His Duchess

by Charlotte Russell

  After a few moments’ contemplation Taviston spread his hands wide as he spoke. “Very well. How about this? I will spend the week showing her how I feel and then I will plan a lavish denouement for the dinner party Saturday night.”

  Northfield nodded his head slowly. “Excellent! A semi-public venue. She will be held captive. That’s quite brilliant actually.” His friend beamed his approval.

  “Thank you,” Taviston replied dryly.

  “Have you made any discoveries regarding the kidnapping?” Northfield asked, apparently thinking all would now be well with Taviston’ love life.

  “Nothing firm as yet,” Taviston answered. “I have a suspicion of who might be responsible and if true, things will turn ugly.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Let me know if I can assist with anything. May I pass on one more bit of advice?” Northfield asked.

  “I am certain I couldn’t stop you, despite your politeness,” Taviston said.

  “If you solve the kidnapping before Saturday, do not hesitate to share any information you learn with Victoria.”

  “Why? Won’t that spoil the party?” he questioned.

  “First, women do not like to be left in the dark about anything. And second, however your dinner party turns out, the last thing you will be thinking of is the kidnapping.”

  Taviston narrowed his eyes at his friend. “What do you mean ‘however that turns out?' You seemed confident a moment ago.”

  “I am confident—in you. And I believe your wife cares for you. But women, and their emotions, are tricky.” Northfield nodded wisely.

  Taviston sank back into his chair and finished off his brandy. He was far from drunk, and that was probably for the best. “Very well.”

  They rose to leave.

  As they negotiated the crowd and made for the front door Northfield sent him a curious glance. “Didn’t you say the Prince of Wales, a few MPs, Mrs. Denton and Lady Southey had all been invited to this dinner party?”

  “Yes.”

  They descended the steps of the club and turned onto the pavement. His friend sported a huge grin. “You are a brave one, Taviston.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Victoria had spent the remainder of Monday selecting china, cutlery, and decorations for the dinner party. She would prove her worth to her husband, prove he had no cause to worry about her suitability as duchess. Would such proof make her lovable? Probably not. Perhaps the estimable duke might be able to feel a frisson of affection for his wife once she produced an heir. Ugh. The ugly thoughts made her feel small.

  Dinner with Taviston had been strained, though he tried to engage her in conversation. When he tried for a third time, asking her about Travels in Italy, she had finally relented. Putting aside her anger, they’d spoken amicably about the author’s descriptions. Taviston had even mentioned possibly traveling to Italy on their wedding trip. Victoria hadn’t been able to tell if he was serious.

  She awoke that morning focused on confronting the one man she felt capable of dealing with—Anthony Ripley. She’d been surprised when two days passed after the wedding with no message from him. She had not mistaken his presence in the crowd outside of St. George’s, so why had he not been in contact with her? He held a secret about the new Duchess of Taviston and he printed a scandal rag. She would be ruined before the week was out. Therefore, she must stop him. Hither and Yon was due to be printed tomorrow. She must meet with him today, so she’d sent a note to his office yesterday, requesting a meeting.

  She had a breakfast tray sent up, something Louisa had never allowed, and sent word to Halston that she would need a carriage and a footman for an errand. After dressing quickly and quietly—she did not want to draw Taviston’s attention—she hurried downstairs. Halston was in the front hall speaking with a footman. They turned toward her at the same time.

  “Timothy!”

  Her cousin’s servant bowed with dignity but couldn’t hide a grin. “Your Grace.”

  Something was amiss. Timothy wasn’t dressed in the rather dull livery of the Browne household. He wore the magnificent blue and gold livery of the Taviston dukedom.

  “What—what is going on?” she asked, her gaze flitting between Halston and Timothy.

  After a nod from Halston, the footman explained, “His Grace the duke offered me employment in his household. My mama didn’t raise a fool, so I accepted. I am to accompany you on your errand, Your Grace.”

