His Duchess

by Charlotte Russell

  He threw open the door and strode confidently into the room but pulled up short at the tableau before him.

  A maid stood beside the bed busily folding dresses and gowns with precision. As she finished one, his wife would gently lay it inside a trunk resting on the floor. While Victoria waited for the girl to fold another garment, she gathered up toiletries and personal items and stowed them in a leather portmanteau sitting on the festive emerald bedclothes.

  Taviston’s fists curled into balls. “What the devil is going on here?”

  He knew what he saw but couldn’t believe it.

  Victoria had glanced at him when he had entered the room, but then steadfastly ignored him. Standing beside the bed now, wearing a cheerful yellow gown, she straightened her spine and directed a steady gaze his way.

  “I am leaving for Taviston Hall.” She blinked twice and then reached for a folded dress, once again disregarding him.

  The definitive words painfully compressed his chest. Thoughts tumbled through his head like leaves in the wind but the only word he could spit out was a strangled “Why?”

  Victoria’s shoulders rose and fell with a deep sigh. She asked the maid to excuse them.

  Victoria then rushed around the room, collecting items to pack in her bag and straightening items she obviously didn’t wish to take. Arms crossed over his chest, Taviston stood his ground in the center of the room, waiting with mounting impatience.

  Without even looking his way she said, “If you will recall, this is a marriage of convenience. Or should I say, a marriage forced into existence by rash behavior on both our parts. Either way, it is more convenient for me to be at Taviston Hall. I’m sure I’ll be more comfortable there, in the country. I like the country.”

  She now attempted, without nearly as much proficiency as the maid, to fold the gown lying on the bed.

  Taviston clamped his lips shut before unexamined words could escape. It seemed best to contemplate carefully anything he wished to say. Had this been her plan all along, to run away?

  He said, with a deadly calm he did not feel, “I thought you had had enough of the country.”

  She gave up trying to fold the gown and crossed over to a chair near the window. Hefting a sleeping Arthur into her arms, she took the cat’s place, settled him on her lap, and stroked his gray fur.

  Her gaze wandered to the window and fixed on some distant sight. “I think I shall do fine at Taviston Hall. You may continue your life here in London, unimpeded by me.”

  She hesitated so long Taviston thought she had nothing else to say. He didn’t, however, trust himself to speak.

  Finally, she added, “I know my duty as your duchess. If the events of last night do not bear fruit, I will return in a few weeks’ time and you may try again.”

  Intense scrutiny revealed pink stains on her cheeks. She could not be serious. If she had only been doing her “duty” last night, then a burst of true passion from her would surely kill a man. No, not any man, me. From now until forever.

  Valiantly he tried to stem the swell of emotion running rampant through him. He felt sick to his stomach at the thought of her leaving. This was not the Victoria he knew.

  With an impatient gesture that told him she was tired of waiting for him to find his tongue, she spoke again. “I don’t believe we have anything more to discuss. I will leave you to your life here and you may forget about me for the time being. Many married couples lead separate lives and I see no reason why we shouldn’t as well.”

  Many couples did, but not in his family. Ironically, that was exactly the kind of marriage he had wanted. Before. Before she crawled into his heart and took up residence. Now, there was no way on this earth he was going to live apart from her.

  Still as a statue, he issued an undoubtedly unwise command. “I forbid you to leave.”

  He had expected righteous indignation. Instead, she whispered softly, “There is nothing here for me, but of course I cannot gainsay you.”

  She had protected him from scandal with her “love match” charade and admitted she had made the arduous journey to the church yesterday to avoid scandal. Yet she was willing to desert him now?

  Breaking his stance, he marched closer to her, the anger and hurt gaining strength within him with each step he took.

  “You cannot do this, Victoria. Your place is here with me. A separation, especially one day after the wedding, is intolerable. Unacceptable.”

