Chapter Twenty-Eight
The party continued to flow around Victoria like she was a stone in a stream, conversations and laughter washing past without really touching her.
She stood in a corner, champagne glass in hand, watching her parent’s guests return to their natural state of genteel socializing now that the Great Kitten Crisis had been resolved.
Sasha had taken the news well. Remarkably well, actually. No tears, no accusations, no dramatic declarations. Just that soft smile and those generous words about wanting Victoria to be happy. It was exactly what Victoria should have hoped for. Mature, understanding, uncomplicated.
So why did she feel so unspeakably awful?
She should be grateful. Lucky, even. How many people got to end a summer romance with such grace and dignity?
No messy emotions, no difficult conversations about impossible futures.
Sasha understood her world, understood that London and banking and everything that made sense took precedence over whatever this had been.
This was supposed to be exactly as she wanted things.
Victoria took another sip of champagne that tasted like sawdust and tried to convince herself she was fortunate. The alternative was tears, pleading, attempts to make her choose between career and… what? A relationship with no practical foundation?
No. Sasha's understanding was a gift. Victoria should be grateful.
The fact that gratitude felt suspiciously like grief was neither here nor there.
She drained her champagne and thought that she’d better not have more. She needed water, so she headed toward the refreshment table. Tomorrow she'd be back in London, back to her real life, back to everything that made sense. Tonight she just needed to survive.
But as she passed through a corridor, she heard voices and saw light.
The morning room glowed warmly, and through the partially open door she could see familiar shapes.
Only then did she remember that hers wasn’t the only crisis tonight.
There was Ambrose, too. She desperately hoped that he was okay, that he hadn’t been broken in any way.
So she stepped in, finding that her entire family appeared to be gathered inside, which was either wonderful or catastrophic depending on what had prompted the impromptu summit.
"—so proud of you for finally telling her," her mother was saying as Victoria stepped into the doorway. "Though I'm afraid your grandmother has retired with a headache. All the excitement, I expect."
Ambrose was slumped in a wingback chair, looking like he'd been through more than he really knew how to process. Which, Victoria supposed, he probably had. Her father stood behind the chair, one hand on Ambrose's shoulder in a gesture of support that made something warm unfurl in Victoria's chest.
"You told her?" she asked.
Ambrose nodded, still looking rather shell-shocked.
Sir Archibald sniffed. "I, uh, have a little something to say.
" He cleared his throat. "I should have spoken to you before," he said, his voice gruff.
"Should never have suggested you keep your…
your private life private. Complete nonsense.
You're my son, and if your grandmother can't accept that you're gay, that's her failing, not yours. "
He extended his hand to Ambrose, who shook it with something like wonder on his face.
"What if she cuts us all off?" Ambrose asked, attempting lightness but not quite managing it. "Leaves everything to the local cat sanctuary out of spite?"
"It had better be my cat sanctuary," Sophie piped up from her perch on the window seat. "I've got the most experience now."
"I'm sure your brother will work something out," Sir Archibald said, nodding toward Archie, who was leaning against the mantelpiece with uncharacteristic seriousness. "He's the heir, after all. Though I suspect your grandmother's bark is considerably worse than her bite."
Lady Charlotte surveyed her assembled offspring.
"I must say, it's been quite an evening for revelations.
First Victoria with her job situation, then Ambrose with his announcement, Sophie with her animal rescue operation…
" She paused, fixing each of them with that maternal gaze that suggested she saw far more than she let on.
"I'm beginning to wonder what sort of mother I've been that all my children feel they need to keep such important secrets from me. And in case you’re wondering, yes, Ambrose dear, that does mean that we all know about Lukas. "
"Good man that Lukas," Sir Archibald said. "Can’t fault a boy that can repot an orchid and have it thrive."
Ambrose looked from his mother to his father. "You know?" he asked weakly.
"We know and we’re ecstatic," his mother assured him.
Victoria felt heat creep up her neck. When her mother put it like that, their collective deception did sound rather damning. "You told them about my job?" she asked weakly.
"I did. But at least you don't keep secrets from me, do you, Archie?" Lady Charlotte continued, turning to her eldest son with something like relief.
Archie scratched his nose, a gesture Victoria recognized from childhood as his tell when he was about to confess to something spectacular. "Actually, um, there is something."
The room went still. Even Sophie stopped swinging her legs.
