And it wasn’t Violet. Her fist curled tightly around the handle of a silver hairbrush. This plan had begun so easily, so carelessly, as a way to avoid her future as long as possible. Maybe even a way to spend time with William, though she would never have admitted it at the start. Now it was suddenly so very different.
She loved him, truly and deeply. He was a good man who had been hurt in the past and had not let it harden him. A caring, strong man. She couldn’t waste his time a moment longer. Their farce had gone on too long already.
‘What do you think, mademoiselle?’ the maid asked, stabbing one last pin deep into Violet’s hair.
She glanced back at the mirror, at her startled, wounded eyes, her pale cheeks. ‘It’s lovely, thank you.’
The maid beamed and went to fetch Violet’s gloves and painted silk fan. Lily rushed in, pulling on her own gloves, glowing with love and motherhood and a contented life. Violet felt a tug of envy again, as well as happiness for Lily. Would she ever find such a thing in her own life? A real place to belong?
‘Oh, Vi, how pretty you look!’ Lily said. ‘William is sure to be even more infatuated than he already is.’
And there was that twist again, that tug of terrible remorse. Violet took her gloves from the maid and waved her away. ‘Lily, darling, I must—must tell you something.’
Violet’s quiet tone must have alarmed Lily, for her happy smile faded. She drew a chair up close to Violet and carefully sat down. ‘Anything, my dear. You can tell me anything.’
Violet took her sister’s hand tightly in her own and swallowed hard before she began. ‘I—I can’t marry William. I never could.’
Lily shook her head in confusion. ‘But why? Did he hurt you in some way? Say something you found cruel? These Englishmen can be so blunt sometimes. Oh, I will kill him!’
Her sweet, gentle sister looked so fierce that Violet had to smile. Whatever else happened, however her heart broke, she had her sisters, always. ‘Not at all. He is perfect. Which is why I can’t marry him.’ Before she could carefully choose her words, the whole tale came pouring out. The false betrothal, the days together in Russia. She couldn’t bear to look up at Lily, to see her dear sister be disgusted or, worse, laughing. Laughing at Violet’s foolishness.
But when Lily answered, her voice was only sad and full of sympathy. Her hands tightened on Violet’s. ‘Oh, Vi. My darling. Do you know why I first married my Aidan?’
Violet glanced up at Lily, at her sister’s steady, knowing gaze. ‘Because you loved him?’
‘I do. I did. I just didn’t know it then. I only knew that he was a good man and that, if I was a duchess, I could always protect you and Rose. You could do whatever, be whoever, you wanted, without Mother and Papa’s interference.’
Lily had married to protect them? Violet shook her head. ‘You did that for us?’
‘I would do anything for you and Rose. I wish you did love William, then we could be near each other forever. But mostly I just want you to be happy. Stay with Aidan and me, and the children. Take your photographs. Do whatever you like. I will look after you. I love you, no matter what.’
Violet burst into sobs and hugged her sister hard. Lily held her close, smoothing her hair carefully, soothing her with soft hushes. Violet knew then she was not alone; she was never alone. She had her sisters. And that would have to see her through the heartbreak of not being able to have William. Not being able to have her love.
And she did love him. Too, too much.
* * *
The gala dinner that evening was to be a very special one, at long, damask-draped tables in the Hermitage wing among the Tsar’s greatest treasures. As champagne was served before the meal, Violet strolled away from the music and laughter to examine the wondrous art, to try to lose herself in the beauty as she usually could. She examined the Vermeers, the Rembrandts and El Grecos, and found herself in a quiet corner with a Raphael Madonna. She stared at it in wonder, caught by the ineffable sadness in the mother’s blue eyes, the tender touch of her baby on her shoulder. It made her want to cry and she wasn’t even sure why.
She didn’t see William come to stand by her, but she knew he was there. No one felt like him, smelled like him. No one made her feel as he did.
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ he said, gesturing to the painting.
‘Very beautiful indeed,’ she whispered. She curled her fists tightly around the handle of her fan, bracing herself for what she knew she had to do. If she loved him, she had to do what was best for him. But, oh, how it ached! As if a cord that bound them together was about to snap away.
‘Yet sad. It looks rather like you tonight, Violet.’
‘Me?’ She glanced up at him in surprise. He watched her steadily, that all-seeing glow in his eyes, her solemn, serious Will. She always felt that he could see deep into her soul, could read all her secrets, see her true self. She turned away, twisting her fan between her hands.
‘What’s amiss tonight?’ he said. ‘You are always so full of laughter.’
She tried to laugh now, but even to her own ears it came out all wrong, strangled and bitter. ‘I’m just tired, I think. What a constant whirlwind life is here! I don’t know how they can bear it.’
‘We will return to England very soon. It’s much quieter there in winter. You can work on your new photography album.’
‘Of course. Yes. That will be good.’ The photographs. They had been all she’d wanted, all she’d longed for. And she still loved her work, it could still be an escape. But now something else filled her heart. William. Her handsome, kind, solemn duke. She longed for him, but she knew he didn’t really want her. Couldn’t want her. Not in a forever way. It had to be forgotten, their silly bargain. At least she had a few precious memories that would always be there, jewels she could take out and smile over when everything was cold. Sledding, skating, dancing. Kissing. Oh, yes, she would always remember his kisses.
