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

by Amanda McCabe

  ‘I hope you slept well enough, after all the wedding excitement,’ he said.

  She swallowed hard, remembering that it was his kisses that had truly kept her awake. ‘Not really,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve never seen anything so lavish, so filled with tradition, and...and...’

  ‘So dull?’ he said with one of those teasing smiles that made her heart flip.

  She laughed. ‘Maybe a bit. I don’t think my feet will ever stop aching. But the photographs will be lovely. Tell me, Will, have you been sledding before? You were quite a good skater.’

  ‘Never. There’s usually not quite so much snow where I grew up. But I’m sure you’ll help me. You seem an expert.’

  ‘Do I?’ she said, puzzled.

  ‘The tea tray on the stairs.’

  ‘Oh. Yes. Erm...that.’ She looked away, remembering too well how she had felt when she tumbled at his feet. How silly he must have thought her. ‘But there was no snow there. I’m sure this will be very different from the sledding I used to do on the hills back home.’

  ‘And I am quite sure you’re equal to the occasion. You always are.’

  ‘Am I?’ Violet said doubtfully. She hadn’t felt ‘equal’ to much in this lavish royal world. She hoped William could see something that she could not.

  The caravan had left the city by then and the glittering palaces and canals fell behind as they crossed the frozen river. The snow had turned the winter forest stark and icy so that it glittered, like strangely beautiful and mysterious stars. Their sleigh shot around a corner, gaining speed. Violet wasn’t braced for the sudden motion and she fell against William’s shoulder. He caught her close, holding on to her, a warm haven against the cold day, and she smiled up at him.

  ‘You’re always there to catch me,’ she said breathlessly.

  ‘I do try,’ he answered, his voice low, quiet.

  She wanted to hold him, to wrap herself up in him, but they arrived all too soon at a hilltop, near the others, and she had to let him go. He jumped down and held out his hand to help her alight. He still held her hand, clasped in his, and she felt so wonderfully safe. So filled with quiet pleasure. Everything else seemed far away.

  ‘Thank you, Your Grace. Will,’ she whispered, curling her gloved fingers around his.

  ‘My pleasure, Miss Wilkins, I assure you.’

  Everyone else scattered through the trees as the footmen laid out the sleds and maidservants set tables for the picnic later and built up the bonfires. Lily and Aidan went towards the larger sleds at the front of the line, leaving the small, two-person one at the back for Violet and William. She was sure her sister gave her a sly little smile as she left.

  ‘I think you’re right. How different can it be from a tea tray?’ she said. She tugged his hand hard, making him laugh as he followed her to their sled.

  She perched at the front, clutching at the steering, praying she wouldn’t pitch them into a snow bank. William sat close behind her, his hands around her waist, and she shivered at the feeling of him through the wool and velvet. The delight of being so near.

  ‘Ready?’ she cried and he pushed them off. They went faster and faster, flying across the hard-packed snow, Violet laughing as she never had before. How wonderfully free it felt, soaring over the earth with him! How perfect as the wind whistled around them, wrapping them in their own world, just the two of them.

  William laughed, too, and she had never heard him like that before. As if freedom had got inside of him just as it had her. Until they landed hard in one of those snow banks, rolling over and over, holding on to each other. They slid to a stop, Violet on top of him. He looked up at her, laughing, looking so carefree and young, so unlike his usual self.

  She couldn’t help it. She bent her head and pressed her lips to his, catching that laughter, tasting snow and cold and the wonderful, dark essence of William. It was the merest brush, but she felt the warmth of their breath meeting and mingling, binding them close together.

  He groaned and deepened the kiss, giving her what she craved so much. The kiss slid over some precipice into something wild and frantic with need, something she longed for even as it frightened her. He held her close, so close that not even the cold wind could come between them. There was no past or future, not in that one instant. It made the day absolutely perfect for her, the finest she had ever known.

  * * *

  William watched Violet as she laughed with Aidan and her sister, sipping spiced wine near the roaring bonfire, her hair vivid against the grey light of the day. She waved her hand exuberantly as she told some wild tale, spilling a bit of the wine, which made her laugh all the more.