  Stupefied, Victoria couldn’t move. Taviston had hired Timothy away from Louisa. Why? She had not noticed a dearth of servants here at Taviston House. In fact, they were everywhere, ready to serve. She had just started to remember their names. She’d met with the housekeeper for an extended period of time yesterday and nothing was said about the household being short-staffed.

  Halston cleared his throat, politely of course. “The carriage is ready, Your Grace.”

  “Oh, yes.” She gave herself a shake. “Let’s be off, Timothy.”

  The carriage ride to Hyde Park wasn’t a great distance but Victoria spent most of it trying to understand why her husband would hire Timothy. The only explanation that made sense was that he had been impressed by Timothy’s demeanor and work when they’d gone on their midnight walks.

  Too soon, the carriage pulled to a stop and Timothy opened the door and let down the steps. Victoria accepted his assistance and smiled up at him. “I am so glad you are here, Timothy. Please let me know if you have any concerns about working for the duke.”

  “Everyone’s been most kind, but thank you, ma’am. I’m happy to be working with you again.”

  “The feeling is mutual.” Victoria led the way into the park and once they were far enough away from the carriage, she beckoned Timothy closer. “I am to meet a business acquaintance. Please remain at a distance. I would prefer His Grace did not know about this meeting, but I will not ask you to lie, Timothy.” She could not ask him for such a thing on his first day of employment.

  Timothy dipped his head. “Unless specifically asked, I am all discretion, Your Grace.”

  Victoria flashed him a grateful look and then ambled over to the bench where she first met Mr. Ripley. That had been only a month ago. She’d barely known the Duke of Taviston then, though that hadn’t stopped her from sketching his magnificent body. A shiver skittered down her spine at the memory of that body joined with hers. Would that be the only time? If she produced a son, would Taviston banish her to the country? She couldn’t imagine him being that mean-spirited, but on the other hand he had demanded she remain in town when she wanted to leave.

  A short cough recovered her attention. Mr. Ripley stood nearby, a tall hat majestically crowning his head. His blank expression gave no hint of what he was thinking or what he planned to do with her secret.

  “Good morning, sir.” Well, she must begin somehow.

  He acknowledged her greeting with a nod but then turned to look out at the expansive park, leaning on his walking stick. “It would be best if we are not seen in conversation.” A significant pause. “Your Grace.”

  She hadn’t been mistaken. With a concerted effort, Victoria settled into the bench and tried to project a relaxed demeanor. With tension gripping every muscle, the act was not easy.

  “I apologize for any deception,” she began, looking in the opposite direction from Mr. Ripley. A child playing with a hoop held her focus. “I can only say that I found myself unexpectedly married. Had you any idea of my identity before the wedding?”

  The attempt was clumsy, but she needed to find out if he knew she intended to wed Taviston. If so, he was a suspect in her kidnapping, though she still didn’t think it likely.

  “I did not.” Victoria found it difficult to read the veracity of his statement since she couldn’t see his face. “I did, however, suspect from the beginning that your name was not Sarah Arthur.”

  “No. Though I hope you can understand why I didn’t give you my true name.”

  “Indeed, I can. I find it easy to see vulnerab
ility in others, given the ways of the world.”

  Victoria swept a glance at his back. Though Mr. Ripley was tall and lithely muscular and of course a man, he was a black man. She was not naive enough to think he didn’t suffer a vulnerability of his own. But not for a minute did she think he would let that acknowledgement of her weakness interfere with his business.

  “Nonetheless, I am at your mercy,” she admitted.

  He was silent for so long, she thought he might not have heard her soft words. At last, he glanced over his shoulder and she saw his eyes narrow. He pursed his lips and turned back to the vista before him.

  “Let us strike another bargain. You continue to provide me with Society sketches, and I continue to remain silent.”

  Her chest clenched at the understated threat. But truly, did he not want money? She could hardly fathom he only wanted more sketches in return.

  He tipped his head back and let the sunshine fully on his face. “While I assume the payments are a mere nothing to you now, I am more than willing to continue them. I am a businessman, above all else, and I pay for goods delivered.”

