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  The unmarked conveyance lurched and set into motion at a more modest pace this time. Racing along at top speed would draw unwanted attention now. They went back in the direction from which they had come, towards Victoria’s home in the Marylebone district. Her parents would surely be asleep by now, which suited her just fine. That way she wouldn’t have to change back into her gown—it was a bit trickier than getting out of it. Besides, she needed to head to bed herself. She had a very important appointment in the morning.

  Two

  Phineas Dartwell couldn’t believe he’d been duped. Again. Damn Victoria! He was only trying to look out for her, so why did she constantly run from him? If he didn’t know better, he would think she was hiding something.

  As it was, he’d known Vickie since she was in nappies. It would be awfully difficult for her to keep anything from him. He might even say he knew her better than he knew himself. These little stunts Vickie pulled were simply her way of rebelling against a horrifically strict upbringing. But one day she would find herself in real trouble. She might have thought it harmless enough to go home alone from a ball late at night, but one never knew what dangers lurked around the corners between Mayfair and Marylebone. It was the rich people that were preyed upon, and one could never be too careful.

  Therefore, despite understanding Victoria’s need to rebel every once in a while, he was incredibly irked by her behavior. Foolish girl. There was nothing he could do about it now, though. She’d gone off on her own and was probably tucked soundly in her bed by now. Fin wouldn’t mind being tucked in his own bed, either. He only came to these blasted things for her, anyhow. If she wasn’t around, there was no reason for him to stay. Now that he’d ascertained that she was no longer here, he could get the hell out.

  “Leaving already?”

  Damn. He’d been so close.

  “Lady Beecham,” he said as he turned and offered a bow. “I trust you’re well.”

  “I want you to finish the painting, Leyburn.” Clearly, they were going to skip over pleasantries.

  “Lady Beecham,” he whispered in an effort to remain discreet, “with all due respect, I cannot finish the painting.”

  “I paid you to do a job, and I want it done.”

  “I refunded your money, if you remember correctly, and I have told you I don’t do those kinds of paintings. You’ll have to look elsewhere.”

  “But I want you to do it.”

  Blast, this woman was persistent, but Fin would not be bested by her. The last thing he wanted to do was portray this woman—this married woman—without any clothes on. The problem was that she’d convinced him to start with her head, and once he’d finished, she insisted he paint the rest of her nude. He’d never fall for that one again. “Good night, my lady. Best of luck in your search.”

  Fin left the brazen woman standing dumbfounded in the foyer. He was sure there weren’t many who had the gall to speak to her in such a way. Her husband held a fair amount of power, after all. However, Fin was sure Lord Beecham wouldn’t be hearing about this particular offense against his wife.

  A painting that was calling to him this evening, though—one inspired by his dear friend’s attempt at freedom. Victoria had asked him to paint her ages ago, but he’d been putting it off for some time. But that defiant look in her eyes from earlier tonight was burned into his brain. He couldn’t think of a better subject at the moment.

  He left the party and headed for home, where his easel and paints and a stubborn young woman awaited him.

  ***

  Victoria pushed through the door to the dilapidated hospital that sat nestled in the slums on the south side of London. If her mother knew she was here, she’d collapse in an apoplectic fit. As it was, Lady Grantham believed her daughter to be visiting the sick and elderly Lady Hartswell in Cavendish Square.

  Ha! Sick was an interesting term to apply to Lady Hartswell. The woman was barely fifty years old, and the only sick thing about her was her mind. Never had Victoria met such a martyr. Her woe-is-me personality was pathetic. If she spent five minutes in this place, she’d realize what true suffering was. But someone like Lady Hartswell wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this.

  “Sarah?” she called out as she hung her coat and hat on the hooks in the entryway.

  “In here, miss!”

  Victoria followed Sarah’s voice to the end of the corridor. “You’ll never believe how much—” She broke off when she took in the scene before her.

