Modern English, page 29
Both parents stared at her, his expression bemused and hers appalled, but she’d apparently stunned them into silence. She charged on, giving voice to the myriad of thoughts that warred within as she’d poured over facts and figures as well as risk assessments. “We don’t currently have all the infrastructure, but as I mentioned, perhaps ineloquently, the book isn’t finished, much less published. We have months if not a year before we could begin filming. In the meantime, I intend to leave the land office in Archie’s very capable hands so I may spend more time in London and possibly Los Angeles.”
“Of course.” Her mother scoffed.
“We’ll woo some established artists and technical experts away from the city by offering them the type of locations they cannot replicate on sound stages and with a cost of living large metro areas cannot possibly offer. We’ll partner with local universities for visual and sound technologies to keep investment figures low until we know if we can make it work. The first film will call for a modest budget, and strong ties to a local artist will foster a sense of community even as we may have to outsource some higher end jobs until more locals gain the type of experience necessary to staff an undertaking of this magnitude.”
“Let me guess, you intend to lean heavily on the liaisons you’ve amassed during the current filming schedule? Perhaps pull from your new personal contacts?” Her mother put her emphasis right where Vic had expected her to.
Her face burned, and she opened her mouth to refute the thinly veiled accusation, but she couldn’t bring herself to deny the charge completely. Nothing she’d done had its foundation in a desire to keep Sophia close, but it would be a lie to say the spirit of the endeavour wasn’t inspired by the passion Sophia sparked in her. How could she explain that even if she lost the woman herself, she was unwilling to lose the way she’d made her feel, her sense of purpose and drive, the desire to blaze her own trail and create something meaningful of her own?
In her inability to convey the substance or strength of the need consuming her, she left herself open to a more direct attack.
“Movies! My god, I should’ve known this woman addled your brain with visions of Hollywood.” Her mother shook her head and levelled her most disappointed stare at her. “Honestly, even after all your past escapades I still believed you too sensible to get swept up in flights of fancy, fits of passion, or gross indulgence. I’ve always known you were prone to impulsiveness, but this sort of California thinking will—”
“I’m not thinking of California,” Vic parried as the reprimand missed its mark. “Or Hollywood. I’m thinking of Northland, first and last.”
She turned to her father, whose expression had grown pensive. “I want to convert the old servants’ quarters into headquarters for local filming, both on the estate and beyond. I’ve already been in contact with several studios in London, all exploratory of course, but we have the castle, fields and forests, elaborate gardens, and dramatic seascapes. With the right incentives we could attract a wide array of films, and best of all we wouldn’t have to develop our conservation areas in order to provide good modern jobs. We wouldn’t have to export our young people, either.”
He nodded slowly. “You make a compelling, if unrefined, argument.”
“Edward?” Her mother raised her voice. “Don’t indulge her. You’ve always been entirely too permissive with the girls, and I’ve adored you for it, but she’s not a child anymore. She’s well past the time when she should be finding her place.”
“I am finding my place. For the first time, I am finding myself, both as a person and a public servant.”
“Absolutely not.” The duchess shook her head. “Do not bring your position into this. Movies, increased press scrutiny, flash-in-the pan pop culture, none of this offers any dignified return on the reputation you’ll squander. It’s vulgar and common. Mark my words, you’ll lose the dukedom if you follow this path.”
“Then I will lose it.” Vic exploded with a vehemence she hadn’t even felt building in her. Or maybe she’d failed to notice its presence because it had always been simmering inside her. “It’s my birthright or it isn’t. It’s my title or it’s not, but either way, the operative words are I, me, and mine. They don’t belong to some phantom of my lineage or fictional character. And they don’t belong to you. I’m the one who will rise or fall, and I mean to do it on my terms.”
Her mother sat back, her expression cool, but her complexion had lost some of its colour. “I see Ms. LeBlanc’s brash American individualism has also infected your sensibilities, but pray, tell me, while you assert your own divine right, what of the people who depend on you to be there for them?”
“I will be there for them in the ways they actually deserve, with or without the title, because the title means nothing if I can’t use it in meaningful ways. I’d rather lose it while building a better future than keep it by upholding the status quo.” Her voice may have held a hint of pleading, but it no longer wavered on this point. She’d already sacrificed more than most could imagine for the people she served, and she stood firm in her certainty that she’d continue to do so. Nothing else could ever exact the toll she’d paid this morning. “I want to make a real, tangible difference for my people.”
“They won’t see that. They’ll see you only as frivolous and attention-seeking. They won’t understand or care about your motives.”
“I disagree. I won’t infantilise them by pretending they’re incapable of comprehending a shifting world or social order, and I won’t lock myself in a tower above them. I’ll be forthcoming about the fights ahead, and I’ll approach each new challenge beside them.”
She turned to her father before adding, “I will find my own style, like each Penchant who came before me. I’ll win them over one by one if I have to, and in return I trust they’ll share my goals, indeed, my hopes for this whole region.”
Her mother gave a sharp, humourless laugh. “Commoners don’t care about the hopes and dreams of the nobility.”
