“Aunt Lucia?”
“I insisted, Captain,” said Lucia. “Now, we need to discuss what to do about Victoria’s come-out.”
“Come-out? But she’s here for a short time only, ma’am. Surely you can’t mean to—”
“Ah, Didier. Is dinner ready?”
“Indeed, my lady. Cook has outdone himself. I venture to say it is because Miss Victoria slipped into the kitchen this afternoon when she smelled his baking scones. He is French, you know,” he continued to Rafael, “and like all his countrymen, prone to flattery.”
“I didn’t really flatter him, Did
ier. The scones were delicious.”
“It is the result that is important, my dear. Now, let’s see what Louis has concocted for our pleasure.”
Louis had prepared the most incredible vol-au-vent of lobster that had ever caressed Rafael’s taste buds. The wine sauce was so delicate that it defied description. Conversation consisted primarily of praising Louis as the three of them made their way through the fillets of turbot à la créme, the French green beans, the salmi of grouse and the hare, boned and larded, with mushrooms. It wasn’t until John, the footman, had removed the apricot blancmange that Lucia, drawing a deep, very sated breath, mentioned the Earl of Rothermere and his impending visit to town. “Do you by any chance know him, Rafael? Philip Hawksbury.”
“Hawk?” Rafael said, utterly surprised.
“You know him, do you?”
“Yes, certainly, we met in Portugal, when I . . .” He broke off, realizing he’d nearly given himself away. He retrenched quickly under Victoria’s wide-eyed look. “I was sort of in the army,” he said. “I had heard that Hawk sold out.”
“Yes, his brother died and he was the heir. He did his duty.”
“It’s been a long time,” said Rafael, swirling the delicate white wine in his glass.
“He’s married.”
“Hawk, married? Good heavens, I remember him saying that . . . well, never mind. Who is she, ma’am?”
“Her name is Frances, she’s a Scot, and a vivacious, entertaining girl. They have two children, a boy and a girl. Philip’s father will also accompany them, I understand. He is the Marquess of Chandos, you know.”
“Philip?” said Victoria.
“Philip or Hawk, my dear. I’ll never forget the time Frances and Hawk’s former mistress . . . well, I suppose that tale isn’t at all appropriate for Victoria’s unwed ears.”
Victoria, leaning forward, her elbows on the table and her chin propped up on her hands, gasped, “What, ma’am? Oh, do tell me. Former mistress? What happened?”
“Victoria,” Rafael said in the same paternal voice of his father, “you will be quiet now.”
“But, Rafael, whatever was his wife doing with his mistress?”
“Former mistress.”
“It still seems odd to me. It doesn’t seem at all proper to me that a gentleman would do that sort of thing after he is married.” Her eyes lowered instantly, her thoughts so clearly written on her face that Rafael wanted only to wipe Damien and his atrocious behavior from her mind.
“Some men aren’t honorable,” he said. And some wives, he thought, are such cold, frigid creatures that the husbands in question are forced to mistresses. He wondered about Hawk’s wife. Two children. Good heavens. He realized with a start that he was twenty-seven years old. He simply hadn’t thought about a wife and children during the past five years. He looked at Victoria, and felt that ill-disguised fear. Fate, he thought. Minding his own business, doing nothing at all untoward, only to have himself firmly captured by a little ragamuffin who had become a damned beauty.
“I should say they wouldn’t be, to do such a thing,” Lucia was saying. “Honorable, that is.”
“Well, no more of that, ma’am. Victoria, tomorrow morning I shall see your solicitor. And if it pleases you, we will ride in the park in the afternoon so you can show off your fine new plumage.”
“And show you off as well,” she said, admiration plain in her eyes even though her voice was teasing.
As she had the previous evening after tea, Victoria walked with him to the front door.
“You will take care, won’t you, Rafael?”