“Oh, Robert can be quite a rake,” Harriet said. This earned her a disapproving look from her cousin.
Victoria turned to the younger girl with interest. “Is that so?”
“Oh, yes. I fear it was his broken heart that forced him to turn to other women.”
A nasty feeling began to develop in Victoria's stomach. “Exactly how many other women are we talking about?”
“Scores,” Harriet said earnestly. “Legions.”
Robert began to chuckle.
“Don't laugh,” Harriet hissed. “I am trying to make her jealous on your behalf.”
Victoria coughed, hiding a smile behind her hand. Really, Harriet was such a dear.
Mrs. Brightbill, who had been conversing with Madame Lambert, rejoined the conversation. “Are you ready, Miss Lyndon?” Her tone clearly implied that she did not expect another refusal.
“It is very kind of you, Mrs. Brightbill, but I'm frightfully busy here at the dress shop, and—”
“I just spoke to Madame Lambert, and she assured me that she might spare you for an hour.”
“You might as well give in gracefully,” Robert said with a smile. “My aunt always gets her way.”
“It must run in the family,” Victoria muttered.
“I certainly hope so,” he replied.
“Very well,” Victoria said. “A cup of tea does sound rather nice, actually.”
“Excellent,” Mrs. Brightbill said, rubbing her hands together. “We have much to discuss.”
Victoria blinked a few times and adopted an innocent expression. “His lordship won't be joining us, will he?”
“Not if you do not desire it, dear.”
Victoria turned to the man in question and offered him an acidic smile. “Good day, then, Robert.”
Robert merely leaned against the wall and smiled as she left, willing to let her believe she'd outwitted him. Victoria had said she craved normalcy, hadn't she? He chuckled. People didn't get more frighteningly normal than Aunt Brightbill.
Tea was actually a rather pleasant affair. Mrs. Brightbill and Harriet regaled Victoria with tales aplenty about Robert, few of which Victoria was inclined to believe. The way they extolled his honor, bravery, and kindness, one would think he was a candidate for sainthood. Victoria wasn't entirely sure why they were so intent on welcoming her to their family; Robert's father certainly hadn't been enthusiastic about his son marrying a vicar's daughter. And now she was a common shopgirl! It was unheard of for an earl to marry someone such as her. Still, Victoria could only deduce from Mrs. Brightbill's frequent statements of, “My, but we'd quite given up on dear Robert marrying,” and “You're the first respectable lady he's shown an interest in in years,” that she was quite eager for a match.
Victoria didn't say much. She didn't feel she had very much to add to the conversation, and even if she had, Mrs. Brightbill and Harriet didn't give her many opportunities to do so.
After an hour the mother and daughter deposited Victoria back at the dress shop. Victoria poked her head through the door suspiciously, convinced that Robert was going to jump out at her from behind a dressmaker's dummy.
But he wasn't there. Madame Lambert said that he'd had business to attend to in another part of town.
Victoria was horrified to realize that she was feeling something that vaguely resembled a stab of disappointment. It wasn't because she missed him, she rationalized, she just missed the battle of wits.
“He did leave you this, though,” Madame said, holding out a fresh box of pastries. “He said he hoped you would deign to eat one.”
At Victoria's sharp look, Madame added, “His words, not mine.”
Victoria turned to hide the smile tugging at her lips. Then she forced her mouth back into a frown. He was not going to wear her down. She had told him that she valued her independence, and she'd meant it. He would not win her heart with romantic gestures.
Although, she thought pragmatically, one pastry really couldn't hurt.
Robert's smile spread into a full-fledged grin as he watched Victoria eat a third pastry. She obviously didn't know that he was watching her through the window, or she wouldn't have even so much as sniffed at one of the small cakes. She then picked up the handkerchief he'd left with the box and examined the monogram. Then, after a quick scan to make sure that none of her co-workers were looking, she lifted the scrap of cloth to her face and inhaled its scent.
Robert felt tears prick his eyes. She was softening toward him. She'd die before she admitted it, but it was clear she was softening.