“Maybe that’s because our goals have never aligned closely enough with theirs,” she snapped back, then reined in her voice. She didn’t want to fight. She desperately wanted them to understand, to share her vision. “I know you’ve always tried to maintain a place of poise and dignity by staying above the fray, and maybe that was the right thing for you and your time, but I’m a different person, and mine is a different time. I want to let the people in. I want to know them, and I want them to know me. The movies are merely the beginning.”
“I won’t listen to any more of this rash nonsense.” Her mother pushed back from the table.
“I will,” a softer voice said.
Both of them turned to her father.
“I would very much like to hear more.”
Her chest constricted at his earnest faith in her. She swallowed a lump of emotion and tried to match his tone. “The economic impact has tremendous potential, and not merely on a per-film basis. The locations of popular movies could see a considerable uptick in tourism as well. Consider what Downton Abbey did for Highclere Castle or what Harry Potter did for Alnwick. Did you know that even the series Gentleman Jack more than quadrupled visitors to Shibden Hall? Those places are all every bit as remote as Penchant Castle, and I dare say, not as beautiful.”
The corner of his mouth twitched up. “I won’t quarrel with any of your points, and I admit I find your idea more than a little intriguing. However, you didn’t merely research a proposal. You apparently signed a contract. The speed and magnitude of that decision seems more than a bit rash.”
He turned to nod to his wife. “Like your mother, I do wonder at this rapid transformation and the new sense of urgency around you. She believes we owe it to the influence of Ms. LeBlanc, while I’ve reserved judgement until I hear from you on the subject.”
She hung her head and let her shoulders fall. This was the bottom line, what it all came down to, even for him. Not the new dreams themselves, but who sparked them. To lend credibility to a future she desired, she’d have to deny the person who finally made her feel as though she deserved to dream.
She couldn’t do it. Or perhaps she simply wouldn’t do it. No future could burn brightly enough to dim the light Sophia brought to her life, and to deny that would cost a pound of flesh she remained unwilling to pay.
Her heart ached so badly she could barely draw a full breath, but she lifted her chin and met his eyes. “I promise, Sophia never once asked me for any of this, or even hinted she wanted it. If you must know, she said the opposite. She’s under the impression that I have a moral duty to my family and my people. She believes I would cease to be me without that calling, and she left me this morning even after I offered to renounce my claim to the title.”
Her mother gave a little gasp, and her father’s brow creased deeply.
“So, no. I’m not doing this for her. I’m doing it without her, not by my choice, but by hers.” Her voice cracked, as even her vocal cords rebelled at the wrongness of the trade she’d made. “My economic ideas and outlook are mine alone, but while we’re on the subject of Sophia, I must admit you’re not wrong to believe she played a role in my transformation. Without her faith in me, I would’ve never had the courage to give these ideas voice.”
“Helping someone find their voice is no small contribution,” her father mused.
“Nor is the extent of her effect on me. She taught me a great deal about myself in a short time, like how to trust in my instincts, how to stand up for what I know is right, and never apologise for doing what I believe best.” She released another shuddering breath and tried to find her footing on more solid ground. Even the idea of Sophia gave her strength to go on when every fibre of her being ached to unravel. “Most importantly, Sophia reminded me how useless it would be to fight for a title unless I intended to use it for something meaningful, and that’s what I intend to do, now and for as long I am in a position to do so.”
“Alone?” her father asked softly, but the single word was enough to knock her back.
She clenched her teeth against the sadness clawing at her stomach lining, but she couldn’t say the word. Her body refused to accept the truth she’d tried to force into her brain.
“No,” her mother said, flatly.
Her father put his hand on the table. “We’ve all got a lot to digest.”
“No,” her mother reiterated, this time placing her hand gently atop his. “This is too big an undertaking. I’ve never made apologies for pushing you toward a safer path, Victoria. Perhaps I haven’t always done so gracefully, but that’s all I ever wanted for you, an easier road, one of less resistance, one where I could protect you from what I feared lay ahead, but you seem insistent on blazing a newer, more fraught trail.”
She clenched her jaw against the disappointment she heard there, but she wouldn’t apologise for who she was anymore.
“However, if there is no swaying you from this endeavour to revolutionise local industry and tourism and fight a lifetime of legal battles”— her mother paused as if giving her one more chance to abandon ship, then sighed— “then you must brace yourself for the challenges that will accompany your quest, and the best way to do so is with a strong partner beside you, one who is savvy and tenacious, and who understands what you have at stake as well as the sacrifices you may have to make.”
The words were like a knife between her shoulder blades. She fought the urge to writhe away from the sharpness of them. How could this be happening? How could her own mother give voice to that particular insecurity? She felt herself sinking back into murky waters of doubt with their strong undercurrent of despair. She turned helplessly toward her father, hoping he’d buoy her once more.
“Did you really offer to renounce your title for Ms. LeBlanc?” he asked, his tone grave and wounded.
She nodded, numbly.
Her parents exchanged another cryptic glance.
