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

by Amanda McCabe

  ‘I don’t—I don’t understand what’s happening here,’ she whispered.

  He shook his head, raking his hand through his dark hair, rumpled now from her touch. For just an instant, his mask dropped and he looked discomposed, unsure, real. Then the mask came back up and he gave her a wry smile. ‘Neither do I.’

  She spun around and rushed towards her berth beyond the next door, frightened and confused and so unbearably excited all at once.

  She slammed the door behind her and leaned her forehead against it, trying to draw a deep breath, trying not to remember that he was just on the other side of that thin sheet of wood. It was certainly true that he was not the Duke of Bore. But she hadn’t bargained on throwing her heart into this plan, too.

  Chapter Ten

  Violet drew back the heavy burgundy-red velvet curtains at the window of their chamber in the Neues Palais, just outside Berlin, where they would spend a couple of days before travelling on to St Petersburg. It was quite pretty with its three wings of mellow red brick, surmounted with a Baroque roof decorated with a large dome and rows of sculptures, set in elaborate gardens.

  She remembered the Crown Princess herself, racing towards them at the station, a tiny figure swathed in furs and velvet, uncaring about waiting red carpets and brass bands, disapproving men in elaborate Prussian uniforms and shining medals. She just threw herself into her brothers’ arms, crying, ‘You’re here, at last! My darlings! Tell me all about Mama, about home.’ Just like Violet surely would have, if she’d been separated from her sisters so long.

  ‘I would hardly have thought she was a princess at all. She wasn’t even a fraction as stuffy as all those old, moustached men,’ she said to Lily.

  Lily laughed as she sorted through her jewel case, testing various necklaces against her dinner gown. The palace was so small—for a palace, anyway—and so full that they shared a small suite, just like when they were children. ‘The poor Princess. They say she does love her husband, but she’s very unhappy in Berlin. They’re so stiff and formal, not like England, and her in-laws have taken her children away.’

  ‘The poor lady,’ Violet murmured. ‘I’m sure she’ll be happy to leave for Russia with her brothers, then.’

  ‘I’m sure she will.’ Lily joined her at the window, gazing down at the gardens which were pretty even in the middle of winter with their teahouses and English mazes. Princess Victoria suddenly appeared on one of the pathways, running with her brothers between the hedges as they laughed. ‘And so will we! We can be children again, just like them.’

  ‘I do like that. I think you’ll enjoy it all much more when Aidan joins us, though.’

  Lily laughed and wrapped her arms around Violet to draw her into a hug. ‘I’m enjoying time with my sibling, just like Princess Vicky out there. You’ll be a duchess soon, too. It’s not always an easy job, but it has its rewards.’

  Violet shivered as she remembered William’s kiss, his touch. That would surely be a reward—if this was real. ‘Does it?’

  ‘Oh, yes. We’re in a position to be of help, real help, to people who need it. Every charity wants us to be on their committees. You can choose what’s important to you and where you can do the most good. Every arts committee in England will want you, darling. You’re so creative! You have such a wonderful eye. Artists will be beating down your doors at Bourne all the time. Perhaps you could set up a salon? A place where all the best painters and poets could gather. You’d be so good at it all...’

  As Lily went back to her jewel sorting, Violet stared down at the darkening garden where the royals had been running and turned her sister’s words over in her head. A salon where artists could gather, where she could help them and seek their advice for herself—it sounded very nice indeed, like a dream.

  She thought of William’s words, of the work he did to be of use to his people, to help them make better lives. She certainly knew how hard Lily worked. Her old disdain towards women who sought to marry titles no matter what, and her perception of William as boring, was melting away now. Maybe there could be a point to it all.

  And when he kissed her the way he did, held her close, looked at her in that way of his that said he saw her, saw Violet, not the Wilkins heiress—she wanted only him in those moments. She wanted to share in that life.

  But it was a silly idea, a silly hope that slowly faded when she was away from him. She had fought so hard, was still fighting, to win her independence. To find her own dreams in life. This was just a little ruse to keep Harold Rogers at bay. A bargain, as William had said. One day William would be gone from her life, surely off to marry someone else, a proper English lady. This was all just a strange interlude.

