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

by Amanda McCabe

She hoped she was, for him. She kissed him again and he rolled her body beneath his. She laughed as her damp hair tumbled from its last pins, spilling around them, binding them together. She did feel beautiful as he looked at her, felt free at last, completely herself. He had given her that gift. There was only now, that one moment, fully theirs. Her heart was his and she had been foolish to think she could ever take it back, that she could ever walk away from him. He kissed her again and all thought vanished.

  She closed her eyes and let herself revel in the feelings his touch created and in his kiss. Her palm slid over his back, so strong and warm, sheltering her with his strength. Her legs parted and she felt his weight lower between them, a delicious sensation she had never even imagined.

  She had read naughty French novels and listened to her sisters’ married friends giggling, but she had never known it could feel like this. This heady, dizzy sensation of falling, falling, being caught up by another person and soaring with them into the sky.

  ‘I don’t—want to hurt you, Violet,’ he said tightly. ‘Never.’

  She smiled up at him, into the glow of his eyes. ‘You never could, Will. Never.’

  She spread her legs wider in invitation and he slid into her, making them one. It did hurt a bit, a quick, burning sensation, but it was nothing to the joy of being with him. She arched her back, wrapping her arms and legs around him so tightly he couldn’t escape her.

  ‘You see?’ she whispered. ‘I feel completely perfect.’

  ‘My beautiful Violet,’ he gasped roughly. Slowly, so slowly, he moved again within her, drawing back, edging forward, more intimate with each second. She closed her eyes, feeling all that ache ebb away until there was only pleasure. A tingling delight that grew and expanded inside of her, warming her heart like the sun. She’d never imagined anything like it.

  She cried out at the wonder of it all, at the bursts of light she saw behind her eyes, all blue and white and gold, the heat that was almost too much. Would she be consumed by it?

  Above her and around her, she felt his body tense and his back arch under her touch. ‘Violet!’ he shouted out.

  She flew apart, clinging to him, and let herself fall down into the fire, surrendering to her feelings for him.

  After long moments, she blinked open her eyes, wondering if she really had fallen into a different world. But it was just the rough cottage, warm now from the stove, and his arms around her, keeping her safe.

  But the world was not the same. That wondrous sparkle followed her, transforming everything forever.

  Beside her, collapsed on to the chaise with his arms around her, was her William. She wondered if he was asleep. His eyes were closed, his breath slow, his limbs sprawled in exhaustion, as if, like her, he hadn’t been able to rest until this moment.

  She smiled at the glorious sight of him, and closed her eyes, letting herself float back down to earth. Nothing else mattered now, only this moment out of time, when she had become someone else in his arms, someone free and beautiful. A real duchess. His duchess.

  Epilogue

  London

  ‘It’s here! Look, Vi!’ Lily cried as she rushed into the bedchamber.

  Violet tried to twist to look at her, but Rose said, ‘Don’t you dare move, Vi! Or I will never get this straight.’

  Violet obediently sat still as Rose arranged the Valenciennes lace veil on her hair, held in place by the diamond-and-pearl Charteris tiara. But she glimpsed a bit of red morocco leather, stamped with gold, in Lily’s hand, and she ached to see it. To know it was what she thought it was, that it was real.

  ‘All right, now you can move,’ Rose said. ‘I think we have done rather a fine job here.’

  Violet glanced at herself in the mirror and could hardly believe that was her. Her Worth gown, ice blue silk edged with lace ruffles and heavy with pearl beadwork, the veil, the blue velvet train, the sapphire earrings William had given her as a wedding gift, the bouquet of white roses and deep purple violets—it whispered of such splendour. Such dignity. In it she would be very much a duchess. No, that could not be her.

  But the eager sparkle in her eyes and her pink cheeks as she imagined seeing her William at the venerable altar of Westminster Abbey—that was all her. Even with all the ducal panoply, it would be her and Will, together for the rest of their lives.

  ‘You are indeed a miracle worker, Rose,’ Violet said. ‘Now, show me what you have there, Lily!’

