His Duchess

by Charlotte Russell

  With reluctance she pulled her gaze from the cat and turned back toward Jane. After being alone for so many years she still found it difficult to share her feelings with another. But why have friends if one wasn’t willing to open oneself to them?

  “I do not want to marry the man I love if he does not love me. Can you think of a more terrible way to spend your life? Loving someone who does not return your love?” Victoria raised an eyebrow towards her friend.

  Jane rose and marched over to squeeze Victoria’s hand. “I can imagine how unbearable that might be, but you sound as if you are certain Taviston doesn’t love you. It’s possible he might, or he may grow to love you.”

  Victoria smiled at the hope shining in Jane’s eyes but found she couldn’t maintain it. “I am certain he doesn’t love me. He’s only marrying me to avoid scandal and isn’t that ironic?” She saw the denial on Jane’s face, so she held up a hand. “It’s the truth. Last night he admitted he made a mistake in kissing me. He only agreed to marry me because he wanted to keep that episode quiet.”

  On a soft sigh, Jane replied, “I am sorry.”

  Victoria took comfort in the empathy in her friend’s eyes. Indelicately she shrugged her shoulders. “I shall survive, especially if you remain my friend.”

  “Of course I will remain your friend! Don’t speak such nonsense.” Jane waved her hand in the air. “There is a very simple solution to your problem. You do not have to live your life married to a man who doesn’t love you.”

  “I have no choice.”

  “All you need do is cry off the betrothal. It isn’t unheard of for a young lady to do such a thing. A gentleman would never break an engagement, but a lady may.”

  “Don’t you see, Jane? I cannot do such a thing. Think of what scandal a broken engagement would cause. I could never hurt Taviston in such a way. He would be devastated, and I love him too much to ever cause him such pain.”

  How wonderful love was. She would willingly inflict a lifetime of pain upon her heart just to spare the man who probably cursed her existence every night before he fell asleep.

  “Oh, Victoria. What a horrible situation. I will—” Jane was interrupted by a knock on the door.

  “Enter,” Victoria said despondently.

  Molly managed to open the door despite the two boxes she carried. She brought them over to the sofa, one long and rectangular, the other short and square.

  “These just arrived for you, miss,” she said as she gently set them upon the sofa.

  “Oh,” was all Victoria could think to say. The long box looked suspiciously capable of holding a dress. If Taviston had sent over a dress for the wedding, she would box his ears!

  Walking over to where both Jane and Molly eyed the boxes with much anticipation, she reluctantly opened the bigger one. As she pushed aside the tissue paper, her heart crept up toward her throat.

  “Oh, my.” As she drew out a navy-blue riding habit made of the softest velvet, a white card fluttered to the carpet. Victoria ignored it for the moment; she knew who the giver was.

  “How absolutely exquisite,” Jane exclaimed.

  “And it looks to be a perfect fit, miss, if I do say so myself,” Molly added enthusiastically.

  Victoria held the dress against her body and couldn’t stop stroking the fabric. It was beautiful. Carefully laying it over the back of the sofa, she turned to open the square box. Inside was a matching blue hat with not one, but two cream-colored feathers. She took a deep breath in order to suppress the tears springing up in her eyes. This was one of the myriad reasons why she loved him, despite some of his more inflexible traits.

  Jane stooped and picked up the card that had fallen to the floor. “What does it say?” she said with her usual impatience as she held out the card.

  Victoria took the card from her and read, “‘As we are to be married in three days’ time, I didn’t think this gift would be so ‘utterly improper’ now. Be prepared for some riding lessons next week. Taviston.’”

  Jane smiled at her and Victoria couldn’t help but return the sentiment. Maybe, just possibly, in some small little crevice of her heart, she did hold out hope that her husband-to-be might someday come to care for her.

  “Molly, if you would kindly take the riding habit up to my bedchamber, Lady Northfield and I have a wedding gown to see about.”

