“I don’t know. How are you feeling thus far?”
She eyed the room, noting that Brookhaven and her sister, Catharine, were engaged in conversation by the windows.
This was but one room in the house to which she was to oversee. And it was but one house in the myriad of houses that he owned. She wondered what exactly he had in plan for her aside from, of course, the promises that he had made. She assumed that she was also to look after his estate, but they’d had so little time to talk.
And he’d been insistent that they married quickly.
Within hours of dawn, news of her father’s actions had circulated the ton.
Within four and twenty hours, there had been whispers that he would never marry her, that he would never have engaged in such a bet!
After all, why in God’s name would a man like him marry a woman like her, except for the fact that she had a great deal of money and came from good family?
But he had a great deal of money and came from a good family.
So what possible advantage was there to him marrying a very plain woman with an infuriating character?
Yet here they were. The ton was flummoxed and no doubt seething that they’d not been invited to the hasty wedding.
She looked at her glass of champagne, raised it in mock salute to her husband, then took a very, very long swallow.
Then she shrugged, deciding to mirror his teaching, and drank the whole thing in one go.
His brows rose as she tilted her glass higher and higher. “Astonishing.”
She coughed ever so slightly as she lowered the flute. “Why?” she teased. “Shouldn’t I follow my husband’s example?”
“Don’t you dare follow my example,” he warned. “That will lead you to rack and ruin.”
“I’ve never been in rack and ruin.” She waggled her brows playfully at him. “It sounds most interesting.”
He frowned. “It is decidedly not interesting. It is quite harrowing. I do not recommend it.”
She cocked her head to the side, trying to make sense of him. He threw caution to the wind every day, and yet here he was urging her to remain in calm waters. “In private, you do seem very different than to what everyone believes you to be.”
“Victory,” he groaned.
She blinked. “Are you mocking me?”
“No, not at all. It’s what your name means, after all. And I hope you keep your gaze on that and not ruin.” He leaned down. “You don’t mind if I call you Victory, do you?”
She eyed him carefully.
Had he lost his wits?
But then again…
Victoria did mean Victory. She’d never really given thought to the meaning of her name before, and suddenly, she found herself feeling bolstered by it.
“All right,” she said, grinning. “I quite like it.”
She bounced on slipper soles, energy pouring through her. She was most unaccustomed to this sort of socializing. She avoided it entirely, when possible.
What should they do or say next? She craned her neck and looked up at him and up. “So,” she ventured.
“So,” he returned, his dark hair playing across his cheek.
She licked her lips and awkwardly held her empty glass. “I understand that you are far more familiar with the interactions between men and women than I am. Do you have any suggestions about how we should proceed?”