Page 34 of A Most Improper Duchess
Barely scraping five foot in height, with a rounded figure, bright blue eyes, dark curls and an indomitable stare, Arley’s mother had a way of looking up at the world while simultaneously making it cower. The youngest of three duke’s daughters, she had been raised to be a princess, but her father had settled for making her a duchess when the royal family found brides amongst the European courts. Widowed at twenty-four, she’d been a crumpled, paranoid mess for most of his early life, and had handed off his education to headmasters and advisers who liked the idea of moulding a duke to have in their pocket. When he was fourteen, she’d found love, along with her voice, and had plucked him from the influence of others. But the lost years were lost, and while they’d found common ground, they’d never quite gotten along.
His estate manager and stepfather Tillman hovered behind, his slow country smile dawning. ‘Hallo Arley,’ he called, with a bright wave. ‘The new tractor arrived.’
His mother pulled him to her chest, held him for half a breath, then released him just as quickly. ‘That was appalling.’
‘Vivianne just needs to—’
‘I’m not blamingher,’ his mother quipped. ‘I read enough on the train and filled in the gaps with my experience. You sent a kitten to face wolves. Heavens Arley, it’s been a quiet news week. They’re hungry for anything.’ Arley’s mother strode forward, grasped Vivianne’s biceps and twisted her into the light. Vivianne squirmed as his mother clasped her chin and angled her a little. Arley half expected her to push up Vivianne’s gums to check her teeth, like she might one of her prized thoroughbreds. Vivianne squawked, and his mother released her. ‘You can’t just put a woman in a fancy dress and throw her into society.’
‘I don’t care about society,’ he grumped back.
‘That is irrelevant, as society cares about you.’ In the rush to remove Vivianne from the presentation room, his coat collar must have folded over, because now she straightened it, and tugged at his hems. He brushed her away. She crossed her arms, and gave him her signature, penetrating look. ‘You’ve always liked to nudge. Antagonise thetonjust a little, then retreat to your villa. But it’s only ever been just you. Now it is not.’
This is what came from stepping out of his small circle. From listening to his mother’s suggestion that he meet people outside of parliament. From responding to Hamish’s request for help and for getting caught up in thebonhomieof it all.
But if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have met Vivianne.
‘We’ll be married soon, and it won’t matter. They’ll find someone new to gossip about,’ he said.
‘They will most certainly not. You think you know everything, but you only know this town as a duke. They will want to know everything about her. They will follow her fashion. Ask what she is reading. Report on who she bets on at the races. Where she buys her ribbons.’ His mother threaded her arm through Vivianne’s, before she patted her hand. ‘Don’t listen to him on these matters anymore. And call me Lorelei. Come my dear. Let’s make you a duchess.’
When reflected in the water, the spires of the Houses of Parliament seemed to stab their little spikes into the grey pall of cloud, all rippled and distorted in their mirror. Arley leaned into the motion, sunk his oar below the water, then heaved again, enjoying the short propulsion from the movement. The river was busy with other sportsmen rowing, sailboats, cargo and traders, and even though it smelt of oil, dead fish and stagnation, in his little skiff, tugging on the oars and sluicing over the water was one of the few places outside of his home where Arley found a slight peace with the world.
In just a few weeks, he’d spend more time inside the house than he did anywhere, even home at Number 10. And that included sleeping. Between the debates, committees, reviewing reports, the sitting house filled his life with direction and purpose that was somewhat lacking in the winter months. Even before proxy voting was abolished eight years before, he had attended every day and taken his work seriously. He owed it to his family’s legacy.
Had his father paddled across the Thames, contemplating life inside the house? Arley knew the man had rowed—he’d been a founding member of the Ilex Rowing Club, which, as a graduate of Oxford, Arley could also join. It was one of the few scraps of certain information he had. A mere sliver of knowledge to supplement the shadows of memory of a tall man full of gruff words and long, appraising silences. Arley pulled back on the oars. His biceps flexed against his shirt sleeves.
He'd spent his life gathering snippets about his father as he sought to construct some kind of visage of who he had been, and from that, try to create some kind of definition of how to be a duke. He’d had so little to base his life on.
Big Ben pounded the air with its rhythmic tolling of the hour, as a horn from a passing ferry echoed over the water. Arley sunk one oar, and the surrounding ripples swirled and glugged as he leant into the motion as the skiff turned. His father hadn’t even bothered demanding a spare heir from his wife before he’d relocated to town to live a secret life of domesticity with his mistress and their child.
Had Arley—quiet, preferring solitude to groups, always forcing himself into his inheritance—been a disappointment from such a young age? Or had his father only been waiting for Arley to grow older to teach him what he needed to learn, for a day that would never come as he’d died too soon?
Or was Winton—charming, and so striking in resemblance to the man that he could have been his twin—simply who he preferred?
The skiff bumped against the deck. Arley wobbled a little as he disembarked. He dragged his boat onto the bank, then squatted to tether it to the rope. Since Ilex had moved from Chelsea to Putney, he’d rented a small storage shed and a change room close to the Lambeth launch from a local publican. It allowed him to spend snatched moments on the river, when he needed some peace to recalibrate, and remain close to the house. And the publican kept it quiet that Arley used his rooms. He was a good man. Or at least, a good man for a fee.
‘Morning, your grace. Have you seen the evening edition?’ The publican pushed the paper across the bar. ‘Seems Goodman took a turn during the night. His doctor has advised he retire.’
Arley’s father had been good with numbers. That fact was the first to have come into Arley’s life. Arley was better with languages, so he’d forced himself to learn the machinations of budgets and spend. Because his father had also wanted to be Chancellor of the Exchequer, even though it had been decades since someone from the upper house had been appointed to the post. A position one couldn’t demand, regardless of title or connections, it took work, preparation, and a hefty slice of luck when the opportunity came along.
Winton may have gotten their father's attention, but Arley had his legacy.
This was his chance to fulfill it.
Chapter Sixteen
FutureDuchessTakesaTumble.
Those looking West for inspiration on what to wear might want to consider a more pared down approach, as conversation coming from the presentation at court yesterday reveals that big skirts are big trouble…
‘There are no menus inThe Tattler.’ Lorelei plucked the newspaper from Vivianne’s hand, folded it into a tight rectangle and placed it on one of the low tables that dotted the sitting room of Number 10. ‘None you should serve, anyway.’
‘You said I had to know what is happening in the city, for connections and arrangements. How will I know otherwise?’ Indignation bubbled beneath her words. ‘And I did not fall. I was pushed.’
Lorelei held up a silencing hand. ‘The truth does not matter. Don’t read the articles. They will not help you.’
Vivianne could charm a diplomat with a half-smile. She could hold a line in perfect unison with thecorps de balletand move as one with the other dancers. And she could balance on one toe and raise her other foot above her head. But she feared she would never learn the intricate dance of relationships, etiquette and behaviour that Arley’s mother detailed to her as they worked together in the sitting room at Number 10.
