“ ‘Tis just one of the books I purchased at Wittnower’s Book Emporium before we departed London.” Before her aunt could question her further, Victoria hastily asked, “Are you feeling refreshed after your nap?”

“Yes.” Aunt Delia grimaced and stretched her neck from side to side. “Although I’m relieved we’ll finally arrive in Cornwall today and no longer be confined to this coach.”

“I agree.” Their trip from London had been long and arduous, a journey Victoria normally never would have undertaken. If someone had suggested to her that she would willingly leave the comfort, glamour, and social whirl of London Society-especially as the Little Season was about to commence-to trek to the uncivilized wilds of Cornwall, she would have laughed herself into a seizure. But then, she hadn’t realized she would be handed this perfect opportunity to avenge a past wrong on a man who so richly deserved it. Armed with her well-read copy of the Ladies’ Guide and a clear plan, she was prepared. Still, the timing of the trip was not to her liking. “I still cannot credit it that Father insisted we make this journey now. Surely waiting a few weeks would not have mattered.”

“You will learn, my dear, that even the most jovial of men are, at heart, utterly vexatious creatures.”

“And vexing this timing is,” Victoria said. The irritation that had bubbled under her skin ever since she’d been unable to convince Father to delay this trip erupted once again. For reasons she could not decipher, she’d been unable to budge her normally indulgent father. When it became obvious he would not bend, she’d finally consented to his timetable. She didn’t wish to unduly upset or disappoint her father, who rarely asked anything of her. And neither was she willing to forfeit this opportunity to finally put the past to rest, as this would surely be her last chance. If all went according to her carefully constructed life’s plan, by this time next year she would be a married woman, her future secured. Perhaps she’d even be a mother.

“When I think of all the soirees I’m missing… I simply do not understand what Father was thinking.”

Aunt Delia’s brows rose. “Do you not? Why, I’m surprised, what with you being such a bright gel. Clearly, your father wishes for you to marry.”

Victoria blinked. “Naturally. And I intend to do so. But that cannot be his reason for sending me to Cornwall. Especially now. In the last month alone both Earl Branripple and Earl Dravensby have initiated conversations with Father regarding marriage. With the Little Season about to commence, affording me with numerous opportunities to further my acquaintances with the earls, and meet even more marriageable gentlemen, he’d have been much better served had I remained in Town.”

“Not if the gentleman he wished you to meet was in Cornwall, my dear.” Her aunt pursed her lips. “I wonder which of the Oliver men your father is leaning toward-the widowed earl or his heir Colin, Viscount Sutton? Or perhaps even the younger son, Dr. Nathan Oliver?”

Victoria forced her features to remain impassive at the mention of his name. “Surely none of them. I’ve only briefly met Lord Sutton-once, three years ago-and as for the earl, surely Father wouldn’t encourage me to marry someone so old as Lord Rutledge.”

“I believe old Earl Rutledge is a year younger than me,” Aunt Delia said in a dust dry tone. Before Victoria could apologize for her faux pas, her aunt continued, “But you forgot Dr. Oliver.”

If only I had… if only I could… but I shall. After this visit he will be exorcised from my mind. “I didn’t forget him, I just didn’t think it necessary to comment, as neither Father nor I would ever consider such a lowly match. Especially when two earls have expressed interest.”

“I don’t recall you mentioning a tendre for either Branripple or Dravensby, my dear.”

Victoria shrugged. “Both are highly sought-after, fine gentlemen from well-respected families. Either would make an excellent match.”

“It is well known they both seek to wed an heiress.”

“As do many peers with lofty titles and depleted purses. I’ve always known I would be sought for my fortune. Just as I’ve always known I would have to marry well to secure my future. I certainly cannot count on Edward being generous once Father is gone.” Victoria suppressed a sigh at the mention of her older brother. As much as it pained her, there was no denying that Edward-currently on the Continent doing heaven knows what-was an irresponsible, unreliable, gambling, drinking womanizer who would most likely cast her out after Father passed away. Naturally, Father would provide financially for her, but she wanted a family. Children. And a firm place in Society.

“You’ve no preference between Branripple or Dravensby?”

“Not particularly. They are of similar age and temperament. I’d planned to spend more time with them in London during the Little Season to help me decide.”

“So you’re certain that you will marry one of them?”

