The moment the ladies left the gentlemen to their after-dinner antics, Victoria distanced herself from the others in the party. Though Hettie, Phyllis, and Lily expected her to join them, Victoria needed a moment or two alone before she faced the rest of the evening.
Mr. Dixon never ventured into scandalous behavior or drew attention to himself, but she’d felt his eyes on her the entire dinner. It was a miracle she’d been able to converse with Mr. Kingsley while her attention was split, but her beau gave no sign of having noticed she was not wholly occupied with him.
Victoria held her breath, turning her gaze to the paintings decorating the drawing room walls. Cloaking herself in polite interest, she appeared to be examining the art, though the pieces were too uninspiring to warrant more than a passing glance. She would far prefer a moment out in the gardens; a bit of evening air was just what she needed. But that thought reminded her of her venture into the gardens before dinner, which did little to restore her equilibrium.
How was this to be borne?
It simply must. There was no other option. For good or ill, Mr. Dixon was to be privy to the final stages of her courtship with Mr. Kingsley. To see her engage herself to another. There was nothing to be done about it.
Gentlemen’s voices came from the hall, and Victoria straightened, taking in a sweeping breath as the masculine group joined the ladies. Keeping her face to the wall, she hoped she might go unnoticed. That thought had her jaw clenching, her shoulders tightening as she chided herself for such a cowardly impulse; Miss Victoria Caswell would not be cowed by an uncomfortable situation.
Clasping her hands before her, Victoria turned to greet them, knowing precisely who was coming to meet her.
“Mr. Dixon,” she said with a nod that was far calmer and more composed than she felt. Such ridiculous, flighty behavior was not becoming and would not serve her or her future husband well. This house party was unlikely to be the last time she would see Mr. Dixon, and she needed to acclimate to his presence.
“Miss Caswell.” Simple words, but they were colored with humor, as though the rogue knew the battle waging in her heart.
“And how do you find Essex?” she asked, her eyes flicking over to Mr. Kingsley, who had been captured in conversation by Mr. Flemming and the Dosett patriarch.
“This is not my first visit, and it is always pleasant,” he replied, tucking his hands behind him. He did not smile, but his eyes were alight with mirth as he met her gaze and followed her insipid question with, “And you?”
“I have yet to see much of it, but the weather has been quite fine so far.” The weather? Though that inane topic dotted many a conversation, it was best reserved for those who had not the intelligence to say something meaningful. Better to say nothing than to dredge up that silly subject.
The grin hiding beneath the surface broke through, and though the devilish Mr. Dixon had the good sense not to laugh outright, there was no mistaking the humor he found at her expense.
“Quite fine,” he replied in a wry tone.
“Really, Mr. Dixon,” she muttered.
The fellow raised his brows with feigned innocence. With a coy flutter of his eyelashes, he asked, “What, Miss Caswell?”
With a silent curse at her weakness, Victoria stifled a laugh. “Why do you insist on being ridiculous?”
“I cannot resist an opportunity to make you laugh.” The light in his eyes warmed, shifting from that humorous glint to something deeper as he held her gaze. Elijah did not say another word. He didn’t need to. Victoria felt his meaning sweep through her and settle into her heart.
Her chin trembled, but Victoria shook free of the heartache, refusing to give it place inside her. With a furtive glance around, she stepped closer to him. “I’ve told you I cannot return your feelings.”
But her words did nothing to change the admiration in his gaze. “You’ve told me the reasons you should not return my feelings. That is not the same.”
Victoria opened her mouth to respond but found no rebuttal. She stood, fixed in his gaze, unable to move or reply for several long, silent moments before she turned away and strode across the drawing room to Mr. Oliver Kingsley’s side, slipping her arm around his and clinging to it like a buoy during a storm.
Chapter 7
Except for his mother or sister, Oliver had never held a lady’s arm in such a fashion until Miss Caswell, but it had become a comfortable, casual thing. Though the lady had taken him by surprise when she appeared at his side just then, her touch was a comfort. It grounded him, reminding him of the way things were. And what they ought to be.
Oliver flashed a smile at Miss Caswell, and though she returned it, there was a pinch of panic around her eyes, as though the happiness in her expression was feigned. With a curve of his brow, he sent her a silent question, but she merely held tighter to his arm with a dismissive shake of her head.
“It is a shame more was not done,” said Miss Caswell, turning her attention back to the discussion.
Following her lead, Oliver nodded and added, “We’d hoped the ten-hour workday might’ve been addressed, but it came for naught.”
“Unfortunately, there is little hope as long as Peel is Prime Minister,” replied Mr. Flemming. “He’s been vocal about his opposition to any bill that shortens the workday.”
“Then the fight is over for now,” said the eldest Mr. Dosett, tucking his hands behind him. “I must say it is for the best. It is not right for the government to meddle in such affairs. What right do we have to shorten the workday of someone willing to do more?”
“Ten hours is more than a full day,” replied Oliver. “It is more time than their masters are willing to work.”
“Hear, hear,” added Mr. Dixon as he moved to join their discussion.
