She should be grateful. Lucky, even. How many people got to end a summer romance with such grace and dignity? No messy emotions, no difficult conversations about impossible futures. Sasha understood her world, understood that London and banking and everything that made sense took precedence over whatever this had been.
This was supposed to be exactly as she wanted things.
Victoria took another sip of champagne that tasted like sawdust and tried to convince herself she was fortunate. The alternative was tears, pleading, attempts to make her choose between career and… what? A relationship with no practical foundation?
No. Sasha's understanding was a gift. Victoria should be grateful.
The fact that gratitude felt suspiciously like grief was neither here nor there.
She drained her champagne and thought that she’d better not have more. She needed water, so she headed toward the refreshment table. Tomorrow she'd be back in London, back to her real life, back to everything that made sense. Tonight she just needed to survive.
But as she passed through a corridor, she heard voices and saw light.
The morning room glowed warmly, and through the partially open door she could see familiar shapes. Only then did she remember that hers wasn’t the only crisis tonight. There was Ambrose, too. She desperately hoped that he was okay, that he hadn’t been broken in any way. So she stepped in, finding that her entire family appeared to be gathered inside, which was either wonderful or catastrophic depending on what had prompted the impromptu summit.
"—so proud of you for finally telling her," her mother was saying as Victoria stepped into the doorway. "Though I'm afraid your grandmother has retired with a headache. All the excitement, I expect."
Ambrose was slumped in a wingback chair, looking like he'd been through more than he really knew how to process. Which,Victoria supposed, he probably had. Her father stood behind the chair, one hand on Ambrose's shoulder in a gesture of support that made something warm unfurl in Victoria's chest.
"You told her?" she asked.
Ambrose nodded, still looking rather shell-shocked.
Sir Archibald sniffed. "I, uh, have a little something to say." He cleared his throat. "I should have spoken to you before," he said, his voice gruff. "Should never have suggested you keep your… your private life private. Complete nonsense. You're my son, and if your grandmother can't accept that you're gay, that's her failing, not yours."
He extended his hand to Ambrose, who shook it with something like wonder on his face.
"What if she cuts us all off?" Ambrose asked, attempting lightness but not quite managing it. "Leaves everything to the local cat sanctuary out of spite?"
"It had better be my cat sanctuary," Sophie piped up from her perch on the window seat. "I've got the most experience now."
"I'm sure your brother will work something out," Sir Archibald said, nodding toward Archie, who was leaning against the mantelpiece with uncharacteristic seriousness. "He's the heir, after all. Though I suspect your grandmother's bark is considerably worse than her bite."
Lady Charlotte surveyed her assembled offspring. "I must say, it's been quite an evening for revelations. First Victoria with her job situation, then Ambrose with his announcement, Sophie with her animal rescue operation…" She paused, fixing each of them with that maternal gaze that suggested she saw far more than she let on. "I'm beginning to wonder what sort of mother I've been that all my children feel they need to keep suchimportant secrets from me. And in case you’re wondering, yes, Ambrose dear, that does mean that we all know about Lukas."
"Good man that Lukas," Sir Archibald said. "Can’t fault a boy that can repot an orchid and have it thrive."
Ambrose looked from his mother to his father. "You know?" he asked weakly.
"We know and we’re ecstatic," his mother assured him.
Victoria felt heat creep up her neck. When her mother put it like that, their collective deception did sound rather damning. "You told them about my job?" she asked weakly.
"I did. But at least you don't keep secrets from me, do you, Archie?" Lady Charlotte continued, turning to her eldest son with something like relief.
Archie scratched his nose, a gesture Victoria recognized from childhood as his tell when he was about to confess to something spectacular. "Actually, um, there is something."
The room went still. Even Sophie stopped swinging her legs.
"Oh?" Lady Charlotte's voice was carefully neutral, but Victoria caught the slight tightening around her eyes that suggested she was bracing for impact.
"I ought to have said something before, but the truth is… Well, the truth is that I'm in love with Cathy," Archie said in a rush, like he was afraid he'd lose his nerve if he didn't get it all out at once. "Have been for years, actually. Completely gone on her. Can't think straight when she's around, which explains some of my more questionable romantic choices, I suppose."
The silence stretched long enough for Victoria to count her own heartbeats. Ambrose's mouth had fallen open. Sophie looked delighted. Their parents appeared to have been struck temporarily mute.
"Cathy Mayer?" Sir Archibald said finally. "Our Cathy?"
"That’s the one." Archie's ears had gone that particular shade of red they'd turned when he was seven and had to confess to breaking the greenhouse window. "I know what you're thinking—"
