Playing the Duke's Fiancée--A Victorian Historical Romance

by Amanda McCabe

  So close to success, so close!

  She clenched her gloved hands into fists and slowly turned.

  A man stood behind her and not just any man, but the one from the throne room. The one on the horse. And he was far too close for comfort, yet he did not smirk and tease like all those annoying creatures who thought it such a good joke to make fun of her at parties. He looked terribly abashed, as if he was as shocked as she was. And, up close, he was even more handsome than her glimpse in the throne room had revealed. His hair was so dark as to be almost black, his face lean and sun-browned, his eyes vivid. Yet he seemed so much stiffer than when she had first seen him.

  But the embarrassment quickly vanished, as if behind a grey, flat cloud, and he straightened to his full, very-high-indeed height and gazed down at her almost as if the rip was her own fault.

  Violet prickled at the thought, at the way he looked at her with those emerald eyes. How dare he regard her thus, like she was a stupid, clumsy creature! She was no ballet dancer, but she knew how to behave properly. He should be falling all over himself in apology. Instead he just kept watching, as still as a Greek statue and just as coldly handsome. Blast him! For he really was too gorgeous for her presence of mind.

  He was tall and slim, but with narrow hips and wide shoulders that rippled slightly with powerful muscles under his correct, beautifully cut black superfine coat and a sparkling array of orders. The blush sash of the Garter lay like an azure river over one shoulder, so Violet knew he was someone very important indeed.

  She peeked up at him carefully and saw a face hard-carved in elegant, lean angles, like an ancient cameo of a god or emperor, cheekbones that could cut glass and a square jaw with a dimple on one side—of course he had an adorable dimple, the blighter. His skin was lightly sun-touched and it set off those bright green eyes and impossibly long, sooty lashes, with arched dark brows. His glossy almost black hair was brushed back from his forehead in a slight widow’s peak.

  Violet was quite enthralled. How she would love to photograph him! The shadows and angles of him would look so perfect. On the other hand, he was so perfect, so impeccable in every way, so very still, he made her feel quite blowsy even in the finest gown she had ever owned. She was just glad she was wearing gloves to hide the tremor of her hands.

  She smoothed her hair beneath the feathers she feared must now lean quite precariously and scowled up at him. ‘Pardon me, sir!’

  He unfroze at last and gave a little bow. ‘I do beg your pardon, ma’am. It is quite crowded in here. I had forgotten what these Drawing Rooms were like, or I would never have agreed to attend, even for my sister and cousin.’

  Violet unbent a little. ‘It is rather like a zoo, though not nearly as amusing. I was forced to come by my sister. One does not ignore a royal invitation, she says, even if one is American! What’s your excuse, then? Your family, too, I guess?’

  A smile seemed to quirk at his lips, which were of course also full and lovely, but he quickly suppressed it. ‘My cousin is being presented and my sister bullied me into giving my support. Sisters, above royalty, must be obeyed, I see.’

  Violet bit back a snort. ‘They certainly are in my family! Though I’m the middle one, no one bothers to obey me, since I have a beautiful older sister and a winsome younger one. Even if she really is only younger by fifteen minutes.’ She realised she was rather babbling, but she couldn’t help it. He really was gorgeous. She studied him from under her lashes, wondering if she was boring him.

  He certainly didn’t look as if he had trouble getting people to listen to him. Indeed, every inch of him, every smallest movement, every flash of his eyes, spoke of wealth and power, and of an ease that meant it all must be inborn. Yet he wore it all lightly, seemed not even to notice it. It must have been draped over him like an ermine blanket since he was born.

  Yet there was something deep in his eyes, a darkness like a shadow, almost hidden. She wondered what it could be and couldn’t help but be intrigued.

  As if his thought was indeed a command, a footman in that scarlet royal livery appeared beside him with a tray of champagne glasses where everyone else had weak sherry. He took two and handed one to Violet.

  ‘Do accept my most sincere apology,’ he said. ‘I promise I am not usually so oafish.’

  Violet could well believe that. She doubted he had an oafish bone in his tall body. She took a sip of the champagne. It was rather good, sharp and bubbly on her tongue. ‘I do accept, thank you. As you said, such a crowd.’

