Chapter Twenty-One
The next week spent at The Cottage passed in blissful peace, where Rafe, Victoria, and the children existed in a little sphere of their own making.
Without the constraints of London Society, Victoria felt more relaxed than she had in recent memory.
Even back home in America, she’d felt somewhat on display as part of Boston and New York’s version of the upper class.
In the Kentish countryside, however, she could traverse the fields with the children chasing grasshoppers and butterflies; she needn’t worry about nosey callers and curiosity-seekers, and she did not feel so judged.
In America, she’d been scrutinized as an heiress and an example to Society; even after her marriage, she’d been an object of interest to those English who were either jealous or looked down upon her for the match she’d made with Rafe.
This time spent away from prying eyes also allowed her to sit with the feelings she was developing for her husband, and helped her to remember that there was more to both of them than met the eye.
Rafe, too, was far more relaxed. Though she suspected his sense of fashion would always lean more toward dandified than rugged—not that she minded, of course—he’d worn his coats less often and tended to spend his days in well-cut breeches and linen shirts.
The expert tailoring and interesting patterns of some of his garments prevented him from looking too much like he belonged out in nature, but that only lent to his charm as far as Victoria was concerned.
She’d be watching the horizon for Rafe and Dominic to return from another afternoon of disastrous fishing and spot a flash of robin’s egg blue or a slightly unnatural green and know that they were on their way home.
She didn’t know if it was relief over resuming their marital relations, but her husband was freer with his affections, he laughed more easily, and the lines around his eyes softened some—likely because sleep had been more pleasant for all of them the past few nights.
Victoria and Rafe had taken to sharing a bed each night since they’d come together after Dominic’s birthday supper.
To say they were both pleased with the arrangement was an understatement; more than once, both had considered how fortunate it was that the children’s room was located on the opposite side of The Cottage when their cries and groans of pleasure were too powerful to stifle.
Rafe did request one concession from Victoria as recompense for sharing his mattress with her: He demanded she stop wearing her nightrails, claiming he did not care for all the tangling fabric.
But Victoria knew better. He enjoyed rolling over to find her nakedness waiting for him.
Still, she’d obliged, quite content to experience the near-feverish heat of his flesh against hers.
Even at rest, he was lean, taut muscle, solid and warm.
Often, he held her in his sleep as if he were afraid she would dissolve.
Victoria did not mind, though, because it made her feel all the safer and more cherished.
Some nights, Faith still craved Rafe’s arms to lull her to sleep with the rhythm of his heartbeat and the warmth of his skin against her cheek, but those times were growing less frequent.
When they did happen, Victoria had taken to sitting up with them, occasionally reading to her husband in a peaceful whisper by the light of a single low-burning candle.
The baby was also beginning to gain some weight, so much so that Nan and the staff had needed to sew her some new garments.
No one minded the extra work because they were so relieved that the child showed improvement.
Woefully terrible with a needle and thread, Victoria had, instead, offered to go into town and purchase the materials they required.
She picked a fine day with plenty of sunshine, donned an appropriately comfortable dress of dark green striped muslin and her walking boots, gathered her bonnet and reticule, and stepped out of The Cottage and onto the front drive.
Much to her surprise, Rafe had pulled up in front of the house, manning a smart gig and an elegant chestnut horse.
He was dressed for London with his black beaver hat, ebony coat with gold buttons, patterned silver-and-purple waistcoat, impeccable buff breeches, and polished hessians.
He transferred the long reins to one hand and tipped his hat to her jauntily.
“What are you doing?” Victoria had laughed as she finished pinning her plum-colored hat atop her head and checked to ensure she hadn’t forgotten her reticule.
“You required conveyance to the village; I happen to be available. The gig and horse were in the stables and are available for our use as part of the lease.” He grinned down at her and held out his gloved hand.
“How could I resist such an escort?” she asked, ascending the steps into the gig. No sooner was she settled than he snapped the reins and they were off.
Victoria squealed in surprise at just how quickly they were able to travel down the empty country lanes.
Her husband was clearly a skilled driver, deftly avoiding ruts and divots as he drove them toward the village they’d passed on their way to The Cottage.
One of her hands clutched the seat and the other scrabbled to hold onto Rafe’s bicep.
She felt him chuckle against her side. “Do not fear, I’ve a fair amount of experience driving one of these.”
“I do not doubt your skill as a driver,” Victoria said a little unsteadily as she tried not to flinch when they steered closely to the bushes growing along the side of the path.
“I am unused to traveling at such a high rate of speed. Carriages and hacks do not travel this quickly in New York, Boston, or London.”
“A carriage wouldn’t,” he explained patiently and guided the horse through a turn. “This gig is sprung differently. It is lighter and nimbler.”
“I can see that.”
“Would you like me to slow down?” Rafe asked, a note of concern in his voice when he realized the severity of her unease.
“No, no,” she replied and gripped his arm a little more tightly. “I will be fine. I trust you.”
“Then why are your eyes closed?”
Victoria forced one eye open a sliver and regretted it as soon as she saw the speed with which the scenery passed by—it was a blur of shades of green, blue, and brown. Her eye closed once more of its own volition.
“I cannot help it.”
Immediately, the gig began to slow to a comfortable trot, and Victoria began to feel as if she could breathe again.
“Is that better, darling?” Rafe murmured at her side, transferring the reins to one hand and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She allowed herself to nestle against him as they bounced along at a more reasonable pace.
“Much,” she answered with a breath of relief.
“I did not mean to frighten you,” he apologized. “We will travel the rest of the way at a more sedate pace.” His thumb stroked her upper arm in a comforting pattern.
