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

by Amanda McCabe

  She rested her forehead against his chest, the soft wool of his evening coat warm on her skin. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the sound of his heartbeat, moving in time to her own.

  In her life, she always seemed to be rushing ahead to the next moment, the next thing. With him, in that moment, she could just be. She knew she shouldn’t be alone there with him, that it wasn’t so good for her own peace of mind, but she couldn’t let it go yet. She slid her arms around his waist, feeling how strong he was.

  He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and she tilted her face up to his. His brilliant eyes glowed in the shadows. His lips touched her brow, the pulse that beat in her temple, her cheek, leaving tiny flames that made her tingle all the way to her toes. She shook with the emotion that flowed through her, like a fire.

  She stretched up, holding him even closer, and at last his lips met hers. A small, questioning, sweet kiss, but it made that flame burn higher. He groaned and dragged her so close there was nothing between them at all. They seemed to fit together so perfectly, as if they had always been just like that.

  Her lips instinctively parted under his kiss and his tongue lightly touched the tip of hers before he deepened their kiss. She wound her arms around his neck, her fingers twisting into his hair, as if she could hold on to him forever. But he wasn’t leaving her, not yet. Their kiss slid deeper, into a desperate need she hadn’t even known was within her until she found him. She felt so hot, so—so soaring high—and she swayed, sure she would fall.

  He pressed her back against the wall and his lips trailed over hers, away from hers, along her throat, touching the tiny hollow where her pulse beat with such need.

  ‘Violet, I...’ he gasped roughly. She opened her eyes to see that he rested his forehead against the wall beside her, breathing as heavily as she did, as if they had run a mile. That breath was ragged in her ear, his tall body shuddering as if he, too, struggled with the force of that sudden longing. She feared that if she stayed so close to him she wouldn’t be able to think at all. She slid to one side, dizzy, trying to stand on her own.

  ‘Violet,’ he said softly.

  She looked up at him, at the reassuring glow of his eyes in the shadows, his rueful smile.

  ‘Oh, Violet. Vi. You’ve turned my life upside down.’

  She’d never heard such a tone in his voice before, a crack in her careful, controlled William. Her duke. ‘As you have mine, Will.’ And he had. She’d been so sure of what she wanted before—her work, her freedom. Now she didn’t know anything at all.

  She kissed his cheek, feeling the light prickle of his stubble against her lips. It tickled and made her laugh, made her close her arms around him to hold on to him as tightly as she could. As long as she could. He would be gone from her all too soon. But he drew her closer, his lips finding hers again one more time.

  * * *

  William waited until Violet was gone from their hiding place and he was alone in the silence, his fists braced on an ivory-topped table, trying to resist the powerful urge to knock the vase of white roses to the parquet floor. But he knew that wouldn’t get rid of the longing that poured hot through his veins. Longing for her.

  Being a duke was filled with responsibility, true, but it had its recompenses. Its powers. Violet might only be William’s fake fiancée, but he had come to care for her—more than he had realised until that moment. He cared for her, craved her presence, needed her laughter. And he would not see her hurt by silly gossip.

  He pushed back from the table and the icy windows and turned towards his own chamber. He could hear the music from the ballroom, the laughter of hundreds of people, the merriment against the cold night, but it didn’t call to him. He only wanted to be with Violet.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The day of the royal wedding dawned cold and pearl-grey, lacy snowflakes drifting from the sky to land on the icy river below. Long lines of carriages and sleighs, forming since dawn, made their slow progress to the courtyard of the Winter Palace, depositing ladies in Russian court gowns of brocade and velvet and gold embroidery, jewelled kokoshniks on their curled hair, and men in satin knee breeches and fur-lined mantles. But Violet hardly saw them even as she stared down on the sparkling parade, her breakfast tea and toast growing cold on the table next to her.

  She had barely slept at all. She had lain awake remembering every detail of the ball, of William’s kiss, his touch. She had never felt so discomforted, so excited in her life. She didn’t know at all what to do with it.

