CHAPTER 13

What could Victoria do except smile and say, “And what is that?”

“Three nights ago, the second time you left my room, after dousing me with the cold water and I went to change my clothes, where did you go and why?”

Edward’s sharp bark of laughter forestalled Victoria’s answering. “She doused you with cold water?”

“Shut up, Edward.” Spencer’s glare could have cut diamonds. “It’s not amusing, and I was speaking to my wife.”

His question and his petulant tone took Victoria by surprise. Obviously, he had been brooding about this, but she’d expected his first question to be about the letter or Loyal Atherton. “I’m sorry, but I was—”

Edward continued to make strangled, choking noises, and Victoria feared the cousins could come to blows right here in this parlor. What is it about this room and men? She quickly said: “Why did I leave, you mean, after swearing on my grandmother’s grave that I would not?”

“Yes. Exactly. Your poor grandmother.”

“My grandmother was never poor a day in her life. And to answer your question, I was called away by Rosanna.”

“Ah, the infamous and never-present lady’s maid.”

“She is always present. Except when you’re about. At any rate, it was an unfortunate squabble with Tillie over the placement of my belongings.”

“I beg your pardon? Tillie?”

“Yes, Tillie. She’s a maid at River’s End, and one of my mother’s many charity cases. A skinny blond girl with stringy hair and the mannerisms and curiosity of a cat. A sharecropper’s daughter Mama’s taught to read and write and has given employment. I have no idea why my mother does these things. At any rate, and for some reason I cannot fathom, she—Tillie—begged Mama to allow her to come here to bolster our army of servants. I don’t know why Mama agreed because she knows Tillie and Rosanna do not get along.”

Victoria knew Spencer had not a hair’s worth of interest in a discussion of maids and whom they did or did not like. But he had listened to her admittedly prattling speech with what she realized was growing and amused interest. What had brought about this sudden change in him, this warmth and solicitousness with regard to her? Had he really meant it earlier when he said he was coming to believe the baby she carried was truly his? While this cheered her on one front, it did not on another. She would like to be liked, and wanted, for herself.

As if he’d suddenly remembered he was supposed to be irate with her, Spencer narrowed his eyes and brought a frown to his strong, handsome features. “I take it this disagreement between your maids was important enough for you to abandon your solemn vow to me not to leave your chair?”

“If I hadn’t gone, it would have escalated to hair-pulling and scratching and shrieking. I didn’t think your hurting head would appreciate such a serenade at that point.”

“And you would have been right. But you didn’t come back.” His expectant and challenging expression said he knew she had and waited to see if she would own up to having done so.

Victoria raised her chin. “I did, but you were already asleep. And now I have a question of curiosity for Edward.”

“For Edward?”

“For me?”

Victoria nodded first at Spencer and then his cousin. “Yes. You. You seem to have medical training. Am I right?”

“Medical training?” This was Spencer, sounding alarmed. “What has he done?” He pointed at his cousin. “We’ve talked about this before, Edward.”

Looking supremely guilty, especially with the tops of his ears turning a nice red, Edward cried, “I’ve done nothing—”

“I don’t know what you two are talking about,” Victoria cut in, “but I’m referring to here in the parlor with you and … Loyal Atherton. When you were both unconscious, Edward knew exactly what to do and what to check for. I was very impressed.”

“Thank you, Victoria.” Edward sent Spencer a smug look. “She was impressed with me, Spence, old man.”

“She wouldn’t be if she knew where you received your alleged training.” He turned to Victoria. “My esteemed cousin has had no formal training. The peers are not to have professions, you see. However, Edward has spent a shameful amount of time and money at gaming tables and boxing matches and illegal duels, the scoundrel. Always the second or the man in the corner. He’s also famous for his, uh, ‘medical examinations’ of other men’s wives, if you will forgive me for being so indelicate.”

“Oh, dear. Oh, my.” Flames of embarrassment raced like wildfire across Victoria’s flushed skin.

“Exactly, my dear. Why do you think I brought him with me to America? It was to keep him from getting killed.”

“No it wasn’t,” Edward countered. “You took me with you to Wetherington’s Point to keep me from getting killed in London. But you did not want me, in the worst way, to come here with you to Georgia.”

