Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Richard woke in somebody else’s bed.
This had never happened before. He had dalliances in his youth, fleeting encounters that never lingered past dawn, but this …
This was different. This was Victoria. His wife. And their pretenses had somehow slipped into something startlingly real. Or at least it felt real.
The sun’s rays were already streaming through the windows, pale gold light spilling across the floorboards, and Richard’s eyes opened reluctantly, weighed down by the unfamiliarity of vulnerability.
He could still feel the impression of her presence beside him, the warmth, the quiet strength she radiated even in sleep.
He stretched an arm out instinctively, only to find empty space. The cold linen mocked him. She was gone.
Panic rose immediately, sharp and unbidden, a visceral rush that set his heart hammering in his chest. Without thinking, he leapt from the bed, snatching a robe as he bolted into the corridor. Instinct had always been honed in the Hawksford line.
Feuds, threats, danger … they were a language he understood innately. But this fear was new. Personal. Intense.
Victoria. Melody. Penwike.
He sprinted through the halls, each footfall echoing in the silent morning. The nursery, the one place he could think to look; he reached for it before he even realized.
The door swung open under his hand, and the scene within stole the sharp edge from his adrenaline, replacing it with an odd warmth, an ache he did not expect.
Victoria stood there like some ethereal creature, the sun catching her golden hair, strands tamed into a simple braid that glinted with light.
The morning gown clung softly to her figure, uncorseted, fluid, and breathtaking.
She held Melody, who sucked greedily at her bottle, her tiny hands resting on Victoria’s chest as if claiming her.
Mrs. Hughes moved quietly nearby, tending to the bassinet and fresh linens, her motions efficient and calm.
Richard’s mind had conjured violent possibilities in seconds. And yet here, the truth was nothing but peaceful, domestic, almost mundane. And entirely captivating.
Victoria turned to him, eyes calm but mischievous, lips curved into a soft smile that seemed to hold secret knowledge. The sight of her stole his breath, reminded him of all the feelings he had buried under duty, strategy, and restraint.
“Good morning to you,” she said, soft, even, teasing.
“I—I woke up, and you were not there,” he stammered, voice rough with lingering sleep and shock. “I thought that—”
“You thought what?” she interrupted, tilting her head, curious, gentle. “I wanted to see Melody. She’s an early riser. Mrs. Hughes has everything in order, but a little break never hurts anyone, don’t you agree?”
“Good morning, Your Grace,” Mrs. Hughes acknowledged, smiling politely. “Breakfast is ready for Your Graces, should you wish to partake.”
“I am not yet hungry,” Richard admitted, though he knew the words were hollow. “I shall join you shortly.”
He stepped into the room, awkwardly large, feeling incongruous in the delicate pinks and yellows of the nursery, a space undeniably claimed by Melody.
The infant, finishing her bottle, met his gaze. Her eyes, wide and curious, seemed to search him, and when she smiled, toothless and gurgling, Richard felt something fracture inside him.
A chain he had wrapped around his heart, forged from caution and solitude, broke quietly, invisibly. The feeling was exquisite and terrifying all at once.
“Do you see that?” Victoria’s voice drew him back. She grinned, mirroring the baby’s delight. “She likes you now. Truly.”
Richard knelt slowly, uncertain how to bridge the space between them without seeming clumsy, and held out a finger. Melody’s tiny hand shot toward him, gripping firmly, strong despite her small size.
“I think she wants me to stay,” he murmured, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his lips, the tension in his chest softening for the first time since waking.
Victoria nodded. “I’ll rest her in her bassinet, and then we can go to breakfast. I know you have other matters to attend to after, letters and errands alike.”
He shook his head, lifting his gaze to hers. “Let them wait. I’ve spent too many mornings chained to tasks. I can spare an hour for you two, at least.”
Victoria’s smile deepened, soft, approving, intimate. She placed Melody gently in the bassinet, turning to him.
And Richard, watching them both, felt something swell inside him: a dangerous, unyielding affection, tempered by awe and a new kind of domestic contentment.
The kind he had never thought possible.
For once, he let himself linger. For once, he let the warmth of home fill the space where fear and duty usually resided.
And in that soft morning light, with Victoria at his side and Melody reaching toward him, the Duke of Hawksford finally felt something he had never allowed himself to feel.
Fully, achingly alive.
“Are you certain she’s secure, Richard?” Victoria asked, her gaze flicking nervously to the wicker basket resting carefully between them on the carriage seat. “The cobbles can be notoriously rough around Mayfair.”
“Treacherous?” he added, arching an eyebrow.
“Well, yes,” she said, eyes still fixed on the basket. Melody lay beneath her soft blanket, swaddled snugly, yet Victoria’s nerves refused to settle entirely.
The two of them had chosen to sit together this time, the first of several small decisions in a day filled with domestic considerations and family joy.
Across from them, Mrs. Hughes kept a careful watch, her posture alert enough to leap into action should the basket tilt or the carriage lurch.
Richard’s figure, in his grey evening coat, looked every inch the formidable Duke of Hawksford.
Stern and composed, yet Victoria knew better.
She could see the tension in his jaw, the subtle tightening of his hands as they hovered near the basket, the protective weight of his thigh just behind it, ready to prevent a fall.
“Don’t fret,” he murmured, his voice calm but firm. “I have my hand here. The carriage’s springs are fairly new, and we’ve all got eyes on her. Melody has three devoted guardians for the ride to Wolfcrest. We four can survive anything this road throws at us.”