He cleared his throat, and she was shocked to see that her calm and collected William looked a bit—was it nervous? ‘That is what I wanted to speak to you about. The return to England.’
‘England?’
‘Yes. You see, Violet, I have been considering things very carefully and I believe we should become engaged. In truth.’
Violet had never been more shocked in her life. Her stomach seemed to drop to her feet, the same way it had felt when she had been a child and leapt off a conservatory roof. For an instant, she was launched into space, untethered, unsure, full of exhilarated hope. Could he possibly feel as she did? Was there a way out of her fear that she was entirely unsuited to be a duchess?
Yet his next words plunged her to the hard, cold earth again.
‘I do have need of a duchess and you have need of a home away from your parents. It is only sensible for us to make this engagement real, I think,’ he said straightforwardly. He was so matter of fact. So—chilly. ‘We get along and I think we understand each other. We could follow our own pursuits. I would only ask for a hostess at political dinners once in a while.’
‘Sensible,’ she whispered, turning completely numb. So he did not love her. Did not want her for herself. Just a duchess at his dinner table. They would lead separate lives. And she was here, she was convenient and he wouldn’t have to look any further. It sounded desperately lonely. She did want him—but it was only good if he loved her, too.
‘Yes. I have always lived my life by good sense. We could forge a successful partnership.’
‘But I fear I have always led my life by lack of good sense,’ she said, finally finding her voice in the face of heartbreak. ‘I would be a terrible duchess. You know it’s true.’
He looked surprised. ‘I know no such thing. You are beautiful and intelligent. You’ve charmed everyone here.’
‘I am loud and full of opinions and pranks,’ she said. ‘I can’t change. Neither can you, William.
I want—so much more. And you certainly deserve more. We should end all this now.’
He frowned. ‘End it?’
‘Yes. You are surely safe now from Miss Parker-Parks. And Lily says I can live with her and Aidan as long as I like, away from my parents. I think our bargain has served its purpose.’ She held out her hand, hoping he didn’t see how it trembled. ‘Thank you so much, William. I will send your photograph as soon as it’s ready. And goodbye.’
He slowly shook her hand, holding on to it for an instant too long before she turned away. She couldn’t bear the thought that it was the last time she would touch him. The last time she would be alone with him. She would surely see him in England because he was Lily’s neighbour, but it would always be in crowds or at a distance.
She made herself walk away, slowly, as if nothing had changed at all. As if her heart wasn’t shattered inside of her.
* * *
She was gone. He had lost her.
William stared out over the city from the marble balcony, not even feeling the freezing wind, not hearing the music and laughter from the party. He only saw Violet, walking away from him. Just as he had realised he never wanted to be without her. Couldn’t be without her.
Where had he gone wrong? He lit a cheroot and inhaled its cherrywood smoke as he remembered her hand slipping out of his. He had proposed to a lady once before, to Daisy, when he was young and silly and full of clumsy ardour, but he barely remembered what he had said then. He didn’t know how to be romantic, how to tell Violet his real feelings. He didn’t even really know how to sort through them himself. Perhaps he had been too awkward, yet he hadn’t wanted to frighten her with the force of his desire.
Perhaps he should read more poetry. Maybe that would help him find the words to tell her how the light only seemed to shine in his life when she appeared. She was all energy and laughter and fun, and he craved her as a person craves the summer sun after a long winter.
He glanced back through the tall windows at the lavish, sparkling, candlelit scene. Violet still sat at the table, a crystal goblet of wine in her hand, a faraway smile on her lips as she listened to a damnably handsome young grand duke speak close to her ear. Perhaps she wanted someone like that now, a prince rather than a mere English duke, someone to give her a lavish palace and Fabergé every day.
But William wanted to give her so much more! A home, a life, a place where she could practise her art and be her full self. He could not quite imagine a royal life was what she wanted. His lovely, creative, fiery Violet. He wanted to stride into the crowded party, snatch her into his arms and carry her away from everyone else. Something told him, though, that as dramatic as Violet could be, a big scene now was not the way to win her forever. And he would be terrible at big scenes, anyway.
But he would not give up. He would find a way to show her how he truly felt, how he would work so hard to be a good husband to her. Violet couldn’t be completely lost to him, not yet. He just had to believe that.
Chapter Twenty-One
Violet hurried away from the palace in the pale light of the early morning, clutching her skates. She’d had another restless night, tossing and turning as she remembered walking away from William. Walking away from happiness, she saw that now. She felt like such a fool, but she also knew that true love meant doing what was best for William. And what was best for him was surely not marrying her.
She glanced back at the gates and thought she saw someone at one of the windows, a face. Was it him? For an instant, her heart leapt, but then she realised she had to be imagining things. He wasn’t there watching her, yearning for her as she was for him. She was alone.
She whirled around and hurried towards the bridge that would lead her to the skating area of the river. She passed a small cottage that usually held a guard, but it was empty now and she was alone in the freezing cold. It was a perfect time for clearing her head and steeling her resolve. She strapped on her skates and launched herself on to the ice, moving faster and faster, as if she could outrun everything.
