Chapter Eleven
Victoria spent the rest of her first full day as Lady Blackwood pacing the viscountess’s chambers.
The rooms were surprisingly spacious given the relatively modest size of the home, and, given the delicate silk papering and ornate canopied bed, they must have been quite grand at one time.
But her husband had been right, of course.
The rooms were far from prepared to have a resident.
Upon being shown into the room, the poor housekeeper and two maids had apologized profusely for the state of it.
They immediately scurried about removing sheets covering the furniture, opening windows, and unrolling the mattress, doing their best to air out a room that likely hadn’t been used since Rafe’s birth.
“Please do not fret,” Victoria had tried reassuring them. “I realize we were not due to arrive for quite a while, and you had no notice that our plans had changed.”
“We will have this room spick and span in no time, my lady!” the housekeeper, Mrs. West, reassured her. “Allow me to show you to another room better suited, and I will have some refreshments sent up while you wait.”
“Thank you, no,” Victoria said with what she hoped was a friendly smile despite her heavy spirits.
The red-faced footman arrived, carting the first of her trunks.
Her belongings were scheduled to be sent over while she and Rafe were on their honeymoon trip, but now she could send for them sooner since it seemed they would no longer be leaving England.
“I will help unpack and organize my clothing. I promise to stay out of your way.” Despite the housekeeper’s protests, Victoria insisted upon remaining while the chamber was aired and clean pillows and bedding were fitted.
When they were done, the scent of lilac drifted through the room, both pleasant and surprisingly calming.
The space was gradually transformed into something with a great deal more potential than she’d seen on first impression.
She spent a couple of peaceful hours working alongside the staff.
Their discomfort was palpable, but she made every effort to show them that she was not the typical titled English lady.
These were people with whom she’d spend most of her days from then on.
She’d grown quite friendly with many of the employees who worked in her father’s household, and she did not see why that could not be the case in her own home.
Besides, the last thing she wanted right then was to wander the halls of an unfamiliar house and accidentally encounter her husband.
That moment would come sooner or later, of course, but she needed more time.
Victoria hoped time would help her come to terms with her new reality—not only was she a new wife, but she’d also inherited a trio of children…
and her husband had, indeed, turned out to be exactly like every other man who’d ever pursued her.
He thought little of who she was, seeing her only as a bank account.
A means to an end.
An improvement upon his own circumstances.
He’d done a remarkable job of concealing it beneath a veneer of friendship, she had to give him that.
She’d believed in him so fully; she’d stood up for him when others had disparaged him. And now she felt like the worst sort of fool.
But he did have his nieces and nephew to consider…
It wasn’t as if he’d married her to live a lavish lifestyle with no responsibilities; he had children for whom he needed to care and provide.
Victoria had only limited experience with London Society, but the cost was likely substantial if he wanted to perpetuate the facade of wealth by properly educating them and launching them into the rest of the ton. His aim had been more altruistic than—
No.
She would not forgive him for everything simply because May had looked so sweet and pathetic as he’d held her, and Dominic had been mischievously charming, looking so like his uncle that the familial resemblance was undeniable.
Their adorable faces would not sway her…
at least not this soon after the events of that day.
Victoria took a calming breath and asked if one of the maids might help her change before they left.
Now that they were staying in London, she would have to make inquiries into hiring a permanent lady’s maid sooner than she’d anticipated.
She mulled over this and their abandoned honeymoon trip as she donned a more comfortable dress of sprigged cream and pale blue muslin.
She tried not to sigh overmuch for all the missed adventures as her hair was unpinned, brushed, and twisted into a simple coil at the nape of her neck.
As she waited for the tea she requested, she promised herself that she would stop her pining once it arrived.
Despite what London Society might think of her, she was not the spoiled, vapid girl or ice princess they expected.
She could allow herself to feel disappointment, but she could also overcome it and recognize that there were far more pressing matters requiring her attention.
Namely, three small children and a marriage teetering on a rather precarious ledge.
She considered how she might move forward as she prepared her cup of tea with a healthy serving of the fine sugar from the bowl.
She noted with some curiosity that the service was mismatched.
The difference in pattern was subtle, but there if one looked closely enough.
The realization caused an unexpected dip in her stomach.
Things must certainly be dire if the household could not even maintain a complete matching set of china.
She set down her cup a little more forcefully than intended.
“Damn and blast,” Victoria muttered and slumped back into her chair.
It was one thing for a man born to privilege who allowed his greed to overshadow his conscience and lure a woman into marriage to deepen his own pockets; it was another for a man who was so desperate to claw his way up from ominous—if genteel—poverty that he would befriend, earn the trust of, and then marry an heiress to provide his title and the wards he’d inherited with the security necessary for any sort of future.
If she looked at it objectively, was it really all that different from what her own family had done?
If one could sip tea begrudgingly, then Victoria had discovered that ability.
Her tea finished, she perused the room and sorted through the trunks that had been brought up.
She made a mental note to add to the list of items to have carted over from America.
Most of her things would be given away or donated at her instruction, but there were some books and other trinkets, as well as a fur-lined winter cloak, she desired to have with her in London.
She ran her fingers along the spines of the books still so neatly tucked away in the smaller luggage.
Selecting one, she curled up near the hearth to read.
It was another of the books recommended by Lady Morton, and Victoria was quickly drawn into the compelling tale of a woman who disguised herself as a man to forge a new path for herself.
Before she knew it, hours had passed, and still Rafe had not come looking for her.
The light in the room had grown lower than was comfortable for reading, elongating the shadows and closing in the corners of the room.
The chamber was utterly, eerily silent. This area of London seemed less busy as well, making the noise in the street noticeably less frequent.
Was she more relieved or irked by the fact that her husband had left her in silence, not seeking her out to speak further? She could not decide.
The fact was, Victoria was a woman unused to so much leisure and solitude.
She knew she would lose her sanity if she stayed shut away in that room for much longer, no matter how compelling the book she held in her hand.
She might have felt differently if it felt like home, but this place—this life—was still too new for her to feel settled in any way.
Finally, she crept from the room, glancing up and down the hallway and finding it deserted.
She listened for several heartbeats, but there was not so much as the creak of a floorboard.
She’d seen very little of the Townhouse, but she knew it was a fair size, even if it was not exactly a grand residence.
Regardless, she did not think she’d become too lost if she attempted a bit of wandering.
A quick count of the doorways reassured her that she would be able to find her own chamber later.
Her exploration of the second floor revealed several additional small bedrooms, as well as a family sitting room, which, unlike those bedchambers, actually seemed to see some use.
It was interesting to her to note how the staff’s efforts were concentrated on the spaces her husband might use.
The entryway and parlor below, for example, were lovingly and carefully cleaned to make them as presentable as possible; the same could be said about that private sitting room.
The unoccupied bedchambers were similar to the state her own had been in upon arrival: barren of fripperies, sparsely furnished, looted for any pieces which might be more beneficial elsewhere, and forlorn, cleaned just often enough to prevent them from smelling musty.
Victoria purposefully avoided the final bedchamber on the floor—the one directly adjacent to her own—suspecting she’d find it in fine repair and most certainly occupied.
Instead, Victoria headed back up the hallway in the direction of the stairs, knowing there was a decision to be made once she reached them.
She could either make her way downstairs to the main floor or up where she believed the nursery was likely to be located.
Rafe or the children.
The decision was not all that difficult for Victoria to make.