Chapter Nine #3
Left alone and greeted by no one, Victoria took her chance to examine her surroundings.
A slow turn in place revealed a space that, clearly, had once been grand but had suffered from years of neglect and lack of updating.
More than years—perhaps decades. A pattern of black and white marble tiles ran along the floor.
Yellow papering covered the walls from floor to ceiling and while it had likely been quite lovely when it had been hung, it was now faded so badly that she could hardly make out the design of exotic birds and tropical trees.
The brass sconces were worn in places from age.
The window to the left of the door was clear and polished, but the draperies adorning it were slightly sun-bleached and expertly patched near the hem.
The not-unpleasant aroma of beeswax and lemon almost masked the slight scent of old wood, a hint of dust, and aged parchment.
A subtle swipe of her finger along the polished banister leading to the next floor confirmed that the home was kept relatively clean despite its shabbiness.
In all, it was a marked difference from the exterior of the residence, and not a condition that would have taken a single generation to achieve.
Victoria was so preoccupied with her surroundings that it took her several moments to realize she was no longer alone; a maid cradling a small girl had entered from a cleverly disguised doorway—a servants’ passage.
The woman was garbed in the serviceable grey wool of the working class, unadorned except for a white cap upon her head.
She was rosy-cheeked and plump of form and perhaps at least two decades older than Victoria.
The child she held in her arms was barely more than a toddler.
Her wild black curls moved with a life of their own when she buried her pale face into the older woman’s neck, and she wore a frilly white nightrail that made her seem like a Renaissance cherub painted in the bosom of a cloud.
The sight was baffling.
Victoria’s confused frown deepened even more when Rafe appeared at the top of the stairs, at once harried and relieved to spot the maid and the child standing below.
He practically flew down the stairs, his eyes only for the girl.
Victoria hadn’t realized she’d clenched her fists until her nails bit so deeply into her palms that she feared she might draw blood.
It was a task to unleash the tension in her body—even more so when Rafe scooped the little girl into his arms and cuddled her close.
“How are you feeling, darling?” he crooned, heedless of the child’s wayward curls as they clung to his lips and caught in the slight stubble of the beard he hadn’t paused to shave away that morning in his haste to return to London.
“It is only a little cough,” answered the maid reassuringly.
“Mrs. West insisted on sending that letter, but I told her ’twould only worry you.
Dr. McCullom has already come and gone. ’E left a salve to clear her lungs and recommended rest and warm steam.
Cook is making soup for supper, so we were sitting in the warm kitchen air for a spell. ”
Victoria couldn’t stop staring at the girl who clung to Rafe so trustingly, so sure he would provide her with comfort as she released a cough so deep that it made Victoria cringe. Rafe did not so much as flinch as he patted the child’s back and held her close.
Initially, the sight warmed Victoria greatly…but that quickly melted into terror. What were the implications of this familiarity and concern between them? Who was this child to Rafe?
Just as her mind began to spiral into an abyss, her thoughts were shattered as a young lad careened down the banister and ended in a leap, sliding across the marble-tiled foyer and forcing Victoria to lurch out of the way lest she be knocked into a heap on the ground.
“Dominic!” Rafe snapped, his eyes narrowing at the boy. “Haven’t I told you time and time again not to do that?”
A sudden thud behind Victoria made her jump for the second time that minute.
The footman lowered his eyes and apologized for dropping her trunk before ducking back from the house to bring in the rest of the luggage.
The incident seemed to remind Rafe that he was not alone, that he had, in fact, a (very confused) wife.
She’d followed him into the foyer, and was gaping at him like a landed fish.
“Apologies,” he said, finally fully looking at her for the first time in what was quite literally hours. “The boy is as much of a hellraiser as I was at his age.”
Victoria’s panic began in earnest at that point.
She stuttered, “A—Are these children…they are…are these your children?” She should have been more tactful in her inquiry, but it wasn’t something her mind and her tongue could accomplish when faced with the very real possibility that her marriage was tumbling down around her before it had ever been given a real chance to begin.
From her conversations with him, she knew Rafe had never been married before; however, she was not naive enough to believe marriage was required for a man to father children.
A signed document was not a magical talisman of fertility.
Could this boy and girl be his children?
He was certainly familiar enough with them.
And could he expect her to reside with all of them beneath the same roof as a patched-together farce of a family?
Rafe shocked her with a great bark of laughter.
“Good God, no!” His voice boomed. Her relief was still hesitant and would likely remain so until she finally received the explanation she’d been craving for the better part of that day.
“May I introduce you to my niece and nephew, May and Dominic. A third child—another girl—is up in the nursery as well, but she’s rather a poor conversationalist since she does not speak just yet. ”
“And…all of them live here?”
He patted the girl on the back, his hand moving in soothing circles. “Yes, they do. They are my wards.”
“Who’s she?” the boy—Dominic—piped in loudly, disregarding the conversation being had over his head.
Victoria, her head still spinning from the situation, struggled to form words to supply an answer.
“This is Victoria,” Rafe supplied for her as he looked down at his nephew. “She is your new aunt, and she has come to live with us from now on.”
Dominic wrinkled his nose in a singularly childlike expression that was at once adorable and galling. “There are too many girls in this house as it is!”
“Dom…” Rafe warned in a low tone.
This finally nudged Victoria into action. Spurred by her desire to make this confusing situation even marginally less awkward, Victoria stepped forward and held out her hand to the boy. Smiling pleasantly, she said, “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Dominic.”
Addressed directly, the lad turned his full attention upon her.
He shared his uncle’s coloring everywhere except the eyes, which were a piercing pale blue.
Spots of ink stained his hands and various places on his cuffs and collar.
He stood up straighter with all the haughtiness of a child born to privilege.
“You should be addressing me as ‘My Lord,’” Dominic said with a sniff. “I am a lord, after all.”
Victoria didn’t know what she expected the boy to say, but it certainly hadn’t been that.
Taken aback, her eyes sought the only familiar face in the room.
The roll of Rafe’s eyes confirmed the truth of what the boy had said, as well as what he thought of his nephew’s manners.
Looking back down into the child’s eyes—so much more mature than she would have expected from one his age—she realized this was a first impression that could very well carry for the rest of her life.
As Rafe’s family and dependent, this was someone who would be around a great deal; how their future relationship would play out was in her hands.
She smiled in a way that was placating though not patronizing, and she dipped into a curtsey. “My Lord.”
Dominic looked down his narrow nose at her, stared for a heartbeat, and seemed to judge her offering sufficient.
Rafe, on the other hand, was not as inclined to capitulate. “You needn’t do that.” He jerked his chin in a motion for her to stand.
Dominic harrumphed his displeasure.
“I believe it is only polite,” Victoria replied gently, though she did stand. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she added to the lad. His intelligent eyes looked from her face to her hand, then to his uncle and back.
“You talk funny,” he finally said to her.
“Dom!” Rafe snapped, but his nephew was already speeding away toward the back of the house, leaving his admonishments to fall useless in his wake. This was clearly a situation that had played itself out many times over in one iteration or another between uncle and nephew.