  THREE FATEFUL DAYS later Victoria stood before her mirror and proudly admired her gown. Secretly hoping to impress Taviston, she had designed the dress herself, allowing only a few suggestions from Jane and the dressmaker.

  She twirled around once more, admiring the way the sun made her dress sparkle like a chandelier. White glass beads had been embroidered all over the thin, light blue muslin. An inch-wide ribbon of white silk banded the high waist and the same color silk had been used to fashion a Vandyke collar around the neckline and to band the capped sleeves. At the hem, the muslin had been gathered up into a V at intervals and was sewn to the white silk underskirt beneath it. She had matching blue satin slippers on her feet and tiny blue flowers wound into her hair, which Molly had insisted on curling.

  Victoria looked like a princess.

  She did not, however, feel like one. This day could have been so much more. For years she had imagined nothing but marrying her own handsome prince, whom she would love more than any other, and he would return the emotion with equal fervor. Then the realities of life had taken over her dreams. With no father, no inheritance, and a reluctant and forgetful guardian, Victoria had revised her marriage wish to include a respectable and pleasant gentleman who would provide her with a family and a home. That she would now have, but at what cost?

  It was fifteen minutes before nine now. She hadn’t seen Taviston since the Kennewicks’ rout, but she had received daily visits from the duchess regarding wedding details. A carriage was to arrive at precisely nine o’clock to convey Victoria to St. George’s in Hanover Square. The ceremony wasn’t to begin until ten o’clock. Considering the short distance to the church she should be there in plenty of time. How like Taviston to want her there early.

  Walking over to the window, Victoria looked out to see if she could spy the carriage. Jane had given her a small measure of hope regarding Taviston’s future feelings. While he was upset with himself for making a mistake, he still treated her with kindness, respect and generosity. Unfortunately, those qualities clawed at her heart because she wanted so much more from him. She told herself repeatedly not to expect love or undying devotion, but then ignored herself. How could any reasonable person not wish to be loved by the man she had fallen in love with?

  In disgust, she shook her head. Her emotions were as tangled up as the ribbons on a May pole on a gusty day. It was not exactly the carefree day Victoria had anticipated, but the sun was shining, and she did look pretty—if she could say so with a little vanity—so she vowed to make the best of it. As she had told Jane, Taviston was more than worthy of her love. Whether he wanted it or not, she would love him every day with all she had in her heart, even if it ended up destroying her peace of mind.

  Noting the early arrival of the carriage out front, Victoria checked her reflection one last time. Nodding her head in self-approval she swept out the door.

  Louisa’s piercing voice greeted her in the front hall. “Oh, dear cousin, you look absolutely lovely!” The smile on Louisa’s face was one of the most genuine Victoria had ever seen.

  Victoria could only be gracious. “Thank you.”

  “Your carriage awaits,” Louisa informed her with a gesture toward the door Morgan held open.

  Right now, Victoria wanted only to get the ceremony over with, especially since Taviston wouldn’t be saying his vows with any amount of sincerity. Better to look forward to this evening, when she knew his desire would be true. So, she nodded at Louisa and swept out the door.

  Walking out into the sunshine Victoria stepped carefully down the front steps, mindful of her hem. One of the Brownes’ footmen—not Timothy—held the carriage door o
pen for her. She gratefully took his hand and climbed up. At the same instant she sat down and the footman slammed the door, the carriage unexpectedly jolted forward. Victoria was thrown against the back cushion and with a start she realized the window curtains had been drawn, creating a gloomy interior.

  Thus, it was her nose that first alerted her to the fact that nothing was as it should be.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Tell me again, sir, when you decided upon marriage to the lovely Miss Forster?”

  Taviston ignored his own image in the mirror and instead focused a blazing look at his valet, who stood behind him.

  “At the Northfields’ dinner party, Dunne, as you well know. Might I inquire as to how long you are going to gloat about this? I believe you have mentioned four times in the past week that I did indeed find my future wife that evening.”

