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

by Amanda McCabe

  After Daisy all those years ago, his heart was not broken as much as frozen. He had been infatuated with her, her giggles, her golden curls. He had imagined the life they could have together. But his Daisy hadn’t been real. The real Daisy had wanted glamour and excitement, and while he could give her a title, his uncle could give her those other things.

  Maybe Violet wanted excitement, too, in her own way. But she was not Daisy. Her work was very important to her, as his was to him. They would see their inconvenient suitors off and then go their own ways, make their own lives.

  But for now, for this moment, they were entirely alone.

  His lips slid from hers, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek, before he forced his arms to fall away from her and he sat back on the seat. She stared at him, wide-eyed, silent, her lips reddened.

  He stretched out his long legs across the carriage, trying to pretend nonchalance, but his heart was pounding.

  ‘I don’t think you need very many lessons in fun,’ she whispered.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I am far behind.’ He smiled at her. ‘Now, why don’t you kiss me?’

  She laughed, startled. ‘Me?’

  ‘You. I have a feeling you don’t need many lessons in that, either.’

  Violet bit her lip, looking as if she was trying to hold back a giggle. He did love that about her—how easily every small moment with her became an adventure. She placed herself next to him on the narrow seat. Then she closed her eyes tightly, a tiny line of concentration forming on her brow. A red curl bounced over her eyebrow and he gently swept it back, making her shiver. Her gloved hands floated, landing lightly on his shoulders, and a soft sigh escaped her lips as she kissed him at last.

  He was right—she was better at this than she knew. Her lips were soft on his, then firm, seeking, becoming hazy, tasting of cider. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she held him close as he eased her on to his lap. They fitted so perfectly together, their lips and arms and bodies just so.

  He never wanted to let her go.

  The carriage jolted to a halt and William blinked the warm haze of desire out of his eyes to see they had returned to the palace courtyard. The footman outside coughed softly and waited a moment before opening the door. Perhaps this sort of thing happened quite often at the Russian Court, then.

  Violet slid off his lap and straightened her jacket and gloves, as he smoothed his hair, which was rumpled from her fingertips. She studied him carefully, her eyes narrowed.

  ‘You must let me photograph you, Will,’ she said. ‘It would be my masterpiece!’

  Before he could answer, the carriage door opened and a footman helped her alight. ‘Prince Alfred has arranged a darkroom for you, Mademoiselle Wilkins, if you would care to see it,’ the footman said with a bow. Another servant carried her camera ahead.

  Violet glanced back into the carriage with a wistful little smile. ‘You see, Will! A new royal darkroom, just for me—I must take advantage of it. Do say you’ll be my first real subject outside my family!’

  He feared he was her subject already.

  She walked away with a laugh that floated back to him like a sunlit cloud, leaving him alone with his bemusement, his own laughter and a raging desire to kiss his red-headed sprite all over again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Violet stared, wide-eyed, into the windows of the Fabergé shop on Bolshaya Morskaya Street. Mother-of-pearl and ruby opera glasses had been among the dinner party favours at the Winter Palace and she had thought them so pretty she had wanted to see what else Fabergé created. So she had slipped away into the cold day by herself, to study the glittering shop windows, the bell-ringing sleighs zipping through the snowy streets past the fur-and-velvet-clad shoppers.

  She hadn’t imagined anything quite like this, though. The large windows were filled with cascades of beautiful objects, spilling from white satin-draped shelves. Vases and frames, snuff bottles, perfume flagons, brooches and hair ornaments, sparkling and glittering like sun on new-fallen snow. The workmanship and detail were astonishing.

  A reflection suddenly appeared in the window glass, just to her left, and for a moment she was sure she’d imagined it. William—a dark fur collar outlining his chiselled jaw, his eyes bright in the snowy day. A smile on his lips. He seemed to just belong there amid the elegant riches.

  But when she glanced back, he was really there. He lifted his hat, his smile widening. ‘Good day, Violet. Imagine seeing you here.’