  How wonderfully alive she was, like the burning summer sun on a cold day, warming everything around her, turning all that was bad and dark into good. All that was dour and dull into adventure.

  He was shocked to realise that he could barely remember his life before her. It had been a monotonous trial of work and duty, never changing. He had never been dissatisfied with any of it; he had been born to it, and it was what he knew.

  But ever since Violet had burst into his life, it had all looked brand new. Like living in a cave and emerging to see the ocean, the woods, the blue, blue sky. Suddenly feeling the laughter erupting out of him, as if it had been imprisoned for too long. He longed to taste her lips, smell her perfume, watch the intensity on her face as she took her photographs.

  He felt insane. He was insane! Where was his old self? It had vanished when he touched her hand. He felt drunk with her.

  Yet soon she would be gone. To America, or Paris, or Egypt, or Outer Mongolia for all he knew. She could do anything, be anything. Why would she want to be a duchess?

  And he found that he wanted, more than he had ever wanted anything, for her to be his duchess. Not a fake one, not a temporary bargain where they would one day go their separate ways. For real. His duchess, his wife.

  Because he loved her. Loved Violet Wilkins. Who would ever have thought it! But he felt alive when she was near. He felt like his old self. And he would do anything to see her happy.

  ‘William?’ he heard Aidan say, his tone a bit puzzled. William shook his head, trying to free himself of such fancies, to bring himself back into the real world. It didn’t quite work. ‘You look as if you’ve just been struck by lightning.’

  And so he had been. William turned to his old friend and found Aidan watching him with a quizzical smile. How odd, the way the world had just vanished for a moment.

  ‘I’m quite well,’ he said.

  Aidan glanced at his wife and at Violet, who were joining in a song by the fire, laughing with their arms around each other. ‘The Wilkins spell? I know the feeling well.’

  ‘Violet—she is—’ William broke off, not knowing what to say. ‘I just want to make her happy.’

  ‘Nothing easier. You just let them be themselves.’ He smiled at his wife and sister-in-law, who were singing with Princess Alexandra then, making her giggle. ‘We are lucky men indeed.’

  Aidan was lucky. William only hoped he could be half so. How, how could he persuade Violet to make this betrothal real?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Violet followed Lily and Aidan into their box at the Mariinsky Theatre. Just as at the royal wedding, she felt like the veriest bumpkin...an American milkmaid pushed into some unreal fairyland. She sat down on her white velvet and gold seat next to Lily and carefully arranged her frothy, creamy tulle skirts, trying not to stare at everything. But her attention kept getting caught by the sparkle of the boxes, the swagged gold-and-blue curtain across the vast stage, the icicle-sharp crystal chandeliers overhead and the sound of music as the orchestra tuned their instruments. And then there was the royal box with its Romanov crest and rich drapes of blue velvet.

  Lily perused the programme with a laugh. ‘I see Verinskaya is dancing! She quite scandalised the theatre last year with how
short her skirt was. I wonder what she’ll wear tonight.’

  ‘What is the ballet?’ Aidan asked.

  ‘Giselle,’ Lily answered. ‘The man she loves betrays her, so she dies and becomes a Wili, one of the undead spirits of women who were treated badly by their men. They capture the evildoers in the cemetery and dance them to death in revenge. But Giselle takes pity on her former love and saves him. It’s quite lovely.’

  ‘Sounds quite dour.’ Aidan laughed. ‘If I fall asleep, you must nudge me, darling.’

  Lily playfully smacked his shoulder. ‘You have no romance in your soul!’

  ‘Of course I do. I married you, didn’t I?’ Aidan said. ‘I just prefer my romances to end happily, rather than in despair and parting and death.’

  Violet bit her lip, pushing away a pang at the thought of romances ending in parting. She glanced at the empty seat beside her, waiting for William. She remembered their snowy kiss, and then the strange way he had acted as they made their way back to the palace, the quiet distance after a day filled with laughter and fun. She wished she could read him, but she feared he was beyond her forever.

  ‘Shall I fetch you some lemonade, ladies? Or perhaps some champagne,’ Aidan asked.