  Sarah pulled a white sheet over a body that lay on a rustic wooden table. Victoria had come upon this scene too many times, and it made her sick all over again.

  “Mr. Cole,” replied Sarah to Victoria’s unspoken question. “There was nothin’ to be done.”

  Victoria shook her head. “Of course not. Consumption claims all its victims, eventually. I just wish I could have said goodbye. Poor man. Does he have any family?”

  “None that we know of, miss.”

  “Possessions?”

  “Just the clothes on his back.”

  “I will see to a proper burial. Send for the undertaker, won’t you?”

  Sarah left to do Victoria’s bidding while Victoria made her way to the dead man’s side. She lifted the sheet just enough to see his pale face and wide eyes, frozen in terror.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Cole. You didn’t deserve to die this way.” With a silent prayer commending his poor soul to God, Victoria shut the man’s eyes, replaced the shroud and then left to find Sarah.

  “I sent for the undertaker, miss,” she said as Victoria joined her in the next room.

  “Thank you, Sarah.” She turned to a woman lying on the cot in the corner of the small room. “How are you today, Nancy?”

  “Better, Miss Vickie,” came the woman’s raspy reply. “I’m sure I’ll be barkin’ orders at my no-good husband again in no time.” She tried to laugh, but it proved too much and she dissolved into a fit of coughing.

  “I’m sure you will, Nancy. And I’ve secured the funds to pay for your medicine.”

  “Oh, miss! Another donor?” Sarah exclaimed.

  “Yes, but he—or she—prefers to remain anonymous.”

  “Don’t know why all these donors wish to remain anonymous. If I were doing good, I’d want everyone to know it.”

  “Well, Sarah, not everyone is as modest as you,” Victoria replied with a wink.

  “They don’t mind flautin’ their wealth with clothes and parties, but when it comes to makin’ real contributions, they don’t want anyone to know. Ain’t modesty, miss, it’s embarrassment.”

  “Well, let’s not spend all day making judgments on the character of anonymous donors.” Victoria wanted desperately to change the subject. It would be too easy to get caught up in the conversation and say something to incriminate herself. Not that Sarah would rat her out, but Sarah did like to talk, and accidents did happen. Victoria couldn’t take the risk.

  “Here,” she said, handing over the purse full of coin that she’d pilfered the night before, “take this to Mr. Porter. Did you make a list of what we need?”

  “I did, miss. This should be more than enough.”

  Sarah left for the apothecary and Victoria set to visiting the patients in their little hospital. She’d discovered this place years ago on one of her many ventures into this part of town. The run-down building with its makeshift sign had caught her attention. A hospital was somewhere she could really do a lot of good, she’d thought. So she had introduced herself to Sarah and volunteered to help raise funds for medicines and supplies. Of course, Sarah and the others had been more than grateful to accept her assistance. Ever since then, Vickie had been robbing the rich and giving to the hospital, as well as others who found themselves down on their luck.

  She supposed there was probably a better way of going about raising funds for the poor, but people were much more willing to part with their money when there was a gun pointed at their heads. Never mind that the gun wasn’t loaded.

 
Somewhere along the way, though, the hospital had become more than simply a place she donated money to. She’d learned from Sarah how to care for certain ailments, and she’d started to form relationships with the patients. Aside from the fact that they were all sick and in need of comfort, they were also profoundly human in a way that was unfamiliar to Victoria. They spoke plainly and laughed openly. Their goals in life did not amount to the acquisitions of more money or higher social statuses—they amounted to being happy, providing for their families or simply being able to pay for their next meal. Though Victoria could never be one of them, she could learn from them.

  Sarah returned a short time later from the apothecary, and Victoria helped to administer medicine to the patients. By the time they were done, the undertaker had arrived to retrieve Mr. Cole’s body. They quickly discussed fees and then the man was on his way again, Mr. Cole in tow.

  “Well, Sarah, I must be on my way before Mother becomes suspicious. I’ll be back on Wednesday.”