  She paid no heed to his loud voice and intimidating stare, languidly waving a hand through the air. “That is your opinion. It is certainly acceptable to me and it is high time you faced the fact that gossip is unavoidable, especially where you and I are concerned.” Her gaze drifted from his face and focused back on the world outside the window. He could practically see icicles dangling from her tongue as she said, “Do remember, Taviston, I was only pretending to love you.”

  He closed his eyes against the pain of that blow. Apparently, a soul could physically hurt.

  “Victoria, please do not leave.” His eyes flew open as the words from his heart trampled over the words his brain had wished to say. He could force her to stay.

  Blinking rapidly, she asked in a hushed voice, without turning her head, “Why on earth would you want me to stay when I am so unsuited to be your duchess?”

  “What?”

  Flying up out of her chair, she sent Arthur sailing through the air on a screech and Taviston staggering backwards on a grunt when the feline bounced off his stomach.

  Hands on hips, flames glowing anew in her eyes she demanded, “Isn’t it true that you believe me incapable of being your duchess?”

  Momentarily gratified that his fiery wife had returned, Taviston was nonetheless bewildered. “Of course I think you capable. You will make a fine duchess, Victoria.”

  “Is that so? You don’t find my domestic training and social skills lacking?”

  A chill swept over him. Where had she heard this?

  He reached out and drew her nearer. “There is no doubt in my mind that you will succeed as Duchess as Taviston. You are capable of doing whatever you put your mind to. I believe in you.” I love you. He wanted so much to add that last but couldn’t get it passed his throat.

  Her eyes searched his face. He knew she wanted to believe him. He prayed to God she would.

  “So, you didn’t say those things? You never thought me unsuitable? I mean, you once called me scandalous, so I suppose it isn’t such a stretch that you also had this low opinion of me.” Confusion and disillusionment overtook her petite features.

  Dropping his hands from her arms, he drove his fingers through his hair. “I— Well, I certainly didn’t—” He threw his hands in the air, not wanting to lie. “Yes, I did say those things. But, Victoria, I didn’t mean them. Well, at the time I did. But not now...” His voice trailed off as he watched her retreat, physically and emotionally.

  Turning her back on him, she crossed the room. Her voice grew hard. “My, how the mighty fall, eh? You, the Duke of Taviston, are stuck with a scandal-prone and most unsuitable wife. One not even competent enough to host a dinner party.” She rounded on him. “How unfortunate for you.”

  Her words did not come close to describing the emotions racking him. But she would never believe him now if he confessed his love. She’d certainly made it clear she didn’t love him.

  “Please do not go.” Perhaps begging would get him somewhere. “We do not have to entertain.”

  Victoria’s eyes narrowed considerably and Taviston instantly regretted those last words.

  “You did lie, just now. You don’t think I will make a satisfactory hostess.” She ground the words out.

  He smoothed a hand across his forehead as his head began to ache. “That is not—”

  “We will see, Your Grace,” she interrupted. “We will see.” Her voice cracked with brittleness as she swept around him and called for the maid.

  The girl timidly opened the dressing room door. “Yes, Your Grace?”


  “Unpack these gowns at once. We will not be leaving for Taviston Hall.” She swung back towards Taviston and threw him a challenging, wrath-filled glare. “I will remain here in London and prove to this arrogant, patronizing ass that I am more than capable of being Duchess of Taviston.”

  Oh God, he didn’t want to know what she meant by “prove.” But he couldn’t truthfully stop his heart from thumping joyfully in his chest. She was staying.

  “Victoria—”

  She ruthlessly cut him off again. “You may leave. Now. You are no longer welcome in this room.”

  At that, Taviston decided retreat was the best course of action. She had decided to stay and nothing else mattered right now. He nodded curtly and strode out of the room.

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING Taviston lay in his huge bed, alone, as he had every morning of his life except one. One night he had spent with his wife and now he didn’t think he could ever again sleep without her. After having passed the night longing for Victoria’s presence, he would have paid a king’s ransom to have her there beside him, even with the condition that he couldn’t touch her.

