no hint of any discomfort over his visit to her room. Only her still-damp curls betrayed the haste with which she had dressed. Again Lady Victoria had proven to be disturbingly unpredictable. Unused as he was to such rejection, her setdown had caught him totally off guard.

Without a word Lord Damion ushered her swiftly through the halls. Victoria found that she was forced to lengthen her stride to keep up with him and thought of pointing it out to him. But a swift upward glance at his frowning expression kept her silent. She was hardly one to beg for a man’s indulgence. She had fought for and won an independence in her life that few women ever attained.

They exited the manor from the small side door that they had used on their last visit to the stables and crossed the uneven ground of the yard. Lord Damion opened the stable door. Victoria slipped inside and paused to allow her eyes to adjust to the gloom while Lord Damion let the door fall closed. He stepped past her, calling out for the stable master.

John Dickens’s head appeared over the top of a large stall and he waved. “Over here, m’lord.”

Lord Damion and Victoria went swiftly to the stall. The stable master touched his forehead in deference to her ladyship and promptly launched into his report. Victoria listened with half an ear, her eyes on the mare’s heaving sides. A stableboy was in attendance, holding the mare’s head.

In a corner of the stall was a tiny dark form, and even as John mentioned the foal and its slim chances of survival, Victoria had already realized what it was. Before the men knew what she was about, Victoria was on her knees beside the foal.

“ ‘Ere now!” exclaimed John, dismayed to see a lady of quality sitting in the straw.

Victoria disregarded him, her attention focused on the foal. She felt its trembling weakness. “This one needs nourishment immediately.” She shot an eagle look at the gaping stableboy. “You there! Bring a bucket of milk, diluted with water, and a handful of sugar. And you will need a clean cloth. Now go!”

The stableboy hesitated, casting a look for guidance to the stable master, who motioned for him to do as the lady required. “I know what ye would do, m’lady, but the fact is the colt be too weak to nurse,” said John.

“We shall see,” said Victoria.

He shook his head over her stubborn tone and exchanged a look with Lord Damion that spoke volumes.

“Let her try, John,” Lord Damion said quietly.

When the stableboy returned, Victoria instructed him quickly and concisely on how to feed the colt. While the stableboy made his preparations, she stroked the foal, then joined Lord Damion and John Dickens with Starfire.

The mare’s condition had worsened; and she was still laboring to no avail. Victoria ran her hands over the mares sides with swift assuredness. “The second one is turned some way. I can feel a hoof here,” she said. “We shall have to turn it before it can be born. You and my lord shall have to do it, Dickens. It requires strength.”

The stable master eyed her in growing respect. “Aye, m’lady.” He waited a few moments until he realized that she had no intention of leaving. He threw an entreating look at Lord Damion. “M’lord, it isn’t seemly!”

Lord Damion, who had removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves, gently touched Victoria on the shoulder. “Perhaps it would be best if you waited outside, Lady Victoria. This is no place for a lady.”

Victoria shook off his hand. “Pray do not be ridiculous,” she said impatiently. “I have witnessed hundreds of foalings. I shall hold her head and you help Dickens.” As he began to remonstrate, she looked up with a challenge in her steady eyes. “Wrangling over my presence shall profit us nothing, my lord, and will most certainly reduce Starfire’s chances of survival.”

Lord Damion nodded, recognizing her determination. “However, I shall not pick you up should you faint, my lady,” he said grimly. He took his position beside the stable master with the mare.

For the next half hour the gentleman and the stable master labored together. At the end, another living foal lay in the straw and the tired mare was resting peacefully. Victoria rose stiffly to shake the straw from her skirt. “Well, John Dickens, I know now why my lord places such implicit trust in your judgment.”

“Thank you, m’lady,” said the stable master with quiet respect.

“M’lady!” Victoria turned. The stableboy’s face was split in a wide grin. “See, he is sucking.” The colt had its head in the bucket, sucking vigorously from the stableboy’s cloth-wrapped fingers that were held submerged in the sweetened milk.