Oh god, have I gone a step too far?
Victoria let out a tired sigh. “I know why Augusta didn’t invite you to her and Flynn’s wedding when they were married in Rome. It’s because you put yourself ahead of her. You lied.”
“You don’t know what any of this has been like for me. And as an unmarried young lady, I don’t expect you possibly can,” replied Lady Anne.
Her mother was right. She didn’t know what any of this had been like for the duchess, nor did she have a solid grasp of the reasons as to why Lady Anne had thought to initiate a formal separation from the duke. But her sympathies could only go so far.
“No. No I can’t. But then again, you don’t have an appreciation for what those long months were like for those of us left here in London when you didn’t return home. When poor Gideon had to go and sail all the way to Italy to bring you back.”
The flood gates had been opened.
“The rumors. The spiteful things which were said to both me and Coco when it became apparent you were not coming back. And don’t think for one minute that they haven’t continued since we embarked on this search for a husband.”
She hadn’t been able to figure out which was the worst. The expressions of disgust and scorn, or the ones that were sad and full of pity.
“Now can we please go home before I say anything else?”
Lady Anne took a hold of Victoria’s hand. Tears shone in her eyes. “I made a mistake. Augusta punished me for it by not inviting me to her wedding. I don’t want that to be the case for you and me. Get dressed. We will go home. And when you are ready to talk, let’s sit down and discuss what has been said to you.”
There was a gentleness in her mother’s voice, a genuine request for them to make amends, but as Victoria headed back into the dressing room, leaving her mother to finalize matters with the modiste, she was under no illusion as to one of the things the duchess would be keen to discuss. The names of the women who had treated her daughters with such open disdain.
The Duchess of Mowbray would be making certain that every one of those ladies was on the guest list for Victoria’s wedding. And as her daughter walked down the aisle, Lady Anne would be watching as she rubbed Victoria’s excellent match of a marriage in their faces.
Chapter Twelve
Alone in his study at Tolley House, Robert reached for his second glass of whisky. After a long nap, he’d risen and set to reading the letters from the gentleman who wished to see him removed from the position of restaurant reviewer atthe Morning Herald. They told the tale of a relationship that had truly soured.
There were several letters addressing his shortfalls as a critic, along with other individually curated reviews of various restaurants. He noted with interest that only the ones which had attacked him personally had been made public. The other missives which were thorough in their discussions of the various worthy and not-so-worthy points of various establishments he’d reviewed over time were well written, but even he had to admit, they didn’t make good newspaper copy.
He took a long sip of his drink, then got to his feet. Standing and warming himself in front of the fire, he read aloud from one of the reviews.
“The delicate balance of cream and spice was handled particularly well, and I must agree with your original argument that the recipe should never be challenged.”
Robert smiled. The note was for a delightful tavern he’d uncovered in one of the back streets near Westminster. He was proud of his discovery and could confess to being rather chuffed that aMorning Heraldreader had gone to the effort to dine there at his recommendation.
The rest of the letters followed a similar pattern. Each week he had written a review, and each week this devoted reader had taken him at his word and ventured to whichever restaurant or tavern Robert had featured.
Whoever this chap was, his devotion to Robert’s column couldn’t be faulted. And while the letters had all been recently penned, the reviews they covered went back many months, some even years.
The notes covering the earlier pieces had been favorable, but the latter ones which included the more recent reviews, had seen the tone of the correspondence turn dark. Unfettered loyalty had transformed into bitter disappointment. Disappointment now replaced with open contempt. His former faithful follower had decided that Robert was no longer worthy of his time and that he wouldn’t be dining at any of the eating establishmentsthe Morning Heraldfood critic recommended.
He was still mulling over the contents of the most recent notes, when George appeared in the doorway of his study. His man of business rapped on the doorframe. “Your Grace.”
“Come in. I’m just reading the letters from the chap who keeps writing tothe Morning Heralddemanding my resignation.” He waved the letter in his hand, before making his way over to his desk, where he dropped the note on top of the rest of the papers.
George poured himself a generous glass of whisky, then sat in the overstuffed leather chair on the opposite side to where Robert now resumed his seat at the desk. The tall, thin Welshman picked up the letter and quickly read it.
“Where did you get these?”
“Paid a visit to the editor ofthe Morning Heraldyesterday morning. He gave them to me, but on the clear understanding that I’m not to call the chap out and demand a duel on Hampstead Heath. Something about me shooting dead readers not being good for business.”
George chuckled as his gaze ran over the note. He finished reading it, then picked up another piece of paper. He’d finished a half dozen of the missives, before he sat back in his chair and grinned at Robert. “It’s a good thing you didn’t go after him.”
“Why?” He wasn’t afraid of the bloodthirsty agents who worked for the East India Company, so a disgruntled reader shouldn’t pose him any sort of danger.
“Because I think your ticked-off correspondent might well be a woman.”
Robert’s mouth dropped open. “What?!”
