Violet feared she couldn’t nearly match him, not in beauty or dignity. She was so nervous she was sure she would go running down the endless corridors shrieking and throw herself into a snow bank. She glanced quickly in the mirror and smoothed her gown, a pretty confection of red-and-white-striped taffeta trimmed with red velvet bows along the low edge of the bodice and the ruffled hem. She wore her double strand of pearls and a diamond laurel wreath borrowed from Lily in her curled and plaited hair. She fidgeted with her gloves and with the pearl drops in her ears, until William’s hand on hers stilled her.
‘Don’t be so nervous, silly goose,’ she whispered to herself. She had been in royal castles before! Even aboard a royal train. But those places were nothing like the Winter Palace. She’d never seen anything so overwhelmingly rich and lavish before, with layers and layers of pearls on gold, everywhere she turned. She couldn’t picture a cottage anywhere near the place.
And yet she was meant to belong there now. To be an almost-duchess. She took a deep breath and tried to smile carelessly, to be like Lily. Her sister sat calmly on a satin sofa, her apple green silk and white lace skirts around her like delicate petals, slowly turning the pages of a fashion paper as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
‘As soon as the gong sounds we will go down,’ William said softly. ‘Just like in any house.’
Violet nodded, wondering at how careless he seemed, how almost bored he and Aidan and Lily looked. She felt so worried and that was not like her. She didn’t care for the sensation.
She made herself laugh merrily and spun around in her delicate skirts. ‘Well, what do you think? I fear I am not quite up to royal standards...’
‘You would grace any palace you ever chose,’ he said with an answering laugh.
‘Just don’t climb any trees in your new gown,’ Lily warned teasingly.
Violet glanced out of the window and saw that it was snowing again, a thick white blanket against the gold of the palace. ‘As if I could. They’re all covered with ice. How do they stand it, closed up in these stuffy rooms for months and months?’
William joined her at the window, watching the snow, his arm against hers, steadying her. ‘I doubt they are always closed in. There is sledding and skating, trips to the country...’
‘Yes, we’re invited to go skating tomorrow! I’m so looking forward to it. If I remember how—it’s been ages since I tried skating,’ she said eagerly. ‘Will you be there, too, Will?’
He frowned. ‘I have a great deal of business correspondence...’
‘Oh, not that much, surely,’ Violet protested. ‘I’m afraid I’ll fall down right in front of the Grand Duchess and make a cake of myself. I need you there to preserve my dignity. No one would dare laugh at me with a duke at my side. And it will be fun, I promise.’
He laughed and she loved the sound of it, the way she could make him laugh. ‘Well, if a lady’s dignity is at stake, how can I say no?’
‘You won’t regret it! I will be very careful not to embarrass you.’
‘You never could,’ he answered, though she thought he was probably just being gallant. She could and all too often did.
They watched a line of troops in the royal red uniform march past in the courtyard below and William leaned closer to whisper, ‘Are you sure you’re quite all right? You look a bit pale.’
Violet swallowed hard and nodded. She couldn’t tell him she had been unable to sleep almost all night, thinking about him and his lost love, his once broken heart. ‘Just so overwhelmed by it all, I think.’
‘Ah,’ he said teasingly. ‘What you need is someone to distract you.’
That didn’t sound so bad to Violet. ‘How so?’
‘Oh, like this, maybe.’ He took her hand and pressed a light, tickling kiss to her gloved fingers, making her giggle. ‘Or this...’
He gently brushed away a loose curl that had fallen from her tiara and laid it against her neck. She shivered at the sensation.
‘Or this,’ she said, and went up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. His face was lightly rough under her lips, his scent of sandalwood soap delicious. He turned and kissed her cheek, too, his lips soft on her skin.
The gong sounded, low and stentorian, not to be dismissed, and Violet reluctantly stepped away from William. She couldn’t quite look at him, she feared she was blushing so much.
