Page 35 of A Most Improper Duchess
‘It would be quicker if you would just tell me what to serve,’ Vivianne grumbled.
‘If I tell you, you will never learn, and I will never leave, which would be a tragedy.’ Lorelei delivered the dire prediction with the same abrupt monotone that she used for almost all conversation. ‘Arley and I like each other better when we are at a distance. And I have no interest in occupying a house with a newly married couple.’
‘Your grace—’
‘Lorelei.’
‘Being a duchess is not what I imagined. The attention. The restrictions. Arley says I cannot dance.’
‘You can dance. Just not the ballet.’ Lorelei circled Vivianne, slapping her fan into her palm. ‘Again.’
Vivianne lowered herself into a curtsy.
‘Too low. I said a royal duke, not a foreign prince. Do not adjust your chin.Neversmile.’
Vivianne flexed her fingers into her new gloves. After hours of bobbing and reciting names, lines of sweat raced down her back. Unlike at Garnier, where she wore light muslin, in here she wore a heavy day dress with layers of petticoats, a bustle, and adorned with ruffles and bows. Her gloves hadn’t moulded to her hands yet, and even the gaps between her fingers felt clammy. Vivianne plucked her buttons and stripped one off. Lorelei took her hand and twisted it into the light, frowning as her eyes traced her calluses and toughened skin.
‘Never be without your gloves in public. That includes in spaces with staff. You can never remind them of themselves.’
Vivianne huffed as she shoved her hand back into the stiff leather.
‘The Earl of Foxingford…’ Lorelei paused.
Vivianne trawled her memory. ‘Unsuccessfully tried to woo the wife of Baron Ludgate. He still thinks of her, and in a way he should not.’
‘And therefore…’
Must she take on the burdens of earls and ladies, along with her own life? ‘Therefore…’
‘You can never invite Lady Foxingford and Lady Ludgate to the same event,’ Lorelei said, her tone prodding. ‘Unless you want fireworks. Which you do not.’
Vivianne tapped the names off on her fingers. ‘Foxingford. Ludgate. Never together.’
‘And while Ludgate is a supporter of McGlinty, he will never vote with him unless given the opportunity for…’
Vivianne’s head throbbed. Lorelei continued to circle her as she spoke. A tap at her wrist to adjust her posture was followed by a tug on her skirt to neaten her hem. Since the disaster of her presentation the week before, this had been her days: receiving lessons on deportment, learning the intricacies of relationships and practising her curtsyagain.
No wonder the people of France had beheaded so many of the aristocracy. Not because of the oppression. But because they were all so tedious.
‘People, presence, persuasion, Vivianne, in everything you do. Understand the people you are interacting with. Always be mindful of your presence. You are a duchess—you curtsy to no one unless they are wearing a crown. And always understand what you want from a situation, or you will find yourself twisted into some commitment that does not suit.’
‘This is ridiculous!’ Vivianne shook her skirts and stormed to the window. The sun had broken through the clouds, and she longed to sit in the garden, or walk through the park. To find a café and sit and watch the promenade. But like yesterday, and the day before, and every day since her failure, she was contained. ‘Do people not attend parties just for fun?’ she asked.
Lorelei sighed with her now familiar exasperation. ‘People, yes. Duchesses, no.’
The faint crunch of wheels on gravel sent a jolt through Vivianne. Each day, she hoped to catch a moment with Arley, but maybe one in three she saw him. His days took him from home to parliament early, and while she often lingered as late as she could, she was often back in her room at Number 7 and looking over the street from the opposite side of the road when his carriage turned into the drive. His voice echoed in the entryway as his shadow moved past the arched entrance before he followed. Frustrated and agitated, he issued orders to a short man beside him as he handed over his hat and gloves to Cecil.
‘I did not say I would vote with McGlinty. I said the opposite.’ The man, holding a pencil and notebook, bobbed beside him as he scribbled. ‘And I need to meet with Viscount Pemberton to discuss his current support.’
The man she’d met in Paris had moved with a slight uncertainty. But this Arley spoke with determination as he rattled off names and orders, before the group moved out of sight, his voice fading with their footfalls.
‘He is making a bid, then,’ Lorelei said.
Vivianne looked to the duchess. ‘A bid?’
‘Launching a political campaign. He wants to be Chancellor of the Exchequer. Fulfill his father’s unattained dream,’ she explained. ‘The memory of that man hangs over him still.’
‘Is being a duke not enough for him? He wants more?’ Vivianne asked.