  She bit her lip, hating the pang she felt at the thought of never seeing him again. That was not part of the bargain!

  ‘What shall we wear tonight?’ Lily asked. Violet heard the rustle of tulle and silk as Lily and the maid started sorting through trunks. ‘Aidan tells me this Prussian court is far more etiquette-bound than in England! Even though this is Princess Vicky’s own house and they say she hates the stuffiness of her in-laws, I’m sure all proper protocol will be on show for the Princes. I’d hate to wear the wrong thing.’

  ‘So, no petticoat that plays “God Save the Queen” when you sit down? They say that’s what Jennie Jerome wore. People expect Americans to liven things up.’

  ‘Violet! You’re terrible.’ Lily laughed.

  ‘I know, I’m sorry. I do know how proper you try to make everything.’

  ‘I just never want to embarrass Aidan,’ Lily said quietly.

  Violet turned away from the window to see Lily staring wistfully at a pink satin gown in her hands. Lily was a good duchess, as Violet knew she herself could never be. She feared she would always embarrass someone, no matter how hard she tried.

  ‘You could never in a million years embarrass Aidan! Even if you did wear musical underpinnings, he would think it the grandest idea ever. Besides, you are by far the most proper duchess I have ever seen.’

  Lily gave a wavery smile. ‘Thank you, darling Vi. I know you will always be my most staunch supporter.’

  ‘Of course I am. The Wilkins sisters always stick together.’ She sat down beside Lily, running a fingertip over a lace ruffle on the gown’s sleeve. ‘Is something amiss? Tears aren’t like you.’

  Lily glanced at the maid, who was arranging the dressing table across the room. ‘I think I might be blessed again.’

  Violet’s eyes widened. ‘Another baby? Oh, Lily! How wonderful. Does Aidan know?’

  ‘Not yet. It’s so early and I want to be sure. But I feel like I did the last time, wanting to cry one minute and laughing like a fool the next. And I want to eat sweets all the time.’

  ‘Are you hoping for a girl this time?’

  Lily smiled. ‘Maybe. I know the Duchess says we need a spare heir...’

  ‘Ugh, your mother-in-law,’ Violet groaned. ‘You shouldn’t listen to her.’

  ‘I don’t. I want another Wilkins girl, yes. But you mustn’t say anything yet.’

  ‘I won’t. I can keep secrets.’

  ‘I know you can. You are the best secret-keeper I’ve ever known. But not even a word to Rose yet. Just for a little longer.’

  ‘Why not Rose?’

  ‘I’m sure you’ve noticed she’s, well, not entirely herself lately.’

  Violet frowned, remembering how thin Rose had seemed at the ball, how brittle her laughter, how preoccupied. Violet suddenly felt like such a fool. She had been so wrapped up in her own problems she hadn’t been of more help to Rose, her own twin. ‘She does seem rather delicate. She’s always been so sensitive, so sweet, but now...’

  Lily nodded. ‘She hasn’t become pregnant and Jamie is always so buried in his studies. If not yet having a baby is what’s bothering her, I don’t want to add to her worries.’

  �
��I do see, yes, of course.’

  ‘We’ll tell her when we get back from St Petersburg.’

  ‘Oh, Lily, speaking of Russia, are you quite sure you should be on this journey? In winter?’

  ‘Of course! It’s my job. Aidan needs me here. And you heard William, Princess Alexandra wants me as one of her ladies. I can’t let them all down. You’ll see. William needs you, too.’

  Violet was quite sure William needed no one at all, especially not a hoyden like her. ‘I’m not sure I could be of much use to him. Not like you are with Aidan.’

  ‘Nonsense! He is very lucky to have you, my sensible, artistic sister. You’ll never let all the folderol go to your head, and he’ll always be able to count on you for clear-sighted honesty, which is what a duke needs. They’re too often up on their ducal clouds, you know, so no one dares to be really honest with them.’ She held up the pink gown. ‘Now—this one, do you think? Thank heavens I can still fit into my dresses, after having so many made for this journey! You could wear the white taffeta with the pink velvet roses. They say Princess Alexandra and her sister the Tsarevna like to wear coordinated gowns...’