  ‘Did you follow me, then?’ she teased.

  ‘Not at all. I thought I would look for a few gifts to take back to England, since I doubt we will have a quiet moment again before the wedding.’

  Violet looked back at the jewels on display, the bracelets and brooches and tiaras. ‘A gift for—a certain lady?’ she choked out. She felt like such a fool; he was a wealthy, handsome duke. Why had she never considered he might have a chère amie before, like the Tsar?

  William laughed. ‘Not at all. Just some cousins and my sister, Honoria. And my old nanny, who is retired to a cottage at Bourne.’

  ‘Oh.’ Violet laughed, too, feeling even more foolish. He was nice to his old nanny! It made him even more attractive, blast him. ‘Yes. I should find something for Rose and Mother, too, since they couldn’t be here.’

  ‘The trouble is, I have no idea what they might like. Perhaps you would help me? I am sure an engaged couple can be allowed to shop together for an afternoon.’

  An engaged couple. Violet was shocked at how lovely that sounded. How—how real. Did she want it all to be real, this strange dream? She turned away to stare unseeingly into the window, flustered and unsure and too warm. ‘I’m not sure I could be of much help. I think you should buy one of everything.’

  ‘Then that is what we will do.’ He offered her his arm. ‘Shall we?’

  Violet nodded and took his arm, letting him lead her into that hushed, glorious wonderland. A man in a black coat hurried forward to offer his assistance and quickly led them to the glass cases at the far end of the velvet-and-satin room.

  Violet examined a small picture frame of deep green enamel, edged by scalloped gold and trimmed with small diamonds in a sunburst pattern. She wondered if she would ever be talented enough to create images that would look just right in such a creation. ‘You should get this for your nanny, William. Perhaps put a photo of yourself in it. Surely she would like that.’

  He studied it carefully. ‘Perhaps you are right. I’m coming round to the idea. If you would take the photo.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Why had he had a change of heart? Suddenly she was doubting her ability, as much as she still wanted to take his portrait. ‘Not until I have had more practice.’

  ‘Nonsense. Every time I’ve had my image taken, I’ve looked horribly stern and quite old. You make people look—well, like themselves. Only better.’ He picked up a pink enamel frame, edged in topazes. ‘You should put that photo you took of Lily in this one, as a gift for your sister Rose.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘Of course. It was a beautiful image. You have talent, you know, and it’s no good to deny it.’

  Violet laughed, blushing at the compliment, but she nodded. She chose a frame for Lily, and a few small, jewelled flowers, while William picked out great bouquets of pink and white and diamond roses in vases of crystal ‘water’ for his cousins. Shopping with William was far more fun than she could have imagined; he had exquisite taste and was very generous. And everything in the shop was absolute perfection. She always appreciated artistic excellence when she saw it.

  ‘Shall I have your maid take the packages to the palace for you, mademoiselle, once they are wrapped?’ the attendant asked.

  ‘Oh, no, she didn’t come with me,’ Violet answered. ‘I can carry them.’

  He looked quite shocked and Violet imagined all the diamond-draped Russian ladies probably
shopped with armies of servants. ‘I shall have a messenger take them to the palace for you, mademoiselle.’

  Violet laughed as she strolled with William along a glass case filled with pearls and sapphires. ‘Did I shock him?’

  William gave her a crooked smile. ‘Most ladies do shop with their maids.’

  ‘I wasn’t really planning to come in, just to stare through the windows. It didn’t seem worth the trouble to find a maid.’ She sighed. ‘I am terrible at being “prudent and proper”, I fear!’

  ‘But you are very good at finding adventure in the world,’ he said. ‘I think I have been too prudent at times.’

  She peeked up at him and wondered if he had really just admitted that. If he was beginning to see the value of ‘fun’ after all. Wonders truly never ceased.