Spencer gave a regal nod of his head. “I stand corrected. You’re right. You did invite yourself along on this trip.”

“There, you see?” Edward said, his expression triumphant.

“You worry about him, don’t you?” Victoria’s heart was alight with warmth and respect as she smiled at her husband. “And you care about him.”

Perhaps it was masculine pride that had Spencer scowling. Victoria realized she could see right through this façade now to the man underneath. “No, I do not. I care about his mother. A lovely woman. I watch over him for her sake. Despite his being a grown man and an earl, he is her adored only child.”

Edward guffawed. “And you, as well, are an adored only child, my dear cousin.” He turned to Victoria. “Has your husband told you about his treks out to the horse-breeding barn when he was but a little chap? Quite the interested and wide-eyed party, he was, too, from all the stories—”

“That will be enough, Edward.” Looking sorely discomfited, Spencer abruptly sat forward on the divan. “I say we should get on with this discussion and stick to the point or points.” He turned to Victoria. “We cede the floor to you, my dear. Start at the beginning, if you would.”

Caught off guard, having been engrossed in the brotherlike banter between the two men, Victoria shot her husband a quick look. So, here it was, the conversation they so desperately needed to have. And yet, it remained the conversation she so desperately did not want to have, fearing as she did his response to everything she had to tell him. “Start at the beginning?” she repeated.

“Yes. The letter. Tell me about the letter.”

*   *   *

His heart in his throat, Spencer watched Victoria. She tucked a stray strand of glistening dark hair behind her ear and twisted her hands together in her lap. She had yet to utter a word or to look directly at him since he’d asked her about the letter. Whatever she needed to reveal, he could see, was difficult for her to say. What she couldn’t know, though, was how damned hard it was for him to sit here at her side and await her response. But he knew enough not to hurry her or chide her in any way. Should he do so, given the ample evidence he had of her excitable emotions of late, she could just as easily scream at him and jump up and run out in tears—and never tell him about the letter.

Into the quiet that had descended on the three of them … Spencer exchanged a glance with Edward and saw his cousin’s expression to be every bit as sober and apprehensive as his own must be … Victoria suddenly spoke. “I suppose the best way to begin is for you to read the letter for yourselves.”

“Then I take it you have it with you? Here. Today.”

“Yes. I always have it with me. I find myself reading and rereading it, sometimes several times a day. I suppose I simply don’t want it to be true. And I keep hoping I’ve misread it or made too much of it. But I can’t see how I could. It’s very straightforward.” With that, she worked a hand into a pocket of her skirt. She pulled out, to his utter shock, not one letter, but perhaps as many as three or four others and sorted through them, apparently looking for the correct one.

Spencer prided himself on his cool control, but it failed him at this moment. His voice, high and loud, revealed the depth of his concern. “Victoria, what are all these letters? I had no idea.”

“I know. It’s been very frightening for me, but I couldn’t tell you. I just couldn’t.”

“Why couldn’t you tell me?”

She exhaled slowly, deeply. “Because I feared for your life, if I did. But then you were attacked, and I realized I had no choice but to tell you. And Edward, as well. We’re all at risk.” She again bent her head to her task, shuffling the letters over and under each other, glancing at each, until … “Ah. Here it is. The first one. The one that started it all.”

Without ceremony, she handed over the letter. Spencer held it, staring at it. A single sheet of common, ordinary writing paper. But this sheet of paper had already changed his life and hers and their life together forever and in ways he suspected they had yet to realize. He half expected the damned thing to burn his fingers or suddenly disintegrate into ashes as if it had been burned. And to simply hand over such a prized and fought-over treasure, as it were, with no due pomp and circumstance was, ironically, startling. Staring at it, he turned the folded sheet of paper over and over in his hands.

“Aren’t you going to read it, Spencer?” Victoria’s question had him staring her way. She sat so close to him he could feel the heat from her body. She smiled. “I expected you would rush to do so.” Of course, he had expected he would, too, so he couldn’t really explain his sudden reticence. “If nothing else,” she added quietly, “I supposed you would look first at the signature.”

With the letter of contention now in his possession and the emotion of the thing tightening his chest, Spencer stared at his wife. “I’m not certain I want to see it, Victoria.”