  ‘No, thank you, I am quite all right for the moment, brother dear.’ Violet raised her new Fabergé opera glasses to study the crowd. A few of the royals were in their box now, Princess Vicky and Prince Bertie, who avidly studied the ladies, but no Princess Alexandra or the newlyweds.

  Then suddenly the door to the box opened, and William finally appeared there, silhouetted by the lights in the corridor. He looked like the austere Duke again, after their rumpled, laughter-filled day, impeccable in his dark evening clothes, watchful and unsmiling.

  And yet now she knew what was underneath, the real William.

  ‘I do apologise for my tardiness,’ he said, taking his seat beside her. She could smell his sandalwood soap as he reached out to touch her kid-gloved hand. ‘I had a bit of shopping to finish.’

  ‘You went shopping?’ she said, trying to stay light, teasing. ‘What does a duke need that he could not send a servant to procure?’

  He flashed her a quick smile. ‘Oh, you’d be surprised. St Petersburg is filled with temptations.’

  Violet studied him, so handsome in his black-and-white evening dress, his dark hair slightly tousled from the icy wind outside, a smile quirking his lips, and she knew he was quite right. The city was full of delicious temptation.

  * * *

  For an instant, as the chandelier lowered again and the lights grew brighter, Violet blinked, hardly aware of where she really was. As so often since coming to Russia, she felt like everything was not real, that the world of the stage was like one of Mrs Cameron’s fanciful photographs, drawing her deeper and deeper into an imaginary spot. The gauzy colours and graceful movements of the dancers, the sadness of their emotions, had quite gripped her.

  Then she heard her sister sigh. ‘How very glorious! I wish I had been taught to dance like that.’ And Violet was back in St Petersburg, in the lavish, overheated theatre, with her family. She glanced at William, who was watching her curiously, and gave him a watery smile.

  ‘I shall just go for a breath of air, I think,’ she whispered, wanting a moment to absorb what she had seen.

  ‘Let me ring for the footman to go with you,’ Lily said.

  ‘No, I’ll go. It won’t take very long and I won’t go far,’ Violet said quickly, gathering her Indian shawl around her. She rushed away before anyone could stop her, making her way down the blue-carpeted corridor to the grand, gilded staircase that went down to the foyer and the champagne bar.

  ‘Why, Miss Wilkins,’ a lady called. Violet turned to see one of the young royal ladies-in-waiting, a Miss Priddy, sauntering across the lobby. She was quite surprised, since most of the ladies didn’t really speak to her unless she was with William, then she remembered Miss Priddy was a friend of Thelma’s. ‘How grand to see you here! I have not glimpsed you since the wedding. And what an—astonishing gown. How clever New York dressmakers must be. Shall we walk a bit? We’ve had no chance for a real chat in so long! My dear Miss Parker-Parks says we should be good friends.’

  Before Violet could stop her, Miss Priddy grabbed her arm and led her towards a crimson velvet sofa in a small, curtained alcove. She sat down, her pink skirts billowing around her, her smile bright and her back as straight as a queen’s.

  ‘Now, my dear Miss Wilkins,’ Miss Priddy said with a giggle, ‘how remiss I have been in not offering my best wishes on your engagement! Charteris is such a prize. A handsome young duke, so rare! And you, lucky girl, quite snapped him up. None of us had any idea he needed American dollars.’

  Violet bit back a smile. Charteris was one of the richest men in England, everyone knew that quite well. She couldn’t lure him with her dollars if she tried. ‘I hardly snapped...’

  Miss Priddy trilled a laugh. ‘Of course not! But, my dear—you are American. Love is hardly what is required in an English ducal marriage. A duchess has an important job to do and she must do it perfectly. I am sure your sister has told you all that.’

  Violet stiffened. ‘Lily is perfect in all that she does.’

  ‘Of course. But there are so many missteps that can be made. A duchess can’t afford any mistakes. Ancient family names depend on her. She must know all the courtly etiquette, how to charm crusty old politicians, how to take care of tenants and servants. English ladies learn such things from birth, it is like second nature.’

  Violet thought of Miss Priddy’s friend Thelma’s entrapment scheme. ‘And honesty? Do they learn that?’