  ‘Violet! You’ll never be ready in time,’ Lily called. ‘We have to be in our place at the church before the Grand Duchess arrives, or it will be quite the scandal.’

  Violet glanced back at Lily, who looked as gloriously beautiful as always in a gown of pale blue satin and deep blue velvet, edged with silver fox and blazing with diamonds. The maid was laying out Violet’s own gown of pink and silver brocade, and the coiffeur waited to dress her hair.

  No matter what William did now, she knew Lily was right. This day was so important. It was why she was in Russia, to try to advance her art. It was vital for Lily and Aidan, too, if Lily wanted to be a lady-in-waiting. Violet couldn’t let them, or herself, be disappointed now.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. She gulped down her cold tea and hurried over to let the maid help her into her heavy gown.

  It seemed to take forever to put the whole thing together, as she tried not to fidget while the gown was put into place and her hair was dressed with her borrowed tiara. But once she faced the gilded mirror, she could hardly believe it was her, Violet Wilkins, who stared back at her. This was a perfect, gleaming creature, all pink and white and silver, a work of art. If only she could keep from moving.

  ‘Is this—me?’ she whispered.

  Lily laughed, and carefully kissed her cheek. ‘Not bad for the little Wilkins sisters, eh? Wait until William sees you! You look positively regal.’

  Would he think her beautiful? she wondered. Like a—a duchess? Violet ran an uncertain hand lightly over her lace-edged sleeve, and half hoped, half feared.

  The ormolu clock in the corner tolled the hour, and Aidan promptly knocked on the door to fetch them. ‘I shall be the envy of the whole Court,’ he declared. ‘Two such lovely ladies beside me!’

  ‘You don’t look so bad yourself,’ Lily said, examining her husband’s breeches and brocade coat, his velvet Garter robes. It was true, he hardly looked like Violet’s laughing, silly brother-in-law, just as they did not look like the ‘Wilkins sisters’. It seemed like a fairy tale.

  Each of them took one of Aidan’s arms and he led them down the labyrinth of corridors and staterooms into the palace church. It really felt like suddenly landing in a different world, on a higher plane, Violet thought as she studied the light, sparkling church. It was all golden with marble columns, red carpet underfoot, an elaborate altar of painted and gilded icons with candles lined up around it, incense misty in the air. It was hushed and reverent despite the crowd pressed around them.

  Violet went up on tiptoe in her velvet shoes, looking for William. She saw Princess Vicky, the Prince and the Princess of Wales, so elegant in crimson velvet embroidered with gold, pearls wound around her throat. All those tall grand dukes in their uniforms. At last she glimpsed William, standing near the altar, his distinctive dark hair gleaming in the candlelight. He caught her eye and smiled.

  She turned away, her cheeks heating with one of those ridiculous blushes he always inspired.

  ‘What are you looking at?’ Lily whispered. She followed Violet’s glance and laughed happily. ‘Oh, your true love! Of course. It is a wedding.’

  There was a sudden hush, just as Violet feared she would start to fidget like a child at the long wait, and then a swell of chanting from an invisible choir, which seemed to float all around them. The procession appeared, led by rows of ladies-in-waiting in their white satin gowns, their velve
t court trains edged with sable and the blue sash of the Order of St Andrew pinned with their diamond badges that matched their kokoshnik headdresses.

  The Tsarevich and Tsarevna were next, he a burly giant in his uniform, she tiny like a porcelain doll in blue and silver velvet and a blaze of sapphires. The bridegroom with his brother and the elderly Duke of Saxe-Coburg came behind them. Even the full panoply of their dress uniforms, medals and orders, were outshone by the Metropolitan in gold brocade vestments and a tall, jewelled mitre, carrying an icon high. How Violet wished she could take a photo of it all, but she tried to memorise it to sketch later, so she could always remember it.