Had that hollow voice really been his? It must have been because she smiled a sad, understanding smile and reached over to squeeze his hand. The intimate gesture took Spencer’s breath away and made it hard to capture his next one. Looking directly into his eyes and holding his gaze locked with hers, Victoria said: “It’s not from Loyal Atherton. And it’s not a love letter. Far from it.”

She knew his fears. Spencer searched her blue eyes and saw only their intrinsic clarity and sincerity and a melting warmth that surprised him. His heart turned over helplessly. Fearing a shameful display of undone emotions, he sniffed gruffly and frowned and cleared his throat. “I never thought it was.”

Though she raised her eyebrows in surprise, and though Edward gave a wordless cry of disbelief from his side of the room where he sat, Victoria evidently chose to take Spencer at his word. “Good. I’m glad you didn’t.”

Once she let go of his hand and sat back, giving him room, Spencer wordlessly opened the letter. He glanced at the signature, didn’t recognize it as anyone he knew, and then read the first line to himself:

If you are reading this, Victoria, then I am dead.

The shock of the words had Spencer jumping to his feet and brandishing the letter at his wife. “Good God, Victoria! This is absolutely monstrous! Is this someone’s idea of a joke?”

Wide-eyed, startled, she shook her head no and opened her mouth to speak—

“What is it? What does it say?” Edward, too, had come to his feet and was obviously upset as he looked from Spencer to Victoria and back to his cousin. “Tell me!” he demanded. “Read it aloud.”

“I don’t think I can,” Spencer cried. He turned to his wife. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have helped you. I would have done anything—”

“You can’t, Spencer. You couldn’t. Read it!” She pointed to the letter he held. “Read it, and you’ll know why. I’m taking a great chance right now by just showing it to you. In fact, with the windows open and the servants about, we should keep our voices down. Edward, if you would, please carry your chair over here. I don’t want anyone to overhear our conversation.”

“As serious as all that? Very well.” Turning, he easily picked up his chair and brought it closer to the sofa. Once he’d set it down, he said, quietly: “Now, will someone please tell me what the letter says?”

Spencer held it out to Victoria. “Here. You said you read it all the time. So surely the words have lost some of their horror for you.”

“They haven’t, but I’ll read it,” she all but whispered, “and then you tell me if the horror will ever leave you.” She held her hand out for the letter. “Give it to me. And please don’t stop me or say anything until I am done. I’m not certain I can get through it, if you do.”

“As you wish.” He handed her the letter and sat down as she had requested, but he sat heavily, as though his legs had simply collapsed.

She waited, also, until Edward sat. Only then did she begin to read:

“‘If you are reading this, Victoria, then I am dead.’” Edward’s gasp of shock had Victoria looking at him. Spencer ached for her obvious hurt. He wanted, with every fiber in his being, to slide across the sofa’s cushions and take her in his embrace and shield her from her own reading of the monstrous letter she held in her hand. But he didn’t dare. He feared she would shatter like a crisp autumn leaf if he touched her. He feared also, that he would, too.

“‘I am being made to write this letter,’” Victoria read on. “‘As I do, a gun is being held to my head. They are watching every word I write. And when I am done, they will kill me because I know too much. But I am not afraid. I am sorry only that I will never see you again. I love you like a sister, Victoria. And I love Jefferson. You never knew it, but he was my lover and is the father of my daughter. I named her Sofie, after you, and she’s only five years old. But Jefferson would never acknowledge her, and he’s put us aside now as if we don’t even matter to him. But they have Sofie now, and they say you must come back to Savannah. They won’t tell me why, only that you must. Do not hesitate. And do not tell anyone why you are here. If you do, they will know, and they will kill Sofie—and you and whoever you tell. But if you come home and do everything they say and they get everything they want, then they will take her, unharmed, to my mother.

“‘It breaks my heart to tell you this next thing, but Jefferson knows all about this, and he won’t do anything to stop them. Don’t trust him, Victoria. Don’t tell him why you’re here. It’s all up to you. My baby’s life is in your hands. You must come. When you do, they will get in touch with you. Do everything they say—or they’ll kill Sofie! Please tell my mother and my brother that I love them. Love, Jenny.’”