  As yesterday afternoon had worn on, Taviston House had cleared of most of its occupants. All of his relatives, including his mother and sister, had beaten a hasty retreat. Even James, claiming he needed a change of scenery for a while, had taken himself off to Peyton’s townhouse.

  Victoria had avoided him for the remainder of the day, going so far as to have a dinner tray sent to her bedchamber. Bravely, he had knocked on her door once, only to receive a harsh command to “go away.”

  While his head, his heart, and yes, his body had ached for Victoria, the time alone had nonetheless provided him an opportunity to think. He found it much easier to think rationally when the woman he loved wasn’t in the same room.

  Sitting up, he slid off the bed and dressed quickly, without Dunne’s assistance. He could make this right, somehow. He didn’t have a sound plan as of yet, but something would occur to him soon. He had never expected to fall in love with the woman he married, but now that he had, he wasn’t going to settle for a marriage of convenience.

  An empty breakfast room greeted him. He hadn’t really expected Victoria to be there, but it would have been a nice surprise. After filling his plate, he sat down and picked up the newspaper. Beneath it lay a copy of Hither and Yon. The edition with the two of them making sheep’s eyes at each other plastered on the front. Looking at the utter devotion on his face, he wondered if the artist had known his true feelings before he ever did. No, this sketch was a fantasy from start to finish because except for her night of play-acting to save his reputation, Victoria had never looked at him with such adoration. The way things were going, that wasn’t likely to change.

  Unless he could make her fall in love with him. Must he resort to taking lessons from Peyton on wooing a woman?

  Arthur, lover of all things edible, waited patiently below Taviston’s chair, with the full knowledge that he would consciously drop tasty tidbits his way. As Taviston dangled a bite of ham toward the cat, Victoria sailed into the room as if she’d been duchess for a decade and not a day. His beautiful, lovely wife, who did not at all resemble either the woman in the gossip rag or the ideal bride he had wanted for himself, took the seat the footman held for her, her chin regally set. He couldn’t have loved her more than in that moment. Despite what she thought of him, she wasn’t going to back down. Victoria would give him no quarter when he didn’t deserve it.

  “Good morning,” he said cheerfully as he rose.

  She wore a subdued morning dress of palest grey which hugged her body closely in all the places Taviston wished he could. With a scathing look in his direction she set a piece of paper beside her plate. Taviston sat again, stifling a sigh.

  Halston approached her. “Would you care for tea or chocolate, Your Grace?”

  “Chocolate would be wonderful, Halston.”

  “May I fill your plate, my lady wife?” Taviston offered.

  She pursed her lips and shot him a dismissive glance. “Halston, would you please dish me up some eggs, two slices of ham, three kippers, and two of those delectable buns?”

  Taviston wisely said nothing. After Halston delivered her plate and she began to eat, he attempted to start a conversation.

  “How are you this morning?”

  “Well enough.” After those two terse words she paid him no heed but consumed her breakfast and occasionally glanced at the sheet of paper beside her plate.

  Taviston withdrew behind his newspaper. The breakfast room table was comparatively small and he sensed her relax slightly. Truthfully, he was eyeing the scandal sheet again. He couldn’t bear to look at their picture, however, so he flipped it over. An item in the corner caught his eye. He chuckled, quietly at first, but then he couldn’t contain a burst of laughter.

  “What is so amusing?” Irritation marked her very word.

  Lowering the newspaper, he met her blue gaze. “Lady Tessa Colvin has become engaged to the Earl of Lytham.”

  “Is he a friend of yours?” Her voice still harbored annoyance but at least she spoke to him.

  “No, I don’t know either of them,” he said happily. Thank God he had never chanced to meet Lady Tessa Colvin. She couldn’t possibly compare to the imperfect, yet perfect woman who sat across from him.

  Victoria clearly thought him addled. “Then why does their engagement amuse you so?”

