“Only because they do not know you.” Luke set aside the letter, and his light hazel eyes met hers. “You and I shared the same education—if anything, you excelled in several areas where I struggled.”
“I do believe that was the first time I’ve heard you admit I am the smarter sibling,” she chirped with a grin.
Luke leveled a finger at her. “Not what I said, but I will let you have that small victory since you’re perturbed by that meaningless English tabloid.” Victoria giggled and motioned for him to continue. “They’re jealous. Our family scraped and fought for every dollar, every ounce of success, and we, from our ‘upstart’ country, have attained an unfathomable level of success in only two generations. And now we’ve crossed the Atlantic and threaten their shipping industry.”
“We are simultaneously objects of curiosity and derision.”
“They want to be us, and they resent that fact.” He shook his head at Victoria’s bark of laughter. He explained, “We don’t have the constraints of a title, the loyalty to a monarchy, and we are not guilted into adhering to antiquated customs. We are foreign to them in more ways than one. If they take interest in us for these things, then it is because we are fascinating, not because we are something to be looked down upon; do not ever allow anyone to make you feel less than because our family has worked for its good fortunes. You are and will always be a Rockford.”
Though she tried to take comfort in her brother’s words, Victoria knew the last was not necessarily true. Luke may be unerringly proud of how far their family had come—she was, too—but she did not have the benefit of being intentionally deaf to all criticisms that came from carrying working-class blood in her veins. She often wondered if his purposefully flippant nature was a trait all men shared, or if she simply noticed it more because he was her brother. She’d had a lifetime of comparing and contrasting their personalities, after all.
They had yet to be in London a full two weeks, and they’d already been inundated with invitations and events they “simply must attend” if they desired to be “seen in the right circles.” Victoria didn’t know why it mattered so much; she’d only been informed that that was the case by a pushy, if well-intentioned, wife of one of her father’s associates who’d been tasked withchaperoning and showing Victoria around London. This meant Victoria had seen a great deal of Mayfair drawing rooms and the inside of carriages, but little else. She’d been forbidden to accompany her father and brother to the dockyards, so she’d taken her guide’s words to heart and busied herself selecting the most interesting from the steadily increasing stack of invitations.
The Rockford family had attended the opening night of a new show at one of the city’s premier theaters, which she’d thoroughly enjoyed and passed along her appreciation to the lead performers. News traveled remarkably quickly for a city as large as London, and that appearance had resulted in a veritable waterfall of calling cards and finely engraved letters on the front table of their rented home overlooking Grosvenor Square in Mayfair.
They’d met the Duke and Duchess of Morton at the Mask & Lyre. Her father’s associate had facilitated the introduction to the strikingly beautiful duchess and her handsome, imposing husband, but Victoria’s quick wit and easy sense of humor had earned her and her family an invitation to share the private Morton box at the theater. The nerves she’d felt at conversing with the glittering aristocrats quickly dissipated when she realized the duchess was perhaps the least duchess-like person she might have imagined. Of course, the woman was regal in bearing and dress, but she had a wide smile and a casual way of speaking that instantly put Victoria at ease. And when they began speaking about books, well, Victoria’s heart was all but lost.
“The shop is called Thorpe & Son?” Victoria had asked as the duchess detailed all manner of reading materials she was able to acquire through her longstanding relationship with the London retailer.
“It is more than a shop!” Lady Morton had replied. “It is the very best in Town and a veritable haven for lovers of the written word. Mr. Thorpe built the foundations upon making publications more accessible; his son has expounded upon it and takes great pride in the company’s charitable efforts. Thorpe & Son books fill the shelves at Mrs. Worthy’s Home for Girls.” The duchess fairly beamed when she spoke of the asylum to which she and her husband devoted much of their efforts, in one fashion or another. “Thorpe can obtain any manuscript or publication I request—sometimes doing so before even I know it is something I wish to read.”
“You must be one of the most well-read women in existence with Thorpe & Son at your disposal,” Victoria had commented with a grin. “May I ask what your favorite novel has been? Perhaps I will venture to the bookstore and obtain a copy.”
