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

by Amanda McCabe

  ‘I told you—sometimes I do. And I admit that the Marlborough House set is not my usual circle. All those late nights don’t make for a productive workday. But I know Prince Alfred likes photography, as you do, and I thought you might enjoy talking to him when there’s not such a crowd.’

  ‘I—yes, I would, thank you,’ Violet said. She wondered why she was still surprised by his consideration, his thought for her and others. William had shown her he did not have ducal self-centredness. It was one of the things she was starting to like, rather too much, about him. ‘I’m sorry I teased you.’

  He smiled at her and she shivered again. ‘Not at all. And I am quite sure your brother-in-law had something to do with this invitation. A little bird whispered that Princess Alexandra is thinking of Lily as a Lady of the Bedchamber. Possibly even the next Mistress of the Robes.’

  ‘I have only just heard of it myself,’ Lily said. ‘I do like the Princess. She is sweet and kind, even if you have to shout at her to be heard. But I don’t know about the late nights at Marlborough House, either.’

  ‘A Lady of the Bedchamber doesn’t have such onerous duties,’ William said. ‘Just ceremonial, really. Standing beside her at Drawing Rooms, holding her bouquet sometimes. I doubt she expects you to be there all the time.’

  Lily smiled. ‘Perhaps when you are married, Vi and I can serve at Court together. So helpful to have such a wife when the husband has political ideas, isn’t that so? And we would have so much fun!’ She laughed happily, making Violet feel terrible that she would have to disappoint her sister later. ‘Oh, that word again! Fun. But you will have to get used to it with a wife like my sister.’

  ‘I look forward to it immensely,’ William said, and he sounded as if it was true. Maybe he belonged at Drury Lane.

  Violet bit her lip and turned back to the window, glad of the distraction from looking at him and talking about fun and marriage. ‘Oh, look, we’re here!’ she cried in relief.

  Violet had thought travelling with her sister the Duchess between her country home and London had been luxurious. Private train compartments, plush carriages, footmen and outriders. Yet it was nothing compared to being escorted on to the royal train, waiting in its own siding in solitary, gilded splendour. It gleamed dark red and gold, matched by a plush interior of velvet cushions and rich carpets.

  The royal party itself had not yet arrived, and equerries and ladies-in-waiting sipped tea in the drawing room, greeting Lily with smiles as Violet took it all in. It was more like an extension of a palace than a train, with tables and sofas dotted around a fitted, wall-to-wall red carpet, sconces and gold-framed paintings gleaming with muted light on the silk-papered walls, the windows draped in velvet curtains.

  If this train was so grand, what would the actual palaces be like in Russia, where everything was said to be so lavish and luxurious? What beautiful photographs they would make!

  They were quickly seated near one of the satin-swathed windows. Tea was brought, fur rugs offered. Footmen in royal livery hurried past bearing notes and telegrams and hampers and small lapdogs. Everyone nodded to William, their gazes full of curiosity as they looked at Violet’s hand on his arm, her glove hiding any ring or lack thereof.

  She snatched it back, tucking it into her sable muff.

  ‘Do you always travel in such great splendour?’ she asked him. Even her mother, whose ‘cottage’ in Newport was modelled on the Grand Trianon, would have been aching to take notes for remodelling.

  ‘Me? Certainly not. I’m not a prince.’ He snapped open a newspaper one of the footmen had brought him. ‘Far too elaborate. It takes up too much time. A normal train and ferry could get us to Berlin much faster.’

  ‘So you would travel alone if it wasn’t for my enthusiasm for photography?’ she said.

  ‘Hmph.’ He rustled the paper impatiently, but she saw the smile he was trying to cover up. ‘It does me no harm to put my face in front of the Princes, either.’

  ‘No, I suppose not. But it doesn’t really benefit you, only me. So it’s very nice of you.’ She studied an image on the front page of the paper, sketches of Prince Alfred and Grand Duchess Maria above an etching of her grand St Petersburg palace home. Violet hoped she would be able to give the papers something much better in a photograph, capturing the royal pair and the sweetness of their romance for everyone to see.

