Chapter 8

So too in blowing your nose, you must not make the noise of a trumpet, but do it gently and quietly; and, when you sneeze, use your handkerchief.

~ The Habits of Good Society: A Handbook for Ladies and Gentlemen (The Last London Editor; 1860)

Day 2 of Sinclair Wife Wooing (Colton is Catching)

Eleven o’clock: Picnic on the lawns

Dinner

In attendance: Lord Gabriel Sinclair, Miss Oriana Brightmore, Miss Imogen Brightmore, Miss Isabella Wolcott and Miss Caroline Bentley

Victoria sneezed.

It was the sound of a trumpet.

Mrs Littleford glared disapprovingly at her, especially when she wiped her dripping nose on her sleeve.

“Miss Colton,” she sneered derisively, “no gentleman in his right mind would consent to marrying you if you continue in this vein.”

“Fantastic,” Victoria sniffed miserably, feeling utterly wretched and helpless. A foul cold had befallen her during the course of the night, scratching her throat vilely and bestowing on her a permanently red nose. It was awful.

Unfortunately, Delores hadn’t felt compelled to cancel this morning’s deportment lessons and Victoria was still obliged to attend, much to her own dismay. Mrs Littleford had seen Victoria’s malady as a pretext to initiate a discussion about how a lady should sneeze, sniff and cough in society and among people of acquaintance. And, as much as she tried, she found it physically impossible to sneeze demurely into a handkerchief or cough without it sounding like she was hacking up one of her own lungs.

“I fail to see the humour in this,” Mrs Littleford was saying tautly. “You are quite beautiful, Miss Colton. If only your behaviour was testament to your beauty, you’d find you could have any gentleman your heart desired. Why, I am quite astounded many of them are still so eager to court you although it is no surprise that Lord Beverly fled as quickly as he did.”

Either she was inflicted with an illness that affected the mind, or Victoria had become a new person overnight, but she couldn’t feel bothered to articulate a response to the dictatorial woman. Let her rather believe that Beverly had fled rather than know the true reason for his sudden absence.

“Hmm.” Mrs Littleford studied Victoria closely where she huddled dejectedly in a corner of a settee in the drawing room they always used for lessons. She pursed her lips and gave her a baleful frown for good measure. “I can see that it would serve little good to continue today,” she said at length. “But I must insist that you not go out into company today. Bed rest is what you need and maybe you’ll be fit to continue tomorrow.”

“Eugh.”

Mrs Littleford had such a look of disdain on her face at that utterance that she did not even bother bidding Victoria farewell, rather she merely stomped off in a right fit.

So Victoria did spend the day in bed and most of her morning she was left to doze. And doze she did, like a woman starved of sleep because of all these early mornings, and only reawakened close to noon. Feeling somewhat livelier than she was during the deportment lessons, Victoria managed to haul herself from her bed and pad lightly to the window where the sun streamed through like luminescent yellow ribbons.

Lo and behold, there was Gabriel, strutting about with four nitwits dogging his every step as he flaunted about on the lawn like an arrogant peacock.

Vicky snorted disparagingly, which only served to make her raw throat sting in protest, and she folded her arms moodily, not at all liking the feeling unfurling in her gut as she scrutinized the happenings below her.

It thoroughly irked her how he could so easily absorb himself into finding a wife and it looked like Miss Oriana was earning his favour. It also grated her the wrong way that he could so easily dismiss her own suggestion that they feign an engagement. Surely he could see that, although silly, her theory was sound? At least, it would forestall this odious three week sojourn in the country in search of a husband. So archaic and medieval and downright idiotic.

She snorted again as she watched the ladies flank either side of Gabriel as they sauntered through the gardens, occasionally pausing so that Gabriel could pick a flower and hand it to one of the girls. Each of them got a flower. Ugh. How revolting. Look at them, pandering to him like he was lord of the earth. Did they have no pride whatsoever?

And Gabriel was no better, flirting with them blatantly, that suave grin dimpling his cheeks and his smouldering green eyes brimming with sensual promise. He shouldn’t look at a girl like that. He shouldn’t make them feel all tingly and hot with a hooded stare. He probably gazed at his mistress like that. Mistress? Pah! Mistresses more like! The man was wretched, the vilest most conceited lout with a… a what? What on earth was the collective noun for mistresses?

