The footmen cleared the fish course and brought in sorbet. She realised with a shock that time grew short and she would soon have to talk to the deaf marquess again. She had to speak to the Duke now.
She quickly touched his wrist with her fingertips, the shock of bare skin on bare skin making her almost gasp. She pulled away and peeked up at him, only to find him frowning at her curiously. ‘Your Grace, I must tell you something,’ she whispered. ‘If Beatrice Palmer gives you a note, do not do what it says.’
His brow quirked. ‘Miss Palmer? I barely know the girl.’
‘It won’t be a note from her. Just ignore it. Please.’ Violet saw the Princess turn her tiara-topped head and knew she had to follow. She nodded at Charteris, hoping it looked meaningful, and turned, hoping that he would at least ignore any note for the time being.
That he would save himself.
* * *
After dinner, in the pale blue-and-cream ballroom, Violet watched the dancers twirl around the floor, in a kaleidoscope of vividly bright gowns and flashing jewels, black coats and sparkling medals, under the light of the massive crystal chandeliers. Lily, as usual, danced scandalously with her husband, while Miss Parker-Parks twirled with an officer in a red coat. She couldn’t see Charteris, but at least he was not with Thelma.
Despite the rest of the courses at dinner, and there were many, for Prince Bertie’s legendary appetite was not overstated, she hadn’t been able to tell him more in a discreet fashion. They’d been reduced to talking about Egypt and the weather.
She wandered around the edge of the dance floor, marvelling at the paintings on the silk-papered walls, Renaissance Madonnas, fields of French flowers, Gainsborough portraits, Queen Victoria glowering from over the fireplace and cabinets filled with porcelain and enamel and jewelled snuffboxes. Princess Alexandra sat beneath her own portrait, a full-length vision of white tulle and brown curls, talking with two of her ladies. Prince Bertie and his brother and equerries guffawed and gulped great quantities of brandy punch, studying the young ladies seated on the gilt-and-satin chairs with their mothers, waiting for the next dance to begin.
The music ended for the waltz and sets were formed for a country dance, the brilliant gowns and black coats shifting and changing like a sunset. Violet wished she could capture such motion with her camera.
‘Miss Wilkins. May I have this dance?’ she heard someone say behind her.
She whirled around to find the Duke watching her, a smile touching his lips, his hand held out. To her.
‘I—yes, thank you, Your Grace,’ she said. ‘Though I must warn you, I am not very graceful, as I am sure you remember. Your toes may not be happy afterwards.’
‘Now that I cannot believe.’ He offered his arm and Violet slipped her hand around his elbow, feeling the power and heat of him through her glove. She knew he could not spend all his time at a desk, not with his lean strength that was against her.
She took her place opposite him in the line and glimpsed Miss Parker-Parks in the crowd. She glowered at them, but there was no time to worry about it. The orchestra launched into the lively tune and she and the Duke were the lead couple. He took her hands and twirled her in a circle, making her laugh. Her blue silk skirts billowed like a cloud, buoying her up, and the room spun.
He let her go and they passed between the next couple until they came together again. Holding hands, they hurried down the line and passed again, so fast she was dizzy and held on to him tightly. As she’d remarked before, he was a surprisingly good dancer, fast and graceful, and he held her so lightly she barely had to think about what she was doing. Normally dancing was chore, a tedious time of counting and thinking and hoping she wouldn’t step wrong; now it was a delight. He caught her around the waist and spun her again, and she let her head fall back to watch the royal chandeliers turn into stars.
The dance ended and they were the last couple in line, near a set of open glass French doors. To her surprise, he didn’t let her go, but held her hand and drew her through those doors on to a night-dark terrace, lined with potted palms and people whispering in the shadows.
‘What is...?’ she said.
He reached inside his coat and brought out a small, folded bit of paper. ‘Miss Palmer gave this to me before the dance.’
Violet swallowed hard and nodded. At least she had been able to warn him at dinner. He did seem rather a chivalrous sort of man, this lord of a great estate with great responsibilities; he might have thought Thelma really needed his aid. ‘From Miss Parker-Parks?’
