“The upstairs rooms have yet to be prepared, so let us go to the parlor to speak.”
Rather than accept his arm, Victoria brushed past him and strode in the direction he’d indicated. When they entered the room, however, the back of Rafe’s neck immediately heated with shame and regret. Like the rest of the home, the space was immaculately clean, but it remained undeniably worn and shabby. The papering had once been cream- and hunter green stripes, but it had yellowed and faded over the years. The frames of the furniture were polished and gleaming, but the once-emerald fabric of the upholstery had threadbare wounds nearly white from age and consistent use. The most pathetic part of it all was that this room was one of the better ones in the home. Generations of poor management of the estate, careless spending, and lack of foresight had left Rafe with the dregs of what it meant to be a titled lord. Land that could have been profitable had been sold to cancel debts; money was invested in industries that had been shaky at best; necessary improvements to holdings hadn’t been made, causing tenants to flee for better circumstances. As for Rafe’s father, the man had been so listless from grief that he’d paid no attention to the well-being of his estate, allowing less than scrupulous managers and solicitors to skim more than their share or make unadvisable financial decisions to run the Blackwood coffers nearly dry.
As Victoria’s keen eyes danced over every surface in the space, he knew it was already apparent to her that he’d hidden the dire straits of his finances from her, as well as the existence of his three wards and last remaining close family.
Rafe cleared the emotion from his throat. “May I ring for refreshments?” he offered, but his wife declined with an immediate shake of her head. He inclined his head in understanding and took up a position near the hearth. Every oneof his muscles was unbearably taut, poised for a potential battle he hoped was not in store. Everything about this was wrong. Guilt bubbled up from beneath where his heart resided in his chest—as unfamiliar a sensation as it was discomfiting. He told himself that he hadn’t really done anything wrong. He’d had every intention of explaining his situation to Victoria, and he was far from the first lord to wed an heiress for a quick infusion of funds into a nearly destitute title.
Then why was he so bothered by the wariness flitting behind her eyes, the tenseness in her full lips, the pensiveness that had enveloped her demeanor like a shroud?
His only hope lay in her silence and willingness to accompany him into the room for an explanation. Whatever emotions she held in check beneath her deceptively placid surface, she thought enough of him—or, at least, their marriage—to give him this chance.
His expression more serious and sober than Victoria had likely ever witnessed from him, Rafe began his explanation. “I was the second child born to the fifth Viscount Blackwood. The first was a daughter, Alice.” This was the first time Rafe had spoken his sister’s name since her death, and the sound of it unleashed shards of glass to prick at his throat and behind his eyes. “She was already ten years of age when I was born, and our parents had given up hope of ever producing an heir. Alice stood in when she was no more than a child, herself, after our mother died from childbed fever.” Victoria pressed her fingers to her lips in surprise at that raw revelation. “The old viscount never recovered from the loss of his wife…and he never stopped blaming me for her death.” His conversational tone belied the harsh reality of the statement.
He could tell Victoria of all the times his father had called him a disappointment, struck him out of his own pain and frustration, blatantly accused a child of causing the death of hisown mother, but he did not. He forced those memories back down his throat and shoved them behind the locked door of his soul.
“Alice did what she could to shield me from his wrath; she played buffer between us until she met Lord Croftburne and fell in love. I couldn’t begrudge her finding her own happiness—not after she’d given so much of herself to me—but I knew her leaving would create more unpleasantness at home.
“I threw all my efforts into carving out my own life away from the grief within these walls. Generations of Blackwood lords made foolish investments and spent carelessly, but the fifth viscount…” His voice trailed off for a moment before continuing. “He was too blinded by his grief to see everything he owned falling around his ears. When he died a few years ago, I was left to pick up what few pieces remained.”
“And Alice?” Victoria whispered, as if fearing she already knew the answer.
“Nine years of blissful marriage ended with the broken spoke of a carriage wheel,” Rafe answered flatly.
The way he’d shattered at the news of her death and that of her husband far overpowered any modicum of grief he’d experienced at losing his father only a few years before that. His world had buckled around him; nothing had felt quite solid any longer. For so long, he’d protected the feeble spark of hope that he and Alice might one day live life as siblings without the pall of their father’s grief enshrouding their existence and coloring their every word and calculated action so as not to attract the old man’s misplaced ire. That hope had been extinguished with an unfortunate accident on a rutted road as she and her husband had been traveling to visit his dying mother. Alice had been recently out of childbed, but had insisted that the short journey wouldn’t overtax her. More than once, Rafe had cursed her husband’s inability to deny Alice anything; more than once,he’d bitterly and unfairly wished Croftburne had traveled alone in that carriage and had been its only victim. Rafe could have helped heal Alice’s broken heart, but he was helpless against a broken neck.
“Oh, Rafe…” Victoria’s voice cracked. Her glittering eyes jerked him back to the present.
“Were he still around, the old man would likely have blamed me for Alice’s death as well,” he commented sardonically, a bitter smile tilting the corner of his mouth. He resorted to inappropriate humor, as was his way when the subject grew too uncomfortable, and he nearly squirmed out of his skin when Victoria’s eyes shut and a single tear slid free down the curve of her cheek. He forced himself to continue. “The will stated I was first in line as guardian for their three children; they would be deposited into my care or else fall into the hands of a great aunt whom I knew would stifle them. She and I were the only choices—the only family Alice and her husband had remaining, once her husband’s mother died as well. There was only one option as far as I could see.”
