Chapter 5
Chapter Five
“The date’s been set for next month,” Victoria said, putting her face in her hands.
Daisy’s eyebrows rose. “So soon!”
“The banns need only be read for three weeks,” Ivy said, shaking her head. “There’s no reason the wedding has to be much later than that.”
“The duke insisted,” Victoria said. Her tone was dull. Since their confrontation in the manor hallway, there had been a sour taste in her mouth. “'The sooner the better,' he said.”
And so, within four weeks of having first met the Duke of Arden, she would become his wife.
“I only wish Father seemed more pleased about it,” she said. Ivy’s brow furrowed in confusion, so Victoria clarified. “One thousand pounds for my hand, and he doesn’t even seem particularly happy about it.”
“It is rather strange,” Ivy said.
“Dreadful, really. The whole situation is.”
“Don’t be so sour,” Daisy told them, smiling giddily despite the occasion. “Yes, Victoria will be getting married, but think about the cake after!”
Later, Lady Corvin brought Victoria to her favorite seamstress to have a new gown made for the wedding.
They had spent an entire morning pondering over various fabrics.
Her stepmother held everything up beside Victoria’s face, her arms, her hair, trying to decide which colors and textures would pair the best. For the most part, Victoria remained silent and let her work.
Now she was discussing plans with the seamstress, who was taking Victoria’s measurements, flitting around her with her measuring tape.
Victoria could only stand and stare at her reflection in the shop’s mirror, taking in her appearance.
Her stepmother was putting in so much effort to make this gown beautiful for her, and for what?
Look at me, she thought, staring blankly at her green eyes. So beautiful, so desirable, my father had to sell me to get me out of his home.
She tugged at the sleeves of the gown she was wearing.
They had her try on different styles to determine what silhouette would hang properly off her frame.
Everything was so opulent compared to her usual plain, unassuming dresses.
She twisted her fingers around the fabric at her wrists, chewing at her bottom lip.
Stop that habit. No man wants a woman with gnawed lips.
She hated these thoughts and the way they made her chest ache. She was usually so good at keeping control of them, but being openly put on display like this had all her insecurities seeping out of her.
Her gaze traveled to the hem of the dress, the way it dragged along the floor by her feet. She would trip on it if she moved even an inch, and then where would she be? The way the fabric hung off her body, heavy and unyielding, threatened to drag her and her thoughts beneath its velvety surface.
You are not worth the money being spent here.
“Victoria?”
She almost didn’t hear her stepmother’s voice. Both women had stopped talking and were looking at her with furrowed brows. Victoria did not respond, just looked at the reflection of her face in the mirror. Her eyes were rimmed with red.
“Give us a moment, dear,” Lady Corvin said. The seamstress inclined her head and disappeared into a separate room.
Her stepmother came to stand in front of her. With one hand, she took both of Victoria’s and squeezed. With her other hand, she wiped her fingers beneath her stepdaughter’s eyes, brushing away the stray tears that threatened to fall.
“What is bothering you, love?” she said gently.
Victoria averted her gaze. “I’m all right,” she said. “Just a bit overwhelmed, I think.”
Lady Corvin tutted, smoothing Victoria’s hair away from her face. “Come now, my brave girl,” she said. “There’s no need to cry.”
“I’m not—”
But she was.
She turned her face from the mirror, disgusted at the red blotches on her cheeks. They always appeared when she got too emotional, and this moment was no exception.
Ugly. Who could ever love a woman with such a plain face?
The words were not whispered in her own voice, but in the voice of her father.
I know she isn’t much to look at…
It wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard for her entire life.
Her hair was too dull, not the correct shade of bright blonde.
Her green eyes were vacant and uninviting to look into.
She was too pale. Too dowdy. Why did she hide herself with such hideous hairstyles, such unfashionable clothing?
Did she want men to think she was an old hag?
“Victoria,” her stepmother said, and gently squeezed her shoulders with both hands. “Take a deep breath.”
Victoria did as she was bidden, taking in slow, steadying breaths through her nose and releasing them through her mouth. The motion brought her back to when she was a child, waking up from some horrible nightmare or other. Lady Corvin had led her through these same deep breaths.
“You look beautiful today,” Lady Corvin said. Victoria looked away from her, and Lady Corvin guided her chin back. “And you will look beautiful on your wedding day. You are worthy to wear a beautiful gown, and you deserve to have others see you the way that your sisters and I see you.”
Victoria continued to take deep breaths, continued to let her stepmother’s words wash over her like cool water. Only a little of it sank further than skin deep.
Lady Corvin gave her stepdaughter a sad smile and stroked her hair again. “I have been telling you and telling you for years,” she said. “I only hope that someday you will believe me and my words over that man’s.”
“Yes, Mother,” was all Victoria could say. She couldn’t meet the older woman’s gaze.
The seamstress returned from the other room and resumed taking Victoria’s measurements. Before long, the sketches had been drawn, and Victoria and Lady Corvin were out of the shop and in the afternoon sunlight.
“I thought we might have a stroll around the lake with your sisters,” Lady Corvin said conversationally. “Are you up for it?”
The sun was warm on her skin, and now that she was back in her normal, unassuming attire, she was feeling much more at home in her own body. If no one looked her way, she was doing a good job. “Yes, that would be lovely,” Victoria said, inclining her head.
Her sisters met them at the park, and the four women began their slow, meandering walk along the path. There were others about as well, mostly groups of other women chatting and giggling as they went.
It only took a few minutes for Lady Corvin to spot her own friends, other mothers married to wealthy men. “Good afternoon!” she called out.