Good Lord, she’d never thought of that before. Was there even a collective noun for mistresses? Probably not. Something like that would definitely not be appropriate for savoury company. Vicky allowed herself a little smile at the thought of what Mrs Littleford would do should she ever heard Vicky conjure up a collective for mistresses. The woman would have an apoplectic fit!

“Bevy?” she murmured allowed, scowling blackly at the quad of women twittering around Gabriel.

A bevy of mistresses.

Hmmm. That didn’t quite work. A bevy of beauties would be apropos, but she couldn’t stomach it being associated to mistresses.

“Horde?” That sounded better. A horde of mistresses. Gabriel Sinclair and his horde of mistresses!

“Ha! Quiver! Bushel!”

“Victoria,” Dani hedged warily from the threshold of her door. “Are you feeling all right?”

Without turning, Vicky continued to glare vindictively at the small party below her window. “I’m quite fine,” she said wickedly, “I am merely observing Gabriel Sinclair and his fleet of mistresses!”

Dani ambled over to Vicky stood and peered down into the garden. “Vicky, that’s hardly a nice thing to say,” she retorted through a reluctant grin.

“I didn’t mean it. Besides, I was only pondering the appropriate collective for mistresses. It is not my fault that the opportunity presented itself to apply an example,” she explained primly.

“I’m sure.”

Oh, dear. Gabriel and Oriana were suddenly isolating themselves from the small group, strolling amiably towards the stone bench that overlooked a pond. Just what exactly did that mean? He surely wasn’t about to propose to the poor girl? Her heart suddenly began to beat with aching panic. No, he wouldn’t, surely.

“Victoria?” Dani interrupted her flurried thoughts loudly.

“Hmm?”

“I was going to ask if you would like to come down to the library with me if you were feeling-”

If the other woman spoke anything after that, Vicky didn’t hear it. The only sound in her mind was the thunderous hammering of her heart as she stared intently at the couple now perched comfortably beside one another on the bench. Oh, but it was the perfect scene with those pretty rose bushes flanking them, the pond and the lilies. Nauseatingly serene. Horrendously romantic. Vicky wanted to look away, to ignore the churning burn of agony writhing in her gut, but oh, cruel irony, she could not! Spurred by her own denial and bitterness, she could not turn away until the heinous deed was done and Gabriel proposed to lovely Miss Oriana Brightmore because, surely, why else would he be leaning towards her inappropriately close and murmuring something in her ear that made a becoming blush tickle up her cheeks?

“Well, I can clearly see that I am not wanted here,” Dani sulked, rather loudly Vicky thought.

She yanked her friend by the arm and pulled her to the window. “Does it look like he is about to propose?” she demanded, pointed at the cosy couple below.

Dani peered down thoughtfully, her nose wrinkling as she pondered the question. “Hmmm. It certainly looks quite romantic,” she pointed out, unwelcomingly.

“Ugh. It’s divinely disgusting,” Vicky grunted.

“My, aren’t we articulate today. You must be feeling quite poetic using language like that.”

“I’m sick. Don’t tease me.”

Dani smiled. “Why are we so obsessed with Gabriel’s bride-to-be?” she asked slyly.

“We are not obsessed. We are only making sure that our stepbrother doesn’t do something silly.”

“Firstly,” Dani retorted tartly, “you’ve always hated Gabriel. Secondly, you would never have been caught calling the man your brother.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “He’s the closest thing I have to one!” she sniffed. “I just don’t think it’s wise to rush into these types of things, that is all. And Gabriel does seem intent on rushing into things! I mean, just look at him! He’s on the brink of proposing to the poor girl! He can hardly know her all that well after just one day!”

Dani raised an eyebrow imperiously. “Good God, you’re jealous.”

Vicky gasped. “You take that back, Daniel Carmichael! You take that back right now!”

“Never.”

“I could never be jealous of that overbearing lout!”

“I didn’t say you were jealous of Gabriel,” Dani stated dryly. “You’re jealous of Oriana.”

“Of all the ridiculous things-”

“It’s true. Admit it.”

“You must be getting sick,” Vicky growled, making as if to feel Dani’s brow with her fingertips. “Yes. I can feel you burning up. Delirious. With fever.”

“You’re more stubborn than a mule, Victoria,” Dani goaded teasingly. “Why don’t you just admit it? I won’t judge you. Oh, alright, I will. But only a little and purely because it’s quite funny.”