“You took them in,” Victoria whispered, though there was no censure in the words. If anything, Rafe might have detected a note of respect there. He refused to place too much hope in the four words, though.
“I had to. They are my family.” He cleared his throat and extracted a handkerchief from the inner pocket of his coat, handing it to his wife. Victoria accepted it and dabbed at the single mutinous tear that had managed to escape. “The adjustment hasn’t been easy. For any of us. Dominic has struggled with his lessons and has been acting out. May is sometimes lost, begging for her mother and father. Faith, the infant, is, perhaps, the worst off, despite being too young to know what she will never have. Her health is frail, and she cries…” He sighed tremulously. “She criessomuch. Thephysician calls weekly to check on her progress, but, even with the best care money can buy, the prognosis is not optimistic. Not when she refuses food and sleeps in only fitful bouts. None of us is unscathed by the change, but all of us are doing what we must.”
Rafe held hisshoulders impossibly tense. He was so immobile that Victoria might have thought him a statue had the muscle in his jaw not flexed so rhythmically. He was like a man on the scaffold waiting for the floor to drop from beneath his feet, and she had the distinct impression that she was the hangman, holding his fate in her hands.
Would she sentence him for his sins, or would she forgive him for the reasons behind his actions?
She certainly would have thought less of him had he turned away the children, but if he had only told her the truth of it all—about the children and about his financial concerns—could she say with honesty that she wouldn’t have hesitated to move forward with the marriage?
This entire situation was far more pressure than she cared to weather, but there was no shying away from it now. This man was her husband. His wards were hers, as far as she was concerned. The care and well-being of these three small children became as much her responsibility as his once the ink dried upon their marriage documents. Her fate was sealed.
She took her time examining all he’d revealed to her as they sat within the weighty silence of that room. Much as she wanted to, she was no saint who could absolve her husband of all his ills because his heart was in the right place. He’d hidden the children’s existence. Not once had he broached the subject of dropping her into a mothering role immediately after upending her life with a move from America to London and marriage into a Society whose customs and rituals were all still new to her. Shewouldn’t be herself without at least broaching her feelings on this.
“So…” she began, “you married me to have a replacement mother for them? Did you ever stop to think that my gender does not inherently mean I know anything about children?” Her tone was slightly snippier than she’d intended, but she was exhausted at that point. Emotionally depleted. She’d so believed this marriage had gotten off on the right foot, but now…
Rafe held his hands out to her, palm up in a beseeching manner. “Anything has to be better than the last few months.”
Surrounded, as they were, by the worn elegance of the house, Victoria experienced another gradual realization she’d been attempting to ward off—a reality she’d understood was a likelihood, but it seemed hadn’t been entirely prepared to feel a pang of disappointment for.
With some difficulty, she spoke through the tightness that had gathered in her throat. “It is quite a lifestyle change for a bachelor to take on three small children; quite expensive as well, I suspect, to fund it all from what you have admitted is a poorly managed estate. Now you must consider hiring staff to care for them, clothing them, feeding them, educating them, eventually helping to launch May and Faith into Society.” Rafe saw instantly where her thoughts were headed, and he had the good grace to allow a flicker of guilt past his careful mask. Victoria felt the dregs of her optimism retreat inwardly. “Why would you wait this long to mention the children? And you clearly intended to wait even longer if we were to travel away from England for several weeks.”
He shook his head helplessly, a lock of his dark hair falling over his forehead. “I thought it would be easier.”
“Easier? For whom?” She stood once again. “Certainly not me—not when we had months of ‘friendship’ during which this detail might have been revealed.” Victoria paused to bitethe inside of her lip in an attempt to regain control over her emotions. “You must think so little of me if you believed you needed to hide their existence until there was no possibility of me turning my back on this marriage. You have not learned a thing about me. You may have listened enough to ingratiate yourself, but that is no more than any swindler would. I care very little about your need for funds—I’ve never been under the illusion that it wouldn’t be an enticing factor in any union—but the omissions are insulting…to assume that I was the kind of person who would end a courtship because you had three small wards is even more so.” Victoria’s words rang clear and true between them. Heart pounding in her ears hard enough to make her head ache, she knew she’d said her peace.
Finally, her husband inclined his head in understanding—a mute acceptance of her statements—and sighed resignedly. “I apologize for any hurt my actions may have caused you; I did what I believed I had to do for the children, and for all of our futures.” Victoria resented him for that last statement. She did not wish to feel pity and understanding; she was not yet ready to relinquish her anger, but it was so difficult when faced with his mournful expression and fathomless eyes. The man could charm a nun to sin. “And I hope you will understand the necessity of postponing our wedding trip. Now that we will reside here in Town, I will have the housekeeper, Mrs. West, introduce you to the current staff and show you around.”
“Thank you, no,” Victoria declined coolly. “I would rather retire to my room alone to think on all that has taken place.”
