Chapter Six
The morning of Victoria’s wedding to the viscount dawned sunny and surprisingly warm for England.
The ceremony would take place at St. George’s, after which a wedding breakfast would be served.
Papa had tried to convince her that they could host a more lavish affair, but Victoria had staunchly declined.
She knew such a spectacle would be expected.
St. George’s was still considered highly fashionable amongst the Mayfair elite, and it would accommodate enough guests to make it an appropriately grand affair, but it would also allow Victoria to maintain some control.
As much as she could, she invited only those people who had been kind to her and her family during their time in London.
The wedding would be her first official event in England, and she was determined to set the proper tone.
She would not accept deplorable treatment; she would not grin and suffer through snide comments.
Once the vows were said, she would have a title to back up her wealth, and she would make a name for herself.
She would follow Lady Morton’s lead and use her status for good, and she would not allow anyone to make her feel less because her family had worked hard for everything they had.
She would be proud of her origins. Besides, not once had Blackwood ever batted an eye at her Americanness, nor the way they’d earned their fortune.
So long as that support continued, Victoria felt she could weather most anything the ton brought her way.
The door to Victoria’s chamber swung open after a perfunctory knock.
In stepped her father, looking rather refined in his bespoke formalwear with its crisp lines and coattails.
His dear face split into a broad grin, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening in his joy.
Victoria smoothed the skirts of the ice-blue gown she’d had specially made for the day.
The garment was impossibly heavy, but the intricate beadwork made it worth it.
A pattern of Forget-Me-Nots and vines had been sewn into the dyed satin to create a custom design that was truly one of a kind.
The beadwork clicked and dazzled when she moved, making every movement a spectacle.
And she felt truly beautiful in the gossamer wrap of ivory lace, so fine it appeared almost cloud-like, which softened the daring cut of the pleated bust and empire waist.
“Stunning,” her father murmured. “Absolutely stunning.” His eyes were suspiciously bright.
Before her own tears spilled over, Victoria closed the gap between them and pressed a kiss to her father’s slightly leathery cheek, weathered from too many hours spent outdoors. “Thank you, Papa.”
He held her at arm’s length and looked her up and down again. “And you look so like your mama.”
Victoria’s throat tightened painfully, her eyes burned, and her breath clogged her throat.
Words failed her. She and Luke missed their mother each day, but she knew their father missed her even more.
They’d all learned to cope after more than a decade without her, but events such as this made her absence felt even more keenly than usual.
“Imagine!” Papa said with an overabundance of cheer. “My Victoria, a true lady and a viscountess!” Her father beamed. “As long as you are happy, of course,” he added sincerely. “I desire your happiness above all else.”
Victoria patted his hand, kissed his cheek again, and reassured him that she was, indeed, happy that she’d accepted Blackwood’s offer. “Yes, Papa; I am pleased with the decision.” She huffed a cleansing breath, stood up straighter, and said, “Shall we?”
As her father escorted her up the narrow central aisle of the church, Victoria’s heart raced in anticipation.
It took everything in her to continue her measured, careful steps when faced with Blackwood’s sinful half-smile and impeccable appearance.
He was glorious. Tall and lean, broad of shoulder, artfully hewn features, eyes rich and striking.
Before then, she’d done her best to temper her longing glances, her awe of his unnatural physical perfection and unfair amount of charm, but she would have the right to indulge in her gazing for the rest of her life from that moment forward.
It was a sobering realization only underscored by the binding recitation of their vows.
With her gloved hand in his, the rest of the scene—the guests, her father and brother watching from the front pew, and Mr. Simon Stratford standing up beside her soon-to-be-husband—all seemed to melt away like spun sugar.
Gone were the familiar faces of her father’s business associates, the few ladies she’d met and befriended during her time in London, and even Blackwood’s closest companions, who comprised a majority of the small assemblage on the groom’s side of the church.
They all became inconsequential in the presence of this man who would take her as his wife for all the rest of their days.
The unexpected tremble began in her toes and slowly danced up her calves. It made her stance unsteady as it traveled through her spine and made her fingers shake.
Until that point, she’d managed to stave off the unease that perhaps they were moving too quickly.
Was she acting rashly in accepting this man’s suit?
Could Luke be correct with his words of caution?
Did she truly wish to spend the rest of her life in England?
Could she be away from the only family she’d ever known?
And then, Blackwood’s fingers tightened around hers, and the corner of his mouth lifted reassuringly in a private smile just for her.
The trembling instantly stopped.
A calm, like the cool breeze after a storm, washed over her, and she squeezed his fingers back.
The kiss he pressed to her lips at the conclusion of the ceremony was nothing like the one they’d shared before.
Still, she knew the softness and the skill in his touch hinted at the passion hiding just beneath the surface.
Warmth spread through her limbs, and she barely resisted the urge to press her fingers to her tingling lips.
She barely remembered walking back up the aisle and making their way, along with the rest of the guests, to her family’s rented home nearby.
Lady Morton had stepped in as a guiding hand during the planning process when it became clear that Victoria was overwhelmed by everything that needed to be accomplished, as well as the incorporation of English traditions with which she was unfamiliar.
For that, Victoria would be eternally grateful.
The parlor and dining room had been swathed in netting and draped with ivy and summer blooms in shades of blue, pink, and purple.
The air was scented with sunshine and sweet floral aromas dancing on the breeze that traipsed through the open windows and doors leading out to the back garden.
The wedding breakfast had been coordinated to perfection; served on fine bone china from polished silver chaffing dishes, the meal would be remembered and emulated—or so Victoria was assured by Lady Morton.
“Everything came out to perfection, did it not?” the duchess asked after kissing the air beside Victoria’s cheeks.
“I could not have done it without you,” Victoria replied sincerely.
“Of course, you could have!” Lady Morton waved a dismissive hand.
“You give me too much credit.”
“You do not give yourself enough.” Victoria barely had time to process the compliment before two ladies approached them. One was shorter with pale blond hair, sapphire eyes, and pleasantly soft features; the other was taller, long of limb, with burnished rose-gold hair.
“Ah, Lady Blackwell. You have made the acquaintance of the Marchioness of Swanleigh and Mrs. Simon Stratford, have you not?”
It took Victoria several heartbeats to realize the duchess was addressing her by her new title. She’d been Miss Victoria Rockford her entire life; she would be Lady Blackwell for the rest of it. That she was now stepping into a new identity was more than a little sobering.
“Y—Yes,” she stammered slightly. “Thank you so much for coming.” She greeted the women properly—by order of precedence.
“Thank you for the invitation,” said the taller of the two women with a broad smile.
Victoria had previously met the marchioness at one of the meetings of Lady Morton’s Reading Society, and she’d also learned that, before her marriage to the Marquess of Swanleigh, the woman had once been counted amongst Blackwood’s Rank of Rakes.
At first, Victoria hadn’t been entirely sure what to think of the woman whose reputation had once been so tarnished that she’d thought nothing of being unchaperoned amongst a group of London’s rakes, but she’d only needed to witness Lady Swanleigh and her husband once to have her mind put to rest. The two were clearly enamored with one another, and they spent so much time at home with their young son and heir that Victoria had only had one or two other occasions to speak with them in her entire time in London.