With no emotion on her face, Victoria raised her head from the letter and slowly lowered it to her lap. She said nothing. She didn’t move. She just stared straight ahead. As she had continued to read, as the full extent of the horror had unfolded, and as the words she read warred with the sweet melody of her soft, Southern voice, Spencer had found himself dreading her coming to the end of the letter.

He knew it was irrational, but he’d felt Jenny’s death could actually be staved off if Victoria did not finish reading her words. Maybe Victoria thought so, too, and that was why she made a point daily of reading them over and over to herself, as she’d said she did. Maybe she thought the strength of her attention to Jenny’s words would keep her alive. But, clearly, Jenny was not. He’d seen no date on the letter, but judging by when Victoria had received it and how much time it would have taken to make its way to her in England, and factoring in how much time had elapsed between then and now, Spencer concluded Jenny had been killed as long as two months ago. About the same time he and Victoria had married.

“I know this sounds ridiculous,” Edward said solemnly, breaking the silence in the room, “but I half feared I’d hear the report of a gun being fired when you completed your reading of the letter, Victoria.”

She nodded. “I feel the same way every time I read it.”

So they all felt it. Spencer lowered his gaze to the rug under his feet. He found he could not look another human being in the face. That he, that they all, could belong to a species capable of such heinous deeds was too mortifying, too shameful. He had never in his life felt so sick at heart. So hopeless. He swallowed convulsively. Once he felt more in control, he asked: “Who is Jenny, Victoria? Obviously, she’s a close friend of some sort?”

A new, sadder emotion capped Victoria’s expression. “Not so obvious. Or so easy. As she said, we loved each other like sisters. In fact, we grew up together. I saw her every day of my life until … the war. But this letter is the first I’ve heard from her since then.”

“How awful for you to lose contact like that with someone so close to you.”

Victoria’s smile was one of pity and shame. “Yes. Awful. But for all the right reasons, I suppose.”

Did she mean the war? “Were you on opposite sides in the conflict? I read that so many families in the North and the South found themselves in that awful circumstance.”

“Yes. Opposite sides, but in different ways.”

“Victoria, you’re being very mysterious.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be. I’ll try to explain. You see, my father owned slaves. In fact, he inherited them from his father. All of our slaves had been with our family for generations and knew no other life. You have to understand that when my father inherited, the plantation was the only business. Daddy was not wealthy as he is now. River’s End was all he had, and he felt the responsibility not only for his family but also for the slaves.”

“Admirable.”

“Yes. But no less troublesome to him. He hated the concept of owning people. Not everyone thought of their slaves as people. But it was how we were raised.”

“I see. Not a very popular stance, I imagine.”

“No. If our leanings had become public knowledge, we could have been burned out and killed. It was awful for my father. He knew if he went under, that he would have to sell the slaves into God knows what kind of awful life. He did the best by them that he could, but he still hated it. I think his not wanting that awful dependence on the wretched hardship of others is what drove him to find other ways to be successful.”

“That explains the shipping and railroads and other investments.”

“Yes. The moment he was no longer dependent on the income from the crops he grew, he wanted to free our slaves. In fact, he did, but very quietly. Any of them who wanted to go were given their papers and allowed to leave. Some did, but they mostly came back scared and hungry and begging for work. And Daddy gave it to them. Others were too afraid to go. Where could they go? What could they do? No one would hire them. And River’s End was the only home they knew. It’s a terrible truth that they have nowhere to go and such a hard time on their own because we’ve given them no other choices, really.”

“An awful system. But a pervasive one, it seems. I mean across your country and in others, too. Even mine.”

Victoria nodded. “I know. It’s not easy to live with a thing like that on your conscience. Mama was just as determined as Daddy, too. She made certain I could read and write, the same as Jefferson. She taught us herself. And right along with us, she secretly saw to it that as many of our slaves were taught to read and write—”

“I say! And even during a time when this was against the law?” This was Edward cutting in, sounding proud of Catherine Redmond.

“Yes. Laws have never stopped Mama from doing what she thought was right. And education was right.”

Spencer added: “No doubt many owners feared education because with it comes realization and ambition.”

Victoria faced him now. “You are very right. But you’d be surprised at how many owners did feel the same way, only privately. However, no matter how much I try to make it sound … acceptable, it isn’t. My arguments, even to myself, sound like excuses.”