‘Come along, you lovebirds,’ Lily said merrily, putting aside her magazine and going to take her husband’s arm. ‘I am proving to be a terrible chaperone, aren’t I?’
Violet laughed and took William’s offered arm. To her amazement, her nervousness was gone, as was her wariness over what life held in store for her. She felt only a low, fizzy excitement for the evening ahead. With William beside her, suddenly everything seemed possible!
They joined a long line of lavishly bejewelled people moving along the corridors towards the Ambassador’s Staircase. The ladies’ tiaras and necklaces sparkled blindingly in the gaslight, moving past all the tall silver vases of exotic lilies, the paintings and crystal and porcelain.
‘Is Bourne Abbey anything like this?’ she whispered to William.
‘Not at all, though I suppose we have two or three nice paintings. And a Canova sculpture of my grandmother. Not like that one, though.’ He nodded towards a trio of marble goddesses, embracing amid floating carved draperies. ‘But I suppose it could be redone à la Russe, if a duchess had a mind to it.’
Violet looked at the soaring ceilings, painted gilded panelling beneath twisted malachite columns. ‘It’s all very impressive, to be sure. But how can they live like this all the time? It must feel a bit like being strangled with marble.’
‘They have smaller summer palaces to retreat to, out at Tsarskoe Selo. I imagine this is all just meant to awe us mere mortals into silence.’
Violet had a hard time imagining William as a ‘mere mortal’, or awed in any way. ‘Good luck getting me to shut up, especially when they give us so much to talk about. Oh, look at that! Is it a real Rembrandt?’
William laughed. ‘Would the Tsar have a fake one?’
‘No, I suppose not, unless the real one was in hock.’ At the turning of the staircase, where they all joined the royal receiving line, was a large mosaic-topped table that held a silver vase overflowing with flowers. White roses, red gerbera daisies, as large as dinner plates, blooming in winter.
She remembered his story of his lost love, Daisy. Did he ever wish she was there, holding on to his arm? Was she a lady who could never be replaced? Maybe he hid a broken heart beneath his calm demeanour, his ducal dignity.
He did seem to stare at the flowers rather wistfully, or perhaps Violet just imagined it. Her instinct was to distract him, make him laugh. She tugged him away to the stairs, facing the long line of royals, shining like Christmas trees laden with diamonds and medals.
‘Goodness, who is that lady on the end? The one with the emeralds the size of eggs perched on all that grey hair? She looks as if she will shoot off into the sky like a firework! She’s so bright, I cannot look at her. How paltry my little tiara is. I could never be a real duchess, could I?’
She was rewarded for her silly chatter when he chuckled, a low, rough, sweet, dark sound, and she felt a warm glow.
‘I think you would make a fine duchess,’ he said.
She glanced around her at the sparkling company and wondered what it would be like to really belong there. To have a real part to play. She’d never felt certain of herself in such a way before and the thought that he might be...
It was rather overwhelming.
They reached the end of the line ahead of Lily and Aidan, and Violet had to prepare her curtsying knees. She could never have imagined such a vast array of royals before.
Prince Alfred and Grand Duchess Maria stood at the end. The bride was nearly buried in lace ruffles, diamonds and pearls, her brown curls c
rowned with a tall tiara. Maria smiled stiffly as an elderly countess offered her very prolonged congratulations, and Violet remembered how the Prince said his fiancée preferred to be noisy and active. She resolved to try not to babble.
The voluble Countess at last moved on and it was William and Violet’s turn to bow and curtsy.
‘Ah, Miss Wilkins, our photographer!’ Prince Alfred said happily. ‘My dear, you will not believe it, but this young lady takes photographs, much better than my own, I dare say.’
‘Indeed?’ A touch of interest brightened Maria’s bored face, and she smiled. That smile was brilliant, sweet, and quite transformed her. Violet thought how much she wished she could capture that fleeting light. ‘How fascinating. I have never tried it myself, though I would enjoy it. My father is rather old-fashioned, he always thinks paintings are best. I’d like anything that doesn’t make me look like a pug dog!’
