For her part, Victoria was not well pleased with the gown. With a month’s worth of clothes needed for the house party, she had not been free to leave any behind—even if the shoulder seam puckered no matter how many times she unpicked the stitches. Victoria stared at the ripple and knew no one else would notice, but the imperfection drove her to distraction; her work was better than that.
She took in a silent breath, allowing its accompanying peace to flow through her, and straightened her spine. Standing next to Hettie Nelson, it was easy to get fixated on surface enticements. The young lady’s dress was a mound of flounces and frills; the fabric alone cost a mint, to say nothing of the extensive labor it took to construct and maintain such a dress. Hettie’s dark blonde tresses were swept up with a veritable garden of flowers that framed her face and highlighted the rosy hue of her complexion. Everything about Hettie spoke of wealth and beauty, both of which came easily to her.
But Victoria had learned long ago there was more to appearances than such trivial things, and she would not allow them to cast a pall over her mood.
With sure fingers, Victoria adjusted one of her hairpins and examined her handiwork. There were no adornments for her hair, but a well-styled coiffure needed no additional flowers or ribbons, and Victoria’s was perfection. Though the most fashionable hairstyles demanded curls, her hair refused to see reason, leaving Victoria no other option than to resort to an intricate twist of braids instead. But with enough work, it was quite as fetching as any flowery concoction Hettie’s French maid created.
“I am certain Mr. Kingsley will be quite pleased to see you,” said Hettie with a coy smile.
Victoria met Hettie’s eyes in the mirror and matched her grin. “I do hope so.”
“I am so very happy for you both.” Hettie sighed and took Victoria by the arm.
Victoria paused just the briefest moment before replying, “It is wonderful, isn’t it?”
With a great, beaming smile, Hettie began chattering on about wedding dates, dresses, and the like as the pair strode from the bedchamber and towards the parlor. Victoria nodded and gave appropriate responses with little thought as Hettie went on and on about the forthcoming nuptials.
Mr. and Mrs. Oliver Kingsley.
Only a fool would consider the deed done before any declarations were made, but Victoria felt the tightness in her chest ease with Hettie’s words. For years, Victoria had thought of and planned for this day, and it was far better than she’d imagined, for Mr. Kingsley was far better a gentleman. Her mind conjured the image of the gentleman presenting her with a ring and asking that all-important question, and her heart beat a rapid pace, sending a wave of joy and relief coursing through her. Engaged to be married to Mr. Oliver Kingsley, future master of Avebury Park.
But a shadow skittered across the golden images in her mind and settled into her stomach.
“Are you unwell?” asked Hettie, pulling Victoria to a stop in the hallway.
“Not at all.” Feigning a smile, Victoria drew her strength about her before her gaze darted behind Hettie and caught sight of a door that led to the formal gardens. “But I am feeling a bit peaked from my journey. Might I have a moment to take the air and compose myself before dinner?”
“Certainly. I do adore being able to travel so quickly, but trains leave me feeling rattled for hours,” said Hettie, ushering her towards the door. “Would you like me to join you?”
“My thanks, but no,” said Victoria, giving her friend a squeeze of the hand. “I merely need a moment alone.”
“Of course.” And with that, Hettie left Victoria to her own devices.
This portion of the garden was shielded from the setting sun, casting the area in shadows, and Victoria moved to a bench in one corner and dropped onto it with a sigh. Leaning forward, she closed her eyes and rubbed at her forehead as though that might erase the anxious tremors in her heart.
Mrs. Oliver Kingsley.
A twinge behind her left eye warned that a headache was waiting to pounce. Victoria took in several deep breaths, forcing the air in and out.
“Miss Caswell?”
Victoria’s eyes shot open and her breath caught, but she did not straighten. She could not bring herself to meet his gaze, though she felt it there, warm and inviting. With effort, she forced air into her lungs. Another breath and one more, and she steeled her spine, rising to her feet to meet the gentleman who had intruded on her solitude.
“Mr. Dixon,” she replied with a curtsy, hardly stumbling over his name. Then she made the mistake of meeting his gaze. Elijah Dixon’s eyes were among the finest she’d ever seen. A light, sparkling blue that stood in stark contrast to his dark mop of hair that curled around his ears. “I hadn’t realized you’d be in attendance.”
“I go where Mr. Flemming has need of me,” he replied.
Victoria nodded and wondered why she hadn’t anticipated Mr. Dixon’s presence. But even as she tried to lie to herself, she knew she hadn’t wanted to face that possibility.
“You look…” Mr. Dixon’s voice trailed into silence, his eyes holding hers as his lips curled into a hint of a smile. “…fetching.”
Shaking her head, Victoria smiled at the rascal who could turn even a few simple words into something far more. Embracing the levity, she ignored the fluttering in her heart.
“And you look disheveled,” she replied, giving a pointed look at his cravat, which leaned far too strongly to one side. Lifting her hands, Victoria smoothed the errant fabric into a semblance of decorum. “Really, Mr. Dixon. With your plans to conquer politics, you should be more circumspect in your appearance. Though I will say you chose a stunning color for your waistcoat.”
Mr. Dixon shifted, leaning a hair’s breadth closer to her, enveloping her in his scent. “An enticing young lady once told me that blue was my color.”
Victoria paused in her ministrations, her dark eyes connecting with his light ones, and became all too aware of just how little space there was between the pair of them. And of how intimately she was touching him. But it was all too inviting for her to step away, and her treacherous mind conjured images of her closing the distance.