  And, thanks to William, she might just have that chance. She put her hand back on to his arm. For an instant, he tensed, but then he relaxed back into that warm, steady strength she always felt with him. He gave her a curious glance over the paper.

  ‘We’re meant to be engaged,’ she whispered.

  ‘So we are.’ He suddenly leaned over and kissed her cheek, making her laugh. She lightly covered the kiss with her other hand, as if she would hold it there.

  Lily sighed happily.

  Suddenly, there was a commotion outside and Violet turned from William and her confusion and delight over his kiss to peer beyond the window. The Prince and Princess of Wales, followed by the bridegroom, were making their procession on to the train.

  ‘Oh, isn’t this delightful!’ Princess Alexandra said, clapping her mauve kid-gloved hands in wonder. ‘A royal wedding journey... Oh, Affie. So romantic.’ She turned her beaming gaze on to Violet and William. ‘For all of us...’

  * * *

  The wheels of the train were clacking softly in the night beyond the velvet-draped windows when Violet joined the royal party for a hand of whist after a lavish, multi-course dinner. She soon found herself winning. She laid down another card and said carefully, ‘I saw your engagement photographs in that magazine, sir.’

  Prince Alfred laughed. ‘Oh, yes. So horribly stiff, aren’t they? I fear my Marie hates the way she looks in photos. But she also hates to sit still. She would rather be riding or skating, unless she’s reading. She is a great reader.’

  Violet thought of the Grand Duchess’s image in those photos. She had indeed looked rather grumpy. Perhaps if she was shown actually reading a book, or somehow in motion? Like in Mrs Cameron’s images, where that slight blurriness implied movement, action, time passing. ‘I haven’t met her, of course, but it seems to me she has a face full of energy and personality.’

  ‘That she does, Miss Wilkins! Not a great beauty, maybe, but I was so caught up in her magnificent spirit the first time we met. I’ve never known anyone else quite like her.’

  Violet smiled. She knew what he meant; she had never met anyone quite like William, either. Not that she loved him as the Duke loved his Princess, but still there was that glimmer about him, that spark of fascination she couldn’t deny, couldn’t quite stop thinking about. ‘Perhaps, then, she just hasn’t found the right photographer to capture that spirit? Angles and lighting can make such a difference in an image.’

  Prince Alfred chewed thoughtfully on the end of his cigar and laid down another card. ‘That is most true, Miss Wilkins, most true. It’s a technique I have wrestled with myself. The light is always what bedevils me in my attempts. Tell me, what camera do you favour?’

  ‘One from Charles Bennett now. I’ve tried several.’

  ‘Fascinating. I learned on an old wet-plate monstrosity myself. It once belonged to my father, an old-fashioned, heavy thing. It made me find ways to work round problems, though. I like a scenograph now. Very up to date. You don’t even need half the chemicals and the images are clearer.’

  ‘I haven’t yet had the chance to try it.’

  ‘Oh, you must! It’s lighter, too, perfect for a lady, I should think. I imagine your favoured medium is the portrait? Ladies are so good at arranging such things, especially with children. I tried once with my nieces and nephews, but found I haven’t the patience.’

  Violet laughed, trying to imagine arranging a pack of wriggling little ones in a proper photo. ‘All portraits do take patience, sir. But I like them. I like looking dee
per into people. I enjoy a landscape, too.’ She put down another card. ‘Perhaps the Grand Duchess would like an image of herself with her St Petersburg home in the background? Something to remind her of where she comes from. I do know how it feels when one is newly arrived in a foreign country to make a new home.’

  ‘Oh, yes. You and your sisters are Americans. It’s easy to forget that. One would almost think you were English.’

  Violet bit back a sardonic smile at such a ‘compliment’ and took another card. ‘Why, thank you, sir. Do you think people will say that to your bride?’

  ‘No, no. Marie will never be anything but a Russian at heart, I think.’ He laughed. ‘I think it will be interesting to see her with my mother.’