“I hate Gabriel Sinclair,” Vicky enunciated between clenched teeth, “and I always will!”

Dani snorted disbelievingly and adopted a similar stance to Victoria’s. “Well, I don’t think he’s proposing,” she mumbled sourly. “Look, they’re getting up and Oriana certainly does not look like a woman just proposed to.”

“She looks quite miserable.”

“Mmm.”

There was an imperceptible pause. “I’d also look that miserable if Gabriel Sinclair proposed to me,” Vicky said.

Dani threw her a caustic look. “We both know that isn’t true.”

“It is true. I would cast my accounts onto his shiny boots, I would. If he proposed, that is.”

“No you would not.”

“You’re right. Gabriel Sinclair would never propose to me, anyway.”

Dani huffed a beleaguered sigh and rolled her eyes. “You’re quite impossible today. I think I shall blame it on the cold so that we can still remain friends afterwards.”

“You’re too kind.”

“Oh, I know. Why I put up with you-”

“Look! They appear to be coming inside!”

Dani sighed. “Surely you should be in bed?” she asked.

Victoria waved off her concern blithely and energetically. “I’m quite fine, honestly. It is just all these early mornings. Being in bed is only making it worse, anyway.”

“Your logic is terribly flawed.”

“Nonsense. Didn’t you say you wanted to go down to the library? I shall be delighted to accompany you.” She hurried over to her bureau and began to pull out various items of clothing.

“Why the sudden interest to join me? You have no intention of coming with me, do you? You just want to go snooping and see if you can find out what happened with Gabriel and Oriana in the garden, don’t you?” Dani accused churlishly.

“Oh, please. As if I care!” But Dani knew Victoria all too well and Vicky, on her part, knew that Dani could see through her flippant lie as easily as if she could read her very mind. “Oh, alright. I do. I can’t help myself.”

“You’re impossible. You really shouldn’t leave your bed, though. You sound like an agitated goose.”

Vicky gave Dani an annoyed look. For all her kindness, she was far too forward with Vicky and she already knew that she sounded revoltingly hoarse. But to compare her voice to the awful honking of a goose? Well, that was just mean. “That is not a very nice thing to say-” She sneezed explosively.

Delores poked her head around the door of Vicky’s room and frowned. “It sounds worse than a dying horse in here,” she remarked. Oh, perfect. Compared to a goose, a horse and a mule, all in one day. What next? “Victoria,” Delores continued, glancing about at the array of skirts, chemise, stockings and dresses scattered across the floor, “are you cleaning out your bureau?”

“She is intending to leave the room,” Dani informed her snootily. “I’m sure you will agree, Lady Colton, that it would be in Victoria’s best interest to remain in bed.”

“You are quite correct, Miss Carmichael,” Delores said darkly, frowning at her granddaughter. “Victoria, you had better not even think twice about leaving this room. If you are feeling well enough, you may join us for dinner, but that is only on the condition that you rest now.”

“But-”

“Really, why must you always argue?” Delores implored, irritated. “You must enjoy seeing other people suffer. Now, you sound worse than a frog. Get back into bed and do not move until I send someone to fetch you for dinner.” With that, she was gone.

Vicky glowered at Danielle. “You are a devious little minx, you know that?” she told her friend grumpily. “You deny me my sole pleasure-”

“Gossip is your sole pleasure? And here I thought it was something of considerable more substance, like reading or writing poetry.”

Vicky glared at her sternly. “You know what I mean. I’m dying to know why Gabriel didn’t propose! Dying! You must find out for me.”

Dani snorted. “You can find out for yourself at dinner. You know that I’m hardly capable of your superior snooping skills.”

“That, at least, is true,” Vicky grumbled sulkily, finally realising that if she was to know what occurred in the garden between Gabriel and Oriana, she would have to find out for herself later on. “Fine! Leave me then, all alone and miserable, to suffer in silence and pine away while everyone is frivolous and jolly downstairs.”

Dani grinned and waved at her cheerfully as she left. However, she quickly popped her head round the door and teasingly remarked, “You could always practise that wonderful singing voice of yours for the recital in two night’s time?”

The woman was too fast and the slipper Vicky threw at her head thudded softly against the shut door and slid to the floor.