Every time Victoria considered the outcome, tears rushed to her eyes. She had been away in Bath at the time, serving as an instructor in music and languages at an all-girls’ school, not the usual occupation for a woman of the gentry, but Victoria had loved her own years at the school and had gladly returned to offer other young ladies the type of personal success she had found there.
Victoria paused to watch the street traffic. When she had left her position in Bath, she had asked for a month to assist her sister, but now she had been made to give it up to another. Though she had come to London to assist Cassandra, as usual, Cassie had had a mind of her own, and while Victoria had been seeking employment, instead of seeking her own employment, Cassandra had gone out for the day and had never returned. It was only later that Victoria had found the note hidden under the stack of towels that she and Cassandra used to wash themselves.
Since then, Victoria had spent part of each day working in a drapery shop and the rest of it searching out any possible leads on Cassandra’s whereabouts. Victoria was confident that Cassandra had remained in London, for, at least once per week, there were a few coins or a flower upon the mat outside Victoria’s room in the boarding house.
Though she was quite alone and discouraged by the circumstances in which she found herself, as well as her family’s downfall, Victoria did not abandon her goal to reunite her family. Such was the subject of her prayers each evening and her thoughts this morning as she rushed along the street, attempting not to know the steady drizzle.
She rounded the corner in a rush, only to slam into a gentleman. He was taller than her and solidly built. That was all about him that she knew, except that he smelled of sandalwood and was excessively strong, for he caught her with one hand and tugged her upward and into his body before she tumbled over backwards from their impact.
“Are you well?” he asked in a baritone voice, a tone she easily recognized from her years of teaching music. “I do apologize, miss, or is it ma’am?”
“Miss,” she responded in a dumbfounded manner. “It was my fault, sir. I should not have hugged the buildings to avoid the rain. I know my place. Forgive me, sir.”
“Thompson,” the gentleman said with a brief smile. “LordThompson, and it is I who should apologize. I have been quite distracted of late, and I was not paying attention to where I was walking. I have an umbrella and should not be claiming the bit of protection the overhang provides others.”
People streamed around them, but, evidently, the gentleman did not notice. Victoria acknowledged his apology with a nod of her head. “If you will pardon me, my lord…” She looked to where his hand still rested on her arm. “I should be on my way or I shall be late, and then I shall be dismissed from my position.”
“We cannot have that now, can we?” His lordship looked about as if seeing the streets for the first time. “Permit me to escort you. With this rain you will be drenched before you reach your destination. Is it far?”
“I could not ask it of you, my lord,” she said dutifully, while finding she liked the warmth of his eyes when they looked upon her. It had been a good while since anyone had treated her with kindness, and Victoria truly missed the art of civility.
“You did not ask,” he corrected with another smile, the type she could quickly consider addicting. “I volunteered, and you cannot refuse an earl in need of serving society’s woes, rather than his own.”
“Heaven forbid you might serve your own agenda,” she said with a matching smile.
“Terrible to think of all my obligations,” he began, but she took a stronger grip on his arm while saying, “We may discuss the merits of your diligence as we walk, my lord. I truly must not be late.”
“As you wish, my girl.”
The earl tucked her into his side and adjusted his stride so as not to drag her along behind him, but, rather, they walked together as might any couple out on a day where the weather had turned sour. Ironically, they did not converse other than the occasional warning on his part about a puddle being deeper than expected or a carriage throwing up a spray of water.
At length, the drapery shop was in sight, and Victoria said, “Just up ahead.” When they reached the shop, Lord Thompson opened the door for her, closed his umbrella, and stepped inside behind her.
“Miss Whitchurch?” her employer began in what she suspected was to be a chastisement, for she was to use the rear door, but quickly Mr. Sustar swallowed his words and changed his tone to one of welcome. “My lord. How might we serve you?”
“I was simply seeing my dear friend to her position in your shop in this rain,” his lordship said smoothly. “I could not have her arriving soaked to the bones, now, could I?”
“No, my lord. It was very kind of you,” Mr. Sustar said.
His lordship slipped a card from a case tucked into a side pocket and presented it to Mr. Sustar. “Perhaps you might call on my man of business next week. I have several new properties that will require refurbishing. You may bid on them if such is of interest to you. My man will explain what all is required and arrange for you to view the properties.”
Mr. Sustar’s eyes opened in wide amazement. “Thank you, my lord. Very gracious of you.” He bowed deeply.
Lord Thompson ignored all the fawning. Instead, he said, “You may keep the umbrella, Miss Whitchurch,” he instructed with a lift of his brows, for Victoria had purposely not told him her name.
“I could not, my lord,” she objected. “The rain has yet to relent.”
He smiled again, and Victoria found she liked how his smile softened his features, especially the darkness of his eyes. “In case you did not take notice, Miss Whitchurch, my carriage is waiting outside. It followed us as we walked.”
Victoria was not to be outdone. She enjoyed how this particular gentleman treated her. It had felt like forever since anyone had seen her for herself. “And here I thought you were playing the gallant, my lord. You made me walk in the rain when we could have ridden.”
His smile widened. “Next time you may choose the mode of transportation.”
Leaving the ladybehind, Benjamin climbed into the coach, telling his driver to take him home. He could not resist turning to look at the drapers’ shop.“First time I have felt human in more days than I can recall. To meditate on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman is something else indeed. All this business with attempting to discover Duncan’s shooter has drawn me away from how it feels to be a man enjoying the playful flirtations between him and a woman.”
As he closed his eyes, he could feel his body surrendering to the fatigue which followed him around of late. “I loathe unanswered questions,” he told the empty coach. “Though the lady was a pleasant distraction. Yet, you cannot be distracted often. Your family has been threatened. There are still too many questions requiring answers—answers you have yet to discover.”
He sank heavier into the soft squabs and closed his eyes. Unsurprisingly, Miss Whitchurch’s image rose quickly to his mind. “A real beauty,” he murmured. “Dark hair. Wavy. Blue-green eyes. Very feminine, but there was a strength about her. The way she held herself. The way she did not look away or pretend to be fawning over my title. The strength in her grip on my arm, while still being very fragile at the same time.” He was still daydreaming, or perhaps it was a real dream when his carriage rolled to a halt before his London townhouse.
