Free Victoria and the Rogue by Meg Cabot Page B

opportunity.
    No, friends with the dowager Victoria knew she would never be. But rampaging Zulu warriors would
    not have dragged the truth of this from her lips.
    “How nice,” she said instead, still wishing the dowager would release her. “I never had a mother, as I’m
    sure you know. At least, not one that I remember well.”
    “I shall be a mother to you,” the dowager said, giving Victoria yet another rib-crunching squeeze. “A
    mother and a friend!”
    “That will be splendid,” Victoria said… and was able to draw breath at last when the older woman
    suddenly released her.
    “Oh, no, not now,” the dowager Lady Malfrey said in a sharp tone that was quite unlike the one she’d
    used with Victoria. “The petit fours come after the lamb cutlets!”
    Victoria turned her head and saw that the good lady was addressing one of the footmen, who was
    carrying a silver platter loaded down with tiny chocolate-covered pastries… pastries that Victoria
    already recognized, even after the mere two weeks she’d been in London, as being from one of the finest
    bakeries in town.
    While she was, of course, honored that the dowager would go to so much expense on her account,
    Victoria could not help suspecting that, after her marriage, she was going to be presented with the bill for
    this little party. For there were, by her count, nearly fifty guests, who would each consume half a bottle of
    champagne at least (for despite the lack of sun, it was a warmish day). Then there was the cost of hiring
    the footmen, not to mention the food—lamb cutlets, as Victoria knew only too well from her now-daily
    consultations with the Gardiners’ cook, were not cheap—and the rental of the silverware…
    Why, Victoria would not be surprised if the whole picnic ran over a hundred pounds! A hundred
    pounds! And spent by a woman who supposedly didn’t have a penny to her name!
    Oh, no. Victoria and her future mother-in-law were definitely not going to be friends. Not when Victoria
    began what she knew was going to be the very arduous task of forcing Hugo to retrench. For even her
    forty thousand pounds would not last, if this was a typical example of how the Rothschilds entertained.
    “Isn’t it a lovely party?” her cousin asked her dreamily an hour or so later. Victoria, who had had her fill
    of crab cakes and oysters—not to mention Lord Malfrey’s friends, who were of the hearty, backslapping
    variety—had taken up her parasol and begun to stroll around the edges of the picnic area… allegedly to
    walk off the effects of the champagne, but actually so that she could keep an eye on the servants, whom
    she’d begun to suspect were palming the silver.
    “Yes,”Victoria replied without having really heard the question. There was something amiss about the
    dowager Lady Malfrey’s friends… many of them, like the dowager, had dyed hair. And their clothes
    seemed… well, a bit bright. They had all been very charming to Victoria, but there was no escaping the
    fact that they seemed to her to be rather… common. None of the men seemed to have employment, and
    she’d fancied that several of the women were wearing face powder. And Victoria was ready to swear
    that one of the younger ones had actually arrived with her skirts damp—on purpose, to make the material
    cling to her admittedly well-shaped legs.
    Her aunt Beatrice, Victoria knew, would have suffered apoplexy had she witnessed such a thing.
    Victoria was very glad that her aunt and uncle had had a prior social commitment and could not attend
    the hastily arranged picnic.
    “And you know,” Rebecca prattled on, swinging her reticule gaily beside her as she strolled, “Mr.
    Abbott says it’s the loveliest picnic he’s ever been to.”
    Victoria did not doubt this was so. It was also most likely the costliest.
    But seeing that Rebecca was so happy lifted her spirits a bit. Victoria even went so far as to congratulate
    herself that it was all due entirely to her own