Chapter Thirty-One
The wait was at an end.
Victoria stood in the center of the foyer and tugged on her red kid gloves. She slowly turned, taking in the Chase townhouse that had become her home for a short period.
Clarke was busily ordering cases to be strapped to the ducal conveyance.
The coach was waiting outside the open door.
The horses pawed the drive, eager to be off. The sound of their livery, their whinnies, and nickering filled the air. They were ready to be off.
So was she.
Everything had been sorted, organized, or packed.
She and Catharine had opted for a speedy departure rather than a perfect one.
They needed little. Just a few clothes, their favorite books, some medicines. Some people, she knew, packed a veritable house when they went abroad. But she and Catharine were choosing to travel light and let the winds of fortune assist them.
If they needed something, she would collect it when they arrived in the city ahead.
First, they would travel by coach to Plymouth then sail on to Naples. After months in Pompei and the areas around, they would then turn to Greece.
Eventually, when they’d become skilled adventurers, they would sail on to Egypt to see the homes of the pharaohs.
Turning to Catharine, she ignored the wild pulse at her throat. “This is it,” she said. “The moment we say goodbye to London.”
“Not goodbye,” Catharine mused happily, “but adieu. Perhaps we shall see the great city again.”
She nodded at her sister’s calm wisdom. Usually, it was she who was pragmatic.
But today, Catharine had taken that role, whereas Victoria felt the weight of her emotions.
It was possible that they could come back to the hallowed isle of legend, but at present she envisioned herself simply traveling on and on and on until she was old and gray, witnessing the great feats of humanity through history in country after country.
It seemed a far better way to pursue her life than to stay here doing the same thing every day with the same people, never experiencing any variation. Except…
Except she did feel hollow, in one point.
No matter what she turned her mind to, her blasted heart would not cease yearning for her husband. It was bloody awful.
Oh, she missed his cheeky nature, his ability to dominate a room, and his penchant to make her smile.
She wished that he was here. She wished…she wished that it had not all collapsed so completely.
Much to her astonishment, as if her very thoughts had summoned him, Chase stormed up the steps of the house and crossed into the foyer.
His perfect, polished hessians pounded across the marble, and his black great coat swung about his legs.
“You’ve not left,” he proclaimed loudly. Relief flowed from him, and he seemed lighter, though no less intense than before.
If anything, he seemed driven by an unseen purpose.
His presence felt vital, sweeping around her.
“No,” she said, unable to discern the feelings tumbling through her at the sight of him. She could not ignore the way she longed to sway toward him. The way she adored his crisp scent or the way her traitorous heart fluttered girlishly.
“But we are about to go,” she rushed. “And we haven’t much time. We must make our way to port and the ship that—”