  * * *

  Lily had been right, Violet thought as she looked around the Neues Palais ballroom. The Prussian court was bound up so tight in their etiquette, she wasn’t sure how they breathed. The Marble Gallery, with its checked black-and-white floor, its roaring fireplaces set within carved mantels, and rows of polished mirrors interspersed with gilt-framed paintings, was charming, but no one seemed to look around them at all to admire it.

  The air was thick and overly warm, sticky with the scent of trailing arrangements of gardenias and orchids all along the dark blue flocked walls and heaped like waterfalls in the corners. Roaring fires snapped and flared in the vast stone grates, making the atmosphere smoky and hot yet strangely letting cold draughts sweep along ladies’ bare shoulders, making them all blue and goose-pimpled under their jewels.

  But Violet had to admit that Princess Vicky, despite her large, sad eyes, was very charming, with a sweet smile and welcoming air.

  ‘Oh, yes, dear Will’s new young lady!’ she had exclaimed when Violet curtsied to her in the receiving line. ‘How pretty you are, just as he said.’

  Will? Some of Violet’s astonishment that anyone, even a princess, would be so informal with William made her laugh. The thought that he considered her pretty made her feel filled with a strange, giddy pleasure.

  ‘You must forgive me, Miss Wilkins, but he was one of our few approved playmates when we were children. I boiled eggs for him in my playhouse at Osborne. He’s so dear, so hardworking. And he says you take photographs! Just like my dearest Papa. Marvellous. You must show me some of your work.’

  Violet had stammered an agreement before she moved along the line. Perhaps this was what Lily meant by spouses being of use to each other, how they might act as partners in the world. It was a most extraordinary thought. Oh, she saw that Lily and Aidan were together in all things, but she’d never really experienced such a feeling before. Their parents were not ‘partners’ except that Stella ran Coleman’s houses. She had nothing to do with his business dealings, nor he with her society world.

  Violet had imagined that all marriages were like her parents’—separate, the woman shuffled off to the home and parties. And with Harold Rogers, that’s exactly what it would be. But with William...

  She peeked at him over the edge of her lace fan. He was talking with Crown Prince Fritz, who was as portly and bearded as his brothers-in-law, but with a nice smile, and nodding solemnly at something the Prince said. William caught her gaze and gave her a nod and a little, speaking smile. He started towards her across the crowded room, but was stopped by several people. She wondered how many of them called him ‘Will’.

  Violet turned to Lily next to her. Her sister chatted and laughed happily with two of Princess Alexandra’s ladies-in-waiting, not giving a single sign that she felt at all out of sorts.

  ‘How grand it all is,’ Violet said, gesturing to the rooms with her fan, the ladies blazing with diamonds, the men covered with their medals. Who would have ever thought that they, the daughters of ‘Old King Coal’ Wilkins, would be in such a place.

  One of the ladies laughed. ‘Oh, the Neues Palais is pretty, I grant you, Miss Wilkins, and these Germans do try hard, but it is all nothing at all next to Russia. Wait until you see the Winter Palace. It is all most breathtaking.’

  ‘Especially when they want to show us how far above her new English family the Grand Duchess is,’ the second lady added, gulping down her champagne. ‘There has been so much wrangling about her title and precedence! It will be most amusing to see what happens when she gets to England. Who will prevail in the end, Victoria or Marie?’

  The first lady gave her a disapproving glance at such informality and Violet was rather glad she wasn’t the only one who needed to mind her p’s and q’s. Maybe it was only a sham engagement, but she found she had no desire to embarrass William, just as Lily wanted Aidan to be proud. She, Violet, who had never minded for one moment what anyone thought of her, except her sisters!

  Was this what it felt like, then, she wondered, to be a real, grown-up lady like Lily? It was very strange and not altogether unpleasant.