But the trees that had marked the perimeter when she had skated with the crowd were not there today and as she neared the centre of the river she heard a sickening crack and felt the ice give way beneath her. She tried to scream, yet nothing came out as she was plunged into the icy water. She barely even realised what was happening.
For an instant, she felt nothing at all, then a thousand freezing knives drove into her body. She gasped and took in a mouthful of rancid water.
Is this how I die?
The thought flashed through her mind and she realised she only wanted to live. She only wanted to see William again.
She struggled up, only to be dragged down by the shackles of her sodden skirt. She broke through the ice at one point and sucked in a breath. The light was piercing, brilliant, and she kicked towards it again with all her strength.
‘Violet! Violet, where are you?’ she heard William shout. For an instant, she thought she was dying, that he was her last hallucination. But, no, it was him, really him, who appeared before her, his face above her, lined with fear and determination. His green, green eyes.
She saw his arms stretch towards her and she caught on to him. He lifted her out of the freezing water and wrapped her in his heavy, fur-lined coat, holding her close.
‘Thank heavens your sister told me you were coming this way, that I saw you fall,’ he whispered fiercely. ‘I thought I’d lost you!’
Violet feared she would start to cry as William gently held her in his arms and she knew that she was truly no longer alone in the world. That she was safe and free with him. She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. Everything had gone suddenly still and quiet, as if the world had ceased but for the one shining point that was him.
How could she ever bring herself to give him up, to walk away, again? She clung to him, unwilling to let that moment slip away.
She felt his lips press against her cheek. ‘You’re safe now, Violet. Let me get you somewhere warm. You’re safe, you’re safe.’
‘I know. Only because of you. You always keep me safe.’
He carried her back to that guard’s cottage she had noticed as she had made her way to the river, and she saw inside it was small but comfortable, furnished with a cushioned iron chaise and a few chairs as well as a stove for tea. William quickly built up a fire and found some towels, rubbing her hair until it was drying, holding her close. He then loosened her dress so that she could step out of the sodden garment. Carefully wrapping her in some blankets he’d found in the cottage.
‘Why did you turn away from me there at the Hermitage?’ he asked.
‘Because you deserve more than a convenience as a wife. You deserve—everything.’
‘Oh, Violet. My darling girl.’ He kissed her cheek again, his lips lingering, so warm and sweet against her skin. ‘You are all I want, even though you are not convenient at all. You are so funny and creative, and sweet and strong. You bring life to my life, which has been as cold as this river for too long. I’ve never known happiness except when I’m with you. I never even thought such a thing could be real. Please, don’t send me back to that dark state. I won’t let you leave me again. Not unless you can truly say you do not love me.’
‘I do love you,’ she whispered. It was the hardest, and the easiest, thing she had ever said. ‘I love you so much. You are not boring at all, are you? You are complicated and kind, and the most handsome man I have ever seen.’
‘Oh, Violet. I do hope I don’t bore you.’ He drew her even closer, so close they were like one being. ‘Then it’s settled. We’re staying together. Because we love each other.’
‘Yes. Because we will always take care of each other.’ Violet reached up and caressed his rough cheek, marvelling that this man was hers, just as she was his. That everything had ended in this sweet way.
‘And you will marry me? I know I can
do anything at all with you beside me.’
And she knew she could do anything with him. That he made her life complete. ‘Yes. I will marry you.’
She fell back on the old iron chaise nearby, drawing him with her. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her so close, so very close.
She clumsily, eagerly, unwrapped his scarf and let it fall to the floor at their feet. Something hidden deep inside of her, something urgent and instinctive, guided her as she pushed back his coat, his shirt, as she shyly touched his bare, warm skin and marvelled at the raw, heated life of him. The glorious reality of this moment. He warmed her, healed her, as nothing else could.
Clinging to each other, they tumbled down together, the beamed ceiling whirling over her head. She rolled on top of him, unable to breathe as she studied him in the faint light. His body seemed gilded, glorious, as if he truly was a god.
Her trembling fingertips traced the coarse sprinkling of dark hair over his chest, the thin line that led tantalisingly to the band of his breeches. His stomach muscles tightened, his breath turning ragged as her touch brushed against him.
‘Vi, my darling, be careful,’ he gasped. She gloried in ruffling his famous reserve, knowing he felt just as she did in that moment. Overcome with emotion.
‘I think this is the very best moment not to be careful,’ she said, and knew it was true. This moment, being with him—it was the most right thing she had ever done.
She fell back into his arms, their lips meeting, heartbeats melding. There was nothing careful or practised about that kiss; it was as hot as summer sun, full of need, like those fireworks bursting in the black St Petersburg sky. She felt the slide of his hands over her back as he removed her damp chemise. The winter air was cold on her skin, but she barely noticed it. Clothing only held her back from what she really wanted, his bare touch on her. She shrugged out of her remaining clothes.
‘Violet,’ he groaned. ‘How beautiful you are.’
Playing the Duke's Fiancée--A Victorian Historical Romance Page 20