  ‘It just arrived from the publisher. An early copy,’ Lily said. She laid it carefully on the dressing table.

  Violet stared down at it in wonder. ‘A Photographic Album of the Royal Wedding, by the Duchess of Charteris.’ She read the words the gold letters spelled out. ‘They’re a bit early on the name,’ she whispered.

  ‘Only for another hour! Look how beautiful it is, Vi.’ Lily turned the gilt-edged pages revealing the images Violet had created of St Petersburg, the bridges and palaces, the dancers and skaters, the bride and groom. Grand Duchess Maria certainly did not look like a pug, Violet thought happily, which should please her. She knew the Grand Duchess and her prince, now the Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh, would be among the guests at the Abbey, along with Prince Bertie and his beautiful Alexandra, dukes and duchesses, marquesses and their marchionesses, and American millionaires that her mother had insisted on inviting. She wished she could toss the book to Maria like a bouquet.

  But that wouldn’t befit the dignity of a duchess.

  ‘It is truly the happiest day of my life,’ she gasped. Her true love, her work, a real home—everything was within her grasp now. Perhaps even membership of the Solar Club! The whole world belonged to her. She could barely believe it was true.

  ‘Oh, my darling,’ Rose said, and hugged her carefully through the silk and lace and jewels. She was still far too thin in her amethyst taffeta gown, too pale. Violet couldn’t understand why Rose wouldn’t confide in her if something was amiss. At least they would always be near each other now. ‘No one deserves this more than you.’

  ‘Except you and Lily,’ Violet said.

  Their mother appeared in the doorway, every inch the mother of duchesses, in an amber brocade gown trimmed with sable, a velvet toque pinned with topazes and diamonds on her golden hair. ‘The carriage has arrived, girls! Come along, now, we can’t be late.’

  ‘Of course,’ Violet said, her stomach seizing with nerves. It was really, truly happening. She helped Rose pin on her feathered hat and reached for the bouquet.

  Stella straightened Violet’s already perfect veil and clucked. ‘Oh, my dears, you will never guess what I just heard! The most delicious bit of gossip. Your father’s friend Mr Rogers just eloped with Miss Thelma Parker-Parks. Her family was beside themselves! And what do you think, he is not nearly as rich as he said he was, not once your father got him out of the business.’

  Violet glanced at her sisters, all of them wide-eyed with amazement. It seemed the perfect touch of absurdity to add to the day. Rogers and Thelma, bound together forever!

  There was no time to dwell on it, though. Violet was hurried down to the carriage with her father and, before she could even take a breath, they had arrived at the Abbey, amid the cheers and congratulations of a crowd gathered across from those ancient doors, flower petals showering down on her in blessing.

  ‘I know this wasn’t quite what you expected, Papa,’ she whispered as he led her into the shadowed church, the beginning of the vast aisle.

  He gave a rueful smile. ‘Of course not. It’s much better. Your mother was right about that. I just hope you’ll be happy here, as Lily is.’

  She squeezed his arm. ‘I know I will be.’

  The organ and trumpets sounded out a great fanfare and she started down the aisle, her train held up by a bevy of white-clad bridesmaids, guiding her on a slow march between the soaring stone columns, the shadows and flowers and memorials of that ancien
t, hallowed place. The place where royalty, and now Violet Wilkins, took their vows. It was awe-inspiring.

  But Violet could see only the man who waited for her at the altar, the man who would share everything in her life from that day forward. Her Duke of Bore no longer! Just her love. Her true love, her William.

  He smiled at her and took her hand, and every doubt was banished, every fear forgotten. She had every happiness at last.

  * * *

  If you enjoyed this story, be sure to read

  the first book in Amanda McCabe’s

  Dollar Duchesses miniseries

  His Unlikely Duchess

  And whilst you’re waiting for the next book, why not check out her Debutantes in Paris series

  Secrets of a Wallflower

  The Governess’s Convenient Marriage

  Miss Fortescue’s Protector in Paris

  And look out for the next book in the

  Dollar Duchesses miniseries, coming soon!