“And yet Ms. LeBlanc inspired you to find your voice even as she sacrificed herself for you?”
She swallowed a whimper at the piercing summary.
Her father nodded resolutely. “Then I’m afraid your mother and I are of one mind on this. You have our full faith to execute your first foray into movie producing, but I believe it would be a fool’s errand to do so without first righting this wrong with Ms. LeBlanc.”
“What?”
“A voice will do you no good if you lose your heart in the process,” he said seriously.
“Your father’s right.” Her mother’s tone suggested she didn’t enjoy the pronouncement. “When you make a mistake, you have to right it. It sounds like we’ve both made rather sizable mistakes in the last few days, but the bottom line is that you finally found someone who sees you clearly, who understands you deeply, and who loves you enough to sacrifice their own desires so you can step fully into your destiny. And instead of clinging to her in the face of challenge—”
“I let her walk away,” Vic concluded.
All the gears in her head began to whirl again. She’d tried all day to make them turn in tandem, but until this moment she’d been working with only half of her heart. She couldn’t trade Sophia for her future any more than she could trade her future for Sophia. The two could not be separated. She’d been an idiot to think she could change that.
“Oh, lord. I let her walk away.” She pushed her hands through her hair roughly as she began to pace again. “She said it couldn’t work, and I bloody well agreed with her. I thanked her. I said goodbye. I bought a movie on my own. I don’t know a thing about movies. I could lose her and everything else.”
“Darling,” her mother cut in, the corners of her mouth turned up in something akin to genuine emotion for the first time in ages. “She’s not in Siberia. She’s across the street.”
She stared at her mother as if seeing her for the first time. Cool, practical, detached, and yet ever pragmatic.
“Take her a present,” her father offered good-naturedly.
“And comb your hair,” her mother added. “You’ve mussed it all up. For the love of god, Victoria, if this is the path you’ve chosen, please do it well.”
“And think about what you want to say to her,” her father piped in.
“Yes,” her mother agreed, “you tend to run on when you’re improvising speeches.”
“But, be yourself.” Her dad grinned.
“Indeed.” Her mother’s tone softened. “Because, apparently, she loves you very much.”
Vic opened her mouth to…do what? To argue? To question? She didn’t know, and it didn’t matter, because the only sound she could produce was a sob.
Grief, joy, confusion, fear, relief. She couldn’t sort any of them as a lifetime of prestigious pressure crumbled around her. When the shards and shrapnel of the life she’d worked so hard to reconcile settled to dust at her feet, one thought, one impulse rose to the forefront of her mind with a clarity she’d only craved— until now.
She had to get Sophia back.
Chapter Seventeen
Sophia lay on her hotel bed staring up at the exposed beams of the ceiling and listening to the rhythmic buzz of her cell phone on the table. Someone had been calling for at least ten minutes, but she didn’t recognise the number, and she didn’t want to speak to anyone anyway.
Rolling onto her side, she let out a heavy sigh and allowed her vision to focus on her suitcase in the corner. She visually traced the outline of her luggage tags, examining any tangible detail she could to keep her mind from replaying a million conversations she didn’t want to relive.
Morose didn’t even begin to cover her current mindset. Each time she let her thoughts wander for even a few seconds, she could hear her own voice dripping with accommodation as she sacrificed her vision to Brian’s vanity. Then, when she’d exhausted her annoyance, inevitably Talia and Caroline’s voices would autoplay their reminders that no matter how good she got, or what creative force she wielded, genius bore little correlation to power. All the things she’d done to try to move ahead would likely be used against her in perpetuity, while others were applauded for never being forced into similar choices in the first place.
That, of course, led her back to Vic and the conversation Sophia most wanted to forget. The others brought anger or resentment. The echoes of Vic’s pure pleading proved harder to compartmentalise.
All day long, every time the pain nipped at her or the depression shrouded her like a fog, she strove to stay firm in the knowledge that she’d done the right thing, but here, alone with the ghosts of unhappy endings, she had a harder time forcing herself to swallow that jagged pill.
There was no use asking why the world worked the way it did, but she still couldn’t fathom why loving Vic should cost either of them so much when others got rewarded for so little. And now she’d circled right back to Caroline’s comments about sugar mamas who believe in something being as valid as nepotism. She didn’t want either, really. She wanted to be seen for who she was and appreciated for what she had to offer, without either of those things being weaponised against Vic. On the surface, that didn’t seem like too much to ask, and yet nothing that had happened since she arrived here had ever been what it seemed on the surface.
She flopped onto her back once more, but as she did, the sound of metal clinking caught her ear.
Afraid she’d lost some piece of costume jewellery in the comforter, she sat up and glanced around for an errant earring or bracelet she’d inadvertently brought home from the set. Only, she’d changed into yoga pants and a hotel robe the first chance she got.
The sound clinked again, and she widened her search, scanning the room for things like pull chains, or even a radiator. Then there came two more taps in close succession, this time obviously from her window.
She hopped up. Peeking through the curtains, she stopped short at the sight of Vic holding a bottle of gin in one hand and something she clearly intended to throw in the other.