  ‘Then a photo of her old home will be welcome, I should think. Perhaps reading her favourite book?’

  ‘A fine idea, Miss Wilkins. It will distract her, make her smile.’

  ‘What are her favourite books?’

  ‘Poetry, I think, and some of the classics. Romances, like Mr Scott. I haven’t a head for them myself, I fear. Are you a great reader yourself?’

  Violet shook her head. ‘I fear not, though I do enjoy poetry. Some Walter Scott. My sisters are the readers, especially my twin, Rose.’ It was why Rose had married her Jamie, for his great scholarship. That, and his lovely golden-brown eyes.

  ‘Few of my siblings are readers, except Vicky, and Alice. She’s our great intellectual.’ He laid down a card. ‘My sister-in-law is so fond of your sister the Duchess of Lennox. She says she’s quiet and kind, and sensitive, as I am sure you are. Perhaps you’re right and Marie would prefer a lady photographer. Someone to see her true nature.’

  Violet glanced past the Prince to William, where he sat at the next card table with Princess Alexandra and Lily. She gave him a secret, triumphant little smile, and he nodded happily. Their own little success, together!

  ‘Perhaps so, sir. I would be very honoured. Oh, look at this hand!’ she said, laying down her cards. ‘I think I win this round. Only fair since you’ve already beaten me twice.’

  * * *

  Later, as William escorted her to her berth, the party left behind them, she told him all about her royal conversation.

  ‘I do think he is very close to letting me take a wedding photo,’ she said, suddenly feeling nervous. It was what she had longed for, yes, but was she ready for such a task? Did she know enough? ‘But I fear...’

  ‘Fear what?’ he said gently. ‘Isn’t this what you wanted?’

  ‘Oh, yes! But what if I have this chance and find my work is not good enough?’

  ‘It’s not like you to lack confidence, Violet. I think you need have no fear of that. Your work is as fine as any I saw in the exhibition. At least I think so, though I am no expert.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I saw your portrait of Lily and her baby. It was tender and expressive, her gentleness shining through. Even if I had never met her, I would feel I knew her from looking at it. You also have an eye for detail. The lace on her dress, the plants, were so crisp and clear, all adding to the atmosphere.’

  Violet stared up at him in wonder. He saw all that, just from glancing at her photograph. He saw—her? ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Anyone would like to be seen so clearly for who they are, even long after they age and are gone.’

  ‘But I know my sister very well. I don’t know the Grand Duchess at all.’

  ‘Then you must get to know her—as well as you can, anyway. Russian royalty can be even more prickly about protocol than the English, but they do say Grand Duchess Maria enjoys a good laugh and is very intelligent and active.’

  ‘Prince Alfred said she doesn’t like to sit still except when she’s reading. And I don’t find him or his brother at all prickly! They seem quite sweet, really.’

  William laughed. ‘That’s because you are a pretty young lady.’

  She laughed, too, both startled and pleased. ‘You think I’m pretty?’

  ‘You know you are.’

  She shook her head. She didn’t know any such thing. Lily was beautiful, with her chestnut hair and sincere, clear gaze; Rose had a calmness, a true sweetness, that made her glow like a Renaissance Madonna. Violet always felt like a ragamuffin beside them, her skirts torn, her hands stained with chemicals. But if he thought she was pretty, this man who seemed incapable of being dishonest, then maybe, just maybe...

  ‘I wouldn’t even have this chance if not for your entrée into the royal family, getting us on to this train,’ she said, her cheeks warm. She was glad it was dark in the narrow corridor.

  ‘Our bargain, remember? I couldn’t let you down.’

  ‘This is surely far beyond your side of any bargain!’

  He leaned his palm against the panelled wall beside her head, so warm and close. ‘If the Princes are happy, they’re more open to listening to me when I want a favour. If his fiancée likes her fine portrait for their wedding, Prince Alfred will be even happier. And the Prince of Wales is very fond of his siblings—he likes to see them content.’

