A strange expression crossed Robert's face. “Torie, he is most stubborn. He—”
“I didn't say you have to succeed,” she said quickly. “Just that you have to try.”
Robert lifted her hands to his lips. “Very well, my lady. I give you my vow.”
She offered him a smile that pretended to be stern. “I'm not ‘your lady’ yet.”
Robert only grinned and kissed her hand again. “I would leave with you tonight if I could,” he said, “but I will need a bit of time to amass some funds and supplies. I don't intend to drag you across the countryside with nothing but the clothes on our backs.”
She touched his cheek. “You're such a planner.”
“I don't like leaving anything to chance.”
“I know. It's one of the things I love best about you.” She smiled sheepishly. “I'm forever forgetting things. When my mother was alive she always said that I would forget my head if I weren't in possession of a neck.”
That prompted a smile. Robert said, “I'm glad you have a neck. I'm rather fond of it.”
“Don't be silly,” she said. “I was merely trying to say that it is nice to know that I'll have you to keep my life in order.”
He leaned forward and brushed the gentlest of kisses on her lips. “It's all I want to do. Just keep you happy.”
Victoria looked up at him with damp eyes and curled her face into the crook of his shoulder.
Robert let his chin rest on the top of her head. “Can you be ready in three days time?”
Victoria nodded, and they spent the next hour making plans.
Robert shivered against the night wind, checking his pocket watch for what must have been the twentieth time. Victoria was five minutes late. Nothing to be alarmed about; she was terribly disorganized and was frequently five or ten minutes late for their outings. But this was no ordinary outing.
Robert had planned their elopement to the last detail. He'd taken his curricle from his father's stables. He would have preferred a more practical vehicle for the long journey to Scotland, but the curricle belonged to him, not his father, and Robert didn't want to feel beholden.
Victoria was to meet him here, at the end of the road leading to her cottage. They had decided that she would have to slip out on her own. It would be far too noisy if Robert drove the curricle to her house, and he didn't want to leave it unattended. It would only take five minutes for Victoria to make her way to him, and the area had always been quite safe.
But damn it, where was she?
Victoria scanned her room, checking for any last item she might have missed. She was running late. Robert expected her five minutes ago, but at the last minute she decided that she might need a warmer dress, so she had to repack her bag. It wasn't every day a young woman left home in the middle of the night. She ought to at least be certain that she packed the right belongings. The miniature! Victoria smacked herself on her forehead as she realized that she couldn't possibly leave without the small painting of her mother. Mrs. Lyndon had had two done, and Mr. Lyndon had always said that Victoria and Ellie would each take one when they married so they would never forget their mother. They were tiny paintings; Victoria's fit in the palm of her hand.
Still clutching her satchel, Victoria tiptoed out of her room and into the hall. She made her way to the sitting room, silently crossing the rug to the end table where the small portrait sat. She snatched it up, stuffed it into her bag, and then turned around to go back to her room, where she planned to leave through the window.
But as she turned, her bag connected with a brass lamp, sending it crashing to the floor.
Within seconds the Reverend Mr. Lyndon came storming through the doorway. “What the devil is going on here?” His eyes took in Victoria, who was frozen with fright in the middle of the sitting room. “Why are you awake, Victoria? And why are you dressed?”
“I…I…” Victoria shook with fear, unable to force a word from her mouth.
The vicar spied her bag. “What is that?” In two steps he crossed the room and snatched it from her. He yanked out clothing, a Bible…And then his hand rested on the miniature. “You're running away,” he whispered. He looked up at her, staring at her as if he could not believe that one of his daughters would possibly disobey him. “You're running away with that man.”
“No, Papa!” she cried. “No!”
But she had never been a very good liar.
“By God!” Mr. Lyndon shouted. “You'll think twice before you disobey me again.”