Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

T he following morning.

The morning after the first round of balls and parties, an exhausted and somewhat disappointed Victoria was still trying to make sense of it all. According to Matthew, who seemed to have an opinion on everyone, the men their mother had so far selected were either cads, rakes, bores, or all of the above. Not one of them would be good enough for his sister.

Thank god for Matthew, and his brutally honest opinions.

Last night, she'd been paraded around in front of London's elite like a prized mare. The three separate gala balls were just the beginning. From what her mother had confided in her after they'd returned home, Victoria's social diary was close to full for the foreseeable future. The husband hunt was on in full earnest.

In the face of all those impending parties, a frustrated Victoria did the only thing a sensible young woman could do. She fled Mowbray House at first light and sought refuge at her sister's home. She didn't even bother to stop at her usual German bakery for her daily sourdough bread and salted butter.

Fortunately Augusta, Countess Bramshaw, was at home, and after Victoria had been shown into the upstairs drawing room at Bramshaw House, her sister welcomed her with open arms. And plenty of questions.

"It's lovely to see you, Victoria. But it is barely eight o'clock. Don't you think that's a little early for a social visit?"

Victoria's gaze settled on the swell of her sister's belly, and she winced. "Sorry. I forget ladies in your condition need their sleep. I can go and sit quietly in the library if you like. Let you go back to bed."

Augusta shook her head. "I'm up now, besides if you are here at this ungodly hour, then it can only mean that Mama is up to something, and you are trying to hide from her. Have you eaten?"

"No."

The countess's eyes went wide. "Is it that bad?" Augusta picked up a bell and rang it.

"Yes. She's decided that after all the scandals which have involved our family in the past year, finding me a nice, respectable, noble husband is the panacea for all her ills. Last night we went to three…three balls." She held up three fingers for added effect. "Mama spent the entire evening on the hunt for any and all suitable dukes, marquises, and earls. Anything lower like a viscount is apparently not good enough for her purposes. She's working her way through a list of potential candidates and intends to thrust me in front of all of them over the next few weeks so that our wedding can be arranged before the various landed nobles retreat to their estates for the winter period."

She dropped onto a sofa. Her poor feet were sore and aching after all that dancing last night. "Can you believe it?"

Augusta nodded. "I can. This is Mama. She never does anything by halves. Did you happen to meet anyone who stirred your interest?"

"Lord no. Matthew, god bless him, was vetting most of them. He is a veritable treasure trove of gossip and hidden secrets about the ton . He knows everything about London society and its hidden scandals."

A footman appeared in the doorway of the drawing room. Augusta beckoned him in. "Lady Victoria and I will be taking an early breakfast this morning. Would you please ask cook to make us two large cheese and vegetable frittatas. And could you please bring us some of the Italian black coffee. Thank you."

As soon as the footman had gone, Victoria let out a sigh of relief. "I can't imagine how wonderful it must be to have a cook on hand who can make authentic Italian food. I am so jealous. Can I please come and live with you and Flynn?"

Augusta had accompanied their mother to Italy a year or so earlier and spent a lengthy period in Rome staying at Serafina's family home in central Rome. She'd returned to England with a taste for the rich foods of the Mediterranean, along with the handsome earl who was her husband.

"You are welcome to dine here anytime, but I doubt whether Mama would let you completely escape her clutches. Not until you have a wedding ring on your finger. Flynn loves having family members come visit at Bramshaw House. Considering that he grew up far from London and is really only getting established in town since his father's death, he is delighted anytime we have guests. When you are married, you will have to bring your husband here to dine with us at least once a week."

The subject of the late Earl Bramshaw was quickly and quietly dropped. Food was a much better topic. It always was where Victoria was concerned.

They settled into a pair of comfortable chairs positioned by the expansive windows. The sofas were both decorated in a pale blue fabric which looked new.

The room overlooked the green lawns and trees of Cavendish Square. Victoria peered out through the glass. "It really is a lovely spot up here. And you have done so much with this house in such a short time."

Augusta, who shared almost the exact same shade of hair as her younger sister, was resting her swollen feet on a footstool, with her back against the sofa. "I wanted to get as much of the refurbishments done before I got too rounded to be able to follow the tradesmen around the house and check on their work. And the sooner we get rid of as many memories of Flynn's father as possible, the better. My husband hated this house, but I think with the changes it's beginning to grow on him."

Flynn had suffered terribly at the hands of his father, and neither he nor Augusta tended to speak of him unless it was absolutely necessary.

The previous earl had inflicted a dull palette of grays and browns on the house, but in the short months that Augusta and Flynn had been in residence, much of this had been swept away. In its place were pale greens, blues, and light summer creams. Bramshaw House, along with the new earl, was coming back to life.

My sister is making this a warm and welcoming home.

Victoria was happy for Augusta, but she still missed sharing a bedroom with her older sibling. Missed all those late-night chats they used to share over glasses of liquor they had stolen from their father's supposedly secure drinks cabinet.

"Tell me more about Mama's plans to marry you off," said Augusta.

Victoria rolled her eyes. "Urgh. I think she is looking for a way to get back into society. Ever since her return from Rome, she's found the other matrons of the haut ton to be less than welcoming."

"And you are the means to her end. That's a little unfair."

