The Taming of Victoria Colton

Chapter Eighteen

So this is a little shorter than normal but fear not- it is going to get better :)

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Chapter 18

Lastly, let us suppose that you want to “cut” your acquaintance. O fie! Who invented the cut? What demon put it into the head of man or woman to give this mute token of contempt or hatred? I do not know, but I do know that in modern civilized life, as it goes, the cut is a great institution.

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

Vicky could have happily pushed Imogen into the lake for that remark. Hurriedly, she turned to Oriana who had remained shyly reserved during the past few minutes only to find a look of utter hurt on her lovely face and Vicky felt like the lowest cad. For all this time that she had been flirting, albeit unthinkingly, with Gabriel, here this girl had been secretly holding out hopes to make a match with the man. She was as bad as Georgina or Desdemona.

“No, no,” she tried to amend quickly, but the damage was done. “Ori, it’s not like that, I swear.”

But the crestfallen expression on Oriana’s face was steadfast and Imogen, blast her, did not aid matters by saying, “This is a good thing, Ori. Lord Sinclair is definitely not fit for a sweet thing like you.”

And just what, Vicky thought, did that mean? That she was bitter? Pah. Damned bluestocking, Imogen Brightmore. “No, you don’t understand,” Vicky said, stamping her foot in frustration. “It’s not at all like you think. I have no favours for Gabriel.”

Imogen gave her a dry look. “That does not mean he does not favour you,” she returned pointedly.

“You are just making things worse!” Vicky snapped, well aware that Oriana’s chin had begun to tremble.

“Stop it! Both of you!” Emily suddenly jumped in and strode to Ori’s side. “You are both not making her feel better at all! Now, what’s done is done and frankly, Victoria, we all saw the way Lord Sinclair looked at you. Imogen just had to enunciate it to everyone present.”

“Emily! Emily!” Lady Weatherly was hollering, squinting at the group of woman clustering about Oriana. “Find me some pickles. I saw some on the spread!”

Harrassed, Emily rolled her eyes. “Look, just because Lord Sinclair has made it obvious where his intentions lie-”

“That’s ridiculous!” Vicky protested but received a dark look from Emily for her interruption. God, the girl had a backbone when she wanted it.

“-but that doesn’t mean we can’t all be friends,” she finished meaningfully. “If you will excuse me, I have to find a pickle.”

Off she went to forage in the sizeable array of food spread out on a table under a pavilion erected to one side to provide the fare shade from the bright midday sun.

“She’s right,” Oriana said in a small voice and gave Vicky a wobbly smile. “I believe that you are quite sincere when you say it wasn’t your intention, Victoria.”

Truthfully, it had not been at all but that didn’t eradicate the feeling of guilt making her utterly nauseous. After all, she had been indulging in illicit assignations, steamy kisses and then, last night… all the while she had known, she’d known, that Oriana Brightmore was nearly in love with Gabriel. What sort of person was she, then, to call Oriana her friend?

“I feel wretched,” Vicky admitted brokenly. “I don’t know how this happened.”

“Think nothing of it,” Oriana told her, placating. “Like I have said before, Lord Sinclair perhaps is indeed not the right gentleman for me. There are plenty of other more suitable men in London. Perhaps even Lord Weatherly-”