‘Asking me to meet her in that teahouse over there, that she is in trouble and has a favour to ask.’
‘You aren’t going, are you?’
‘Certainly not. I must marry one day, but it must be to the right lady. Not a flighty sort who would try to trap a man she barely knows, like this Miss Parker-Parks.’
And not to a woman like Violet. Independent, temperamental, American. She knew what he meant. She nodded again.
‘How did you know?’ he asked.
‘I overheard them in the ladies’ withdrawing room at the exhibition,’ she said. ‘I was behind a screen and they thought they were alone.’
‘It was my lucky moment, then. You are my guardian angel, Miss Wilkins.’
Violet laughed. No one had ever called her angelic before. ‘A good deed in a wicked world, Your Grace. That’s what my old nursemaid would say when she tried to make me behave. But I just couldn’t let that happen to you, to anyone. I know what it’s like to be herded towards a marriage one doesn’t want.’
‘Do you indeed?’ he asked, his tone curious.
She leaned on the stone balustrade of the terrace, staring out at the dark trees and flowerbeds as she shivered in the evening breeze. He immediately took off his light wool evening coat and draped it over her shoulders, surrounding her with his warmth and his sandalwood scent. She drew it closer, but it made her want to shiver again, being so very near him.
‘Y-yes,’ she said. ‘My father wants me to marry one of his business partners, you see. A certain Mr Rogers. He is much older than me and he would never let me carry on with my photography, let alone advance with it. He would insist I go back to America.’
‘I see.’ He was quiet for a long moment. There was just the sound of the wind around them, the incoherent echo of laughter from the ballroom. Somehow that silence didn’t feel uncomfortable; it wasn’t a space she had to fill, but just a place to be for the moment. A place where she was not alone. ‘It sounds as if we both require time to set our lives to rights.’
‘Yes.’ Violet sighed. ‘Yet I fear time is something neither American dollars nor an English dukedom can buy us.’
‘Perhaps. Or perhaps not.’
He sounded as if something was ticking over in his mind and she studied him curiously in the half-light. His face seemed even sharper there, more sculpted, his eyes more glowing. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I have a rather outlandish idea.’
‘You, Your Grace?’ she said with a laugh. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘It’s not usual for me, I admit. But I feel I need to thank you for saving me tonight, and this might be a good thing for us both.’
Violet studied him carefully. ‘I am intrigued.’
‘I think we should get engaged.’
‘No!’ Violet cried. Whatever she had imagined he might plan, this was beyond any wild idea. Her—a duchess? Lily was a very good duchess. Lily was also a gentle soul and a perfect lady who worked hard at it. Violet would be terrible.
And to be with him...
Well. She had to admit that part might not be as dull as she once would have imagined. He had depths she hadn’t noticed before, as well as that handsome face. But she couldn’t marry him.
She started to give him back his coat, to run back into the ballroom, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm. His touc
h was light, but it held her still, frozen in that moment, marvelling at the way it felt.
‘Hear me out, Miss Wilkins. I don’t mean really engaged. Of course I don’t mean that,’ he said.
Violet bit her lip. ‘You don’t have to sound quite so appalled. Then what do you mean?’
‘I mean we announce we are betrothed, but that we want to wait to arrange a ceremony until after the royal wedding in St Petersburg. My sister and your parents wouldn’t pester us any longer and we would gain some time to arrange our lives more to our liking. You with your art, me with politics.’
Violet was startled. ‘I have to say, that’s rather clever of you.’
He flashed her that enticing, dimpled smile. ‘I have been told I am not all that stupid, for a duke.’
‘No, you’re not. Stupid is the last thing I would call you.’ A fake engagement, to hold off real life for a while. It wasn’t such a bad idea, was it? A very good one, really. ‘How would we get out of it at the end?’
