“Yes, she is seventeen now. She still writes me letters about every small drama in the neighborhood, though Mother tries to instill the virtue of restraint within her.” Victoria felt her shoulders loosening from their habitual tension. “Anne is the youngest at fifteen. She is the true musician of the family—plays the harp beautifully, though she would rather be reading novels in the garden.”
“And your musical education?” Rees leaned forward slightly, his attention focused on her. “You play beautifully, but it is clear you have had excellent instruction.”
Heat touched her cheeks at the compliment. “My grandmother insisted all three of us learn properly. She brought in a master from London, Signor Benedetti. He was ancient and terrifying; he would rap our knuckles with his walking stick if we played a wrong note.” She demonstrated the gesture, laughing softly at the memory. “But he taught us to love music, not just perform it. He used to say that the pianoforte should express our secrets when words fail us.”
“Wise man.” Rees’s expression softened as she spoke, the candlelight warming his features. “Though I suspect your secrets are far more pleasant than most.”
The comment lingered between them, heavy with unspoken acknowledgment of the weight she carried. But there was no judgment in his tone, only a gentle understanding that made her throat tighten with unexpected emotion.
“What about you?” Victoria asked, deflecting before the moment grew too heavy. “Your investments—Rafe mentioned you have quite a gift for them, though he claims it is all luck.”
Rees laughed, the sound rich and unexpected in the formal space. “Rafe would claim the sun rises by luck if it meant avoiding admitting someone else’s skill. No, it is not luck; it is patience and research. Reading patterns in seemingly unconnected events.” He paused as Mrs. Pembridge directed the footman to serve the fish course, then continued. “My father thought it ungentlemanly to be too interested in trade and figures, but I have always found it fascinating. The way a political shift in France can affect tea prices in London, how a particularly good harvest might impact shipping investments.”
“It sounds like solving puzzles,” Victoria observed, genuinely intrigued. “Finding the connections others miss.”
“Exactly.” His eyes lit up with enthusiasm she had never seen before. “Most men make investments based on what is fashionable or what their friends recommend. But if you actually study the underlying patterns.” He caught himself, looking almost sheepish. “I apologize. This must be dull.”
“Not at all.” Victoria found she meant it. “I have always been good with figures myself, though I have had little opportunity to apply it beyond household accounts. Father used to let me help with the estate books before.” She stopped, hesitant to mention the time before scandal had changed everything.
“Perhaps you could look at some of my proposals,” Rees suggested, then seemed surprised by his own words. “That is, if you would be interested. A fresh perspective often reveals opportunities I might have missed.”
“I would like that very much.”
They continued through the courses—roasted capon with vegetables from the kitchen garden, jellied fruits, a light syllabub—and with each dish, the conversation flowed more naturally. Rees shared stories of his friendship with Rafe, how they had met at Oxford when Rafe accidentally set fire to his own rooms during a chemistry experiment. Victoria recounted her attempts to teach Anne to embroider, only to find her youngest sister had stitched all her samples to her skirts.
“And Sebastian?” Victoria asked as the footman cleared the dessert plates. “You rarely speak of your brother.”
“Sebastian is complicated.” Rees’s expression grew thoughtful. “We were close as children, but the responsibilities of being heir changed him. Or perhaps revealed who he always was. He takes duty seriously—perhaps too seriously. Though marrying Juliana has softened him somewhat.” A smile touched his lips. “She challenges him in ways our family never dared. It has been good for him.”
“They seem happy,” Victoria noted, recalling the few times she had seen the couple together.
“They are. Genuinely so, despite the circumstances that brought them together.” He met her eyes meaningfully. “Perhaps there is hope for all marriages that begin uncommonly.”
Mrs. Pembridge then entered to supervise the laying out of the port and cheese, and Victoria caught the housekeeper exchanging a significant glance with the footman. Both servants moved with unusual care, as if afraid to disturb the delicate atmosphere that had developed. The housekeeper’s lips curved in what might have been the beginning of a smile as she noted how Rees and Victoria’s attention remained focused on each other even as the table was cleared around them.
“Will there be anything else, my lord, my lady?” Mrs. Pembridge inquired, and Victoria heard the warmth in her voice, the approval of a servant who had been worried about the cold state of the household she managed.
“No, thank you,” Rees replied, but his eyes never left Victoria’s face. “We have everything we need.”
As the servants withdrew, pulling the doors closed with discretion, Victoria felt something fundamental shifting between them. This dinner, this conversation—it was what should have happened weeks ago, what might have occurred if they had met under different circumstances. They were finally seeing each other not as victim and trapper, not as unwilling spouses bound by scandal, but as two people who might actually find common ground, even affection, given the chance.
The candles had burned lower, casting longer shadows, but the warmth in the room seemed to have grown. And when Rees suggested they take tea in the drawing room, offering his arm with a formality that held new meaning, Victoria accepted with a smile that felt like dawn breaking after a long night.
Chapter 10
The study door stood open, autumn sunlight streaming through the windows to illuminate dust motes dancing above the massive roll-top desk. Rees had spread his investment ledgers across its surface like a general planning a campaign. Victoria paused at the threshold, taking in the chaos of papers, ink bottles, and leather-bound books that represented the financial empire her husband had built through careful calculation and instinct. When he looked up from a column of figures, his smile caught her off guard with its genuine warmth, a stark contrast to the cold courtesy of their earlier weeks.
“Come.” He gestured to the space beside him. “I want to show you something.”
She stepped into the room, breathing in the mingled scents of leather, ink, and the faint trace of his shaving soap that lingered in this space he frequented. The study had always been his sanctuary, the one room in the house she had avoided even after their reconciliation, understanding instinctively that he needed somewhere entirely his own. His invitation felt significant in ways she was still processing.
“These are the current proposals I am considering,” Rees said, unfolding several documents with careful precision across the desk. His sleeve brushed her arm as he reached for a particular paper, and she felt the contact like static electricity, sharp and startling. “This one is for a textile mill in Manchester, new looms that could triple production speed.”
Victoria leaned closer, scanning the neat columns of his handwriting. The figures were meticulously organized, each calculation annotated with observations about market conditions, potential risks, and projected returns. She recognized the thoroughness of a mind that left nothing to chance, building success on preparation rather than luck.
“The initial investment seems high,” she observed, tracing a finger along one column. “Thirty thousand pounds for a forty percent stake?”
“That is what I thought initially.” Rees shifted closer, pointing to another section of the ledger. She was aware of his proximity, the warmth radiating from him, the way his breath stirred the loose curls at her temple. “But look at these shipping contracts. The mill has already secured exclusive arrangements with two major carriers. That guaranteed transportation reduces one of the biggest risks in textile manufacturing.”
