Page 378

Above the second floor of bedchambers, there was a floor for children, and then another floor for the servants.
The earl’s suite was on the ground floor in the rear of the town house to accommodate his wheelchair.
Mrs. Wayneflete kept her voice low as they stood in the corridor. “My lady, only this morning the earl threw his breakfast tray at the maid, saying it wasn’t cooked to his exact specifications.”
“How inconsiderate of him.” Victoria wondered if a man with notoriety attached to his name would even bother to care what people thought anymore. “But he is dying,” she said aloud.
“We all die, my lady,” the housekeeper said, shooting an irritated look at the closed door. “Some of us do it graciously. Though the earl seldom leaves his room, when he does, he finds fault with every servant he encounters. I’ve heard stories of maids crying, footmen quitting, and housekeepers finally refusing to deal with the extra work. Those women came so highly regarded, they knew they could get a plum position in a better household, regardless of how much the viscount paid them to stay.”
Victoria stared at his door with worry. “We must do something about this, Mrs. Wayneflete. The last few months, my mother has shown a disturbing tendency to sleep too much of each day. I won’t watch two elderly people confine themselves to their rooms and be miserable at the end of their lives. There has to be some way to help them both.”
Mrs. Wayneflete nodded, though her expression showed her skepticism.
Victoria went back to the music room on the first floor overlooking the garden. A piano was the centerpiece of the room, flanked by cabinets full of musical scores. A covered harp rested quietly in one corner, and a cornet and a violin sat on ashelf in their cases. There was a large desk near the window, and Victoria could see herself there, working on her music.
She found her favorite compositions among the sheet music, soft, quiet tunes that should bother no one in the household. Eventually she grew bold, playing ever louder until the room swelled with music, and her ears rang with each reverberation. As always, she poured her worries and fears into the music, letting it release in glorious sound. She had forgotten how much better her music always made her feel.
With a happy sigh she let her hands fall into her lap. In the peaceful silence, she thought she heard the front door close. No one came looking for her, but an uneasy feeling rose within her, a prickling at the base of her neck.
Perhaps Lord Thurlow had come home for luncheon. She walked into the corridor and looked over the railing into the entrance hall below. The voices were louder now, coming from the library, a woman’s—and Lord Thurlow’s.
Victoria gripped the railing and considered what she should do. He could be speaking to a maid, after all. Victoria would just walk down to the kitchen—past the library—because she still had to discuss the day’s menu with Mrs. Wayneflete. When she reached the ground floor, she paused. The library door was partly open, though she could not see inside. The woman’s voice was not that of one of the maids, yet Victoria knew it from somewhere.
Lord Thurlow’s tone was solemn. “Forgive me. It was rude of me not to tell you about Victoria immediately. Things just happened so quickly.”
“Forgetfulness is often your excuse, David,” said the woman in a sad voice. “How many nights did I wait for you, delaying my own plans, because you said you were coming to me?”
Victoria felt gooseflesh sweep over her skin, and she shivered. This was Lord Thurlow’s mistress! She was brazen enough to come to Banstead House in broad daylight!
“You’re right, I have treated you poorly,” Lord Thurlow said.
“No, you have always been a good man, and that is why this is so difficult for me. Why couldn’t it have been me?”
“I beg your pardon?” he said.
Victoria held her breath, guilt long since faded away. Sheneededto hear this.
“I always thought you would marry a woman of your own class, so I never had hopes for myself.” Her voice broke. “But you married a commoner, just like me.”
“Damaris, you must understand?—”
Victoria gasped and backed away from the library door. Miss Damaris Lingard was her husband’s mistress? And he had allowed the two women to attend the same luncheon, hurting Miss Lingard and making a fool of his own betrothed?
7
Victoria’s sisters and mother arrived a half hour later, and Victoria had the butler show them into the drawing room. Victoria had dried her tears and washed her face, determined to speak to her husband about his mistress before the day was out. Until then, she could do nothing about the horrible cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. Was he already lying to her? Did he have no plans to end his affair?
When the butler had left them alone, her sisters’ faces showed puzzlement as they stared at Victoria, and then growing concern. No matter how hard Victoria had tried to keep her expression merely pleasant, her sisters had already seen that something was wrong.
Victoria didnotwant to talk about it.
“Good morning, Mama,” she said, kissing her mother’s cheek. “Is everything ready for you to move in here?”
She’d obviously said the wrong thing, for her sisters winced and her mother looked mutinous.
“Am I missing something?” Victoria asked as they all sat down.
Meriel sighed. “Mama is sad to be leaving home.”