Victoria nodded and agreed. Once her mother was put to something, she was put to it. And apparently Lady Melly was determined to make a match betwixt her daughter and the marquess.
In all honesty, Victoria had to admit that it was a pleasant thought. She'd danced with Rockley several times, and spoken with him at other social engagements, and she found nothing about him lacking. He was agreeable enough. Handsome enough. Witty and kind and charming, just as he had been that summer long ago when she knew him only as a young man—certainly not a marquess!—who seemed carefree and bold. They'd met every day for a fortnight, and he'd never let on that he was more than a boy from the village. He thought she was interesting and original and he had sought her out, based on his memory of her. That meant something, did it not?
Or perhaps his memory of her had been so perfect—although how a young woman harping on him could be considered perfect, she wasn't sure—that the reality of who she was today, grown into a young lady, did not meld with what he remembered. Perhaps she was a disappointment.
At least he hadn't tried to entice her into a secluded alcove and thrust his tongue down her throat and his hand into her bodice, as Viscount Walligrove had done at the Terner-Fordhams' dinner party two nights earlier. Victoria had dealt with the lecherous man and his bloated lips quite neatly. He hadn't known what came at him when she used some of the kalaripayattu moves Kritanu had taught her. Combined with the added strength from her vis bulla, Victoria's defense techniques had left the viscount in a heap on the floor, with a black eye, a broken nose, and a sprained ankle.
Perhaps he'd think twice about groping an innocent girl in the future.
"We are going to have to see about procuring a different maid for you, Victoria," continued Lady Melly in a completely different vein. "That girl—Verbena—is much too careless in her work. Look at you—your hair is already falling down, and we haven't even arrived at the Straithwaites' yet!" She leaned toward Victoria, her hand reaching toward the thick curl that rested over Victoria's shoulder.
"Mother, please." Victoria moved quickly out of reach; though that meant huddling further into the corner of the seat she shared with Lady Melly and crinkling her silk skirts even more. "I have no need to replace Verbena. She arranged my hair this way purposely; I wanted to try a different style. Perhaps we'll start a new fashion." She smiled, even as she toyed with the offending lock of hair to make sure it still covered the four red marks on her neck.
"Hmph." Lady Melly settled back in her seat. "I can't say as I like the style for myself, but there is something to be said for being an Original. If you need to be an Original in order to catch Rockley's eye, then so be it. And I suppose the Straithwaites' musicale is one of the better places to debut a new style, if there is one."
Victoria couldn't argue. Lord Renald and Lady Gloria Straithwaite were distant cousins of Lady Melly, and every year they displayed the substantial musical talents of their four daughters at a performance carefully choreographed to show them at their finest. The eldest had made a successful match last Season, and the Straithwaites clearly intended to continue the trend.
Because the Straithwaite daughters were triply endowed—with talent, funds, and curves—the musicale was fairly well attended by the marriage-seeking bachelors of the ton.
Shortly after arriving at Stimmons Hall, Victoria found herself seated in the ballroom. Tonight, however, though there would be music, there would be no dancing. The rows of chairs and the few settees along the side walls made it clear that all attention was to be focused on the four Straithwaite sisters.
She couldn't help but crane her neck to see if perhaps Rockley had elected to attend, but she did not see his dark head anywhere. Victoria settled in her seat to peruse the elegantly lettered program that had been rolled up and tied with pale pink ribbon. When she unscrolled it, she understood why. By the time one sat down and opened the program, it was too late to make an excuse to leave.
Ten pieces were listed.
Ten.
Victoria stifled a groan. She appreciated Mozart and Bach as much as anyone, but to sit through ten different pieces—each with three movements—was just too much for her. She cast a covert glance at the other attendees to see if there were any other shocked faces, but there weren't.
She was just going to have to suffer through it.
At first Victoria listened. She truly tried to listen. She sat primly next to her mother, taking as much time as possible to arrange her delicate skirts in gentle folds over her knees and the chair. Then she clasped her hands neatly in her lap, with her reticule tucked under her fingers. She could feel the outline of a small glass vial in the little pouch, which reminded her of the screeching pain in her neck when Max had poured his salted holy water on the bite. Verbena had somehow acquired a small bottle and filled it for Victoria so she would have her own.
Seething over Max's supercilious comments, and the pain he'd inflicted on her without warning, occupied Victoria's mind for approximately three movements of one of Mozart's quartets. It was only when she realized she'd gone beyond crumpling her reticule with annoyance and on to mangling her silk skirt that she knew she would have to think about something not quite as inflammatory as Max.
Maybe there would be a vampire here tonight and she would have an excuse to slip out of the room. Victoria held her breath and concentrated on the sensations at the back of her neck.
It didn't feel the slightest bit cool.
Or… maybe another lecherous gentleman would try to take advantage of one of the young ladies, and Victoria would be able to teach him a lesson.
She tried again to listen. And she succeeded in paying attention to each of the four Straithwaite daughters and the array of instruments they played throughout a Bach piano concerto. For the whole three movements, she managed to follow the melody and its ebbs and flows… and Victoria felt that was quite an accomplishment.
But then she looked down at the program and realized that the musicale was not even half over.
And her neck was still warm.
Submerging a sigh, she commenced to thinking about Rockley.
It was a delicious pleasure to recall the way they'd glided smoothly over the dance floor, his strong arms holding her just close enough to be proper, close enough that she could feel his warmth and smell the slightly smoky tang of his jacket. The way he looked at her from those heavy eyes made her want to close her own and slip into the memory.
She definitely wanted to kiss him. She knew that a kiss shared with the marquess would be nothing like the one Viscount Walligrove had imposed upon her. Fantasies about kissing might not be appropriate thoughts for a young lady, but then again, most young ladies didn't wear ash stakes in their hair and seek out vampires.
Nor did they have the strength and ability to instantly cut a grown man to his knees.
It was a heady power.
The only thought that marred her enjoyment of the memory of her dance with Rockley was the way he'd looked at Max.
And that thought brought her back to brooding about the master vampire slayer. His arrogance and sharp tongue grated on her nerves. And the way he looked at her when she even breathed the mention of a ball or dinner party, as if being a Venator and having a social life were mutually exclusive options… Her fingers crinkled her skirts again.
She felt a sharp elbow in her side, and turned to look at her mother, who was frowning and glaring down at Victoria's hands. She smiled at Lady Melly and made her fingers release the poor cloth and tried once again to focus on the music.