Victoria let out a soft laugh, the tension in her chest loosening slightly.
Daphne and Alistair had invited them for dinner, an intimate gathering of siblings, spouses, and children, and she had been thrilled at the chance to bring Melody into the family fold.
Yet the journey had been enough to make her nerves prickle with anticipation and a touch of dread.
“I suppose you are right,” she said at last, settling back into her seat. “We should be there soon, yes?”
Richard chuckled, a deep, amused sound that made the carriage seem warmer. “Yes, we should be. Though I would advise against letting the coachman go full speed. You’d be surprised at how rattling it can feel, and the little one does not need a jostled introduction to Wolfcrest.”
He reached for her hand and squeezed it gently, an anchor of reassurance. Victoria felt herself relax under the pressure of his fingers, comforted by his presence.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he murmured softly. “Even without the diamonds and amethysts. Your black velvet alone is stunning.”
She smiled faintly, shaking her head. “I thought them too much for a family dinner. I did not want to appear as the belle of the ball or the host. This is simpler. Elegant, but not ostentatious.”
“I understand,” Richard said, his eyes warm as they met hers. “We should save the more extravagant adornments for another occasion.”
“I am wearing the amethyst pendant,” she reminded him, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
Simple, yet significant.
Silence fell over the carriage for a few moments, broken only by the rhythmic rattle of the wheels on the cobbles.
The carriage slowed as they neared Wolfcrest, the distant sounds of laughter and chatter already floating through the morning air.
Even from the road, Victoria could feel the vibrant hum of family life awaiting them.
The doors opened, and the foyer burst into color and sound.
Silks brushed against polished floors, perfume mingled with warm, domestic scents, and the laughter of children echoed against the walls.
Though it had not been long since she had last seen her siblings, the joy in their voices made Victoria’s heart swell.
“They’ve arrived! Adrian, look!” Daphne called out, her twin’s voice carrying over the din, melodic and joyful as always.
Daphne approached, her high-waisted gown accentuating her pregnancy, her hands resting on her rounded belly. Alexander, her two-year-old, peeked from behind his father, curious and shy.
Daphne’s gaze immediately fell to the basket, and Victoria lifted it slightly so the children could see inside.
“Let me see the baby!” Daphne gushed, bending forward as Melody stirred, still snug in her blanket.
“She’s sleeping,” Victoria murmured, surprised.
In recent weeks, getting Melody to settle had been a trial; now, she seemed serene and content, a child at home in her new family.
“She is comfortable here at Hawksford,” Daphne observed with a pleased nod, adjusting her posture and brushing a hand over her belly.
Out of the drawing room came a rush of movement, children spilling into the foyer, all animated and eager.
Victoria’s nephews and nieces moved like little wolves, their energy untamed but joyful.
Hector led the charge, guiding Jamie, Clara, William, Henry, and even tiny Alexander.
Behind them, Martin, John, and Lily, Marianne’s children, followed closely, whispering as if sharing some important secret among themselves.
Victoria giggled at the sight, the little conspirators’ antics filling her with warmth. Daphne grinned in response, clearly amused by the spectacle.
“Aunt Victoria?” Twelve-year-old Hector’s voice cut through the chatter, solemn yet earnest. He approached, holding a small object clumsily wrapped in colored paper and tied with a pink ribbon.
“Yes, darling?” Victoria asked, bending slightly to his level, noting his careful handling of the package.
“My cousins and I have something for the new one.”
The words made her lips twitch with the beginnings of laughter, though she quickly swallowed it. The notion that Melody was now officially part of the extended family, the “new one,” filled her with an unexpected rush of emotion. A lump formed in her throat.
“Oh, did you? What might that be?” she asked gently.
Hector handed her the small box as if presenting a sacred treasure. Around him, the children waited expectantly, eyes bright with pride and anticipation.
Victoria carefully unwrapped it, her fingers lifting the paper to reveal a hand-whittled rattle. It was imperfect in symmetry but crafted with evident care; the smoothness of the wood suggested careful sanding, and inside the hollow, pebbles clacked softly when shaken.
“Well, I did the carving,” Hector said proudly, cheeks tinged with pink. “The rest of the cousins helped with the sanding and the pebbles. We made sure it’s safe for baby Melody.”
“She does not have her own things,” Henry added quietly, earnest and protective.
“She does, silly,” Diana reassured him softly. “Clothes, blankets, a crib … she has all the things she needs!”
“That’s alright, Di,” Victoria said kindly, her gaze soft on Henry. “Miss Melody will need many things, and this rattle is just the beginning. You all have made something very special for her.”
“That’s true,” Jamie said with vigor, nodding emphatically.
“You’ve given her the best rattle in London,” Victoria praised, her voice full of warmth. “She will treasure it now, and one day, when she’s older, she will know how much love went into making it.”
Richard’s hand found Hector’s shoulder, giving it a firm, approving squeeze. “Excellent craftsmanship, Hector. Not many could accomplish this at your age. Remember, a man should always know how to provide for the ladies in his family.”
Hector’s chest puffed with pride, his stance rigid as he soaked in the praise.
Family. That simple word wrapped around Victoria’s heart, tugging at it in ways she had only begun to understand. As she looked from the children to Richard to Melody, she hoped that whatever love she felt for this small, burgeoning family would not be dashed or taken from her.
Here, in the bustling warmth of Wolfcrest, surrounded by laughter and affection, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, it could endure.