Chapter Thirteen
The next morning, Rafe felt as if he’d been trampled by a horse. Exhaustion wrought havoc upon his visage; dark circles sat beneath his eyes, and he could have so very easily slept the day away.
Just a week ago, he likely would have done just that.
Now, however, he had an irate wife upon his hands.
The fumes of her fury lingered in the air around him, clinging to him with all the unpleasant, cloying stench of smoke.
His normally glib and gilded manners had fled him last night along with the blood from his brain and left him in a sorry state, to be sure.
To make matters worse, he could hear Alice’s admonishments bouncing around inside his skull as if she were alive and well in the room right there with him to reiterate repeatedly what a perfect bastard he was.
As much as he hated to admit it, she was right.
While he’d much rather have hidden away in his darkened rooms for the better part of the day, the echoes of his sister’s voice prodded him awake and out of bed like a hundred furious wasps.
As he dressed, his ears perked for any sound from Victoria’s chamber, but none came.
She was either already away and belowstairs, or she was still asleep.
He would find out soon enough. Inhaling a bracing breath, he left his chambers and descended to the main floor…
only to find not a single sign of his wife.
Rafe poked his head into every room—even the ones occupied only by dust and the remaining pieces of sheet-covered furniture not decent enough to sell—and went so far as to duck down to the basement kitchens.
The maids had blinked owlishly at his unexpected arrival, and he’d beat a hasty retreat with a muttered apology when his appearance had startled Mrs. West into dropping a freshly washed cast-iron pot with an unholy clang.
He made his way back up the stairs, continuing upwards toward the bedchambers and, on a whim, he decided to check the family parlor.
The door was ajar enough where he could see inside without being immediately detected, and what he saw caused him to blink several times to be sure that the scene before him was real.
There, Victoria sat on the floor in the center of the room, her skirts a pool of cerulean and cream stripes around her.
Faith was asleep in her arms, a silent bundle of white muslin and pale pink flesh, as Victoria asked Dominic, “What about your left-flanking cavalry technique?” Dom sat back on his heels and eyed the array of tin soldiers spread out before him.
“The Americans will win, regardless,” she teased lightly.
“My soldiers will win!” Dominic argued as he gestured vehemently toward his red-coated toys to indicate they would prevail against the blue. “No one can best the British military!”
Rafe watched Victoria’s unabashed smile in awe as she and Dominic exchanged a few more amiable verbal parries. Warmth bloomed from his breast at the domesticity of the scene—something foreign and unexpected in many ways, to say the least.
That was, until her eyes fixed on him and she realized he’d been watching her. A stony mask slipped over her lovely face, and it felt to Rafe as if all the heat had been blown from the room on a gust of animosity.
Accepting his fate, Rafe cleared his throat, pressed the door open fully, and entered the room. Pasting a smile upon his face, he asked, “And what are we up to here? Waging a bit of war?”
Victoria turned her eyes down to focus on the child in her arms. She spoke as she adjusted the wrapping more tightly around her. “With May still abed with her cough, I thought I would take Dominic and Faith off of Nan’s hands for a spell.” Her tone was as chilly as the Thames in winter.
“Victoria thinks the Americans can beat the British,” Dom complained with all the righteous indignation of a child convinced of his own knowledge as law.
Rafe smiled regretfully at his nephew. “She is correct in this instance. It happened. Once. And it’ll never happen again.” He finished it with a cheeky wink and strode over to where Victoria sat on the floor. He crouched down to look into his niece’s face to see for himself how she was faring.
He’d spent the better part of the night pacing back and forth with her, striding through the halls of the Townhouse like a lost specter of yore, speaking to her in hushed tones and telling her nonsense tales concocted from sleep-deprived fantasies.
The motion and sound of his voice seemed to soothe her somewhat—to calm whatever part of her heart that ached so deeply from the loss of her parents that it refused to allow her any peace or solace.
