That day had come again. John had almost forgotten. This morning the sun rose and breakfast was served like every morning, but it was that morning. He'd known it as soon as he'd opened his eyes. The deep sadness and depression that always followed this particular day fell on him like a familiar cloak. He might almost welcome it, but he had planned to take his affianced cousin out for a jaunt in the park. An outing seemed pointless. Breathing in and out seemed pointless.
Somehow, however, he arrived at Pumphrey House and not waiting to be announced he headed to the so called "red room." The fact that everyone still referred to it as such was testament to the adherence to tradition in the household. The formal drawing room had probably not been red for a century at least.
He didn't look forward to an afternoon with his cold reticent cousin. He had yet to perceive any amount of fire or spirit in Lilly. Save for missing the ball where their engagement was to be announced, she did nothing that wasn't practical and sensible. He had to own now that she must have been sincerely ill. Ever since then she had been the dull china doll he'd always known her to be.
How was he going to marry her?
He headed straight for the window on the east side of the room looking out over the garden and wondered, how did I end up here, Roger?
"Who's Roger?"
He hadn't even realized he'd spoken aloud, and he was almost certain he'd jumped high enough to hit the ceiling when he heard the voice. He turned to see something he'd never expected in the austere environment of Pumphrey House.
She was foreign, he could tell, and not just as in "not English." She was as uncomfortable in the formal room as he himself. Even if she had been in the latest fashion instead of her simple blouse and skirt, he'd have known her for what she was…other. Just like himself, or as he'd always thought of himself. Other…different from Lady Lillian Pumphrey, her father and their ilk.
And the woman was a beauty, but it was her expression that had caught him up at first. She looked at him with open curiosity and such honesty he found himself telling her the truth.
"My best friend. It's the anniversary of his death today," words he'd never spoken before fell easily from his lips when she requested them. But maybe he just needed to say them.
"That's terrible," the concern and sympathy in her eyes was genuine and a balm to his aching soul. "What happened?"
"I trusted someone…someone I shouldn't have. I urged him to trust him as well," he turned from her and closed his eyes. The remorse and grief was again too much. Your fault! His mind seemed to chant. "It led to his death."
When he turned to look at the woman again he was glad he did, because he saw it there in her eyes. That fire, passion, spirit, all the things his boring cousin lacked.
"What a…villain!" she said as if that were the worst insult she could come up with.
And John Rossendale, Marquess of Stallford wanted to laugh with surprise and joy, today of all days!
But before he could…
"Cousin John," it was Lilly. She smiled mildly at him, but then she saw his companion. "Victoria!"
It was the most emotion he'd ever witnessed her exhibit.
"What…" but Lilly seemed to think better of her question. "How impolite of me!" and just like that it was if the outburst had never happened. "Victoria, this is my cousin, John Rossendale, Marquess of Stallford, John this is Dona Victoria de la Vega."
That's when his heart went cold. De la Vega, Of course she was the wife of Deigo de la Vega who else would she be.
He felt his lips form a sneer, but he meant it when he said, "A pleasure to meet you."