Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
“You’re going to spoil little Melody, Victoria,” Richard remarked. He was far too happy to mean it.
They were eating bacon and eggs, white bread with butter, and tiny pastries.
Most of the ton would normally eat their breakfast leisurely, but both of them were used to rushing because of their individual personalities.
Today, though, they did try to take their time to savor not just the meal but also the conversation.
The duke found it amusing that his wife would fidget in the breakfast room as if she wanted to bolt at any time. With Melody in the same room, however, it was different. She was more relaxed and anchored. More willing to stay and enjoy a luxurious breakfast as it should be enjoyed.
It was the same for him. He would have otherwise been preoccupied by the morning papers or an urgent ledger.
However, these days, one would find him more at ease in his mahogany chair, carefully slicing his food, or letting his coffee cool.
He used to turn his nose up at the leisurely life he often associated with the rest of the ton.
Victoria was on the rug, not caring if her purple silk morning gown would be wrinkled or stained.
She was too occupied with Melody, who was propped up using soft pillows and plush wool in a wicker Moses basket.
She kissed the baby’s belly, blowing a raspberry against it. The baby let out an appreciative laugh.
It was only then that Victoria turned to Richard to reply, “Melody deserves to be spoiled.”
She said the words with a spark of mischief in her eyes, but he still could not help but feel a pang. She would be a good mother to their future children, but it would be unfair to Melody and those future children if they tried having them now.
“You may deny it, Richard, but I believe you agree with me. I saw you peeking through the nursery door yesterday. Why didn’t you come in?” she asked, giving him a soft smile.
“Oh, that,” Richard began, clearing his throat. He inspected the soft, golden butter on his bread as if it were the most fascinating invention in the modern world. “I was merely inspecting each room for the annual inventory.”
Victoria burst out laughing, and the duke could not help but smile. He’d made her laugh. She had been happier as of late. He wished he could do more.
“You were watching Melody. You know that you can play with her, too. I assume you meant to give her that little rattle to chew on. Why else were you skulking about with it in your hand?” she teased.
“The rattle was for her gums,” he explained. “She has been fussing more lately.”
“That’s true.”
Mrs. Hughes was nearby, watching quietly and ready to assist whenever needed. It was a setup that was not usual, but had become the new normal for the fledgling family.
There were days when Richard completely forgot to think about his mission to find Melody’s mother. Whenever he did remember, he dreaded the idea of letting go of the baby.
He now knew that Victoria would be devastated.
Victoria now referred to the days after her mother’s unwelcome visit as The Golden Days.
The period marked the best days of her life, one where she didn’t have to concern herself with what other people said.
With the dowager marchioness out for a while, possibly recuperating, she felt the bliss of a prolonged honeymoon, without the consummation.
The house seemed to breathe with life, not just because an actual baby now lived in it.
Victoria dabbled with the piano in the afternoons, not quite as good as Daphne, but Melody was a happy enough audience.
Fresh flowers adorned the rooms. Even the kitchens felt transformed, constantly smelling of warm milk and spice tea, the comforting aromas replacing the previous sterility.
The best thing about it all was that she and Richard no longer felt strangers to each other.
At night, the servants would retire, and Melody would be safely tucked in the nursery with Mrs. Hughes on close watch.
The couple would head for the library, which served as their sanctuary with its scents of leather and beeswax.
Victoria also liked to believe that the place cradled her scent and his.
On this particular night, Richard picked up a slim volume of poetry, which surprised Victoria. He often read political tracts while she read delicious but sublime Gothic novels to rattle her nerves.
“Are you reading for me?” she asked, as he proceeded to flip some pages and straighten his back. He had also glanced at her a few times.
“If you would let me,” he said quietly.
“I will not say no to a reading, Richard,” she reassured him. “I would love for you to read The Mysteries of Udolpho for me on a dark and stormy night, but I would also love to hear poetry from you. It will at least tell me what you like to read when you’re not being boring.”
Richard chuckled and clutched his chest as if he was hurt by her words. Then, he flipped one more page and began reading. The words were not spoken with much drama as some would, but they were spoken with an even baritone that gave Victoria goosebumps.
She forgot about her own book, her fingers still lodged between the pages.
The words sometimes became the clearest things in her mind, and sometimes they just blurred as she watched his face intently instead.
It was a wonder how the fire from the hearth captured the sharp lines of his face or lightened some parts of his dark hair.
She felt the need to see more of the strands in daylight and feel them again in her hands.
Desire sparked as her thoughts went to moments where she did just that.
Richard had large but gentle hands and a deep but sensitive voice. When there was a need for it, he defended her. Protected her. Her family connections were meant to protect him, but so far, he had been doing a wonderful job of being the protector.
As she continued listening and watching, her breath hitched at the sudden realization.
I love him.
She’d had little infatuations, crushed by either her mother or herself without even having left the ballroom. She had not minded those handsome faces fading as soon as they were no longer in front of her.
With Richard, it was different. It was a strong, heady, and frightening feeling because it was getting stronger every day. She loved simple details about him, such as the way he smelled. The way they fit together. The way he looked at her and Melody.
“Victoria?” Richard asked, his brows furrowed as he rested the book of poetry on the table in front of him.
He must have felt the way she was watching him.
“Is there something wrong?” he prodded.
She looked at him, her chest tight from her heart thudding against it. She felt like her face revealed all her emotions, and she was not ready for that yet.
“No. There’s nothing wrong,” she muttered weakly. “Nothing at all.”
Richard saw something else, though. He saw her eyes change while she was listening to him read poetry. Perhaps she was surprised that he liked poems at all.
He chose the poem well. He wanted her to know that he felt something—something more—but he was yet uncertain what it was. To read her love songs would be presumptuous. To read her poems that completely steer the other way was cruel.
Did she know?
Did she feel what he was trying to tell her through the poem? Was that why she looked like she had seen a ghost?
Richard suddenly felt a strong need to ensure Victoria’s safety. It was ironic that he thought he was taking care of her by staying away when he didn’t know her well enough. Now, the urge to protect her was stronger than ever before, but he could no longer imagine being separated from her.
Throughout most of his return to London, he had constantly been communicating with agents who had been tracking Penwike and his allies. He vetted every servant who worked in both his London and country homes, making certain that nobody could come near his family with the intent to harm.
But through his efforts to protect Victoria and Melody, there was one thing that he had forgotten to shield: his heart.
“Are you certain?” he asked.
“Yes, I am, Richard,” she said with a tight smile.
“I will stop reading for now and give you some time with your novel,” he said.
“Oh.”
Something fleeting passed. It was too quick for him to read that expression, but she gave him yet another small smile.
They should try to do better at this. In the bedroom, they seemed like they didn’t have to worry about a thing.
Their bodies often took over. Of course, he was the one who always held back.
“If you must know, investigations are progressing,” he said, changing the topic. He also changed his tone, from the softer monotone to his businesslike manner. Victoria pressed her lips together.
“All right …”
“We may have narrowed down the location of the seamstress in Soho,” he announced.
He had wanted to tell her about the updates, but he didn’t want to destroy the peace they’d recently found. There was a part of him that didn’t want to remember their troubles.
Victoria looked somber now. It was exactly why he didn’t want to mention the search. “Do you think the seamstress is in danger? Do you think someone is trying to hush anyone who knows about Melody?”
“I believe that someone is trying his best to cover up a scandal that can destroy his reputation,” Richard mused.
How he was so certain it was a man might be based on a bias or a hunch.
“Therefore, anyone who may be associated with keeping this particular secret might be in danger. If I ever need to go to the estate to survey it, you may have to go to your brother. Immediately.”