  Her expression hardened. ‘Charteris has ambitions, as I’m sure you know. Hundreds of lives depend on him. I am sure you care for him. I am sure you care for his title. How could any lady not? Yet how can you help him when you were not brought up knowing what is proper behaviour in his world, or understanding the many duties?’

  Violet’s first instinct, as it so often was, was to argue, protest, quarrel. But she did care about William. More than she could ever have imagined. She wanted nothing more than for him to be happy, to have all his hopes come true. He was not what she had once imagined, the Duke of Bore. He wasn’t boring at all. He was kind and strong and thoughtful. And gloriously handsome, of course.

  And this lady, and those like her, were right. Violet was not duchess material. She was too loud, too opinionated, too bold, too independent. And William deserved nothing but the best.

  She rose to her feet. ‘Thank you, Miss Priddy. You have given me much to think about.’

  She smiled sweetly. ‘I knew we would understand one another, Miss Wilkins. I shall tell Thelma we had this little chat.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  After Miss Priddy left, Violet sat in the alcove for a long moment, her thoughts whirling around and around in her head. Was it time to free William from their bargain now, so that he could find his real duchess? Was she ready to let him go? She knew she was not, but she couldn’t see another way. She must not be like Thelma; she had to think of him first.

  At last, she rose and hurried to the long, polished bar where refreshments were being served. Ignoring the rather scandalised glances that a lady would dare to be there alone, she ordered a glass of champagne. She gulped it down and asked for another. The fizzy, cool liquid soothed her hot rush of blood, slowed her racing thoughts.

  Thelma and her friends like Miss Priddy were silly women, it was true. It was ridiculous to scheme to spend your whole life with a man you had to trap like that. Thelma would have ruined her own life as well as his. Thelma’s own life was hers to tear down, of course. But not William’s.

  He deserved so much more.

  She had once thought this a mere plan to achieve her own ends, just as Thelma had in her own way. And she couldn’t bear the thought of it now. Now that she really knew Wi
lliam, really cared about him. But did she really want to let him go?

  She drank down one more glass of champagne and made her way slowly back through the sparkling crowd to find a quiet corner where she could be alone and think. Where she could try to envisage her future alone once again.

  * * *

  The great velvet curtains swished up and a flank of ladies floated under spheres of moonlight in their clouds of white tulle. They seemed to hover perfectly still for a long moment, silent. Even the crowded audience ceased fluttering their fans and whispering, as if caught in a magical moment of ghosts and thwarted love. William thought it amusing at how wide-eyed the ladies looked, how discomfited the men.

  He turned to see if Violet had noticed, if she would laugh at it, too. It had become too much of a habit of his, looking to see Violet enjoying a joke or sharing a moment of wonder at something beautiful. To see how she took in the world in her own unique Violet way. He had never known anyone quite like her, so very much her own self, filled with the joy and beauty of all around her. Beauty he’d never even seen before, not without her. Such joy, such audacity—he’d missed that in his world before he met Violet.

  Yet Violet wasn’t there. Her chair was empty, only her fur-edged stole draped on its seat.

  ‘Has Violet not yet returned?’ he quietly asked Lily.

  She glanced at her sister’s seat, but did not seem very concerned. ‘She did say she needed a breath of air. I’m sure she will soon return.’

  ‘Or she’s studying the staircase, trying to work out how to photograph it all,’ Aidan said.

  Lily laughed affectionately. ‘She does get distracted by pretty things so easily.’

  William nodded. How often he had seen her go stock-still staring at a frosty tree or a beautiful roofline. Still, as poor Hilarion was being danced to death on stage and the Wilis turned to Albrecht, Violet still hadn’t returned. He felt a bit worried to think she might have become so distracted by the vast, gorgeous theatre she was lost. He slipped out of the box and made his way down the corridors and the flower-bedecked staircase towards the lobby. Most of the crowd had returned to their seats, but a few people milled about still, sipping champagne, whispering, laughing, watching the glittering snow drift past the windows. One of Miss Parker-Parks’s silly friends, a Miss Priddy, nodded and simpered at him, and he wondered if she would report back his engagement’s progress to London.