“The doctor said my mother had a cancer.” Victoria swallowed painfully. “Her death wasn't peaceful. I like to think that she's somewhere up there”—she waved her head toward the sky—“where she isn't in any pain.”

Robert touched her hand, deeply moved.

“But sometimes I still need her. I wonder if we ever stop needing our parents. And I talk to her. And I look for her.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“You'll think I'm silly.”

“You know I would never think that.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Victoria said, “Oh, I say things like, ‘If my mother is listening, then let the wind rustle the leaves of that branch.’ Or, ‘Mama, if you're watching, make the sun go behind that cloud. Just so I know you're with me.’”

“She's with you,” Robert whispered. “I can feel it.”

Victoria settled into the cradle of his arms. “I've never told anyone about that. Not even Ellie, and I know she misses Mama just as much as I do.”

“You'll always be able to tell me everything.”

“Yes,” she said happily, “I know.”

It was impossible to keep their courtship a secret from Victoria's father. Robert called at the vicar's cottage nearly every day. He told the vicar that he was teaching Victoria to ride, which was technically the truth, as anyone who watched her limp about the house after a lesson could attest.

Still, it was obvious that the young couple shared deeper feelings. The Reverend Mr. Lyndon vehemently disapproved of the match, and told Victoria as much on every possible occasion.

“He will never marry you!” the vicar boomed, using his best sermon voice. Such a tone never failed to intimidate his daughters.

“Papa, he loves me,” Victoria protested.

“It doesn't matter if he does or doesn't. He won't marry you. He's an earl and will someday be a marquess. He won't marry a vicar's daughter.”

Victoria took a deep breath, trying not to lose her temper. “He is not like that, Father.”

“He is like any man. He will use you and discard you.”

Victoria blushed at her father's frank language. “Papa, I—”

The vicar jumped on top of her words, saying, “You are not living in one of your silly novels. Open your eyes, girl.”

“I am not as naive as you think.”

“You are seventeen years old!” he yelled. “You couldn't be anything but naive.”

Victoria snorted and rolled her eyes, aware that her father hated such unladylike mannerisms. “I don't know why I bother to discuss this with you.”

“It is because I am your father! And by God, you will obey me.” The vicar leaned forward. “I have seen the world, Victoria. I know what's what. The earl's intentions cannot be honorable, and if you allow him to court you further, you will find yourself a fallen woman. Do you understand me?”

“Mama would have understood,” Victoria muttered.

Her father's face turned red. “What did you say?”

Victoria swallowed before repeating her words. “I said that Mama would have understood.”

“Your mother was a God-fearing woman who knew her place. She would not have crossed me on this measure.”

Victoria thought about how her mother used to tell silly jokes to her and Ellie when the vicar wasn't paying attention. Mrs. Lyndon hadn't been as serious and grave as her husband had thought. No, Victoria decided, her mother would have understood.

She stared at her father's chin for a long moment before finally lifting her eyes to his and asking, “Are you forbidding me to see him?”

Victoria thought her father's jaw might snap in two, so tense was his facial expression. “You know I cannot forbid it,” he replied. “One word of displeasure to his father, and I will be tossed out without a reference. You must break it off.”

“I won't,” Victoria said defiantly.

“You must break it off.” The vicar showed no sign of having heard. her. “And you must do it with supreme tact and grace.”

Victoria glared at him mutinously. “Robert is calling on me in two hours. I shall go walking with him.”

“Tell him you cannot see him again. Do it this afternoon, or by God I'll make you sorry.”

Victoria felt herself grow weak. Her father had not struck her for years—not since she was a child—but he looked furious enough to lose his temper completely. She said nothing.

“Good,” her father said in a satisfied manner, mistaking her silence for acquiescence. “And be sure to take Eleanor with you. You are not to leave this house in his company without the accompaniment of your sister.”

“Yes, Papa.” On that measure, at least, Victoria would obey. But only that.

Two hours later Robert arrived at the cottage. Ellie swung open the door so quickly he didn't even manage to bring the knocker down for a second rap.

“Hello, my lord,” she said, her grin just a bit cheeky. And no wonder—Robert had been paying her a full pound for every outing on which she managed to make herself disappear. Ellie had always believed wholeheartedly in bribery, a fact for which Robert was undyingly grateful.

“Good afternoon, Ellie,” he replied. “I trust your day has been pleasant.”

“Oh, very much, my lord. I expect it to grow even more pleasant very shortly.”

“Impertinent baggage,” Robert muttered. But he didn't really mean it. He rather liked Victoria's younger sister. They shared a certain pragmatism and a penchant for planning for the future. If he'd been in her position, he'd have been demanding two pounds per outing.