"Perhaps, but she is right in one regard. It is time I started looking for a spouse. Or at least showed an interest in the eligible males of the ton . And I do owe it to her as our mother to help smooth her way back into society. It will also help Serafina to establish herself as the Marchioness of Holwell."

"I feel sorry for Mama, I really do. But she created this situation by throwing a tantrum and leaving for Rome. She could have talked to Papa and done something to sort it out. Flitting off to the continent wasn't the way to handle things. If she had laid her troubles at our father's feet, it could have saved us all a great deal of trouble. Not just her, but me as well," replied Augusta.

Augusta had accompanied their mother, and from all accounts had been none too pleased when she'd finally discovered that the duchess had no plans to return to England, and Augusta was going to be staying with her in exile. The arrival of Gideon in Rome had fortunately scuppered those plans, and everyone had returned to England.

Victoria continued to stare out the window, watching as various people and carriages passed by the house. Her mother's machinations aside, she was still chafing over the two disappointing experiences she'd had at the well-reviewed Graceful Swan. If there was one thing in her life, she'd always been able to rely upon, it was the restaurant reviews in the Morning Herald , but now they were failing her.

What was the world coming to, when a reader couldn't rely on the words of a trusted column in the newspaper? Next came revolution and the fall of an empire.

She turned as a footman entered the room. The sight of the tray of small cups and the small coffeepot he was carrying quickly shifted her mood. If Italian coffee couldn't repair her humor, nothing would.

"Coffee, just what I need."

Victoria waited with barely restrained patience as the footman poured them both a cup and set the pot back on the tray. He bowed and left the room.

"So what do you plan to do about this marriage lark?" asked Augusta.

A soft smile crept to Victoria's lips. Her sister knew her well enough to know she wasn't going to go meekly along with the duchess's plans. Each of the Kembal girls had been raised to stand up for themselves. The world was about to be on the receiving end of Lady Anne's teachings.

"Well I do have to eventually marry. I suppose. But before I do that, I want to do something for myself. I might well be the instrument of Mama's return to society, but I want more. I need to breathe."

As soon as she was wed, she'd have to take on the role of managing a house, possibly an estate. And then children. All of it was a role designed to serve the needs of other people.

Victoria tapped her fingers on the arm of the sofa, as a plan formed in her mind. "She won't let me within ten feet of the kitchen at home. Said it is beneath a woman of gentle birth to understand how food is prepared. But…"

She let that last word linger.

"But what?"

Victoria bent and picked up her cup of coffee. She'd been mulling over that particular question since waking. Wondering if she would dare to offer up her heart's deepest desire and press her current position.

"I want to write to the Morning Herald's food reviewer."

"Mama, and Papa for that matter, would never agree to it. Could you imagine how tongues would wag if news that one of the Duke of Mowbray's daughters had penned a letter to a newspaper became public knowledge?" replied Augusta, her voice edged with caution. She shifted in her seat and turned to face Victoria. "Why is this so important? I know you love your food. A cookbook was the obvious choice for my gift to you from Rome. Even if it was in Italian."

Serafina had kindly translated each and every recipe, and Victoria now had her own English version of the book.

"But why would you risk such a thing, especially when you know that Mama is desperate to see you settled into a respectable union."

Victoria sipped her hot drink, letting the black coffee fill her with its bitter joy. "Because if I don't do it now, I doubt my husband will allow me to sully his family name by seeing it printed in the newspaper."

She loathed to give voice to her deepest fear—that her future husband wouldn't understand how important food was to her. That he would think her opinions about it were foolish, and that she would be better served to worry about other matters.

This might seem trivial to others, but it meant a great deal to her. It was one thing which would be truly hers. Not her parents', nor her future spouse's—hers.

No one understands my passion or what it means to me. No one.

"Hmm. Yes, I can see that you have a problem." Augusta's hum was not one of approval. "What if you wrote in as a gentleman reader, without mentioning your name or family connections?"

She stared at her sister, momentarily lost for words.

Why hadn't I already come up with that idea? Of course. An anonymous reader.

She could devise a nom de plume. And her parents would never know it was her.

"Could I ask a small favor?" said Victoria. She was keen to capitalize on her sister's suggestion.

Augusta raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"I need some plain paper. All the paper at home has the Mowbray ducal crest on it. The rest of my cards are pretty floral ones. As you say, if I am to write to the newspaper, the note needs to look like it came from a gentleman. They won't even consider printing it if they think it's from a woman."

Her sister's eyes glinted with mischief. "You are in luck. Flynn still hasn't commissioned a new letterhead for the Bramshaw title, so all our current writing paper is plain. I shall make sure you have a full box of it before you leave this morning."

A short time later, as she dug into her hearty Rome-inspired frittata, Victoria began to mentally formulate her first letter to the editor of the Morning Herald . They may well never print it, but just the thought of being able to put her opinion down on paper and actually send it to the newspaper was enough to have her half giddy with delight.

She'd wait until after she had visited the next restaurant featured in the Morning Herald , then send her carefully considered note to the editor.

Imagine if they read it and decide it's good enough to print?

Now that would be something worth clipping out of the newspaper and pasting in her culinary journal.

"If I get one of the Mowbray House footmen to hand deliver it, there won't be any post markings on it, so no one will ever know where it came from."

Victoria's morning was on the up. Her belly was full of delicious Italian food, while her mind was a whirl of possibilities.

The only thing still left empty was her heart.