Violet laughed. ‘I’m going to be photographing my sister at the skating tomorrow, Your Highness, if you’d like to come and take a look at my camera. I’m always very happy to give lessons on my interests!’
The Grand Duchess’s smile widened. ‘I would enjoy that, Miss Wilkins.’
‘Miss Wilkins is also engaged to the Duke of Charteris here,’ Prince Alfred said.
‘Are you going to gain inspiration from our nuptials here, then, Miss Wilkins?’ the Grand Duchess asked, glancing around again. She seemed to find weddings much less interesting than cameras. ‘I’m afraid it will be rather dull and long! I quite fell asleep when my brother married Minnie.’
Violet shook her head, pushing away the pang that came whenever someone asked about her ‘wedding’.
‘Ours will be a small wedding, Your Highness.’
‘You are very fortunate, Miss Wilkins. Give up the nonsense and just be married, I say,’ the Grand Duchess said heartily.
William bowed and took Violet’s arm and they made their way through the towering white-and-gold doors into the Pompeian Dining Room. It was an elaborate recreation of ancient villas, with red-, white-and gold-painted walls, a blue-and-gold ceiling with mosaics of toga-wrapped singers and musicians. The long table and rows of chairs were also decorated with Roman scenes, each one different, and mythological creatures were carved on the legs of the stools and tables and buffets, painted in dark bronze. Red velvet cushions were placed on the woven seats of the chairs and Violet noticed that the china even matched, painted with scenes of the lost city.
‘What a photograph this would make,’ she whispered to William. ‘I wish I could just go from room to room, capturing images.’
‘The staff might notice you dragging your camera all around.’
She studied the lines and lines of footmen in the Tsar’s sparkling livery, standing behind each velvet chair as the guests found their places. Violet was seated next to William and sighed with relief to know she wouldn’t be left alone in the long evening ahead.
‘I do wish cameras were tiny, so I could hide it in my skirt folds and just whip it out to catch people unaware,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Instead I must persuade them to sit very still for minutes!’
The royals filed in with a fanfare of trumpets, taking their throne-like chairs at the high table. Once they were all seated, the first course was served. Fruit presented on gold platters and soup ladled into shallow bronze-edged bowls were set before them while a rich, ruby-red wine was poured into the fine crystal glasses.
‘I fear I could get used to this sort of thing,’ she said with a happy sigh, sipping the expensive wine. ‘They even say there will be fireworks afterwards! I could run such a home, I think.’
‘And no one would grace it better,’ William teased, making her laugh. The evening didn’t seem at all intimidating any more. It was so strange. The very man who most unsettled her making her feel the most at ease she had ever been, even in a palace.
Soon, the fireworks did start, a great, crackling explosion, and the glow of glittering white and green and blue through the windows sparkled against the snow. A few braver souls ventured out on to a terrace, watching the show above their heads. Violet wandered to the edge of the marble floor, her head tilted back, staring up at the night that suddenly seemed like brightest day. She felt awestruck, drifting through an infinite space, untethered.
‘How wondrous,’ she whispered.
‘Wondrous indeed,’ William said, his voice rough, low. He took her hand in his and she felt the warm steadiness of his touch envelop her until she didn’t feel alone at all, flying through the cold Russian night. She knew she was safe there in that moment, with him.
She glanced up at him and saw that he did not laugh, that his face was serious, intent, cast in shadows, and she couldn’t quite breathe. He drew her closer to him, into those outside shadows, away from everyone else. His hands were tight at her waist and that feeling of warm safety sparked into—something more. Much more, shimmering and irresistible as those lights above their heads. It was nothing like everyday life, but more like watching a photograph develop before her, life but so much more. So much better. She found she didn’t want to let it go, didn’t want him to let her go.
She swayed closer to him and wound her arms around his neck so this dream couldn’t fly away and leave her alone. She wanted to stay there in his embrace, quiet, not needing to say anything at all, just feeling, all night. Forever.
