Chapter 9
The formal dining room glowed with warmth that evening, dozens of candles reflecting off the polished mahogany table where Victoria sat across from Rees.
The space between them felt less like an ocean and more like a bridge waiting to be crossed.
Light flickered across the silver and crystal, casting shadows alive with the same energy that hummed between them.
For the first time since their wedding, Victoria had dressed with care for dinner, not to please an indifferent husband, but with the anticipation of spending time with someone who might actually see her.
Rees had transformed from his earlier disheveled state into fresh evening wear, his cravat tied with less-than-perfect precision, as if he too had been somewhat distracted. When their eyes met across the table, he offered her a small smile, still uncertain but genuine, quickening her pulse.
“Tell me about your childhood,” he said as the footman served the soup course, his tone conversational rather than dutiful. “Your family’s estate is in Sussex, is it not?”
Victoria set down her spoon, surprised by the question and even more by the genuine interest in his voice.
“Yes, near Brighton. It is not grand, nothing like your family’s holdings, but the grounds are lovely.
There is a stream running through the eastern border where my sisters and I used to catch minnows in summer.
” A smile tugged at her lips at the memory.
“Margaret would shriek every time one brushed her fingers, but she insisted on trying anyway.”
“Margaret is the middle sister?”
“Yes, she is seventeen now. She still writes me letters about every small drama in the neighborhood, though Mother tries to instill the virtue of restraint within her.” Victoria felt her shoulders loosening from their habitual tension.
“Anne is the youngest at fifteen. She is the true musician of the family—plays the harp beautifully, though she would rather be reading novels in the garden.”
“And your musical education?” Rees leaned forward slightly, his attention focused on her. “You play beautifully, but it is clear you have had excellent instruction.”
Heat touched her cheeks at the compliment.
“My grandmother insisted all three of us learn properly. She brought in a master from London, Signor Benedetti. He was ancient and terrifying; he would rap our knuckles with his walking stick if we played a wrong note.” She demonstrated the gesture, laughing softly at the memory.
“But he taught us to love music, not just perform it. He used to say that the pianoforte should express our secrets when words fail us.”
“Wise man.” Rees’s expression softened as she spoke, the candlelight warming his features. “Though I suspect your secrets are far more pleasant than most.”
The comment lingered between them, heavy with unspoken acknowledgment of the weight she carried. But there was no judgment in his tone, only a gentle understanding that made her throat tighten with unexpected emotion.
“What about you?” Victoria asked, deflecting before the moment grew too heavy. “Your investments—Rafe mentioned you have quite a gift for them, though he claims it is all luck.”
Rees laughed, the sound rich and unexpected in the formal space.
“Rafe would claim the sun rises by luck if it meant avoiding admitting someone else’s skill.
No, it is not luck; it is patience and research.
Reading patterns in seemingly unconnected events.
” He paused as Mrs. Pembridge directed the footman to serve the fish course, then continued.
“My father thought it ungentlemanly to be too interested in trade and figures, but I have always found it fascinating. The way a political shift in France can affect tea prices in London, how a particularly good harvest might impact shipping investments.”
“It sounds like solving puzzles,” Victoria observed, genuinely intrigued. “Finding the connections others miss.”
“Exactly.” His eyes lit up with enthusiasm she had never seen before. “Most men make investments based on what is fashionable or what their friends recommend. But if you actually study the underlying patterns.” He caught himself, looking almost sheepish. “I apologize. This must be dull.”
“Not at all.” Victoria found she meant it.
“I have always been good with figures myself, though I have had little opportunity to apply it beyond household accounts. Father used to let me help with the estate books before.” She stopped, hesitant to mention the time before scandal had changed everything.
“Perhaps you could look at some of my proposals,” Rees suggested, then seemed surprised by his own words. “That is, if you would be interested. A fresh perspective often reveals opportunities I might have missed.”
“I would like that very much.”
They continued through the courses—roasted capon with vegetables from the kitchen garden, jellied fruits, a light syllabub—and with each dish, the conversation flowed more naturally.
Rees shared stories of his friendship with Rafe, how they had met at Oxford when Rafe accidentally set fire to his own rooms during a chemistry experiment.
Victoria recounted her attempts to teach Anne to embroider, only to find her youngest sister had stitched all her samples to her skirts.
“And Sebastian?” Victoria asked as the footman cleared the dessert plates. “You rarely speak of your brother.”
“Sebastian is complicated.” Rees’s expression grew thoughtful.
“We were close as children, but the responsibilities of being heir changed him. Or perhaps revealed who he always was. He takes duty seriously—perhaps too seriously. Though marrying Juliana has softened him somewhat.” A smile touched his lips.
“She challenges him in ways our family never dared. It has been good for him.”
“They seem happy,” Victoria noted, recalling the few times she had seen the couple together.
“They are. Genuinely so, despite the circumstances that brought them together.” He met her eyes meaningfully. “Perhaps there is hope for all marriages that begin uncommonly.”
Mrs. Pembridge then entered to supervise the laying out of the port and cheese, and Victoria caught the housekeeper exchanging a significant glance with the footman.
Both servants moved with unusual care, as if afraid to disturb the delicate atmosphere that had developed.
The housekeeper’s lips curved in what might have been the beginning of a smile as she noted how Rees and Victoria’s attention remained focused on each other even as the table was cleared around them.
“Will there be anything else, my lord, my lady?” Mrs. Pembridge inquired, and Victoria heard the warmth in her voice, the approval of a servant who had been worried about the cold state of the household she managed.
“No, thank you,” Rees replied, but his eyes never left Victoria’s face. “We have everything we need.”
As the servants withdrew, pulling the doors closed with discretion, Victoria felt something fundamental shifting between them.
This dinner, this conversation—it was what should have happened weeks ago, what might have occurred if they had met under different circumstances.
They were finally seeing each other not as victim and trapper, not as unwilling spouses bound by scandal, but as two people who might actually find common ground, even affection, given the chance.
The candles had burned lower, casting longer shadows, but the warmth in the room seemed to have grown. And when Rees suggested they take tea in the drawing room, offering his arm with a formality that held new meaning, Victoria accepted with a smile that felt like dawn breaking after a long night.