  “Perhaps one day I will tell you, when your mood is more charitable. I am not at all sure of your reaction right now.”

  He had never seen her in such a prolonged snit before. Did she really hate him? Until yesterday he would never have thought so. Perhaps she didn’t love him, but she had seemed to tolerate him fairly well.

  She answered with a withering look and rose from the table. Taviston quickly followed suit. “What are your plans for today?”

  She adopted a haughty expression he couldn’t help but admire. “I am planning my first dinner party. Everyone” —she gave him a contemptuous glare— “will expect the Duchess of Taviston to entertain, will they not?” She waved her piece of paper at him. “I am refining my guest list.”

  God help him. A revenge dinner party. He managed to keep his voice neutral. “May I inquire as to who has made your list?”

  She named two dukes, a marquis, an earl, three prominent members of parliament, two society matrons, and the Prince of Wales. Taviston gulped and gripped the back of his chair for support. His next words slipped out before he could stop them. “Perhaps you are being too ambitious.” An aggrieved look slashed across her face then quickly disappeared into one of outrage. “We could always start with a smaller affair and build up to your guest list in a few months.” His words faded as he saw the uselessness of his plea.

  “Do not concern yourself with this little event, Your Grace. All you need do is show up at the appointed hour. I, your hostess, will do the rest.”

  Drawing herself up to her full, albeit short, height she raised her eyebrows at him in an incredibly supercilious manner and turned to march out of the room.

  “Ah, Victoria?”

  Clearly upset he had interrupted her exit, she turned and mustered some semblance of politeness. “Yes?”

  Taviston smiled. “When exactly will this dinner party take place? I must know when to show myself.”

  “Saturday evening. Eight o’clock.” She flipped her head arrogantly and swept out of the room, leaving behind a whisper of lavender.

  He followed the sway of her hips until she turned a corner. After rubbing his tired eyes, he bent to pick up Arthur.

  “Any ideas, mighty king?”

  The cat meowed sagely.

  “Right. We had best consult Northfield; this is going to be more difficult than I had imagined.”

  “THERE IS NO HOPE FOR it.”

  Taviston sat slouched in an armchair, eyeing Northfield dolorously. They were at White’s, attempting to have a semi-private conversation in a very crowded room. Appa
rently not many men wanted the company of women that afternoon.

  Northfield shook his head. “Please, leave the drama to me. You’re not yourself at all, Taviston.”

  “Of course I’m not myself, you idiot. I have never been so hopelessly in love before.” He sat up and dropped his head into his hands.

  He heard Northfield heave a huge sigh and imagined his friend’s eyes were rolling heavenward as well.

  “Love is never hopeless, my dear fellow. That’s the beauty of it. Now, tell me more, so that I may offer you my invaluable assistance.”

  Taviston sat back in his chair once again. He had thought to get himself deep in his cups and then admit to his best friend that he was in love with his wife, but she despised him with a malice that cut to his soul. However, he had discovered it not quite so difficult to confess his emotions to Northfield. He had done so before they had even ordered up a single drink.

  “She refuses to speak to me or even to occupy the same room. Yesterday I was full of optimism, certain I could win her love. Now, I am not so certain.”

  “Do not speak so.” A deliberate pause. “I think you should court your wife.” The satisfied words rolled off his friend’s tongue, as if he had just solved all of England’s problems with France.

  “I cannot court a woman who won’t remain in my presence for longer than ten seconds.” Perhaps Northfield wasn’t the one to consult on this matter.

  “Of course you can,” he replied calmly, keeping a steady golden-eyed gaze on Taviston.

  “Well...” He sat up straighter as a plan began to form in his mind. “Perhaps you do have the right of it. I can woo her.” Some of his earlier optimism returned. “I know she has some feelings for me, Northfield. Her actions have proven it so. I think.”

  “Stop thinking. Court her; show her how you feel.” Northfield waved a hand in the air, as if this were something Taviston could easily accomplish.