  “Yes, miss. Thank you, miss.” Sarah smiled wide, her gratitude clear on her face. “Wednesday it is.”

  There was a rather high-profile gathering on Tuesday evening, and Victoria knew exactly which pompous ass she would rob that night.

  ***

  “You have paint all over your fingers.”

  Fin stared back at Victoria, wondering how that answered his question. “I don’t see why that should have any bearing on whether or not you take a walk with me.”

  “It doesn’t,” she replied. “I was simply observing. And now I will answer your question. Yes.”

  She pulled her pelisse and parasol from the hook in the hallway. She really was a queer girl. Pretty as hell, but queer. Lord help the man who took her on as wife. If she ever married, of course. It really wasn’t looking all that likely for her. She was twenty-four and incredibly headstrong—not the most appealing characteristics for a gentleman of the ton. Victoria was good and shelved, and something told Fin she liked it that way. Queer indeed.

  Once they were out on the street, Fin ventured conversation. “Tell me, Vickie, did you suffer temporary amnesia last night?”

  She turned to look at him, but then immediately faced forward again. “Oh, goodness, you’re not going to be cross about that, are you? I had to tell Gil that you were taking me home, but then I figured, why make you go out of your way—”

  “I live next door, Vickie.”

  “Even so,” she said.

  Fin rolled his eyes. “I’m not an idiot, Vickie, I know what you’re doing.”

  There was a beat of silence, and then, “I don’t know what on earth you’re talking about.”

  “Victoria, your parents love you, you know that—”

  “Actually, I don’t. But go on. I’m curious to see where this is leading.”

  Fin sighed and started over. “All right, your parents probably love you—really deep down—and all they want is for you to be happy—”

  “Funny, I just don’t see it that way.”

  “Vick—”

  “No!” She held up her hand in protest. “If this is what you want to talk about, then I’m going home. You may be able to charm my parents and bring out the best in them, but you don’t know them. Not the real them, anyhow. And why are you bringing this up? What does this have to do with last night?”

  “It has to do with you needing to exercise your independence, which is why you left alone last night.”

  “I wasn’t alone, I had Gil.”

  Fin gritted his teeth. What an obstinate little—

  “Is the lecture over now?” she asked.

  “For now.”

  “Good. Now, what have you been working on?”

  “What makes you think I’ve been working on anything?” He didn’t care to share the subject of his most current work—not after their discussion. As a matter of fact, he might just toss the whole bloody thing out the window just to spite her.

  “I’m not an idiot, either, Fin. Your hands are covered in paint.”

  “It’s nothing important, really,” he said evasively. “Just another boring still life.”

  They walked in silence for a few blocks, and Fin was grateful that it wasn’t uncomfortable. Not that it ever had been. Victoria was practically his closest friend. It was just that silences with most other women were uncomfortable. They always seemed nervous and desperate to fill the silence. But not Vickie. No, she was more than happy to keep her thoughts to herself.

  Suddenly, that idea annoyed Fin. What the devil was she thinking about? Would she tell him if he asked? “A penny for your thoughts?” he ventured.

  “What? Oh, they aren’t worth that much,” she replied with a nervous laugh.

  How uncharacteristic of her. “Care to share them, anyway?”

  She thought for a moment before replying. “No. At least, not until you tell me what you’re really working on.”

  “You’re too smart for your own good, you know?”

  Her self-satisfied smile made Fin want to laugh. “I know.”

  ***

  “Your mother wishes to see you, miss.”

  Victoria looked up to find Davis, their stalwart butler, standing over her. She immediately moved her hand to cover the letter she’d been writing, hopeful that the ink had dried sufficiently already.

  “Tell her I’ll be along momentarily. I’m just finishing up here.” Davis shifted his feet and cleared his throat. Victoria turned to him again. “What is it, Davis?”

  “It’s just that . . . milady said not to allow you to make any excuses. She wants to see you—now.”