  He wanted to pay her? Victoria was more confused than ever. Like Timothy, however, she wasn’t a fool. At least outside of her love life. She would do whatever necessary to keep Mr. Ripley quiet. “I accept your terms with one caveat. I would like my payments directed as donations to the Foundling Hospital. You may make the donations in your name or someone else’s, I care not. Believe that I will check, though.”

  That probably hadn’t sounded as tough as she’d meant it, but it couldn’t be helped. She was only a petite woman.

  “Very good. Have you anything for me today?” Ripley’s tone had returned to one of crisp business.

  “My apologies, but I do not. I was rather...occupied these few days.”

  Ripley chuckled so softly Victoria didn’t hear him, but she saw his shoulders shake. Blast it, that wasn’t what she meant.

  After pressing a hand to his mouth to settle himself, Ripley said, “I must admit I admire your ingenuity in providing that sketch of the two of you. You had me fooled until I happened to be passing through Hanover Square on Saturday. My compliments, on the wedding and your ability to put out the story you wanted to be heard.”

  “Th-hank you.” She had not expected praise from Mr. Anthony Ripley today. She had not expected to still be drawing sketches for him. She had expected blackmail, but she was not addle-brained enough to ask him why he wasn’t pressing his advantage. Time to think about his motives later. “I’m afraid I must be off. In future, I may send my footman in my place. He stands beside the tree behind me, if you would like to note his appearance.”

  “As you wish. Good morning.” He tipped his hat, just barely, then added softly, “Your Grace.”

  Victoria watched him walk jauntily away then stayed a few minutes longer, watching the children play, until she deemed it safe to leave. Timothy hung back, making to let her lead the way, but she stopped and turned to him. “Timothy, if you knew a secret about someone that could ruin them, would you use it to your advantage?”

  “Your Grace?” The footman looked confused. “I would never take advantage, ma’am, I swear.”

  His sincerity loosened some of the tension in her shoulders. “Of course you wouldn’t. But why wouldn’t someone else use it to their advantage?”

  “Do you mean blackmail?” Timothy asked tentatively.

  “I do, yes.” She was asking his opinion, she might as well be honest.

  “Is that man blackmailing you, Your Grace?”

  She shook her head. “I cannot figure out why not.”

  “Oh, that’s easily explained.” When Victoria gave him an inquiring look, he looked a trifle perplexed but hurried on, “You’re the Duchess of Taviston.”

  “I am aware, as that is the problem.”

  Timothy stared at her for a long moment. “Well...as you’re the duchess now, anyone attempting to harm you would be up against the Duke of Taviston. Not many would dare attempt it, ma’am. You don’t provoke dukes, if you know what’s good for you.”

  Oh. That’s why Ripley had narrowed his eyes in confusion. He hadn’t understood why she wasn’t standing upon her position as duchess to wield her power. Victoria hadn’t realized she had any. She was a duchess. Taviston might not love her, he might regret marrying her, but she was his duchess nonetheless.

  What a discovery.

  UPON RETURNING TO TAVISTON House, Victoria was swept into a long and, at least for her, trying meeting with Mrs. Dutton, the housekeeper. There was more to hosting a dinner party than she ever could have imagined. Without a doubt, Jane could have easily led her through the process, but Victoria refused to consult her friend. It was childish, but she wanted to prove to Taviston she could do this on her own, albeit with no small dish of help from the staff.

  She climbed the stairs to the first floor. Mrs. Dutton and Halston were a godsend. The two of them possessed endless reservoirs of knowledge about entertaining. However, they insisted Victoria make all decisions regarding the party. But how was she to know if her exalted guests would prefer roast beef with chutney or roasted lamb with a mint sauce?

  “Hello, my sweet.”

  Blast, she had forgotten to concentrate on avoiding her husband. Her anger with him had diminished, though not an insignificant amount of bitterness still lingered.