  ‘Do tell me where you purchased your frock and let me send a replacement.’

  Violet laughed to think what Monsieur Worth would say to hear his creation called a ‘frock’.

  ‘That is kind of you, but I couldn’t accept.’ Pearl embroidery and velvet roses with long trains would quite be in the way for taking her photographs. And Lily would be scandalised if a Worth gown appeared from a strange man.

  ‘You’re American, yes?’ he said suddenly, his eyes narrowed, and Violet felt her cheeks turn warm. She didn’t really mind all the giggling speculation over Americans and their dollars, but somehow she did not like it from this man. She hardly knew why it mattered; he didn’t really seem like the sort who appreciated much.

  She took another sip of the champagne. ‘How can you tell? My accent? The six-shooter I pack at all times? I have been told my accent is rather charming, by those who try to be kind. My governess tried to knock it out of me.’

  ‘I’ve just been travelling, so I am quite attuned to many accents at the moment. I met people from all over.’

  So that would explain the sun-gold cast over his cheeks. The sun never seemed to show itself much at all in this grey place. Perhaps the Greek statue was more than he appeared? ‘Were you in India?’

  ‘Egypt.’

  Egypt. It rang a bell somewhere in her mind. Hadn’t she recently heard gossip about someone who’d just returned from there?

  ‘Chartie, darling! There you are!’ Thelma Parker-Parks, Violet’s new acquaintance, suddenly appeared to weave her arm through the Greek statue’s and smile up at him winsomely. ‘Honoria was looking for you. Oh, I see you have met my new little friend!’ She gave Violet a strained smile. ‘Oh, my dear Miss Wilkins, whatever happened to your sweet gown? How awful!’

  ‘Miss Parker-Parks, how interesting to see you again,’ he said tonelessly. ‘I fear I was the boor who stepped on her train, yet we have not even been introduced. Perhaps you would do the honours?’

  Thelma looked as if she would rather eat lemons, but she finally nodded and smiled. ‘Of course. Chartie, may I present Miss Violet Wilkins? Miss Wilkins, the Duke of Charteris. He has been friends with my family for donkey’s years.’

  He turned to Violet in astonishment. ‘You are Aidan’s sister-in-law?’

  Violet nodded and tried to smile. What a strange situation this all was. She wished she knew what was really happening. And he was what some in society called the ‘Duke of Bore’! What a joke for the gods to make him so gorgeous. What a waste.

  ‘And your estate marches with his. I have heard of you,’ she said. That was why he had been riding there that day, of course. She should have made the connection sooner.

  ‘I was most sorry to be out of the country for his wedding. It did seem sudden. Is the Duchess here? She must have presented you, I am sure, Miss Wilkins.’ He scanned the crowd over Violet’s head, as if quite unaware of the effect of his words. It seemed ‘sudden’ that Aidan had married. Did he mean anything negative in this observation about Lily, the loveliest, sweetest woman in the world?

  But then again, he didn’t know Lily. He knew nothing of any of her family.

  ‘Yes, she was indeed my sponsor. She insisted on it. She is just over there.’ Violet waved at Lily, who stood across the room talking to Princess Alexandra, shouting into the Princess’s deaf ear as Alexandra went on serenely smiling beneath
her sparkling tiara. How tedious it must be to be royal!

  Or to be a duchess, especially if one was married to someone like Charteris. But Miss Parker-Parks didn’t seem to think so. She clung to Charteris like a snail.

  ‘I should like to meet your sister, Miss Wilkins,’ he said.

  ‘Chartie, Honoria did say she needed you most urgently,’ Thelma said.

  ‘Are you coming to my sister Lady James Grantley’s ball this evening, Your Grace?’ Violet asked. ‘You can meet her there and see Aidan. I am sure he will be glad to make your acquaintance again. He does talk often of your boyhood.’ She imagined Charteris must have been rather different in that boyhood, for he did seem a strange friend for the adventurous, humorous Aidan.

  ‘Yes, of course. I shall see you all there. Once again, do accept my apologies, Miss Wilkins.’ He bowed and walked away with Miss Parker-Parks chatting up at him, joining two ladies across the room. One had to be his sister—she was dark and pretty like him—and the younger, a blonde in white silk, their deb cousin.