Already, she was beginning to enjoy the journey much more. With the roofless gig, she could appreciate the sights and sounds of the countryside now that it was not a blur. The air smelled of warm earth and flowers; the scenery was beautiful when she wasn’t traveling at a breakneck pace.
“This really is quite lovely when one is not in fear for her life,” she commented lightly, tilting her head back to watch a bird swoop over their heads. Then, she realized what she’d said and looked back at her husband. “Not that I believe you would intentionally place either of us in danger.”
He chuffed. “Of course.”
Several minutes passed, filled by the rhythmic thud of the horse’s hooves on the packed earth, the creaking of the gig beneath them, and the sounds of nature.
The tower of the town’s medieval church gradually began to break the horizon over a hill in the distance.
At the pace they were traveling, it would likely be another hour before they arrived at their destination.
“Where did you learn to drive a gig so well?” Victoria finally asked. Was it her imagination, or did he flinch at her question?
No, she hadn’t imagined it.
His silence in the wake of her question confirmed that she’d inadvertently struck some tender nerve.
Finally, he answered, his voice low and rough, “Alice’s husband.”
His sister’s husband had taught him how to manage a gig—the same man whose life and that of his wife had been cut tragically short in a carriage accident.
Of course, he hadn’t been the driver during the incident since no lord steered his own carriage, but her question doubtless unlocked myriad confusing memories, pleasant and tragic, warm and grief-stricken.
She reached up and covered his hand with hers in an effort to convey that she hadn’t intended to dredge up anything painful, and he surprised her by continuing his explanation.
“I was still fairly young when they married—not yet at University. Alice rescued me from my father’s black moods every chance she had, though it was far less often than both of us liked.
She did her best to give me all the love and warmth my father’s house lacked.
Her husband recognized how important our relationship was, and he embraced me as a brother.
“He purchased a new gig one summer, and I was enamored of the thing. It was beautiful—black lacquered with gilt details and his family crest painted on the rear. He had the most beautiful black mare to pull it, too. I was so bloody jealous.”
“Jealous?”
He emitted a little derisive snort. “Not only did the man have my sister’s love and attention, but he did not have to worry about how empty his family’s coffers were.
He needn’t concern himself with the scrimping and scrounging I was already feeling even at that age.
And I was an annoying young buck who longed for the best, though I knew the future of the Blackwood title grew bleaker with every year my father fell more deeply into his grief and apathy.
“Her husband saw this and invited me on a drive one afternoon. I nearly declined out of sheer petulance, but Alice convinced me otherwise, thank God.
“We drove from London and, little prig I was, I did everything in my power to not enjoy myself. As soon as we reached the country roads, however, he gave the horse its head and we flew. I was convinced the gig had sprouted wings and we’d begun to soar!”
Victoria smiled at his reminiscing. The tension was slowly draining from his body as he spoke of the memories, old pain gradually giving way to something gentler.
“It was the most exhilarating thing I’d ever experienced,” Rafe continued.
“When we finally slowed to a stop, he handed me the reins and offered to give me driving lessons.” His voice broke slightly on the last word, but he managed to regain his composure.
“I felt so fortunate to be a part of his life with Alice. He didn’t need to be as kind to me as he was. He was a very good man.”
“It sounds like it,” Victoria said gently. “And Alice was good as well.”
“I didn’t deserve them.”
“Rafe—”
“I didn’t. For all their efforts, I still turned out like this.
They could not completely protect me from my father’s loathing.
I’d tried for years to make him love me, to praise me, to notice me as someone other than the accident that had killed his beloved wife, but nothing worked.
So, I think I did the only thing I could do: I began behaving in a way that would earn me his ire.
At least that made it feel more justified when he spat his venom and curses. ”
Victoria pulled her lips between her teeth and bit down. Tears were beginning to burn the backs of her eyes and the last thing she wanted was to break down there in the gig on their way to the village.
“I caused trouble,” Rafe continued, shifting his seat. “I chased countless skirts. I did whatever I could to draw attention to myself and have my name listed in as many tabloids as possible.”
“So your father would see you…” Victoria guessed sadly.
Rafe’s mouth thinned into a fine line; there was a brief pause before he said, “And, now, they’re all gone. My father. Alice. Her husband. And I am all that the children have left. They deserve better than me. They should have had their parents rather than me as their guardian.”
“Rafe, stop!” Victoria snapped and grabbed his arm.
This innocent inquiry had somehow devolved into abusing his character, and she could not listen to it any longer.
She could not stand by while he did that to himself.
“The children are lucky to have you—do not shake your head! It is a tragedy the way your sister and her husband lost their lives; they will be missed forever. But it is also a tragedy that you were raised by a father like the one you had.” She watched a muscle tic in his jaw and knew he did not want to listen to her, but she had to make him.
“Mourn the loss but also take pride in how you have handled the situation. You never had the example of a home that you should have, yet your instincts when it comes to the children are excellent. You gave them a home, and you have filled it with so much love. Do not speak so negatively about what you have accomplished.” She grasped his hand and laced their fingers together tightly.
“And look forward to what we will accomplish.”
He glanced down at their joined hands before returning his attention to the path ahead. “Do you lump our marriage into one of those accomplishments?” he asked in a tone barely loud enough to be heard above the racket of the horse and tack.
She considered his question. A few weeks prior, she might not have.
In fact, she’d likely have been insulted to be considered a pawn in a grander plan.
Now, knowing her husband as she did, she respected his decision.
There was no malice, only a desperate need to provide for his wards.
Although he’d never been afforded the warmth of a consistent family, he knew what needed to be done, and he’d done it all at great sacrifice to the lifestyle he’d enjoyed.
“I do,” she answered lightly. His fingers squeezed hers; his lips pressed a lingering kiss to her temple.