"Oh?" Lady Charlotte's voice was carefully neutral, but Victoria caught the slight tightening around her eyes that suggested she was bracing for impact.
"I ought to have said something before, but the truth is…
Well, the truth is that I'm in love with Cathy," Archie said in a rush, like he was afraid he'd lose his nerve if he didn't get it all out at once.
"Have been for years, actually. Completely gone on her.
Can't think straight when she's around, which explains some of my more questionable romantic choices, I suppose. "
The silence stretched long enough for Victoria to count her own heartbeats. Ambrose's mouth had fallen open. Sophie looked delighted. Their parents appeared to have been struck temporarily mute.
"Cathy Mayer?" Sir Archibald said finally. "Our Cathy?"
"That’s the one." Archie's ears had gone that particular shade of red they'd turned when he was seven and had to confess to breaking the greenhouse window. "I know what you're thinking—"
"That it's about bloody time?" Sir Archibald interrupted. "Because that girl's been in love with you since she was eleven, and watching you parade inappropriate women through here while she suffered in silence has been painful for everyone involved."
"You knew?" Archie's voice climbed an octave.
"Of course we knew," Lady Charlotte said, though her voice was warm with affection rather than exasperation.
"The question is why on earth you never said anything. Why you kept bringing home women who were so obviously wrong for you when the right one was literally under your nose. Honestly, Archie, we’ve despaired of you. "
"I didn't think you'd approve," Archie mumbled. "Different backgrounds, different worlds, all that. Thought you'd want me to marry someone more… suitable."
"Suitable?" Sir Archibald's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. "Son, that girl knows this estate better than I do. She's brilliant, hardworking, and she's put up with your nonsense for years without complaint. If that's not suitable wife material, I don't know what is."
"We adore Cathy," Lady Charlotte added gently. "Always have. She's practically family already."
Archie looked like he might cry with relief. "Really?"
"Really," his mother confirmed. "Though you might want to actually tell her how you feel before you start planning the wedding. Poor girl's probably given up hope by now."
Victoria watched this unfold with a mixture of genuine happiness for her brother and something that felt suspiciously like envy.
Here was Archie, confessing his love for someone completely wrong on paper, and their parents were practically throwing confetti.
His different-worlds romance was being celebrated while hers…
Well, hers didn't exist anymore.
She realized she was being unfair. Cathy had grown up on the estate, knew their world intimately.
She wasn't some stranger who'd wandered in for a holiday romance.
But still, watching her family embrace the idea of love conquering practical obstacles made Victoria's chest tight with something she didn't want to examine too closely.
Mostly because it was all her own fault, she realized, as she stood there. At no point had Sasha mentioned not continuing things. Victoria had just always assumed… Well, assumed that she wouldn’t be wanted once she got back to herself. Back to her normal life.
"Right then," Lady Charlotte said, standing up with the air of someone who'd had quite enough emotional revelations for one evening. "I think we could all use some sleep. It's been rather a lot to process, and we’ve got the rest of the weekend to get through."
The family began to disperse, Ambrose still looking slightly stunned, Archie practically floating with relief, Sophie already planning improvements to her cat sanctuary.
Victoria lingered, watching her parents exchange the sort of look that came from thirty-odd years of marriage and four children who specialized in keeping them on their toes.
"Happy endings all around," she murmured to herself, then immediately felt petty for the bitter edge in her voice.
She climbed the stairs slowly, exhaustion settling into her bones like lead.
Tomorrow she'd catch the early train back to London, start her new job, rebuild her perfect life.
Tonight she just needed to pack and try not to think about how empty her London flat would feel without Sasha's laughter filling it.
But when she opened the bedroom door, the emptiness hit her immediately. Sasha's things were gone. Suitcase, clothes, the small toiletries that had cluttered the bathroom counter. Even the faint scent of her perfume had been replaced by the neutral smell of fresh linens.
The day bed had been stripped and remade, as if no one had ever slept there. As if the past two weeks had been erased as efficiently as changing sheets.
Victoria stood in the doorway, staring at the spotless room, and felt something crack inside her chest. This was what she'd wanted, wasn't it?
Clean breaks, no complications, no messy emotions to navigate.
Sasha had made it easy for her, removing herself so completely that Victoria could pretend none of it had ever happened.
So why did easy feel like the cruelest thing imaginable?