  Taviston turned to face the other man who, despite his teasing, never let a smile cross his lips. Dunne studiously examined his employer’s clothing before responding. He removed a few pieces of lint from the blue coat and then said, “I only intend to revel in the correctness of my prediction until the next time my guidance proves faultless.”

  “How gracious of you,” Taviston muttered. Dunne retreated to the dressing room with a sparkle in his eye. Taviston turned back to the mirror and this time did study himself.

  His Hessians gleamed in the sunlight sweeping his bedchamber. His white breeches added to the blinding light in the room. A shiny silver waistcoat accompanied the blue coat that Dunne had ensured was spotless. Taviston grinned as he imagined entering the church in a blaze of light. It would be difficult for anyone to miss the groom; he was a positive beacon on this gloriously bright day.

  Peyton threw open the double doors without a knock and eyed his brother up and down.

  “You’ll do, except for the cravat. I can have that neckcloth looking much more elegant in a mere ten minutes.”

  “Thank you, but no,” Taviston replied.

  Peyton shook his head but grinned. “It is time we left for the church. I am to be your merry escort.”

  “Are you now? I don’t suppose I shall be allowed to walk?” Taviston asked hopefully.

  “I’m afraid not, dear brother. Dunne will not allow it. Too much chance of a speck of dust landing on your person.”

  “Very well,” Taviston murmured and then strode out of the room. Peyton followed and they were soon settled into the Taviston carriage, on the way to St. George’s.

  Taviston had rarely ever thought about his own wedding, but he knew for certain he had never pictured it taking place at St. George’s. Under normal circumstances he would not have considered the church, known for its fashionable weddings. He would have preferred to hold the ceremony in the chapel at Taviston Hall, in northern Oxfordshire. Oh well. Nothing about his own wedding was as he would have it be, not even his bride. Fate obviously had different plans for his life.

  “You did see that the other carriage set off to convey Victoria to the church?” Taviston questioned his brother.

  Peyton eyed him narrowly. “Yes, Taviston. You told Halston, the coachman, and me that the carriage had better be at Somerset Street at nine o’clock. Among the three of us, we managed to carry out your orders. Are you concerned your bride won’t show up for the ceremony?”

  “Of course not. She’s the one who demanded this wedding in the first place.” Or in the second place, after she had realized what she had given up.

  He banished such thoughts from his mind. He and Victoria would be married today at St. George’s with a large portion of society looking on. It was no use thinking of the tranquility of Taviston Hall or the potential of a woman like Lady Tessa Colvin. Odd how he had never once seen her.

  But never mind. Victoria would be his duchess. And he was beginning to warm to the idea. Despite all the nonsense she had spouted at the rout the other night, she had handled herself with aplomb. Most of the other things he thought she lacked—knowledge of running a household and being a hostess—could easily be learned. He had complete confidence in her intelligence and ability to do so.

  Not only would Victoria be his duchess, but his wife as well. Their kisses that night in the gallery had only hinted at the passion that lay between them. Why, he had only explored her right breast that evening; he had so much more research to conduct on how to bring his bride to the ultimate pleasure. Even though he had never seen her so, he let his mind build an image of Victoria naked and smiling sassily. Savoring the imaginary portrait, he began to outline where his next study would take him. Perhaps he should start with her—

  “Taviston.” Peyton’s voice interrupted his erotic reverie. “We’re here.”

  Reluctantly, he pushed aside his plans for the wedding night.

  He and Peyton entered St. George’s church through a side door and proceeded to the vestry. It was fifteen minutes before ten and Taviston wasn’t surprised to see Northfield already waiting for them.

  “Ah, the bridegroom appears!” Northfield hailed him. “It isn’t like you to be late.”

  “Never fear, Northfield,” Peyton answered first. “I have made it my solemn mission to see my dear brother wed on this day. I will remain by his side until the deed is done.”

