Read Online The Robber Bride by Jerrica Knight-Catania - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jerrica Knight-Catania
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be here soon. Not that he wanted to see her, but he didn’t relish the idea of her getting caught up with that annoying Mr. Woodmore . Despite the fact they weren’t speaking now, they would be eventually, Fin was sure. And if Victoria spent time with Woodmore , that would mean Fin would have to, too.
Yes, he definitely did not want her getting too friendly with Woodmore .
Ten
Despite Victoria’s desire to go to the hospital the next morning to make sure all had turned out well with Anna’s birth, she knew she could not. She needed to wait until Fin lost interest in her activities—if he ever did. Why did he have to be so difficult? She had been a highwayman for more than two years now, and everything had always turned out fine. There was nothing for him to worry about, but of course she couldn’t tell him any of that. She couldn’t tell him anything at all.
Her mind wandered to their argument the night before, and Victoria was helpless to stop the prick of tears at her eyes. Damn him! She hated to cry, and Phineas Dartwell certainly wasn’t worth crying over. So why the devil was she crying?
She shook her head, not wanting to think about it. It would be much more comfortable to dredge up her anger with him than to pontificate on the reasons she might cry over him.
“A letter for you, miss.” Davis stood before her, a small piece of parchment on his salver.
She took it, ignoring the slight frisson of hope that the letter was from Fin. He wasn’t going to apologize or forget about what he saw in Southwark , of that Victoria was most certain.
It turned out to be from Sarah. All was well at the hospital. Molly was on the mend, and Anna and the baby were doing just fine, many thanks to Mrs. Potts. Victoria gave an inner sigh of relief as she pocketed the note.
“Who was it from?” her mother asked without taking her eyes from the letter she was writing at the escritoire across the room.
“No one,” Victoria replied casually. “Just Cecily. She says her mother sends her regards.”
“When you reply, do send mine back.”
And that was that. Cecily was Victoria’s cousin—her mother was Lady Grantham’s sister. Their only correspondence happened through their daughters. Victoria knew she would have to send a letter to Cecily now on the off chance her mother ever spoke to her sister again.
She stared out the window. Then she tapped her fingers on the wood that framed her chair. Then her she tapped her foot on the hardwood floor.
“Victoria!”
Finally, her mother looked up from her letter. Her eyes were filled with venom, as if her stare alone could sever Victoria’s feet and fingers so she might not be able to tap them ever again.
“Would you please sit still,” she said. “I am trying to concentrate, and there you are, with your incessant tapping and sighing.”
Victoria hadn’t even realized she’d sighed.
“Read a book, for heaven’s sake. Or work on your cross-stitch. Lord knows you could use the practice. Just do be quiet, won’t you?”
Victoria suppressed another sigh. How boring this was, sitting in the quiet all day long with not an iota of excitement. Nothing interesting at all happened in their parlor, unless one counted the fly that had trapped himself in the corner of the closed window. Poor little fellow. Victoria knew exactly how he felt.
Taking her mother’s advice for perhaps the first time in her life, Victoria retrieved a book from their small collection and plopped back into her chair. If it was possible, the book was far more boring that watching the struggling fly in the window. However, she forced herself to keep reading while simultaneously forcing thoughts of Fin from her mind. It wasn’t easy, but she did manage to forget about him and their argument for at least a little while.
It was nigh on two o’clock when the first interesting thing happened that day. A well-sprung, shiny, black phaeton pulled up to the front of their townhouse, its driver a
Yes, he definitely did not want her getting too friendly with Woodmore .
Ten
Despite Victoria’s desire to go to the hospital the next morning to make sure all had turned out well with Anna’s birth, she knew she could not. She needed to wait until Fin lost interest in her activities—if he ever did. Why did he have to be so difficult? She had been a highwayman for more than two years now, and everything had always turned out fine. There was nothing for him to worry about, but of course she couldn’t tell him any of that. She couldn’t tell him anything at all.
Her mind wandered to their argument the night before, and Victoria was helpless to stop the prick of tears at her eyes. Damn him! She hated to cry, and Phineas Dartwell certainly wasn’t worth crying over. So why the devil was she crying?
She shook her head, not wanting to think about it. It would be much more comfortable to dredge up her anger with him than to pontificate on the reasons she might cry over him.
“A letter for you, miss.” Davis stood before her, a small piece of parchment on his salver.
She took it, ignoring the slight frisson of hope that the letter was from Fin. He wasn’t going to apologize or forget about what he saw in Southwark , of that Victoria was most certain.
It turned out to be from Sarah. All was well at the hospital. Molly was on the mend, and Anna and the baby were doing just fine, many thanks to Mrs. Potts. Victoria gave an inner sigh of relief as she pocketed the note.
“Who was it from?” her mother asked without taking her eyes from the letter she was writing at the escritoire across the room.
“No one,” Victoria replied casually. “Just Cecily. She says her mother sends her regards.”
“When you reply, do send mine back.”
And that was that. Cecily was Victoria’s cousin—her mother was Lady Grantham’s sister. Their only correspondence happened through their daughters. Victoria knew she would have to send a letter to Cecily now on the off chance her mother ever spoke to her sister again.
She stared out the window. Then she tapped her fingers on the wood that framed her chair. Then her she tapped her foot on the hardwood floor.
“Victoria!”
Finally, her mother looked up from her letter. Her eyes were filled with venom, as if her stare alone could sever Victoria’s feet and fingers so she might not be able to tap them ever again.
“Would you please sit still,” she said. “I am trying to concentrate, and there you are, with your incessant tapping and sighing.”
Victoria hadn’t even realized she’d sighed.
“Read a book, for heaven’s sake. Or work on your cross-stitch. Lord knows you could use the practice. Just do be quiet, won’t you?”
Victoria suppressed another sigh. How boring this was, sitting in the quiet all day long with not an iota of excitement. Nothing interesting at all happened in their parlor, unless one counted the fly that had trapped himself in the corner of the closed window. Poor little fellow. Victoria knew exactly how he felt.
Taking her mother’s advice for perhaps the first time in her life, Victoria retrieved a book from their small collection and plopped back into her chair. If it was possible, the book was far more boring that watching the struggling fly in the window. However, she forced herself to keep reading while simultaneously forcing thoughts of Fin from her mind. It wasn’t easy, but she did manage to forget about him and their argument for at least a little while.
It was nigh on two o’clock when the first interesting thing happened that day. A well-sprung, shiny, black phaeton pulled up to the front of their townhouse, its driver a
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