  “You may tell milady that I am four-and-twenty, and I will come when I am good and ready.” Victoria’s temper bubbled. She knew she should try and control it, but she couldn’t. “How dare she? I’m not a child anymore, Davis. She can’t insist that I drop everything simply because she wants to see me. Part of me wants to take even longer than I need finishing this letter just to spite her.” She held up a hand to Davis, who stood there quietly, listening to her rant. “Yes, I know I’m being childish, but she treats me like a child! What does she expect?”

  She stopped and stared up at him, not really waiting for a response. He wasn’t one to offer up opinions. But then he did speak, much to Victoria’s surprise.

  “I’m sorry, miss,” he said, a pained look crossing his features. “In this instance, I think it is best you go to your mother.”

  Victoria felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. How humbling to be told what to do by ones servant. However, she was too dumbfounded to say anything but, “All right,” as she vacated her chair and walked numbly to her mother’s chambers.

  Three

  “Well, well, well, isn’t this surprising?”

  Fin startled and his brush flew across Victoria’s face—in the painting, of course. He whirled around to scold the intruder, but his frustration turned to joy when he saw who stood in the doorway to his studio.

  “Tom!” he shouted as he crossed the room to his old friend. “I thought you were still in Jamaica. When did you arrive home?”

  They shook hands and then Tom sloughed off to the sofa. He landed on it sideways, in a reclined position. “Just this morning,” he said. “Finally. It’s a bloody long trip from Jamaica, you know?”

  “No, but I can imagine,” said Fin. “Have you seen Victoria? I’m sure she’ll be thrilled you’re home.”

  This piqued Tom’s interest. “Why’s that?”

  “She can’t stand to have me looking after her. She likes when I’m her friend, but not her guardian. I’m certain she’ll be happy to have you back in that role.”

  Tom chuckled and leaned back further to stare up at the ceiling. “I don’t have any intentions of following my sister around. She’s too damned headstrong. I don’t know why you even bothered.”

  “Headstrong and secretive and deceptive . . . yes, I’m quite aware of Victoria’s shortcomings.” Fin moved back to his painting of her and stared into the eyes
he’d painted just a half hour earlier. They were still wet and glossy, as if filled with tears.

  “Apparently you don’t find the shortcomings to be with her looks, though.”

  Fin turned to his old friend. “I’m not painting her because I find her attractive. I’m painting her so I can yell at the painting instead of her when she drives me to madness.”

  Tom erupted into laughter. “In that case, perhaps you should paint one for me as well.”

  ***

  “You wished to see me, mother?” Victoria crossed the threshold into her mother’s favorite room. Victoria didn’t understand why she favored it so much. It was quite manly, with dark woods and fabrics, and it abutted to the next house—Fin’s house—so it got very little sunlight.

  Victoria preferred the front drawing room, which looked out onto the street. It was sunnier and far more interesting than this dungeon.

  “Sit down,” Lady Grantham instructed. Once Victoria had done as she bade, her mother finally looked up at her with a serene smile on her face. “Your brother has returned from Jamaica.”

  Victoria’s eyes widened with her surprise, but she wasn’t quite sure what to say to the news. Of course, she was happy her brother had returned safely from abroad, but . . . well, part of her wished he hadn’t returned at all. At least, not yet, anyway.

  “I know, this comes as quite a shock,” her mother continued, not bothering to wait for a reaction from her daughter. “We really thought he’d be there forever. His letters indicated he was quite happy. Nonetheless, we must make the most of his return.”

  Oh, no. Victoria had an idea of where this was leading and she didn’t like it one bit.

  “I will alert him to your social schedule so that he may accompany you from now on. It isn’t good that you’re seen practically everywhere with Lord Leyburn. I know he fancies himself like an older brother to you, but the fact of the matter is that he is not. Other gentlemen must see him as your suitor, and who would dare challenge the earl? He’s more handsome than the other gentlemen by leaps and bounds . . .”