He could have left the inconsolable child to Nan and the wetnurse they also employed to help out in the kitchens, but that felt cruel to Alice’s memory, and that was the last thing Rafe ever wished to do.
Instead, he habitually took it upon himself to console the child as best he could, listening to tips provided by Nan and the other maids, and making up some techniques along the way.
His weeks had been filled with trial and error, but he’d do it for eternity if it meant giving Alice’s ghost peace to know her children were well cared for.
While Faith was quiet in Victoria’s arms and her eyes were closed in slumber, the child was far from peaceful.
Her pert little nose was wrinkled, and her smooth brow was furrowed in discomfort.
Rafe’s heart ached powerfully at the sight.
He stroked a gentle finger along the child’s forehead and she relaxed slightly, some of the tension leaving her frail body.
If only it were that easy to banish whatever ailed her innocent soul.
Victoria watched her husband intently, taking her opportunity to examine him in such proximity.
Even his high cheekbones, the aristocratic slope of his nose, the sensual curve of his mouth, could not detract from just how beleaguered he was.
It was irksome how he could remain attractive in such a state.
What was worse…he smelled divine…like leather and mahogany.
She injected steel into her spine and valiantly resisted the urge to sway toward him.
Remember what he said last night, she reminded herself over and over like a fortifying chant.
She turned her attention back to the weary lines bracketing his eyes and mouth.
She wasn’t vain enough to hope Rafe had lost sleep over her and the argument they’d shared the previous evening.
The infant in her arms cooed, and Victoria recalled how Nan had told her he would often check on the babe during the night.
Was it possible that was what had happened after Rafe had left her chamber?
She did not want to picture him sitting up all hours of the night with the child; she didn’t want to feel her heart softening toward him all over again.
How could he do this to her time and time again?
What was it about him that made her do this?
Because, even for all his mistakes and faults, there was a heart beneath the polished facade that was so much more complex than he was given credit for. And, even if he believed himself incapable of love, she just couldn’t believe it.
There was no doubt in Victoria’s mind that this child and her siblings meant a great deal to Rafe, and, as much as she wanted to loathe him, his heart was not a part of him she could force herself to dislike.
Everything else…well…that was another story entirely.
Seeming to realize where he was and what he was doing, Rafe retreated a step and straightened.
“Have you broken your fast?” he asked, his voice deep and rough.
Victoria could only nod in reply. “I have not forgotten my promise to you. Would you still care to do some shopping today?” When Victoria hesitated, he heaved a sigh and leaned back in, so Dominic would not overhear.
“We do not have to if you do not wish to, but I would like to do this for you.” When she remained silent in indecision, his mouth flattened into a line of resignation and he turned to leave.
Just before he quit the room, Victoria piped up—against her better judgment, of course. “I should be ready to leave shortly, just as soon as I have the children settled once more with Nan.”
A dramatic groan floated up from where Dominic was sprawled on the nearby floor, and Rafe’s attention turned toward the lad.
“Unfortunately, it seems as if you are not going to escape your studies for the entire day. Your tutor should be arriving soon anyhow,” he said lightly before swiftly stooping and scooping his nephew up beneath his arm like a sack of flour.
Victoria couldn’t hide her smile when she listened to the boy’s giggles as he was carted down the hall and up the stairs to the nursery.
It did not take Rafe long to regret his offer of shopping.
He was rather quickly reminded of the reason he’d avoided it at all costs in the past. In fact, he’d grown quite adept at concocting excuses with no notice whenever a woman attempted to coerce him into escorting her to the shops.
He loathed sitting around like a puppy waiting for his mistress’s attention.
However, he also knew better than to say anything to that effect as he watched Victoria select new papering for the walls, fabric for draperies and bed hangings, and even furniture for her bedchamber.
Biting his tongue was likely the safest thing he could do since his marriage was precarious at best; the disaster of the last forty-eight hours needed to turn around lest it set the tone for the rest of their lives.
He didn’t think either of them would survive a future beneath such a pall.