“Her father is the vicar at Bellfield,” he added, and then gave a very brief recounting of their history.

“Oh, how romantic.” Harriet sighed.

“It was not in the least bit romantic,” Victoria snapped. Then she added a bit more gently, “Just so you don't get any foolish notions of elopement in your head.”

Harriet's mother patted Victoria approvingly on the shoulder. “Robert,” she announced to the room at large, “you will be a lucky gentleman indeed if you can persuade this exceedingly lovely and practical young woman to accept your suit.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the howl of the teakettle. He was then roundly ignored while the women saw to the tea. Victoria sipped from her cup while she received more approving pats and several concerned “poor dears.”

Robert wasn't sure when it had happened, but the balance of power had definitely shifted against him. He was only one man against—his eyes swept the room—eight women.

Eight? Bloody hell. The room started to feel very tight. He tugged at his cravat.

Finally, when some woman in a pink dress—he had no idea who she was and could only deduce that she was another innocent by-stander—moved to allow him a view of Victoria's face, he said for what seemed, like the hundredth time, “Victoria, I need to talk with you.”

She took another sip of her tea, received another maternal pat from the dowager Duchess of Beechwood, and said, “No.”

He took a step forward and his tone grew vaguely menacing. “Victoria…”

He would have taken another step forward, but eight women simultaneously speared him with disdainful glares. Even he was not man enough to withstand that. He threw up his arms and muttered, “Too many hens.”

Victoria just sat there amidst her new band of admirers, looking disgustingly serene.

Robert took a deep breath and jabbed his finger in the air. “This is not the end of this, Victoria. I will speak with you.”

And then, with another incomprehensible comment about roosters and hens, he stalked from the dress shop.

“Is he still there?”

At Victoria's request, Katie once again peered through the storefront window. “'Is carriage 'asn't moved.”

“Damn and blast,” Victoria muttered, which caused Mrs. Brightbill to say, “I thought you said your father was a vicar.”

Victoria glanced at the clock. Robert's carriage had been parked in front of the dress shop for two hours now, and he showed no signs of leaving. Neither did any of the ladies who had witnessed their bizarre reunion. Madame Lambert had had to boil four more pots of tea to accommodate everyone.

“He cannot remain in the street all day,” Harriet said. “Can he?”

“He's an earl,” her mother replied in a matter-of-fact voice. “He can do anything he pleases.”

“And that,” Victoria declared, “is just the problem.” How dare he come waltzing back into her life, assuming that she would throw herself prostrate at his feet, and just because he suddenly had it in his head that he once more wanted to marry her.

He wanted to marry her. Victoria shook her head, quite unable to believe it. Once it had been her deepest dream; now it seemed more like a cruel mockery of fate.

He wanted to marry her? Ha! It was too damned late for that.

“Did you just curse again?” Harriet whispered, darting a furtive glance at her mother.

Victoria looked up, surprised. She hadn't realized she'd spoken her thoughts. “He does that to me,” she growled.

“Cousin Robert?”

Victoria nodded. “He thinks he can manage my life.”

Harriet shrugged. “He tries to manage everyone's life. He usually does a bang-up job of it, actually. We've never been in such good funds as since he started managing our money for us.”

Victoria looked at her oddly. “Isn't it considered bad ton to discuss money?”

“Yes, but you're family.” This was said with an expansive wave of Harriet's arm.

“I am not family,” Victoria ground out.

“You will be,” Harriet replied, “if Cousin Robert has anything to do with it. And he usually gets what he wants.”

Victoria planted her hands on her hips and glared out the window at his carriage. “Not this time.”

“Er, Victoria,” Harriet said, looking a touch anxious, “I haven't known you for very long, so it would be quite beyond me to know the intricacies of your facial expressions, but I must say I don't like the look in your eye.”

Victoria turned slowly around, baffled. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“Whatever it is you're thinking of doing, I must caution you against it.”

“I'm going to talk with him,” Victoria said resolutely, and then, before anyone could stop her, she marched out of the dress shop.

Robert jumped down from his carriage in an instant. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but Victoria cut him off. “You wanted to speak with me?” she said, her voice sharp.

“Yes, I—”

“Good. I want to talk with you, too.”

“Torie, I—”

“Don't think, even for a second, that you may manage my life. I don't know what has prompted your remarkable change of heart, but I am not a puppet who may be maneuvered at your will.”

“Of course not, but—”

“You cannot insult me the way you did and expect me to forget about it.”

“I realize that, but—”

“Furthermore, I am quite content without you. You are high-handed, arrogant, insufferable—”