  The musicians high up in a hidden gallery struck up a lively tune and couples began forming for the dance. William reached her side at last, looking not the least bit ruffled for his long, much-interrupted passage, because of all the people who wanted to talk to him. To be near him. Just as Violet did. She smiled up at him in answer to his nod.

  ‘Hello, Will,’ she teased. Despite all the formality around them, she felt so strangely light. Happy.

  A dull red blush touched his sharply etched cheekbones. ‘You’ve been talking to Princess Vicky.’

  ‘Yes, she is very kind. She tells me she used to boil eggs for you. I hope you don’t expect that from me. I fear I’m not quite sure how to make water boil.’

  ‘Yet you mix up all those chemicals for your photographs.’

  ‘That’s quite different. Cooking is a vast mystery. Like alchemy, really. Turning a pile of flour into bread.’

  ‘I doubt Vicky has any idea how to cook an egg now, either. That was a very long time ago, when she and her siblings had a little Swiss chalet at Osborne, where they would make tea and grow vegetables to sell to their father. It was meant to teach them about the wider world.’

  Violet studied the ballroom, all gold and velvet and diamonds and gardenias. ‘Oh, yes, I can see that,’ she said wryly.

  William laughed. ‘Yes, I’m not sure it worked out as their father planned. It didn’t with Prince Bertie, certainly.’

  ‘But with you? The Princess said you were one of their few playmates.’ She thought of her own childhood, climbing trees and running on the beach at Newport until their mother decided they had to be fine ladies. Her friends had been her sisters and sometimes the gardeners’ children, not princesses. And yet he talked to his people, spent time with them, cared about what they wanted and was prepared to help them attain it. ‘Maybe it took rather well with you.’

  His eyebrow arched. ‘I hope so. Shall we dance? It might help warm up this draughty old place.’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ Violet took his offered arm and let him lead her to the dance floor. Thankfully, the slow, stately, elaborate opening pavane, led by Princess Vicky and her brother Prince Bertie, had finished and the piece was a pretty waltz. Violet at least knew how to waltz and always enjoyed the spins and twirls every minute when William held her close. It was warmer when he touched her, his gloved hand on her back, guiding her into the swooping opening, as light as a feather on a breeze. How easily they moved together! She felt like a top set free on a summer sunbeam.

  ‘How very astonishing your world is, Will,’ she said. And how delightful that name sounded on her lips! She tried it again. A Will could not be
as fearsome as she had once imagined him. A Will could have fun. ‘Royalty cooking for you, palaces open before you...’

  ‘It’s a world like any other, surely. A place where we must learn to exist. To fit into our place.’

  ‘Where you have obligations.’

  ‘Of course. Privilege brings duties. And mine are not as onerous as poor Vicky’s.’

  ‘Did you learn that from your mother, along with the value of charity?’

  ‘Yes. She was thought almost a saint at Bourne.’

  A saint. Violet thought then that it was good she would never really be Duchess of Charteris. She could never, ever be a saint. But the Duchess had certainly passed some fine qualities on to her son, like duty and kindness. Maybe even those green eyes?

  He suddenly spun her around in a wide arc, making her laugh as her skirts belled around them. He twirled her again and again, until they found themselves alone in a small corridor, having danced away from the crowd.

  Violet couldn’t quite catch her breath. She tilted her face up to his in the dim light, watching the glow of his eyes as if she was mesmerised. His head bent and his lips brushed against the pulse that beat frantically at her temple, leaving tiny touches of fire that made her tingle all the way to her toes. She shivered with the overpowering force of emotion that rushed through her. This was what she had longed for all evening and hadn’t even realised it.

  She went up on tiptoe and met his lips with her own, and the flame within her roared into burning life. She moaned softly against him and that small sound ignited something in him, too. He groaned and dragged her so close that there was nothing between them at all. Her lips instinctively parted under his kiss and his tongue lightly touched the tip of hers, as if seeking, questing, before he deepened their touch.

  She wound her arms around his neck, her fingers twining in his hair, as if she could hold him with her forever. But he didn’t seem to want to leave her. The kiss slid down, down, into a need she hadn’t even known was in her. Something so raw, so fiery, so deep-down necessary.