She forced herself to swallow, to be in the moment, to breathe.
"The house party is shaping up beautifully," her mother was saying, ticking items off on her fingers. "Thirty-two guests confirmed so far. The Harrisons, the Pemberton-Smythes, Lord and Lady Ashworth…"
Victoria tried to focus on the guest list. She really did. But Sasha was sitting directly in her eyeline, and she'd just tucked a strand of hair behind her ear in a way that made Victoria's stomach do something complicated and needy.
Christ, she needed to get a grip.
"The caterers are confirmed," Lady Charlotte continued, "and I've arranged for the quartet from Bath. They were lovely at the Winthrops' garden party last month."
"As long as they don't play that dreadful modern jazz again," Lady Alexandra said. "Music should be melodic, not sound like someone's strangling a cat."
Sophie made a small choking sound, and Victoria caught the flash of panic in her sister's eyes. Interesting. And Sasha was hiding a smile, even more interesting.
"We'll stick to classics, Mama," Lady Charlotte said soothingly. "Nothing too adventurous."
Victoria picked up her wine glass and found Sasha watching her over the rim of her own. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second too long, and Victoria felt heat creep up her neck. Sasha's lips curved slightly, like she knew exactly what Victoria was thinking.
Which was impossible. And terrifying.
And terrifyingly impossible. Right?
Victoria wasn’t at all sure that she was capable of sharing a room with the woman tonight. Not without doing something unspeakable. Honestly, she must be ovulating or something, her hormones were looking to eat someone alive.
"Victoria, darling, you'll help me with the seating arrangements, won't you?" her mother asked. "You're so good at that sort of thing."
"Of course," Victoria managed, tearing her gaze away from Sasha. "Though perhaps we should seat the Ashworths away from the Harrisons. There was that incident at Ascot."
"Good thinking. I'd forgotten about that." Lady Charlotte made a note. "And we'll need to…" She pulled a notepad out of a small pocket and started to jot things down.
"I've had the most brilliant idea," Archie announced, filling the ensuing silence. He turned to Liza, who was examining her reflection in the back of her dessert spoon. "Cathy suggested we expand the kitchen garden. Make the estate more self-sufficient. Grow more of our own vegetables."
"Doesn’t sound like you’ve had an idea," Ambrose said mildly. "Sounds like Cathy’s had an idea."
Lady Alexandra set down her fork with approval. "I think it sounds very sensible. There's something rather satisfying about eating food from one's own land. Very traditional."
"Is it?" Liza wrinkled her nose. "Sounds a bit… I don't know. Boring?"
There was a stilted silence that went on for just a tad too long.
"Boring?" Lady Alexandra's voice was dangerously calm.
"Well, yeah. I mean, vegetables are just vegetables, aren't they? And won't it make the place look a bit… council house-y? All those rows of cabbages or whatever. Not very aesthetic."
Victoria caught Ambrose's eye across the table. He raised his eyebrows fractionally. Archie had gone very still, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth. The three of them had been through enough disastrous girlfriend introductions to recognize when someone had just signed their own death warrant.
"I see," Lady Alexandra said, her tone arctic. "How… interesting."
Sir Archibald emerged from behind his newspaper and fixed Liza with a stare that spoke volumes. "The kitchen gardens have been supplying this house for three hundred years," he said quietly. "I hardly think they've made us look like a council estate."
Liza laughed, apparently oblivious to the hole she was digging. "Oh, I didn't mean it like that. Just that maybe we could do something more fun? Like a Zen garden? Or those trendy vertical herb walls you see on Instagram?"
"Instagram," Lady Alexandra repeated, as if testing a particularly distasteful word.
"I’m sure that those Instagrams are lovely," their mother said desperately, clearly trying to salvage the conversation. "But we’re more on the traditional side, really, aren't we, darling?" She turned to Victoria.
"Mmm," Victoria agreed, still watching Sasha, who was pressing her napkin to her mouth in what was obviously trying not to either choke or get hysterical. Their eyes met again, and Victoria felt that pull intensify, like a cord drawn tight between them.
She wanted to grab Sasha's hand and drag her out of this dining room, push her up against the nearest wall, kiss her until neither of them could remember why this was a terrible idea. The urge was so strong it was almost physical, a need that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with the way Sasha's dress clung to her shoulders, the soft curve of her neck, the—