  “Good morning,” Taviston said quietly to his friend who leaned against the mantel, ignoring his brother completely. He looked around the room for the Reverend Hodgson, but the clergyman was not present.

  Northfield swept a critical eye up and down his friend. “And, how are you? You look well for a man who is, he says, only to be wed grudgingly.”

  Taviston gave him a half smile. “Peyton says I must stiffen my spine and muddle through this predicament of my own making. I am not often given to taking advice from my younger, more frivolous sibling, but since I see no other alternative. I shall undertake to follow his counsel this one time.”

  Northfield gave him an encouraging nod and might have spoken, but Peyton did not give him a chance.

  “Speaking of advice, I have one more piece of it for you, brother. Please, I beg of you, produce an heir as soon as possible. I cannot bear the responsibility of being your heir much longer. It taxes me considerably.”

  Taviston considered his brother while walking in a circle around him. “Do you know, I believe being my heir has been about the only thing keeping you on the edge of respectability. Should my new wife bless me with a son” —he valiantly tried to keep his mind from straying to the surprisingly lovely imagine of Victoria round with his child— “I fear you might plunge right over the precipice into disreputable behavior. Perhaps I should find you a worthy position in our mighty army. I hear there is a war going on with France.”

  “Give it a rest, Taviston. You were not made for teasing. Besides, I think I might behave myself, for the sake of your darling wife. I like her.”

  Northfield stirred from his place by the hearth but once again did not jump in quickly enough. Peyton reached inside his coat and withdrew a silver flask and hoisted it.

  “I propose we make a toast to your lovely bride.”

  “It is not even ten o’clock in the morning!”

  “Every bridegroom needs fortification before his wedding. It isn’t my fault the ceremony wasn’t planned for later.”

  “We are in a church.”

  His brother shrugged and took a swallow from the flask. Northfield had apparently given up speaking—a rare occurrence indeed—and had simply taken the container from Peyton and drank.

  Taviston shook his head when the drink was thrust in his direction. “No, thank you. I am quite capable of making it through a wedding ceremony, even my own, without a drink.” He turned his back on the two of them and walked over to sit in an uncomfortable-looking moss green chair on the other side of the room.

  Peyton and Northfield continued to imbibe, and it appeared Northfield had finally found his voice as they settled into a lively discussion. Taviston tried to relax but could not. His heart beat wildly, even though lasc
ivious thoughts of his bride no longer occupied his mind.

  The door to the vestry creaked open and Taviston expected to see the large figure of Mr. Hodgson entering. Instead, a substantial grey feline drew his gaze downward.

  “Arthur,” he said with surprise.

  “Meow,” the cat confirmed. Heading straight for Taviston, he leaped up onto his lap. Taviston’s hand came up automatically to pet the furry creature.

  “Do you know this cat?” Peyton asked.

  “He belongs to my bride,” Taviston responded, as Arthur settled himself on his lap. He continued to stroke the cat and found himself able to relax at last.

  Peyton stared at the two of them. “Does he accompany her everywhere?”

  “Arthur is rather independent. He knows his way around.”

  “Why is it you are so well acquainted with your bride’s cat?” Peyton continued to inquire.

  Taviston’s mind flew back to that night in Grosvenor Square. “Arthur introduced me to Victoria, as a matter of fact.” He didn’t want to, but he smiled. If he had kept his mouth shut and gone straight home that evening...

  He shot Northfield a glance and said, “What time is it? I would think our presence would be required soon.”

  Northfield pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket and announced, “Five minutes past ten.”

  Taviston furrowed his brow but before he could say anything the door opened farther, and Reverend Hodgson finally entered the room.

  “Your Grace, my lords.” He nodded at the three of them in turn. Then his head swung quickly back around to the purring mass of fur in Taviston’s lap. He opened his mouth to speak and then clamped it tightly shut.