The corner of the duchess’s lush lips twitched, and she cast Victoria’s family a thoughtful glance before leaning in. “How long will you be in England?”
“Likely through the summer,” she’d replied, but failed to understand the significance of the question.
The duchess replied with a decisive nod. “Then I will loan you a copy ofLady Chaste—you can ask at Thorpe & Son, but they won’t have copies readily available…too scandalous, you see.” Victoria’s eyes had widened, and she felt her cheeks warm with delight at the possibilities. Was the duchess—a woman who was supposed to be a paragon of English propriety—loaning her a copy of a scandalous book too incendiary for the average patron? How wonderful could one woman be? “And,” the duchess continued, “if you enjoy it and are not too put off by the material, you may attend a meeting of my Reading Society.”
“You host a reading society as well?” She was in awe of this woman.
“I do, indeed.” Lady Morton actually winked at her. Winked! “And it is far from tame. The invitations are quite coveted.”
“Well, I am greatly honored.”
“Are you recruiting another minion to your Reading Society, my dear?” The duke had left Victoria’s father and brother to a conversation at the box’s entrance and joined the ladies in the velvet-upholstered chairs. Victoria might have thought the duke was mocking them were it not for the hint of mischievous glitter in his striking, hawklike eyes.
“Always, darling,” Lady Morton replied airily, displaying all the confidence of a woman who was secure in the knowledge that her husband loved her enough that he would deny her little—if anything. That was it. Victoria adored the woman. In fact, she hoped she might one day be just like the duchess: confident, graceful, unapologetically herself, warm, and welcoming.
Victoria had been so taken with the congenial and outspoken duchess that she’d accepted her written invitation to dinner the following day without bothering to consult her father or brother. Fortunately, the Rockford men were used to following in Victoria’s wake, so—unless business was scheduled—they went where and when they were told to do so, both happy to indulge her. Balls and musicales, masquerades and more dinner parties were all planned for the coming weeks, but it was impossible to accept all the invitations…nor would Victoria have desired to do so.
“Would that I could so easily brush off all the labels being applied to me,” Victoria grumbled. Why couldn’t she be left in peace to enjoy her blossoming friendships and explore what this new country had to offer? Her time in England was so limited, and she’d much rather her memories of it were filled with pleasant experiences rather than all the times she’d been mentioned in the tabloids with varying degrees of criticism.
Luke chuffed. “It’s quite simple. Ignore it.”
She emitted a rather unladylike snort in response. “You distill my experience down to the written word. It is easy to simply not purchase a tabloid or gossip rag; it is another thing entirely to witness the stares and hear the whispers as if I were a creature in a zoo. Eat your food, Luke.”
Used to her abrupt changes in topics, her brother merely shook his head and popped a single blueberry into his mouth, all the while never removing his eyes from the papers in his hands.
Victoria had learned quite quickly that thetonwas morbidly fascinated with the “wealthy Americans”, as if they were some objects in one of the museums Victoria had yet to visit. Some turned their noses up at their “new money”, though that wasn’t all that dissimilar from back in New York. There, the line between Old and New Money was a fortress from which the Old imagined they could look down upon those grasping newcomers. In London, the difference was how the Rockfords were viewed as interesting purely for their Americanness.
They were ogled for the diversity of their tastes, their accents and inflection, their views of the world, and it seemed that every well-off household in Town desired the novelty of being able to say they’d hosted “The Americans.” Victoria was used to being in the spotlight of Society, but she was unused to the reasons the English aristocracy found her fascinating.
As if sensing the sinking direction of her thoughts, Luke said, “I will eat my food if you stop your ruminating. I fear your brain will begin to make unpleasant sounds if you continue to seethe so violently.”
Victoria huffed and sat back in her chair, wriggling until her stays no longer bit into her ribs. “If only everyone could be as relaxed as you.”
He cocked a dark, wry brow at her. “I thought you enjoyed telling me how high-strung I am.”