She stared up at him as a starburst of golden fireworks lit up his face, those sharp, beautiful angles. ‘How gorgeous you are,’ she whispered.
He gave a startled laugh. ‘Me? I am ordinary.’
Ordinary? She shook her head in astonishment. He was the least ordinary person she had ever known. But she had no words left to tell him that, her head fuzzy with champagne and fireworks and glamour. She pressed her lips to his in a swift, sweet kiss, then another, longer, deeper, and another. She thought she could never have her fill of his intoxicating taste.
He groaned and pulled her closer, so close there was not even a breath of the cold night between them. He leaned into the kiss, his tongue seeking the touch of hers, and she was lost completely, falling down and down. Lost in that wild need to be so close to him. To draw all that he was into her until they were inseparable.
He pressed tiny, fleeting, alluring kisses to her cheek, her temple, that tiny, sensitive spot behind her ear. She shivered at the sensations that rushed through her.
‘Oh, Violet,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘How can we go on like this?’
She pressed her face into his shoulder. She tried to take a deep breath, but that only seemed to bring him, his scent, his essence, even closer. He was all around her. She shivered, and he drew back.
‘It’s too cold to stay out here,’ he said, and she nodded. Too cold to stay where she was—but how could she move ahead? How could anything be the same, now that she knew him?
Chapter Thirteen
The day was cold but crystal clear. The snow had stopped, the sky shimmering like a sapphire set amid tiny, fluffy white clouds. Violet’s breath came out in cold puffs and her fur-lined boots slipped beneath her as she followed Lily down alongside the Neva. The palaces beside the embankments shimmered gold and red, and laughter rang out on the wind. It didn’t look real, more like a vision in a dream.
Or maybe she was still caught in the dream of last night. William kissing her, holding her, just the two of them wrapped in the snowy silence of the night.
She shook her head and paused to adjust her camera tripod on her shoulder, letting the memory, the sensations, wash over her again. Carry her up and up into that endless blue sky.
‘Hurry up, Vi!’ Lily called merrily and Violet waved and rushed to follow her. She couldn’t let impossible romantic daydreams distract her from her work, not now. They didn’t have a lot of time in Russia.
Not a lot of time left with William. Not a lot of time to dream that he could be hers forever.
The skating pathways were lined with tall fir trees in silver pots to show where was safe. Tables lined the riverbanks, laid with steaming cider and cocoa, platters of cakes and meat pies. The royals and their attendants were already there, Princess Alexandra and her sister Tsarevna ‘Minnie’ holding hands and giggling as they spun in wide circles, dressed alike in chocolate-brown velvet and sables. Prince Alfred and Grand Duchess Maria skated arm in arm, smiling up at each other as her mother watched from a chair nearby.
Lily sat down on a bench to strap on her skates, laughing as her husband spun an elaborate figure of eight to show off for her.
‘Are you coming out on to the ice, Vi?’ she asked. She stood up and took a small, tentative glide, her rose-pink-and-silver fox skirts belling out.
‘Soon. I want to take some images first, of those palaces along the embankments,’ Violet answered. ‘Do be careful, Lily!’
‘Don’t worry, I have her,’ Aidan said, catching Lily gently around the waist. ‘Nothing can happen to you and our wee princess in there.’
Lily gave him a tender smile and they slowly slid away, a sweetly graceful romantic scene. Once again it made Violet feel strangely wistful, almost longing.
She knew the figures would be blurry, but it gave the scene a romantic, wintry charm, a sense of motion, like she had seen in Mrs Cameron’s images at the exhibition. Or at least she hoped it would.
‘How fascinating! You are truly a photographer, then,’ a woman said, her low voice touched with a musical accent as she pronounced the English words.
Violet glanced back to see the Grand Duchess herself watching her. ‘Your Highness,’ she gasped, and dropped a hasty curtsy. She had been so wrapped up in her work, she hadn’t heard anything else.
Playing the Duke's Fiancée--A Victorian Historical Romance Page 14