  Author Note

  When I started writing Violet’s story, I was so excited to combine two of my old passionate interests into one book—the history of the British royal family and nineteenth-century Russia!

  I also got to bring in another interest of mine, which might not really seem to fit into the eighteen-seventies—nineteen-thirties screwball comedies! I love it when strait-laced Cary Grant begins to enjoy life, thanks to Katharine Hepburn or Irene Dunne, and learns to have fun at last. I also got to learn about something quite new to me: Victorian photography.

  Much like Prince Charles and Lady Diana in the nineteen-eighties, Prince Alfred—the second son of Queen Victoria, and a career naval officer—and Grand Duchess Maria—the only daughter of Tsar Alexander II, who had many, many sons!—had the wedding of the decade.

  They met in 1868, but neither family approved of the match and they didn’t marry until January 1874. It was a very lavish wedding, at the Winter Palace—an Orthodox ceremony followed by an Anglican blessing, then a banquet for seven hundred and a ball for three thousand until the early hours of the morning. It was the sensation of the newspapers, with a Who’s Who guest list of people like the Prince and Princess of Wales, the Princess Royal Vicky and her husband Prince Frederick, and the elderly Ernst, Duke of Saxe-Coburg—who had no legitimate children, so Alfred eventually was his heir.

  For more wedding details, I love the sadly now-defunct blog Order of Sartorial Splendor, whose archives are a gold mine!

  The couple had five children—one son and four daughters, including the famous Marie of Romania—but it was not a happy union in the end. They had little in common and the Prince was often away on his naval assignments. They moved often, including to Malta and Coburg, and came to be titled the Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh. Maria did not like English life and was a Russian Orthodox grand duchess all her life. She died in 1920 in Switzerland, long after her husband, in reduced circumstances.

  I am sure Violet and William are much happier in their life together!

  One quick note on the photographic exhibition Violet visits: it’s based on a famous display in 1864, a ‘Bazaar for the Benefit of Female Artists’ at the Horticultural Gardens in Chiswick. The photographers Julia Margaret Cameron, Clementina Hawarden, Lewis Carroll and Oscar Rejlander are, of course, real figures—as are the royal family.

  If you’re curious about the time period, I loved these sources, which you might read for further study!

  And do visit me at ammandamccabe.com for more info.

  Bibliography

  Baird, Julia (2016) Victoria: The Queen: An Intimate Biography of the Woman who Ruled an Empire Blackfriars.

  Bennett, Daphne (1971) Vicky: Princess Royal of England and German Empress Collins and Harvill Press.

  Bernard, Bruce (1980) Photodiscovery: Masterworks of Photography 1840-1940 Harry N. Abrams.

  Davenport, Alma (1999) The History of Photography: An Overview University of New Mexico Press.

  de Guitaut, Caroline and Patterson, Stephen (2018) Russia: Art, Royalty and the Romanovs Royal Collection Trust.

  Gustavson, Todd (2009) Camera: A History of Photography from Daguerreotype to Digital Sterling Publishing Co., Inc.

  Hough, Richard Alexander (1993) Edward and Alexandra: Their Private and Public Lives St Martin’s Press.

  Howarth-Loomes, B.E.C. (1974) Victorian Photography Ward Lock.

  Kschessinska, Mathilde (2019) Dancing in Petersburg: The Memoirs of Kschessinska—Prima Ballerina of the Russian Imperial Theatre, and Mistress of the Future Tsar Nicholas II Pantianos Classics.

  Marie, Queen of Roumania (2019) The Story of My Life Independently published.

  McCaffray, Susan (2018) The Winter Palace and the People: Staging and Consuming Russia’s Monarchy, 1754–1917 Cornell University Press.

  Olsen, Victoria C. (2018) From Life: Julia Margaret Cameron and Victorian Photography National Portrait Gallery exhibition catalogue.

  Papi, Stefano (2013) The Jewels of the Romanovs: Family & Court Thames & Hudson Ltd.

  Ridley, Jane (2014) The Heir Apparent: A Life of Edward VII, the Playboy Prince Random House.