The group of women bustled over to them, immediately descending upon Lady Corvin and her daughters.
“Lady Corvin, you’re looking well!”
“Oh, your daughters are so beautiful.”
“Lady Ivy, how are you finding the social season?”
“Are you looking forward to your own debut, Lady Daisy?”
Daisy and Ivy were busy chatting—eagerly, on Daisy’s part, and more subdued on Ivy’s—and were paying her no mind. Victoria hung back, watching the exchanges with a hesitant gaze. She had never been comfortable in social settings, and that was not likely to change today.
“Oh, Lady Victoria—congratulations on your engagement!” one of them said. “Your mother told us.”
Victoria turned toward the woman, unable to hide the shock on her face. “Oh! I… Thank you, I appreciate it.” Heat rose from beneath the collar of her gown, almost suffocatingly so.
“The Duke of Arden,” the woman continued, tutting and smiling. “Quite the match you two will make.”
“Thank you,” Victoria said again, unsure of what else to say. The afternoon sun was beating down upon her, as if it had chosen to settle itself just above her head and hers alone. Her heart was in her throat.
Before the panic could further set in, Lady Corvin swooped into the conversation, gently placing a hand on her stepdaughter’s elbow. “Come now, Lady Miriam; let us leave the young ones to their walk.” She flashed Victoria a quick wink.
“The three of you have a fun afternoon,” she said. “I will see you back at home.” And off she went, hurrying her group of friends along, all of them still chattering away.
“Quite the social butterfly,” Daisy mused, watching after her mother.
“And yet you wonder where you got it from,” Ivy said with a roll of her eyes.
The three resumed their walk, Daisy and Ivy walking slightly ahead, not noticing when Victoria came to a stop.
The gloves she wore were growing slightly damp from the sweat on her palms, and she pulled them off one by one, waving them gently in the afternoon breeze.
The cool breeze on her skin began to soothe the racing of her heart.
“Afternoon, Lady Victoria,” came a smooth, charming voice that she, unfortunately, immediately recognized. And even still, it came as a surprise.
She let out a quick shriek and whirled around, letting go of one of her gloves in the process. It drifted limply toward the ground at the Duke of Arden’s feet. They both looked down at it.
She, in horror.
He, in mounting amusement.
In one swift movement, he knelt down to retrieve the glove. “And here I thought you did not flirt,” he said, tossing his head back to make eye contact with her.
The intensity of his blue eyes mixed with the subtle presence of dimples in his cheeks set her heart racing. Stop it, she scolded. “I don’t!” she said, her voice coming out hoarser than she had intended.
“Hmm,” the duke hummed, and slowly, languidly, got himself to his feet. His gaze never left hers. “A pity. I suspect you would be good at it.” She wasn’t sure if he was joking or not.
Either way, she did not want to stand there and continue to speak to him any longer.
“Well, I will need to be going,” she said, casting a look around for her sisters.
They were just where she’d left them, blissfully unaware of what was currently taking place, yet still close enough that her private conversation with the duke would not be considered scandalous.
“Wait,” he said, and she looked back at him. He held up her glove, a cheeky smile on his face. “Allow me.”
Without waiting for an invitation, he reached out and took her hand in his, and slowly began to slide the glove onto her.
“I can do this myself,” she said, trying to pull her hand away, but he held fast.
“I know you can.”
His movements were gentle. There was no tugging at the fabric, and great care was paid to the small pearls at the hem of the glove as he smoothed it up the length of her forearm.
It took her by surprise, the gentleness, especially after he had forcefully caught her in her own home when he’d come calling on her father.
But there was no agitation in him to be seen now, just quiet care.
He was mumbling to himself, not quite loud enough to make out any of the words, until finally, he gave her fingers a squeeze and took a step back.
“Thank you,” she said after a moment too long.
He grinned, and in one swift motion, pressed his lips to the back of her hand. “Anytime.”
She sighed, but could not escape the rush that flooded her. And that is where I take my leave.
“Forgive me, Your Grace; I wish I could stay longer, but I really must get back to my sisters.” Hand still held firmly in his, she curtsied to him and made to pull herself away.
He pulled her right back.
“I wanted to speak to you about our upcoming nuptials.”
Of course he did.
“I’m sorry, I really must catch up to my sisters; they’ll be worried,” she said, scrambling for excuses. “And then we’ve another appointment to make for wedding attire, and—”
“Then I will call on you.”
“Victoria?” Ivy was calling for her.
The duke kept a tight hold on her hand, his blue eyes never leaving her face.
A brief spark of temper flared at his insistence, but she stomped on it quickly. It was only natural that he would want to discuss terms about this marriage, of course, and if things were to go smoothly, he would need her cooperation. She could cooperate.
“Fine,” she said, heaving a heavy sigh. “But please, if you would—do not call on me while my father is around. My stepmother can accompany us, perhaps.”
The charming smile softened into something more genuine. There was a shift in those blue eyes. “Of course,” he said. “I understand.”
And there was something in that gaze of his that had her thinking that yes, perhaps he did understand. Again, she tried to stomp her feelings aside. Silliness is what it was. The man had bought her. The least he could do was grant her this one request.
But even so…
He pressed another quick kiss to the back of her hand. Heat rose in her cheeks; he winked at her. “Wear that dress on our walk,” he said. “It’s a lovely shade of blue on you.”
And then he was gone, leaving her staring after his retreating form, trying to calm the thundering in her chest, the flipping of her stomach. Don’t be a fool, she reminded herself. Pretty compliments mean nothing.
But it did not feel like nothing.