“Victoria,” Spencer said, thoughtfully, “where is all this leading? What are you trying to tell us?”

“Oh, Spencer, can’t you see? Jenny is a former slave. So are her mother and brother. Sofie is a mulatto child.” Victoria squeezed her eyes shut and took a shuddering breath. “That poor sweet little girl. I never even knew she existed.”

“Oh, my word,” Edward said quietly. “That’s why … your brother put Jenny aside, isn’t it? He can’t acknowledge her in any way. Or his own daughter.”

“He can’t, and he won’t—for their safety as much as his,” Victoria corrected. “And right now that little girl is being used as a pawn against my brother for some reason. I have no evidence of that, but it’s the only reason I can accept for why he isn’t doing everything in his power to free her from whoever has her.”

This was the most awful, heart-wrenching story Spencer had ever heard. Feeling suddenly too hot despite the open windows in the room, hearing but not listening to the happy, industrious sounds wafting in with the air from out in the street and the fashionable square across the way, he sat forward and rested his elbows atop his knees … and finally faced himself. What must Victoria think when she reads that letter every day? He meant apart from the tragedy of Jenny’s death, Victoria’s fear for the little girl Sofie, and her brother’s obvious involvement.

What must she think of him, her own husband—a man so ready and willing to put her aside as this Jenny had been? And for essentially the same reason. A child. An innocent child.

Spencer truly had never thought of it in this way. Always before he’d considered only his heritage, his name, his land, his pride—his, his, his. For God’s sake, man, think of someone but yourself for once. He swore to himself right then that he would. He would do everything within his power to get this little Sofie safely back to her grandmother. The woman had to be beside herself with grief and worry. And Jenny’s brother as well. Spencer wondered where the two lived and how they were holding up. Good Lord, did they even know?

Spencer thought of the child Victoria carried. Not once, earlier on … before he came to care for her, before his decision had become so hard to live with … had he wondered about or considered what would become of Victoria and the baby if he turned them out. He supposed he had always assumed she would simply return here to her wealthy family and all her friends. And do what? Face their scorn and pity and gossip? What would it do to the child to face such heartlessness from the people around him?

Spencer suddenly saw himself as a little boy slowly becoming aware of the world around him and of what was said about him and his mother living apart from his father. For how many years, though he had loved her tremendously, had he been ashamed and blamed his mother and been cool toward her? How many? They had only reconciled a few years before her death. And now, here he was, prepared to consign Victoria and her child to the same hateful and regretted existence he himself had lived. How could he do it? How?

“Spencer? Are you all right?” Victoria spoke in a low, quiet voice, the comforting sort one would use with the bereaved at a funeral.

Spencer turned his head to look at his wife. She was comforting him? He couldn’t believe it. Why didn’t she hate him? “How have you lived with this for so long? How have you stood it?”

Looking bereft, she exhaled and seemed to turn her focus inward. “I don’t think about myself. I think about Sofie and her fear. I wonder where she is and who is taking care of her, if anyone is. I wonder how she’s being treated and if she’s afraid. She has to be. She can’t understand what’s happened to her. I think about those things, and I just want to die.” Suddenly, Victoria’s expression sharpened and she turned to him. “Oh, Spencer, you must believe me when I say I wrestled with this when I got the letter. I had no desire to endanger our—my—child in any way, but what else could I do but come here?”

He hadn’t missed her changing our to my. It was so damned complicated. “There was nothing else you could do. You did exactly what you had to, and I could not be more proud of you. Or more ashamed of myself.”

She pulled back. Confusion clouded her expression. “Ashamed of yourself? But why? What have you done to be ashamed of?”

“Plenty.” The depth of his emotions propelled Spencer into action without further thought. He went down on one knee on the carpet and in front of his wife. He had startled her, he could see, and he didn’t care if he looked ridiculous to Edward, but he took the letter and the other notes from her, put them next to her on the sofa and then held both of her hands. He looked into her surprised and deeply blue eyes. “Can you forgive me, Victoria? Can you ever? I’ve been a horse’s ass—and a pompous one, at that—to you since our marriage—”

“Here, here,” came from Edward, who softly clapped his hands together. “Bravo, old man. About time you owned up to it.”