  Then came the bride on her father’s arm, moving very slowly as if weighed down, which she probably was. The small Grand Duchess, with her face surrounded by dark hair curled into two long ringlets on her shoulders, wore a gown of white satin covered by a robe of cloth-of-silver lined with ermine and another mantle of red velvet held in place with a large diamond clasp. Her sleeves, trimmed with more ermine, reached the floor. Diamonds looped around her neck and wrists, and cherry-shaped diamond earrings dusted her shoulders. On her head were not one but two tiaras, a kokoshnik with a massive centred pink diamond and a small crown. Maria did not look very happy, despite the pages who scurried behind her to try to carry it all.

  ‘That is—quite the bridal costume,’ Violet gasped.

  ‘It’s tradition,’ Lily whispered. ‘Every royal Russian bride has to wear it. Poor things.’

  ‘Good thing you were just an English duchess, then, with your shabby Worth gown and lace veil,’ Violet whispered back. She remembered how lovely and sweet Lily had looked on her wedding day and for just an instant she had an image of herself in white with orange blossoms, clutching a bouquet. She shook it away before she could imagine the groom who waited for her.

  But all the harsh glitter of the massive church, the elaborate costumes, the jewels and incense, seemed to vanish just for a moment as the Grand Duchess took her prince’s hand and they smiled shyly at each other, a sweet, secret little smile. They were handed lit candles and knelt together before the altar, the six pages scrambling to arrange the long train before it pulled the bride over.

  Violet peeked across the church at William, only to find him watching her. She felt her cheeks turn warm and glanced away, but she couldn’t help smiling to herself.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘Very well, Your Highness, if you will just look towards the window,’ Violet said. ‘Just so...’

  Grand Duchess Maria gazed in the direction of the window, the waning light, pink and orange and amber where it reflected off the snow, falling over her face and her wedding finery. The chamber was one of the smaller palace drawing rooms, but it was filled with a soaring, frescoed ceiling, velvet draperies, tapestries, silver and amber decorations and lots of flowers. It was a magnificent backdrop for the bride while her new husband stood nearby, giving her encouraging smiles.

  It should all be very beautiful, very regal, yet something was not quite right as Violet peeked through her viewfinder. Prince Alfred had been correct when he said his wife didn’t ever look quite like herself when she posed for photographs. It needed to be quick and informal, as it had been at the skating.

  Violet examined the scene, trying to decipher a new arrangement. Their time grew short, for the couple needed to make their way to their banquet. ‘What about a book?’ she said, remembering that the Prince had said the Grand Duchess was a great reader.

  Maria laughed. ‘Why would I read on my wedding day? My head aches too much from these infernal crowns!’

  Violet could definitely see why. It was two crowns after all, perched on her curled hair.

  ‘Just for a moment, then, and then we can go change for the banquet,’ Violet said. ‘We’ll just try it.’ She found a small volume, bound in red leather and stamped in gold, on the table, and put it into the bride’s jewelled hands.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, suddenly distracted as she turned the pages. ‘I do love Keats!’

  ‘Read your favourite poem, then, Your Highness, and turn towards the window again. Just so. Tilt your chin a bit to the right and down. Hold the book up...’ Yes, that was it. Maria looked lovely with that half-smile, the light carving angles into her face, sparkling on her jewels. Violet slowly counted down until the image was taken.

  ‘You look lovely, my dear,’ the Prince said with a gentle smile.

  Violet glanced into her viewfinder. ‘Now, sir, if you will stand beside her, perhaps put your hand on her shoulder, as if she is reading to you? And smile at her, just as you were.’ She thought of the stiff poses of their engagement images, the two of them looking wide-eyed and frightened, as if they would run away. She didn’t want that now.

  Their time ran out too quickly, the light sliding away towards the endless Russian night, but she had what she needed. ‘Wonderful!’ Violet cried. ‘I’ll just hurry off to my darkroom now.’

  ‘Oh, Miss Wilkins, if only you could stay here in St Petersburg!’ Grand Duchess Maria said. ‘You are not at all like the stuffy, serious old photographers Mama finds.’

  ‘Now, my dearest, we will be in England soon enough, as will Miss Wilkins,’ the Prince said. ‘She can take our first child’s photograph!’

