“Won’t they be disappointed when we tell them a majority of the time was spent talking and eating?” Rafe chuckled.
True enough, thatwas how much of the evening passed. While the party itself was an elegant affair, it was still just another gathering with many of the same people from London in a new setting. The floral arrangements were lovely—or so Victoria had commented to him upon their arrival—the food and drink were fine. The conversations were all along the lines of what one would expect: The latest gossip, the newest engagements and attachments, a smattering of business.
One unfamiliar factor was the presence of Victoria’s brother, Luke. He’d come to know the guest of honor through some of Rockford Shipping’s transactions, and the estate had been a natural stopping point for his business on the coast anyway. The timing was certainly fortuitous.
Victoria had all but dragged Rafe across the room when she’d spotted her brother’s tall, broad frame. Her steps were too hurried to be proper for their setting, but Rafe allowed her to have her head rather than attempt to restrain her. It pleased him to see her so excited.
There were a few startled gasps and murmurs as the siblings embraced, but neither of them seemed to care in the least that they were starring in a bit of a scene. Their affection toward one another was obvious to even the densest among the guests, and it warmed an unexpected place within Rafe’s chest. He liked to think he and Alice would have been that open with their affection toward one another had they not been so stiflingly English. With Victoria in their life, he wondered if Dominic and his sisters would be so unguarded. Warmth suffused him further at the thought.
“How have you been?” Luke finally asked, setting Victoria at arm’s length and looking her up and down as if to verify for himself that she was hale and hearty.
No, I have not locked her in a tower and starved her while I fritter away her money…Rafe thought bitterly.
“Quite well! Enjoying the country air. And you? How about Father?”
This sparked a conversation about the elder Mr. Rockford’s newfound love of kippers and impending return to America. The siblings were so absorbed in catching up that Rafe might have believed he’d evaporated like a mist had Victoria’s hand not sought out his own and wound its fingers with his. The gesture, so small and natural, was enormous in Rafe’s estimation. His wife hadn’t forgotten about him. She did not wish to be rid of him. She wanted him with her, and this was a show of solidarity. Rafe squeezed her hand back, content to remain silent as she and Luke conversed.
Only after nearly every other topic of discussion had been exhausted did his brother-in-law finally turn to him and offer a perfunctory greeting. “Blackwood.” There was a very small pause before Luke held out his hand to Rafe. The whole situation had been about as icy as Rafe had thought it would be, but he took it all in stride. It wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to. While most of Society adored him, he’d spent much of his life at home, ignored, berated, or sneered at. He could—and would—handle anything Victoria’s brother threw at him.
“Rockford.” His grin was far broader, and his reply was far warmer than Luke’s had been as he clasped the proffered hand. Rafe’s other arm slid around Victoria’s waist. Not only was it a show of possessiveness, but it was something he desired to do. He enjoyed having Victoria close to him. If it made a muscle in her brother’s jaw clench when he saw the gesture, then that was all the better.
Thankfully, they were all rather quickly drawn into conversation with other guests. Rather predictably, guests began peppering Luke with inquiries into his role in his father’s shipping company, as well as fishing for any clues as to the business’s plans in England. Victoria was pulled aside by theirhostess, Lady Greenleigh, and introduced to other Society ladies she hadn’t had the opportunity to meet during her time in London. Rafe was, of course, dragged into sharing drinks with man after man. From young bucks who idolized his sense of style, to men closer to his age who wished desperately that some of his reputation with women might rub off on them, all of them demanded a piece of his attention. He was notorious rather than famous, an object of interest rather than a respectable idol. Several conversations turned to the topic of his recent marriage to Victoria; those discussions were some of Rafe’s most and least favorite of the evening.
While his bride was a novelty and a delight, Rafe was lauded as a champion for having snagged what was assuredly an obscenely large dowry. Several went so far as to remark how lucky he was to have those funds at his disposal, as well as an entry into what was clearly a lucrative company. For his part, Rafe pasted on a smile, deftly steered conversations away from debasing Victoria to nothing more than a purse, and accepted compliments on his wife’s behalf. He knew the truth. He was a lucky man, indeed—not solely because he’d married an heiress, saved his title, and secured his future, but because of the heart and soul Victoria possessed. She’d taught him so much over the duration of their relationship, and he knew he would learn so much more from her in the years to come.
He truly was the lucky one.
“Take care, or some might believe you are in love with your wife,” said a familiar smug voice. Rafe turned to find Kempton grinning at him.
“Well, so much for the exclusivity of the evening,” Rafe greeted his friend cheekily and held out a hand for Kempton to clasp.
“Greenleigh is a cousin on my mother’s side,” the marquess answered with a shrug. “I am more surprised to seeyouhere.”The curious lift of his brow indicated his thoughts were much along the same vein as Rafe’s had been. Lady Dallow.
“We encountered Lady Greenleigh in town, and she extended an invitation. Victoria desired an evening out, but I would have been quite happy to remain home for the evening.”
“I can see that.”
“See what?” Rafe scoffed.
“You can’t keep your eyes off of her, mate.” Kempton elbowed him in the ribs.
Rafe would have protested, but he knew it was futile. Kempton was one of the men who knew him best in the world, and he also had one of the most stubborn personalities. If Rafe denied it, then that would only spur the man on to continue his ribald observations.
“Is it so bad that a man enjoys the company of his wife?”
Kempton narrowed his eyes, but his wide smile revealed his mirth. “I think it’s more.”
“More?”
“You’ve never watched a woman like you are tonight.”
“And I did not realize you paid such close attention to my habits. I am flattered.”
The marquess chuckled. “I can tell you are a tad sensitive to my observations.”
“What I am sensitive to is all these prigs believing I’ve married a bank account rather than a woman with her own merits.”
“You didn’t?” Rafe’s immediate glare made Kempton wince. “Apologies. That was in poor taste. I may have met her only a handful of times, but you must know I like your wife. She’s cheeky and witty; Caro has had nothing but pleasant things to say about her. She’s fit in quite well thus far.”
