Victoria and the Rogue by Meg Cabot

Author:Meg Cabot [Cabot, Meg]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: Romance
ISBN: 9780060005535
Publisher: Avon
Published: 2003-03-01T06:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

Victoria stood before the mirror in the bedroom she and Rebecca shared, carefully twirling one strand of brown hair around each of her index fingers, then examining the results. It was not ideal, she supposed, but it would have to do. She didn’t have time to wait for Mariah and her curling iron.

“Oh!” Rebecca—still in her dressing gown, her own hair tied up in many brightly colored strips of rag—rolled over on the bed and exclaimed, “Oh, Vicky, you must hear this part; it is too romantic.”

And before Victoria could protest that she had had her fill of romance, thank you very much, Rebecca read aloud from the letter she had received earlier that morning from the extremely prolific Mr. Abbott:

“‘Your lips,’” Rebecca read, “‘are like sun-kissed cherries. Your skin, the purest cream. Your hair is gold as honey, and your voice an orchestral dream…. ’”

Victoria said politely, “Isn’t that lovely?” and refrained from asking what an orchestral dream might be.

“He’s really a very talented poet, isn’t he?” Rebecca rolled over again, this time onto her back, and, holding Mr. Abbott’s letter at arm’s length, admired the way his manly handwriting looked from afar. “I told him he ought to write a book. A book of poems. He could dedicate it to me. Haven’t you always longed to have a book of poems dedicated to you, Vicky?”

Victoria, giving up on her curls, reached instead for her second-best bonnet. It was, a glance out the windows showed her, pouring outside (what else was new?), and she was not about to risk her favorite hat in such a deluge.

“Yes,” she replied, without having really heard the question.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance of that happening to you, is there, Vicky?” Rebecca glanced slyly in Victoria’s direction. “I’m sure Lord Malfrey doesn’t write poetry. He’s not nearly as cerebral as Charles, is he?”

“Yes,” Victoria said absently. “Have you seen my umbrella, Becky? Or did I leave it downstairs?”

“I don’t know,” Rebecca said. “Should you really be going out, Vicky? After all, you looked to be at death’s door just last night. Wherever can you be going, anyway, on such a dreary morning?”

“I’ve an appointment,” Victoria said tersely. “With Lord Malfrey.”

“With Lord Malfrey? Well, surely you can change it.” Rebecca glanced meaningfully at the windows. “It can’t be worth going out in all this.”

“It is,” Victoria replied, slipping on a pair of gloves. “Believe me.”

“I think you’re being ridiculous. He’d surely understand if you sent a note to say you’ll see him later, when the rain stops. The last thing you want, Vicky, is a red nose on your wedding day, and if you keep up with this, that’s surely what you’ll get. Come in,” Rebecca called, in response to a tap at the door.

Mariah opened the door, then bobbed a curtsy, exactly the way Victoria had taught her.

“Begging your pardon, miss,” she said, very respectfully, to Rebecca. “But Captain Carstairs is downstairs, and wishes a word with Lady Victoria.”

Victoria did not pause as she stuffed a handkerchief and several spare hairpins into her reticule.

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