  Tinniswood, Adrian (2018) Behind the Throne: A Domestic History of the British Royal Household Jonathan Cape.

  Van der Kiste, John (2013) Alfred: Queen Victoria’s Second Son Fonthill Media.

  Vorres, Ian (2002) The Last Grand Duchess: Her Imperial Highness Grand Duchess Olga Alexandrovna, 1 June 1882-24 November 1960 Key Porter Books Ltd.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Falling for His Practical Wife by Laura Martin.

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  Falling for His Practical Wife

  by Laura Martin

  Chapter One

  Eastbourne 1815

  Dear Beth,

  Do you remember when I promised I would never climb out of a window again? Well...

  Trailing a hand over the silky wallpaper, Annabelle paused for a moment and closed her eyes. It had been a busy few days, packing up the last of their belongings, organising the carts of furniture to be taken to the little cottage overlooking the sea she and her mother were renting. Annabelle had barely stopped, itemising and sorting, all the time trying to ignore the deep sorrow she felt at leaving her childhood home.

  ‘It’s a fresh start,’ she murmured, taking her fingers off the wallpaper and forcing herself to stride purposefully out of the room.

  ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ Lady Hummingford announced as Annabelle came downstairs to see Mr Lennox and Mr Hardy, two men from the village who had been hired to do the heavy lifting, struggling with a weighty mahogany desk. She had watched them take it out to the cart only a few minutes earlier and now it was coming back in through the front door.

  Quickly Annabelle pulled down her veil, hiding her face from the men and also conveniently hiding the eye roll she allowed herself at her mother’s behaviour.

  ‘Mr Lennox, Mr Hardy, would you mind if I had a private word with my mother? If you would be so kind as to take the desk back out to the cart and then why don’t you get a refreshing drink from the kitchen. You’ve been working so hard.’ She half expected her mother to protest, but Lady Hummingford stayed quiet until the men were back outside.

  ‘It is ridiculous to leave before the house is even sold, Annabelle. We could live here for months longer.’

  ‘We can’t afford the upkeep. We can’t afford the staff. We can’t even afford the wood for the fire.’ Annabelle took a step towards her mother and reached out for her hand. This might be her childhood home, the sanctuary she had only left a handful of times in over a decade and a half, but it was where her mother had met her father, where they had bee
n a family, where she had mourned him. She had to remember this was just as hard for her mother as it was for her. ‘The cottage is comfortable and in a beautiful location. If you give it a chance, I think we could be happy there.’

  Lady Hummingford scoffed and turned away and Annabelle clenched her jaw so she wouldn’t say anything she would regret.

  ‘What I don’t understand is why Mr Ashburton couldn’t pay for the upkeep of this place for a few more months until it sells rather than paying the rent on a new cottage.’

  Sensibly Annabelle remained quiet. She knew exactly why. Birling View was a beautiful property, sat on the cliffs of the south downs with uninterrupted views of the sea. It had suffered from a gentle neglect over the last few years, with no money and no staff to maintain it to a proper standard. Despite this it should be easy to sell to the right person who was willing to spend some time and money restoring the house to its former glory.

  The problem they’d had was that Annabelle’s mother was so reluctant to leave that she would point out the flaws of the property to any interested party. Lord Warner had come to look around only last week and had seemed enthusiastic about the sale. Five minutes with Lady Hummingford and he’d scuttled away, mumbling something ominous about collapsing roofs and subsiding walls.

  Mr Ashburton, the brother of the man who had just married her beloved sister Beth, had promised to help with the practicalities of selling the property. Beth and her new husband, Josh Ashburton, had sailed for India straight after the wedding, but Mr Leonard Ashburton had offered his services in overseeing the sale of the house and setting Annabelle and her mother up in a smaller property. He had quietly paid the first few months’ rent on the new cottage and settled the most pressing of their debts. It was Mr Ashburton who had taken Annabelle aside and pointed out that they would never sell Birling View with Lady Hummingford still in residence, doing her utmost to put off everyone who showed an interest. Reluctantly Annabelle had agreed, so here they were, almost ready to leave their home for good.