“Shut up, Edward,” Spencer warned. His wife’s tearful little bleat of a laugh incongruously lifted Spencer’s spirit. She couldn’t laugh at him and Edward if she didn’t forgive him, he reasoned—and hoped.

He sought her gaze for confirmation of this and saw warmth and welcoming and … dare he hope it?… love reflected in blue eyes fringed round with long and thick dark lashes. Overcome with his own emotions in the face of hers, Spencer feigned further irritation with Edward and forgetfulness of his subject. “Now, what was I saying before I was so rudely interrupted?”

Once again, Edward butted in. “You were saying you were a horse’s ass, I do believe, Spence, old man. A pompous one.”

Spencer smiled into Victoria’s eyes. “If you will excuse me, I must go strangle the life out of my cousin.” He made as if to pull his hands from hers.

She held tight. “Think of your aunt, Spencer. Remember, she loves him.”

“Damn. A terrible complication. But maybe we can still get rid of him.” Without letting go of Victoria’s hands, he turned more fully to his cousin. “Edward, you are herewith excused to go make your call on that poor young woman who’s awaiting your silly presence this morning.”

Edward crossed his arms over his chest. “A jolly good try, Spencer. But I’m going nowhere. I wouldn’t miss your being down on bended knee like this for all the lovely women in Savannah.”

Spencer stared at Edward’s clearly amused face and then returned his gaze to his wife. “Do you see what I must contend with?”

Her smile was radiant. They were both, Spencer knew, saying so many things with their eyes and their joined hands that they really could not yet say to each other, despite the moment. “Yes, I can, you poor man. However—”

“You’re calling him a poor man for having to put up with me? May I remind you, Victoria, that I am still in the room and can hear you?”

This time it was Victoria who looked past Spencer to Edward and said, while smiling, “Shut up, Edward. I was about to speak in your defense, actually.” The moment seemed to overtake her as her expression turned solemn. “I was going to say we need you alive to help us with this. Remember, this letter is only the first one. I have received others. And now that I’ve told you two, if these awful men find out in any way, it is Sofie who will pay, as will we unless we can stop them somehow.”

Edward made a sound of distress. “You’re absolutely right, Victoria: This is most dire. Forgive my frivolity. Most inappropriate of me.”

Once again, she smiled. “Not in the least, Edward. We must keep our heads and go about our daily lives, despite this awful burden. And I hope that laughter will be a part of our days. Indeed, with the barbecue and the crush of people there to wish Spencer and me well, we will have to put forward a cheery attitude and, all three of us, behave as if nothing is the matter.”

“Well spoken,” Spencer said, giving Victoria’s hands a last affectionate squeeze before pulling his away from hers and rising effortlessly to his feet. Further declarations between them could wait for a more private and appropriate moment. Catching him completely off guard was a sudden dizziness that forced him to tense his muscles and stand very still, a hand to his temple, until he regained his equilibrium.

“Spencer? What’s wrong?” Sharp concern put an edge in Victoria’s voice as she surged to her feet and put a bolstering arm around his waist. With her other hand, she held on to his arm.

As well, Edward had rushed to his other side and supported him from there. “Steady on, cousin. Why don’t you sit down?”

Spencer blinked until the room righted itself and he felt better. “No. I’m fine, really. Just a reminder that I’m not yet completely recovered.”

“Well, of course you’re not,” Victoria cried. “Will you please sit down, as Edward suggested?”

Because it was easier, and not because he felt as if he needed to do so, Spencer turned and—with his wife’s and his cousin’s help—sat down … again, a little too heavily for his pride’s sake. Victoria and Edward hovered over him like concerned parents. “I am really quite all right. And I would be obliged if you would take your seats, as well.”

With their actions performed in concert, as if of one mind, they parted and quickly flitted to their respective places. They looked so young and comical doing so, like scolded children, that Spencer felt bad for being short with them. He smiled despite himself and exhaled his amusement. “All right, then. Let’s see what we know, shall we?” He turned to his wife. “Please don’t be insulted by my next question, Victoria, but I feel we must ask those that come to mind, no matter how seemingly trivial or illogical.”

She sat up straight and folded her hands together in her lap, signaling her readiness to answer. “I understand and shall not be insulted.”

“Good. Now, the handwriting in the letter. I assume you recognized it as truly being Jenny’s? I mean, you have seen her handwriting before, correct?”