  ‘Tell me, Violet, what is your favourite thing here?’ he asked, gesturing at the treasure cave of the store.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, flustered. ‘I couldn’t choose, I’m sure! But my eye was caught by these. Such intricate craftsmanship.’ She gestured at a pair of platinum filigree hair combs in the case, set with pink and white pearls, like something a Spanish infanta might have worn in another time. ‘So exquisite.’

  He nodded solemnly. ‘A good eye, as usual.’

  * * *

  An hour later, when Violet went to her bedchamber to find her Fabergé packages waiting for her, the pearl combs were resting in their blue velvet box on her dressing table.

  * * *

  Violet tried not to stare like a country peasant girl as she followed Lily and Aidan into the palace’s Nicholas Hall for the grand ball the night before the wedding. She’d thought the other staterooms were very grand, but this vast room put them all to shame. It seemed to be made of white and silver ice, with sharp, shimmering crystal chandeliers overhead hanging from the gold-inlaid ceiling. The only colour was the red velvet throne on a dais at one end.

  She smoothed the Chantilly lace of her sleeves, glad she had let Lily buy her a Worth wardrobe after all, and especially glad of the new pearl hair ornaments William had given her on their shopping excursion. The shimmery, changeable pale green silk of her gown, trimmed with rich swaths of lace and clusters of pearl-dotted satin carnations, was not as grand as some of the other ladies’ outfits, but it was certainly no disgrace.

  The room was crowded with courtiers, scarlet and white and black uniforms pinned with medals, gowns of amethyst and garnet and pearl white, and so many jewels she was surprised there were any left in a shop in the world. They all stood to one side of the still-empty dance floor, clustered between the pink-veined marble of the columns, which were reflected endlessly in the silver-framed mirrors. An orchestra played somewhere, a quiet medley of Strauss, almost drowned out by the hum of chatter.

  Lily glanced over her shoulder to Violet with a smile. ‘All right, Vi darling?’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course! It’s all very astonishing. I thought I’d be used to it all by now, but I doubt I will ever be! Surely we won’t see anything like this again.’

  Aidan laughed. ‘Of course you will, when you’re a duchess. But it doesn’t mean we can’t laugh at it all.’

  ‘I’ll be so happy to have someone to gossip about everything with, someone who really understands,’ Lily said.

  When she was a duchess. Violet sighed. It was getting harder and harder to lie, especially to Lily. Harder and harder to lie to herself. To tell herself she did not really want William. Did not crave his kiss, his touch, his rare smiles. His reassuring, strong, quiet presence that told her it would all be well. That she was not alone.

  She glanced around, trying to be surreptitious about seeking him out, but she didn’t see him in that thick crowd. She frowned in cold disappointment and immediately berated herself for it. Soon she wouldn’t see him at all, wherever she went. He would be at Court or Parliament, and she would be—somewhere else. Who knew where?

  She thought of their merry shopping excursion, when time had seemed not to matter. It had been just him and her, talking and laughing, strolling arm in arm down the glowing, beautiful streets and through the glittering shops. How she had wished it would never end, that they never had to go back to their real lives!

  That he was not a duke at all.

  They neared the head of the line to make their bows to Prince Bertie and Princess Alexandra and the Tsarevna, Prince Alfred, the Tsar, the delicate and tired-looking Tsarina in her lavender satin and pearls, and at last to the bride. Grand Duchess Maria wore an unflattering, very elaborate gown of dark green satin, frilled and ruffled and tied with velvet bows, her dark curls piled high and crowned with a tall diamond tiara.

  But her rather bored pout brightened as she saw Violet. ‘It’s our American photographer! Miss Wilkins, how lovely to see you. Did you enjoy the skating? Seeing our city?’

  ‘It’s very beautiful indeed, Your Highness.’ Shyly, uncertainly, quite aware of everyone nearby watching, and with Lily’s encouraging little nudge, Violet slipped the small photograph from her reticule. ‘I hope you’ll accept this little wedding gift, ma’am.’ She looked at all the lavish gifts on display...the jewels and silver and ivory, the lengths of satin and lace, and thought the image so small. She wished she’d bought a proper frame for it. But it was more important for the Grand Duchess to see it.

