Chapter Twenty-Four
“You’re too kind, Lord Fenton.” Victoria patted the elderly man’s hand after he complimented her attire for the third time that evening. Despite his age and failing memory, she found him sweet. “You are such a charmer.”
“You should have seen me in my youth,” he replied, with a wink of a watery blue eye. “I’d have given that husband of yours a challenge for your affections, fair maiden.”
“Uncle,” his nephew signed and rolled his eyes heavenward.
Despite the nearly six decades separating their ages, there was a distinct resemblance in the shade of their eyes, the long, straight noses, and the strong chins.
If Lord Fenton had, indeed, resembled his great-nephew in his youth, then he wasn’t exaggerating.
In Victoria’s estimation, he wasn’t as handsome as Rafe, but he was remarkably pleasing to the eye.
“It’s a shame you met Blackwood before my nephew,” Fenton added, glancing between them. “You could have been a marchioness instead of a viscountess; he is first in line to inherit my title when I’m dead, you see.”
“Uncle!” exclaimed his nephew in mortification. He scrubbed at his face, clearly wishing he could melt between the bricks beneath their feet.
“What? It is the truth. I’d much rather see you wed to a woman as kind and bright as this than one of those empty-headed ninnies you seem to attract.”
His nephew turned to her. “My apologies, Lady Blackwood. My uncle sometimes forgets himself.”
“No offense taken, I assure you.” She flashed each of the men a warm smile.
The nephew looked grateful. “Come, Uncle. I believe we’ve monopolized Lady Blackwell long enough.”
“Very well,” Fenton grumbled and was able to rise to his feet after only two attempts. He leaned heavily on his cane as he bowed over Victoria’s hand. “It was a supreme pleasure.”
“I agree,” she replied, then added, “My family and I are staying at The Cottage just to the north. We would love to have you visit if you find it in your schedule. Otherwise, we will return to London next month.”
“My uncle does not travel often anymore, but I have a feeling, for you, he would walk from one end of the country to the other.”
The men took their leave and, standing, Victoria began to scan the crowd for her husband.
Rafe had disappeared several minutes earlier, but she hadn’t seen which direction he’d traveled.
As she scanned the gathering, a servant passed by with a tray of champagne; the crystal flutes with their effervescent liquid glittering in the flickering lighting looked so enticing, and she plucked one for herself.
She didn’t normally enjoy champagne, but this one was quite nice.
She sipped her drink and continued surveying her surroundings when she was approached by a woman in a pale green gown draped in layers of aqua chiffon.
The color combination was unique enough that Victoria realized she’d glimpsed her down the length of the table at supper.
She had hair the color of burnt caramel and wide-set brown eyes framed by impossibly long lashes.
What was odd, however, was her smile. By all accounts, it should have been pleasant and warm…
but there was something off about it. It did not reach her eyes.
Victoria had become familiar with such smiles during her time in London Society; they had the potential to be venomous.
Pasting on a forced smile of her own, Victoria waited for the woman to close the remaining gap between them.
“Lady Blackwood,” said the woman, making Victoria feel instantly at a disadvantage. This woman knew who she was, but Victoria did not know her.
“My apologies, but have we been introduced?”
Her lips curled into a slightly wider smile. “We have not had the opportunity. I am Mrs. Pfinster.”
“A pleasure to meet you.”
The other woman’s eyes ran up and down Victoria’s body as she huffed a small laugh through her nose, telling her Mrs. Pfinster believed it was anything but.
“I have known your husband for quite some time,” she finally said, and, just like that, Victoria’s stomach plummeted so quickly she experienced instantaneous nausea.
“Oh?” Victoria forced out. Was this woman about to admit that she was one of her husband’s paramours? It was one thing to move beyond his past; it was another to have it confront her with animosity oozing from its pores.
“Yes, through my good friend Lady Dallow. You see, I am here because of her. To lend support.”
“Support?”
She nodded as if it were obvious, and then she stepped closer. It was all Victoria could do not to recoil. “Blackwood was the wicked rake of the ton long before you arrived, you know. He entranced many a lady.” She arched a brow. “Has he never mentioned Lady Dallow?”
Victoria shook her head once, experiencing a worsening sense of foreboding.