“Yes.” Why didn’t her heart soar with joy at the prospect? Marriage to either man would provide her with a life of luxury at the pinnacle of Society. Clearly her mind was preoccupied with the task she’d set for herself in Cornwall. Surely her enthusiasm for her suitors would manifest itself once she’d completed her objective.

Aunt Delia sighed. “I’m so sorry, my dear.”

“Sorry? Whatever for?”

“That you haven’t fallen in love.”

“Love?” Victoria laughed. But even as she did so, an inner twinge pinched her. She used to harbor such silly fantasies, as most girls did. But then she’d matured and wisely put such foolishness aside. “You know as well as I that love is a poor basis for a marriage. Especially when family names, titles, fortunes, and estates are involved. Mother and Father’s marriage was not based on love.” An image of her mother’s face rose in Victoria’s mind’s eye, the image she carried in her heart, of her mother smiling and beautiful, before the illness had stolen her vitality and then her life.

“Perhaps not, but their affection for each other eventually blossomed into love,” Aunt Delia said. “Not every couple is so fortunate. I was not so fortunate.”

Victoria gently squeezed her aunt’s hand in a show of sympathy. Her widowed aunt’s decade-long marriage hadn’t been a happy one.

“As I understand it,” Aunt Delia continued, “the reason your father insisted you come to Cornwall was to expand your horizons. See more of the country other than your usual haunts of London, Kent, and Bath. Open your mind, and heart, to new experiences, new people.”

“I suppose. But surely Father cannot be expecting a match in Cornwall. He would have told me so.”

“Would he? I think not, my dear. As you will learn, men are often annoyingly secretive creatures.”

She couldn’t argue that, especially where her father was concerned. “Why wouldn’t he tell me?” Yet even as the question passed her lips, Victoria realized the answer. “He wouldn’t tell me because he knows I would never consent to living so far from Town. So far from…” She waved her hand to encompass all the green nothingness. “… civilization. How could I not live in the city during the Season? And for summer, certainly nowhere more than several hours from London-just far enough away for proper rusticating, yet close enough to enjoy the social swirl of Town, the shops, and keep abreast of the latest fashions and on dits.”

She sat up straighter. Could Aunt Delia be correct? If so, Father was to be sorely disappointed, for no matter how charming the earl and viscount might prove to be, she would never consent to entering into a marriage that would bind her, by law, to a man who could-and most likely would-relegate her to the desolate wilds of Cornwall. A shudder ran through her at the mere thought.

“I recall that we met Viscount Sutton in London several years ago,” Aunt Delia said. “Handsome young man.”

“Yes.” Exceptionally handsome. Yet it was Lord Sutton’s younger brother who had so thoroughly unsettled her. “But it wouldn’t matter if he were the most comely man on the planet. I am not interested.”

“We met his younger brother on that occasion as well,” Aunt Delia said, her brow creasing. “Dr. Oliver. Bit of the devil in that one, you could tell at a glance.”

The image she’d tried so hard to banish from her memory instantly materialized in Victoria’s mind. A tall, broad-shouldered young man with thick, wavy sun-streaked brown hair, intriguing, flirtatious hazel eyes, and a wicked smile that had inexplicably-yet undeniably-fascinated her the instant they’d met in London three years ago at the Wexhall town house. Even now her heart seemed to skip a beat-no doubt a result of the severe irritation the mere thought of Dr. Oliver brought.

With the image of him now firmly in her mind, the haunting memories of that night three years ago assailed her. She’d recently celebrated her eighteenth birthday and had been flush with feminine confidence from her fabulously successful first Season, confidence that had soared even higher at the unmistakable interest that flared in the eyes of her father’s sinfully attractive guest. Her imagination had immediately cast Dr. Oliver as a swashbuckling, rakish pirate who absconded with her and brought her back to his ship to kiss her and… well, she wasn’t quite sure what else, but certainly whatever it was that brought a fierce blush to her maid Winifred’s cheeks whenever she mentioned Paul, the handsome new footman.

Victoria’s instantaneous attraction to Dr. Oliver had been heady, and breathtaking, unlike anything she’d previously experienced, although it had frankly confused her for she’d certainly seen handsome gentlemen before-handsomer gentlemen. His own brother, Lord Sutton, who’d stood not ten feet away from her, was by far the handsomer of the two, and appeared much more gentlemanly and proper.