Someone who might know them well enough would notice the difference in their demeanor as they entered the foyer side by side. Mr. Hawthorne quickly received them. He gave a low bow.
“Your Graces, welcome home. It’s good to see you safely back. The house is already settled for the night.”
It was a quick report, nothing out of the ordinary. Yet, Victoria felt everything deeply: Hawthorne’s voice, Richard’s proximity, the chill from the door behind them, and the scent of vanilla and candle wax. It was like she had just become alive.
“Thank you, Hawthorne,” Richard replied, giving a small nod, but walking past with Victoria’s hand in his. “We require nothing else further. You may inform the staff that they are dismissed and may rest throughout the night. Thank them for me for a day well done.”
“Very well, Your Grace,” the butler said, giving them another respectful bow.
They walked up the grand staircase, still holding each other’s hands. They climbed in sync, with Victoria’s heels clicking and Richard’s boots making dull, heavy thuds, seemingly creating a rhythm. Music. Once upon a time, she’d dismissed them as a disturbance, especially against the late-night quiet at Hawksford.
She paused at the nursery door and could not help but smile. Who knew she would be fond of a child not related to her by blood? Even her family had thought she didn’t have a maternal bone in her body.
The door was slightly ajar. Inside the room, it was dimly lit, although the room was warm enough for Melody. Mrs. Hughes dozed off in a rocking chair close to the baby’s bassinet, ready for any cry during the night. The little infant was sound asleep, looking delicate underneath her knitted blanket. Her breathing was rhythmic and shallow.
Before Victoria entered the room, she left her shoes by the doorway. Richard watched her with a small smile. She turned quickly enough to see it, and she smiled back. Then, sheproceeded to the bassinet. She just wanted to see Melody up close before she slept. She leaned over, strands of her blonde hair escaping and hanging a few inches over the child. She reached out to smooth the baby’s won dark curls from her forehead. Melody responded by sighing softly in her sleep.
Richard stood behind her. She didn’t even hear him approach. He was stealthier than she thought he’d be. His presence was warm and comforting, and she liked him so close behind her back, with his body heat reaching her.
“She’s safe,” Victoria whispered. “She’s beautiful. Look at her. Those little, chubby cheeks.’”
“She’s safe. She’s beautiful. As are you,” Richard agreed, his voice sounding hoarse.
He inched closer, bending a little so that she could feel his warm breath against her ear. His hand had rested on her hip, burning through the fabric with his touch.
“Come. Let’s rest. Melody will be fine.”
They walked to her chambers. There were no more words. It was like an unspoken agreement that both of them would be heading into her room.
“Ugh,” he exclaimed.
“What is it?”
“I told Hawthorne to let everyone rest. Now, I remember something.”
“What something?” she asked, curious.
Instead of answering her with words, Richard went for the bell pull to summon his valet, John.
While they waited for the valet to respond to the summons, silence seemed to stretch in the room. There were so many things that remained unspoken between them, but she hesitated to say anything.
Richard strode toward the sideboard and poured two fingers of brandy into a glass. He gave it to Victoria. She surprised herself by taking it. By doing so, her fingers brushed with his, the contact sending a jolt through her.
The duchess believed that a small sip could ease her nerves, which had never been an issue with her. The fearless girl she used to be seemed to lie dormant in his presence.
The sip spread liquid fire through her. Instead of calming her, waves of emotion crashed inside her, and she barely registered how he poured himself a drink and watched her with quiet intensity.
Her breath hitched.
A knock at the door broke the tension.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” the valet greeted politely, bowing in Richard’s direction.
“Good evening, John. Apologies for calling you this late. I hope this will not take long. The Duchess requires someone to draw a bath scented with almond and lavender. After this final duty, you may retire for the night.”
“At once, Your Grace.”
Victoria could tell that the valet was accustomed to working efficiently, eliciting the assistance of two footmen to carry pails of water. She stood by the fire, sipping daintily at her brandy. She used to guzzle glasses with glee, at least among family members, much to her mother’s dismay and her sisters’ concern. Her skin tingled from the awareness that he was watching her.