“No? Well, he was quite attached to the young widow; they had quite the torrid affair.”
“I do not judge my husband for his past,” Victoria snapped, injecting steel into her spine and standing up straight and strong.
“His past?” She tilted her head sympathetically, and Victoria did not care one bit for the false pity in her dark eyes.
“Where do you think he is right now? You did not truly believe marriage could calm a man like that, did you?” Her every word dripped with condescension.
“A man like that will never be content with monogamy. Go on; see for yourself.” She tilted her chin in the direction of the side of the veranda and the far wing of the house.
“The sooner you accept the truth of your situation, the sooner you can move on with reality. Once a rake, always a rake. Once a man has been touched by a passion so great as that of Lady Dallow, he will be forever drawn to it, and what is meant to be, will be.”
Victoria’s every nerve went ice-cold. Despite her best efforts, her eyes strayed to where the woman had gestured.
She was torn between not wanting to give Mrs. Pfinster the satisfaction of watching her attempt to spy on Rafe and, morbidly, wanting desperately to know the truth.
Could her husband have been merely tolerating their newfound dynamic these past few weeks, all the while pining for his former lover?
Hadn’t he always emphasized the power of physical attraction?
What if he’d been drawn back to a woman more worldly than she, simply because they were better suited in bed?
And here, she’d coerced him into attending this party and effectively tossed him back into Lady Dallow’s arms.
Victoria was saved from having to decide before an audience because the woman was pulled into another conversation. This was her chance.
She slipped away, her feet carrying her to the side steps of the veranda of their own volition.
Victoria felt strangely as if she were watching another woman creep toward danger as she picked up her skirts in her numb fingers and descended the several steps to the pathway.
Her slippers were nearly silent on the crushed gravel as she followed the bend in the path on shaking legs.
Manicured hedges were at least seven feet tall on either side of her as she listened for sounds of life.
She stepped around one more corner…and found her husband forcefully wrenching himself free from the grasp of an ethereally beautiful woman. Rafe shoved the blond woman away so hard that she stumbled backward, only barely catching herself on a hedge before she tumbled to the ground.
“What in God’s name do you think you are doing?” Rafe demanded through clenched teeth. “You know I am married.”
Victoria’s spirits soared. The situation was damning, but Rafe’s furious reaction to the woman’s advance buoyed her. She could not blame her husband for being a victim of Lady Dallow. That was, until the conversation between them continued.
“Since when have marriage vows bothered you?” the woman asked with a pout.
“They were never my own vows.”
“Why does that matter?”
“It does.”
“I fail to see the significance,” the woman scoffed. “You do not love her.”
Though she suspected as much, the words were like a blade plunging into Victoria’s chest…and Rafe’s reply was the weapon piercing her heart.
“Simply because I do not love my wife does not mean I will love you. Nothing about you inspires devotion. You may have been a pleasant diversion, but she offers me vastly more than you ever could.”
“Her money?”
“Precisely.” His shoulders heaved with his anger. “And I need you to listen and hear me. I will never desire you again. I will never give up what I have gained.”
The glass Victoria had forgotten she was carrying slipped from her numb fingers, shattering at her feet and scattering unnoticed crystal shards. The spray of champagne stained the hem of her gown.
Rafe whirled on Victoria, his eyes wide, mouth agape in horror. Surely, his expression was a mirror of her own. Then, his mouth twisted in anger, he turned back toward the other woman who was busy setting herself to rights.
Victoria took that as her opportunity to bolt.
She whirled on her heel, hurriedly gathered her skirts, and ran.
“Victoria!” Rafe shouted behind her, but she wouldn’t allow herself to hesitate.
She felt like the most pathetic sort of fool.
She’d known how averse her husband was to declarations of love—what little stock he placed in the notion—and she’d gone and done just that.
She’d thought she was being so brave, so raw and open with him at the time.
And now…? Now she felt as if she were a laughingstock.
Oh, how uncomfortable he must have been hearing her admit her feelings.
She’d been so blinded by her own growing emotions to step back and realize that a man never changed.
He’d been blatantly honest about it from the beginning, but she’d read too much into his lingering glances, the heat of his kisses, and the care he put into their interactions.