  Maria took it eagerly and her smile widened. ‘But I do not look pug-like at all! Affie, do see this, aren’t we lovely?’

  ‘You never look pug-like, my dearest.’ The Prince laughed, peering down at the black-and-white image. ‘But we do look rather happy, don’t we? Not at all stiff, like photographs too often are. Well done, Miss Wilkins. You must tell me some of your darkroom techniques.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to take my photo in my wedding gown tomorrow,’ Maria said, exactly what Violet had hoped for so very much. ‘After the vows, perhaps? I fear it’s terribly elaborate, it takes all day just to put it together. And there won’t be much time before.’

  ‘I would be honoured, Your Highness. I will be there at any time you desire,’ Violet said, trying not to shout in joy. She curtsied and moved ahead with Lily.

  ‘Oh, Vi, how brilliant you are!’ her sister whispered, squeezing her arm as they found a spot between the columns to watch the Tsar lead his daughter into a stately polonaise to open the ball.

  ‘You look happy this evening, Violet,’ she heard William say, as he slid into the spot beside her.

  She beamed up at him, delighted he was there to share this little moment with her. ‘The Grand Duchess liked my skating photo,’ she whispered jubilantly. ‘She said I could take an image of her in her wedding gown!’

  His watchful, sharply carved face broke into a wide smile. ‘Of course she did. The photograph you showed me is a lovely image, and you are exceedingly talented. Much more so than Mrs Cameron.’

  ‘Do you—do you really think so?’

  He glanced down at her, his brow arched as if he was surprised at her doubtful tone. ‘Of course. I admit I am not an expert on photography, but I like how your work seems to peer deeply into your subjects, showing them as themselves. You can surely do anything you set your stubborn Wilkins mind to.’

  In his voice, ‘stubborn’ sounded like the rarest of compliments, and she found herself blushing with delight.

  The polonaise ended and a waltz struck up. ‘Shall we?’ William said, offering his arm, and Violet nodded. She felt as if she was walking on a cloud as he led her on to the parquet floor.

  He held her a bit closer than the dance called for, closer than she knew was strictly proper. His hands were warm and strong, as he swirled her around the floor, his scent heady around her. His eyes gleamed like emeralds as he smiled down at her. She tried not to look directly at him, as one would with the sun itself, tried to keep smiling politely, to watch the room around them instead. There were plenty of people she could watch. She even glimpsed Lil
y dancing with Prince Alfred, her pale blue gown flashing in and out of view like a cloud. But she knew only William in that moment.

  When the music changed again, she went reluctantly to dance with her next partner, one of the royal Russian cousins. She found she hated to relinquish William’s hand, even as she spun around and around, laughing at the dizzy whirl. By the end of the dance, she was light-headed, giddy, and she shook her head when other partners sought her out, tiptoeing out of the crowded ballroom to find somewhere quieter for a moment.

  But peace was the last thing she found, as the small chamber she stumbled into was already occupied. By William.

  He rose in the shadows, putting out his cheroot. He watched her, not moving, the moment frozen, just the two of them. And Violet found she could suddenly breathe again, a deep breath, knowing he was there.

  ‘Violet?’ he said, his voice rich and deep, like a velvet blanket wrapped around her in the cold night. ‘Are you unwell?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ she answered, feeling the door at her back as she leaned on it. ‘It’s just all the dancing—I couldn’t catch my breath.’

  ‘I felt the same way myself,’ he said, and took a step, then another, towards her.

  ‘But we are safe here,’ she whispered.

  ‘I’m not sure about that,’ he said, and reached her at last. His arms came out to catch her as she swayed. He drew her close and she knew well what he meant—she suddenly didn’t feel safe at all. She felt her heart pound so much harder than it had in the dance, racing within her, making her feel reckless and light and—and joyful. With William! It was amazing, wonderful.