‘Nothing easier. Once you have seen off this Mr Rogers and become well known for your photographs, you will cry off. Say we don’t suit each other. You miss America, or any excuse you like. It would be a topic of gossip, which I admit I do not relish, but not for long. Then you can go abroad, if you like. Go to Egypt to photograph the antiquities.’
‘It just might work, I think. Until after Prince Alfred’s wedding, you say?’
‘As long as you like, really, Miss Wilkins. I am in no hurry.’ He leaned on the cold stone next to her, his arms crossed. ‘Perhaps you are thinking Prince Alfred might be of some assistance in your work? He did inherit his father’s love of photography.’
‘I had considered such a thing, yes. If I could publish an album of photos of the new royal couple, of St Petersburg, I could certainly gain some notice. And I will come into my own settlement of money in a few years.’ If she could avoid marrying Harold Rogers. Her parents loved her and her sisters, but they were strict, too. Her mother especially had always been very determined to arrange her daughters’ lives to her own liking. Lily’s grand title was a protection, but it wouldn’t always shelter Violet.
She would so hate to lie to Lily. But surely it would not be for long and her sister would understand in the end. She, too, had escaped their parents. And Violet had no ideas for gaining time for herself. Her parents would surely not make her marry Mr Rogers if they thought they could have two duchess daughters.
‘I could call on Aidan tomorrow,’ he said, gently coaxing. She imagined few ladies could resist such a soft tone in that deep voice, such a look in those eyes.
‘Very well, Your Grace. You have a deal.’ She held her hand out for him to shake.
He bowed over it instead, his lips brushing warmly, softly, over her kid-sheathed fingers. There was that dratted tingle again! ‘I think you should call me William.’
She nodded slowly, dazedly. She couldn’t quite believe she was doing this, but here they were. Fake betrothed. ‘Yes, indeed. William. And I am Violet. Let’s hope this really works...’
Chapter Eight
‘Did you know that Aidan is in the library with the Duke of Charteris?’ Lily said, her embroidery needle flashing in and out of her canvas.
Violet pretended to study the photographs she was pasting in her new album. ‘I saw him come in earlier.’ She had been waiting for him all morning. She’d barely slept the night before—the dance, his touch, their strange bargain were all swirling around in her head.
‘I wonder at their being so secret. Some political scheme, maybe? Do you think I should send tea in?’
Violet smoothed down the image of Lily in her white gown with the cooing baby on her lap. It was really very good, one of the best she had done. It captured Lily’s sweetness and humour, the tenderness of mother and baby as he reached out his tiny hand to her. She could get better at her photography, if she just had the time. She knew it. And this plan, wild as it was, could give that to her.
It was time for the curtain to rise and the play to begin.
She smiled brightly at her sister. ‘Maybe we should find some champagne?’
Lily looked doubtful. ‘Oh? At two in the afternoon?’
‘Well, you see, Lily darling, last night at Marlborough House the Duke proposed to me. And I accepted. So, if Aidan agrees today in Papa’s place, I do think a bit of champagne might be nice.’
‘Engaged? To Charteris?’ Lily’s sewing fell to the floor and her jaw dropped. Violet was sure she’d never seen her ladylike sister quite so discombobulated. ‘But you barely know him!’
‘I know him as well as Rose knew Jamie, or you Aidan. He is young and handsome and interesting, and he is a duke.’ All very true. He was also secretly a very sly devil. Not the Duke of Bore at all. ‘He is surely a hundred times better than Harold Rogers. And we’d be neighbours, you and I! You did say he is friends with Aidan. Aidan would never be friends with anyone terrible.’
‘Of course not. Charteris is very far from terrible. And I would adore having you near me always, Vi! But he is—’ Lily broke off, reaching down to retrieve her embroidery.
‘He is—what?’
A door shut somewhere in the house and there was the echo of voices. Aidan and William would be with them soon. Lily gave her a strange little smile, half happy and half worried, and shook her head.
‘I have heard he is a good man. His tenants love him,’ Lily said. ‘And if you think he will make you happy, that is all that matters to me. I’ve only ever wanted you and Rose to be happy, more than anything in all the world.’