“Oh, yes. Many times. It’s hers. Had I believed the letter to be a forgery, Spencer, I … well, I like to think I would have turned to you for help.”

Although he doubted seriously that she would have, given his treatment of her at Wetherington’s Point, he smiled sincerely and hoped his expression revealed the depth of his feelings for her. “I like to think so, as well.”

“How precious,” Edward said with studied, probably feigned, boredom. “Before we get all moony-eyed and gushy, I have a question I would like to ask.”

Exhaling a purposely dramatic sigh, Spencer tore his gaze away from his wife’s beautiful oval face and turned to his cousin. “You have the floor, Edward. Ask away.”

Edward inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Thank you, kind sir. Victoria, in the letter, your friend Jenny says you are to do everything these dastardly devils tell you to do. What have you been instructed to do so far?”

Lending the act a fluttering butterfly quality, she raised a hand to her chest and held it against her skin, just below her throat. “That’s the odd thing, Edward. I haven’t been instructed to do a thing. I don’t even know how I’m involved or what these awful people think I can do. I don’t even know why they need me, except I’m a Redmond—was—and Jefferson is Sofie’s father and involved somehow and won’t help her. Do you see? It’s so confusing.”

“Yes, it is. So, in these other notes…” He pointed to the ones next to her on the sofa. “No demand for ransom? Anything like that?”

“No. Nothing. I wish there were. Doing something—anything!—is better than simply waiting and worrying. The only thing I know for certain is I am being watched.”

A lance of fear stabbed at Spencer’s heart and had him leaning intently toward her, his hand braced against the cushion between them. “Those men in the alley. Do you think that’s what they were doing out there?”

“I do. That, and these notes I’ve received say as much.” Victoria pointed to them there between him and her. “One at River’s End, and two here. I don’t recognize the handwriting, but it’s the same in all three. They’re clearly from the men who have Sofie.”

“You said ‘clearly’? How so?”

“They recount for me my day’s activities and then mention Sofie, as if to remind me of what’s at stake. But even that is not as frightening to me as how they are delivered.”

“How are they delivered?” Spencer felt a murderous anger well up inside him that his wife would be threatened and frightened by these cowards who preyed on innocent women and children. Well, now that he knew about this, he’d find them … and he’d deal with them, just as he had Loyal Atherton, only more seriously. Suddenly, that man and his romantic mooning after Victoria, despite accosting her for a kiss, seemed so inconsequential now as to be ridiculous.

“I can’t really say they’re delivered,” Victoria answered. “It’s more accurate to say they’re placed. They’re placed on my pillow.”

In the flight of a second’s passing, Spencer pictured, in his mind, an evil, shadowy villain sidling into Victoria’s bedroom and laying a note on her pillow. The sudden realization of her absolute vulnerability nearly stopped his heart completely. “Good God! Right on your pillow?”

“Why, the audacity of the act!” Edward cried. “They’re purposely trying to terrify you.”

Victoria nodded somberly. “And they are succeeding.”

Spencer shook a no-nonsense finger at his wife. “From this moment forward, Victoria, you are not to be alone for one moment of the day or the night, do you understand?”

“I do, and I shall be relieved not to be.” She peered at him from under the sweep of her fringe of eyelashes.

Her expression brought to Spencer’s mind images of them sleeping together—at long last. He cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. Here’s something that may have already occurred to you, Victoria, but it needs to be said for the benefit of all of us.”

She gestured for him to proceed. “Then please say it.”

“Unless we are talking about a very skilled sneak, and given that a stranger could not wander through River’s End, or here at this house, without being noticed and challenged, I can only conclude—”

“That a servant or other sort of employee is involved,” Edward finished for him. His expression suddenly changed to disbelief. “Good Lord, one hates to think of such betrayal after one has housed, fed, clothed, and employed a person.”

“It could be much worse than a trusted servant, Edward,” Victoria said quietly. “Given everything we’ve said here, and what Jenny said in her letter, I can only conclude that a member of my family is also involved.”

“You mean your brother.” Spencer spoke the words to spare her having to say them.

Nodding, looking as if her heart were breaking, Victoria stared at him with rounded and baleful blue eyes. “Yes.”