  He approached, his step light, his eyes bright. Who was this stranger? Unable to move her feet, she stupidly allowed him to trap her. He towered over her, hands clasped behind his green coat, boots polished to shine, buff pantaloons clinging tightly. Victoria tried to keep the longing out of her eyes. Despite his hurtful words, she still loved him. Wanted him. Loving him from afar was fairly easy, but this...

  “What are you about, my dear?” Taviston asked cheerfully, as if they hadn’t had a disastrous argument two days before.

  For a man who had made his low opinion of her known, she thought him quite free with the terms of endearment. She waved the heavy cards in her hand. “I am off to my sitting room to write out these invitations. Halston has informed me it is too late to have them printed up so I must do it by hand.”

  “May I help?”

  She tipped her head to the side. “Have you been drinking?”

  Bewilderment replaced his smile. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I thought only drunks and fools smiled so often.”

  Taviston laughed. Even insulting him couldn’t destroy his happy mood.

  “I must be a fool then,” he replied, with an even bigger smile. “So, may I help you with the invitations? Two can work faster than one and I have excellent penmanship.”

  “I have seen your penmanship,” she reminded him.

  “Ah, yes. I did send you a note or two. Speaking of which, we must go riding tomorrow. You should get some use out of your riding habit. Say nine o’clock?”

  Victoria took a deep breath. “Fine.” She would get out of that appointment later. She eyed him seriously. “You will not alter my guest list or the timing of this party.”

  She saw him hold back a grin. “I never intended to. I simply offered to help you write out the invitations.”

  “Very well.” Victoria capitulated reluctantly, unsure exactly why she agreed.

  “Why don’t we adjourn to my study? The desk is large enough for both of us and the fire is already blazing.”

  Without a word Victoria turned and headed back down the hallway toward his study. Taviston caught up to her quickly.

  “This is for you.” Whipping his hand around from behind his back, he presented her with a bouquet of yellow tulips.

  “Th-thank you.” She was having a very difficult time withstanding this charming assault. It was so much easier to distance herself from him when he acted like a pompous ass. She eyed the velvety petals and stifled a sigh.

  Once inside the study, Taviston arranged a chair for her in front of the desk and moved the blotter so they both might use it. He seated himself be
hind the desk and produced two pens and a pot of ink.

  Victoria lay the tulips on a table near the door so she wouldn’t forget them. At the desk, she withdrew a scrap of paper. “I have written out the wording for the invitations.” She placed it within reading distance for both of them then eyed him sternly across the enormous desk.

  Dipping his pen in the ink, he replied, “I promise to follow it faithfully.” He glanced at the sample and then began writing.

  Victoria stared at him. “You write with your left hand.”

  He raised his head, a smile in his eyes and on his lips. “I do.”

  “I thought most tutors and governesses forbid such a thing.”

  He gazed at her face unabashedly, holding her eyes captive. “My father would not allow either Peyton or myself to be corrected.”

  “He sounds like a considerate and generous man. I’ve seen his portrait in the drawing room; you resemble him greatly.” Victoria gave up being annoyed with him. This cozy setting felt so right, so wonderful.

  “He was that and more. I have tried to emulate him as much as possible.”

  Taviston finally broke eye contact with her and resumed his writing. Victoria contemplated the top of his head. She rose from her seat as a thought occurred to her. Walking over to the fireplace mantel, she reached for the pair of leather gloves she had noticed there once before.

  “Did these belong to him?”

  He dropped his pen and strode over to stand by her. “They did.”

  Reaching out, he took the gloves from her hand, stroking his fingers across hers. Victoria felt a now-familiar tingle shoot through her stomach.

  “This was his favorite pair. He was forever gesturing with them or walking around with them tucked into his pocket. Many times he would lay them down and forget where he had put them. ‘Have you seen my gloves?’ was a common question from him. Peyton and I would often hide them just to amuse ourselves.” Taviston smiled devilishly. “I do believe he eventually caught on to us though, because he would end up looking in the most unusual places, such as potted plants or vases or tucked into bookshelves.”