Violet felt the prickle of tears behind her eyes and blinked them away. ‘I will be happy, Lily, you’ll see.’ Maybe not the way Lily imagined her happy, but she would make it happen. ‘I will make you proud of me.’
‘Oh, Vi.’ Lily dropped her sewing again and hurried across the room to kiss Violet’s cheek. ‘I am always, always proud of you.’
Aidan and William came into the drawing room, which Violet was glad about as they stopped her before she could cry. William smiled at her, a small, secret smile she couldn’t help but answer. ‘I see Lily has heard the good news, too,’ Aidan said with a laugh. ‘My best wishes, my dear sister.’
‘Thank you, Aidan.’ Violet smiled as he kissed her cheek. He really was a good brother to her. A good husband to Lily, a good father, a good duke. He made her sister so very happy. She couldn’t help but love him for all that, but there was also a pang of wistfulness, of envy, as she watched him put his arm around Lily, the two of them beaming. Would she ever find happiness like theirs?
Then she remembered she really was supposed to be happy just like them in that moment and she turned to William. He arched his brow at her as if in question and she nodded. As if they could read each other’s thoughts now. They had made this strange bargain and she would keep it. It was the only way to win the right to choose their own lives now.
And for a fake fiancé, he was a very fine one indeed. As handsome as the night and just as alluring. And she did love to tease him! Maybe this time together could even be rather—fun?
He took her hands in his and she was surprised to feel that she was shaking. He bent his head slowly towards hers, as if to kiss her cheek, but she suddenly felt flustered and drew back a bit so that his lips brushed hers.
She tilted her face closer up to his, her eyes fluttering closed, and felt his lips touch hers again, lingering too long for mere politeness. She shivered with the rush of emotion that poured through her and reached out for him. But it was all over much too soon.
When he drew away, Violet felt her knees tremble and she sat down hard on the nearest satin-cushioned chair. She felt so dizzy, the whole room spinning around her, as if the world had gone off its axis with that kiss. Who would have known he could do that? Make her feel that way?
He seemed unsure, as well, confusion on his face for the first time s
he had ever seen. He turned away and leaned over to examine the photo of Lily and the baby along with the array of other photos Lily had displayed in silver frames. ‘You took all of these?’ he asked, and Violet nodded. ‘They are exquisite. I never realised photographs could capture so much of life.’
Violet wondered for a moment if he was making fun of her in some way, but his expression was serious and intent as he studied the images. Perhaps he really could see what she’d tried to do with them, really could appreciate them. She felt a tiny, warm touch of pleasure at his admiration. ‘Thank you! See this one? It’s of the fields near your own home, at sunset. The light turns everything so golden, like a fairyland.’
‘It’s my very favourite time of day there,’ he said. ‘You’ve caught it for all time. Amazing.’
‘Well, I shall ring for that champagne,’ Lily said happily, and Violet glanced at her sister. Lily’s smile was broader now, real and glowing, as if she imagined she saw something reassuring there in Violet and the Duke’s kiss. Something—romantic.
Violet felt her cheeks turn hot at the thought. It had felt romantic, hadn’t it? As if that moment was strangely real. She couldn’t let herself believe that, not for an instant.
William sat down beside her and took her hand lightly in his. When she tried to pull away, his touch tightened, grew warmer, and he gave her a teasing little smile. And she had imagined she would be the one playing mischief!
‘You’ll be able to plan a grand wedding, darling,’ Aidan said to his wife. ‘Not like ours at the tiny chapel. Maybe Westminster Abbey?’
‘Oh, no...’ Violet began to say. She knew that once her sister started making plans she was unstoppable, and the last thing Violet wanted was to talk about satin and orange blossoms! And the Abbey, as if...
As if she would be a real duchess.
‘We want to wait until after the Russian visit to think about all that,’ she said.
Playing the Duke's Fiancée--A Victorian Historical Romance Page 9