  Violet found herself drawn closer to him, brushing against him as the train swayed beneath them. She laid her hand on his arm to steady herself and found she couldn’t, didn’t want to, move away. ‘Then we will all be happy.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘But what sort of favour would you ask?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet. Help for my people, more land, maybe, for a proper school. Their support in my campaign.’

  Of course—help for his people. That was what he wanted, above all else. Just as she wanted her freedom. That was their bargain. But somehow there in the intimate darkness, just the two of them, it felt so very different. Like so much more, as though she was glimpsing his true self, his hidden self. ‘That is why you want to be involved in political life, then? To make the lives of your people better?’

  He gave her a surprised glance. ‘Of course. Why else? It would be far easier, and certainly more enjoyable, for me just to stay at Bourne and ride over my fields. To be the country squire. I can dispense charity and aid for them there as needed. My late mother is still renowned there for her charitable work and she had a deep concern for the people, a deep sense of duty. She showed me how to do that, how to care. But it is no longer enough for those of us with privilege to just dispense charity. Everyone deserves a chance to use their own talents to improve their own lives as they see fit, and that cannot happen without deeper, more fundamental changes. The reform bills and Factory Act were a start. We must continue on that course. I need all the influence I can find to aid in that.’

  ‘Of course. You are very right.’ She thought of her own life, and the lives of so many other women, trapped by who they were, by things they could not control, expected to be quiet and do as they were told, no matter what their own desires or their own talents were. She was very lucky; she had never had to worry about money. How much worse to be poor and trapped. How good he was to want to change all of that.

  How good he was.

  She saw now why he needed exactly the right kind of wife to help him in such an important course of action. He needed a gracious hostess, someone who was able to forge her own contacts, someone calm and smiling and organised, who knew how this English world really worked. This was a woman she couldn’t be, no matter how hard she tried.

  But that woman would be a lucky lady indeed, Violet thought sadly. This fine English woman who would be his wife. He was a man of principle and compassion, she could see that now. Not to mention as handsome as the devil.

  ‘I was also brought up to dispense charity,’ she said. ‘Balls for aid societies, dispensing baskets of blankets and jam, hosting Christmas parties for orphans. But I think your methods are far preferable to my mother’s. She only does it to look like Lady Bountiful in front of her friends. Do you even have any friends to impress
?’

  He laughed and she loved the sound of it. It was warm and rolling, like a summer sea. How she wanted to hear it again and again! To make him laugh. To make him look happy. ‘Jam certainly has its place.’

  ‘Especially damson. My favourite.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Or raspberry. My mother always did hand out Christmas hampers to all the tenants and pensioners. My sister does it now, when she can escape her own duties. They would be quite angry if we didn’t continue that.’

  The train, gently swaying until then, gave a sharp jolt and Violet was thrown off balance in her heeled evening shoes. She fell heavily against William, clinging to his strong shoulders to keep from falling.

  He held her tightly and she was surrounded by his heat, by his touch, by his scent of sandalwood soap, and she couldn’t move away. She peeked up at him and found he watched her intently, his eyes narrowed, his breath held just as hers was. She was filled with such a rush of longing she almost cried out with it. Her hands curled tightly into the fine fabric of his coat.

  His arms tightened around her and she wondered if he could possibly feel just as she did in that moment. That one perfect moment out of time and place, where they were just William and Violet.

  She went up on tiptoe just as he dipped his head and their lips met. It was just as she remembered from that startling kiss in Lily’s drawing room—tender and sweet, yet firm and touched with flames. His evening stubble was deliciously rough on her skin. His scent enveloped her, carrying her away, up and up, as if they floated into the stars.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and those flames grew between them, igniting into a bonfire. She opened her mouth at the touch of his tongue, letting him in, letting herself fly free with him. She felt all her walls crumbling around her and it excited her even as it frightened her.

  The train jolted beneath them again and she heard a muffled laugh somewhere in the distance. It seemed to wake her from the hazy dream of his kiss, at least a bit, and she let go of him, standing back until she felt herself braced against the gilded-and-silk wall. He stared down at her, his eyes burning, his lips parted.