  Violet felt as if she had been swept up, whirled around and plunked down again. She pressed her gloved hand to her aching forehead.

  ‘Was that the Duke of Charteris you were talking to just now, Vi?’ she heard Lily say. She turned to see her sister giving her a curious smile, taking a fresh glass of champagne from the obliging footman.

  ‘Yes. The so-called Duke of Bore.’

  ‘I’m sure he can’t be that bad!’

  ‘He stepped on my train!’ Violet pointed out the rip in the satin and tulle, but then she felt she had to confess, ‘Though he did offer to send a replacement.’

  ‘A replacement from Worth! How extraordinary. But then he can afford it. I think I should like to meet him.’

  Violet didn’t tell her what he had said, about being surprised at Aidan’s sudden choice of wife. ‘He’ll be at Rose’s ball. What were you talking about with Princess Alexandra, then?’

  Lily sighed and took another sip of champagne. ‘Poor Princess Alexandra. She only hears two words out of five, but she does try. She’s so sweet and pretty. I fear her lot is not always an easy one.’

  Violet thought of the rumours of Prince Bertie’s behaviour, all the women and the baccarat and the theatre. Yet another reason to avoid the perils of marriage. ‘Aidan would never...?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Lily said firmly. ‘Aidan is made of very different cloth indeed. Which is why I want you to get to know his neighbour. He would never be friends with a cad.’

  Violet remembered the Duke’s cold, beautiful green eyes. ‘I don’t think Charteris is much like Aidan.’

  ‘No?’ Lily said curiously. ‘Well, Vi, appearances can be deceiving at first. You should remember that.’ She put down her empty glass. ‘Come, we should be going now that we’ve done our duty. And you should revel in your success! The Prince thought you quite the prettiest deb of all and even the Princess was very complimentary...’

  * * *

  William watched Violet Wilkins move away across the crowded room, her bright hair like a beacon, and suddenly remembered well where he had seen her—crossing the field near Bourne, dragging a camera behind her, her hair loose, free and lovely as if she was part of the sun and earth itself. Sketching, laughing, so free. Even here, in her feathers and satins, she was different. A fairy creature.

  ‘Well, she is most...er...extraordinary,’ Thelma said, her usually champagne-like voice flinty. He remembered well how quickly she could change. She linked her gloved fingers around his elbow.

  Extraordinary—that did not even begin to describe Violet Wilkins. She was like a queen of ancient Britain, not a part of the modern crowd around her at all. She was not tall—in fact, she was quite slim and small. But she held herself as if she was tall, her feathered head high, the torn train over her arm, her cheeks rosy pink. The crowds instantly parted for her, Boudicca crossing the Thames. She was rather magnificent.

  And, if he was not mistaken, she had no great liking for him. Even when she had heard he was a duke the icy shards in her blue-grey eyes hadn’t quite thawed. She didn’t seem impressed at all.

  Maybe it was because she was an American and her brother-in-law was a duke, too. But Aidan was a most unusual duke and always had been. William often wished he could be more like his friend, free, open to exploring his own soul. But Aidan had been a second son who never expected the title and William had had too much to worry about to explore his own ‘soul’. Too many people relied on him.

  But Violet Wilkins looked as if she could rule a kingdom without blinking an eyelash. She was herself and perfectly so. But who was she, really? William found he longed to know and it was a feeling he had never experienced before.

  ‘She is certainly quite beautiful,’ he said.

  Thelma huffed, her fingers digging into his arm. ‘Beautiful? With that red hair? What an extraordinary idea. But it seems we are to be overwhelmed with Americans now. England will never be the same! The Jerome woman, for instance, and her sisters. So vulgar!’

  Aidan would never marry a ‘vulgar’ woman, he knew he couldn’t. But Miss Wilkins did not seem vulgar. Just...carefree. Free. ‘Indeed.’

  Thelma giggled. ‘Well, we know you never would, Chartie. You know your duty. You’ll be at Lady James Grantley’s ball tonight? She’s another Wilkins heiress, you know. Lord James’s fortunes have certainly improved since they married, I must say. He may be a dean at Oxford soon! Whatever that means.’