  ‘I would be honoured, Your Highness,’ Violet said. She removed her plates and turned away to go and develop them, leaving the two newlyweds to laugh together. In the corridor, on her way to her borrowed darkroom, she found William waiting for her, leaning lazily against the silk-papered wall.

  ‘William,’ she said. ‘I was just—the Grand Duchess’s photograph...’

  His smile was bright with delight, not at all like his old, small, secret smiles. ‘So you fulfilled your great wish here!’

  She laughed shyly. ‘Well—we shall see. Once it’s developed. It might look quite awful.’

  ‘I’m sure it will not.’ He stepped closer, his expression turning serious.

  She suddenly felt a bit shy. ‘Will you—that is, maybe you would like to see how a photograph is developed?’

  ‘I would be fascinated to see that.’

  ‘Then come with me,’ she said, and led him to her borrowed darkroom, a small closet behind the grand corridors, outfitted with a fireplace and all the chemicals she needed to see her creations come to life.

  She showed him how she used the newfangled dry-plate method to treat her plates, how it offered her greater light sensitivity and was much easier and faster than the old, elaborate wet-plate method she had learned from originally. ‘See, then we pop it into its bath, in order to fix it, and we—wait.’

  She was very aware of him close to her in the dim light, his soft breath, the warmth and clean scent of him, and she could hardly breathe. Together they watched as the bridal couple appeared before them, caught forever in a moment of happiness.

  ‘It’s beautiful, Violet,’ he said quietly. ‘I know little about such an art, but you can see them in that image, their true, human selves. Their affection for each other.’

  ‘Yes, it came out rather well. Almost as good as these.’ She showed him more of the skating photos on a nearby table, waiting to be framed. Lily and Aidan, the bridal couple, William himself giving an embarrassed, adorable laugh. ‘Maybe you would let me take your formal portrait? I know you offered before. You surely know how handsome you are?’

  His lips quirked. ‘You find me handsome? Do tell me more.’

  She laughed. ‘Don’t be conceited. I know you must look in the mirror sometimes.’ She glanced away, suddenly aware how close they really were to each other. All alone in the warm darkness. It seemed only right to kiss him, to press her lips to his and hold on to him in the shadows. He answered her with a groan, pulling her even closer, kissing her as if he really meant it. As if he would never let her go. She looped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes, knowing that this moment would alway
s live in her memory.

  ‘I wish—I wish...’ she whispered, but her words were lost as he claimed her lips again. She put all she had into that kiss. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, but one filled with all they couldn’t say, all the desperation she felt as she sensed their time there slipping away.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A crowd was already gathered in the palace courtyard when Violet hurried to join them the next morning. She was running late, finding that she was rather tired after all that had happened that previous day, and her feet felt tied to the snowy ground. But there was also a wonderful, fizzing energy, a light that seemed to dance around her with every step. The world seemed brighter, lighter, more beautiful. Sleighs and carts waited, piled high with fur blankets, picnic baskets, sleds and skates.

  The bridal couple were already there, returned from their wedding night at Tsarskoe Selo, laughing and holding hands, bright-eyed despite the long wedding day, banquets, balls.

  Violet started towards Lily, but someone caught her hand and turned her away from the crowd. When she spun around, startled, she saw it was William and the day suddenly became even brighter. Here was her beautiful Will, his eyes brilliant in the snowlight, an uncertain smile on his lips. Her fear turned to delight in an instant and she impulsively kissed his cheek, making him give a startled laugh.

  ‘I do believe there’s a seat here,’ he said, leading her to a nearby sleigh. His smile widened, became freer, and she suddenly realised how often he’d done that in the past few days. His old stiffness and caution seemed to drop away, like a mask he no longer needed. He looked so much younger in the sunlight.

  How she had once misjudged him! Much to the peril of her heart. Yet he made her feel things she had only imagined before. He saw her, the real her, deep down, and he never turned away from that true her. She knew she should run, but instead she took his hand and let him help her up on to the narrow seat. He tucked the fur rug carefully around her against the cold wind.