  ‘I look forward to the ball. I enjoy Lord James’s learned conversation.’ He watched Violet Wilkins as she stopped to talk to her sister and his own cousin Pauline, making the shy girl laugh. Yes, he did look forward to the ball, for once. He never really looked forward to any society party—they seemed like such a waste of time when there was so much work to do at Bourne. But tonight might be interesting indeed.

  Chapter Four

  Rose’s house was a wedding cake of a structure, whirls of white plaster icing outlining balconies and window frames and chimneys, in a row of other such houses. It was the perfect place for a pair of scholars such as Rose and Jamie, her bespectacled, distracted, kind husband, to be quiet and placid and content behind velvet window draperies. Now those curtains were thrown back, glowing amber lights flowing from every door and window on to the pavement below.

  Music drifted out in silvery ribbons: Chopin, Mozart, pattering country dances. Lines of carriages crammed into the narrow lane to disgorge crowds of men in greatcoats and silken top hats, ladies in fur-edged cloaks, their high-piled curls filled with fluttering aigrettes and winking, jewelled tiaras. Their laughter twined with the music. Rose’s house was one of Violet’s favourite places, pretty, comfortable, filled with books and flowers and modern paintings and the quiet affection between Rose and Jamie in every corner, redolent with Rose’s own sweetness, her own angelic spirit.

  Yet it seemed different tonight. Crowded, noisy, everyone watching, smiling at her, whispering about her, speculating about her future now that she was ‘out’. She really was out now; of course they would wonder who she would marry. And marriage was the last thing she wanted now. Until she could establish her career.

  She stepped down from the carriage behind Lily and Aidan. This gown was also by Worth, but not as grand as her presentation gown. It was cloud-white taffeta, trimmed with yellow satin ribbons, a swirl of velvet violets over the skirt and forming the straps of the bodice. More violets were twined into her hair, twisted into careful ringlets by the maid with her iron rods, and she held a bouquet of violets in her gloved hands. Purple silk shoes carefully stepped over the blue carpet laid out on the stone steps to the front door. She followed Lily’s rose-pink-and-cream-striped skirts into the small entrance hall, where they left their fur wraps.

  ‘Darlings!’ Rose cried, dashing down the winding staircase, a vision in spring-green muslin and white lace, a tiara of seed pearls in her loose curls.
She looked like a vision of spring, a Lady of Shalott amid the stylised flower draperies and faded carpets of her house. ‘There you are at last. I heard you were quite the Diamond of the Drawing Room today—even the Prince and Princess raved about you.’

  ‘Oh, hardly,’ Violet said, laughing as she kissed Rose’s cheek. ‘But I did manage not to fall.’ She thought her sister looked so lovely, prettier than ever; she would have to bring her camera and take her portrait tomorrow.

  ‘An achievement indeed. Well, now that is all behind us. Come and have some wine, Jamie ordered it from Germany, and something to eat. I’ve laid out such a grand buffet.’ Rose took Lily and Violet’s arms and led them through the chattering crowds to the dining room. ‘Jamie is just finishing up some work in the library, but he’ll come out soon to make the toast, and there will be dancing. All night, if we like!’

  She led them into her drawing room, transformed to a ballroom for the night. It was a long, narrow room, with a large carved wooden mantelpiece at one end and tall doors opening to a small garden at the other. Rose’s fine artistic taste had made it a bower of violets, piled in Chinese vases and silver baskets, sweeping along the walls, curved into bowers in each corner, sweetly scenting the evening air. The furniture was removed and gold and white draperies and chairs lined up along the edges of a parquet dance floor. A small orchestra played behind a bank of ferns and refreshment tables were laid along two walls, piled with bowls of white soup, lobster patties and mushroom tarts and lemon cakes. Footmen passed by with trays of champagne glasses.

  ‘Oh, Rose, it’s so gorgeous.’ Violet sighed. Her twin always made everything she touched lovely.

  ‘Only the best for my sisters! Oh, here, try a salmon croquette. I know they’re your favourite. Look, there’s Lord and Lady Ambleby! How interesting her gown is. Have you ever seen such a shade of green? And Mrs Hunter-Smith, and Lord Westley. How handsome he is.’ Rose lowered her voice and added, ‘They say the Prince and Princess of Wales may come later.’