Page 44 of A Most Improper Duchess
Arley shook his head. ‘He’ll come back with some invoice for whatever it is he wants. He’ll pipe down. He always does.’
The chatter of the room dipped. Arley looked to the entrance, where men were already gathering. ‘Pemberton is here. Now’s my chance to speak to him.’ Arley put his glass down, stood, and rehearsed his argument for the Exchequer again in his mind.
As he stepped from the carriage and onto the portico of Number 10, Arley’s bones ached like those of a man twice his age. Winton. Pemberton. He had a dozen thick folders of notes and reports clutched under his arm. And he still had to prepare some kind of speech for the launch tomorrow night.Heavens.
It wasn’t the work itself, it was the people. Part of him always felt drained after too much interaction and he felt himself a little depleted until he could find some peace and restore his energy. He hadn’t been on the water in days, and his body felt knotted.
Still, the conversation at the club had been promising. Pemberton hadn’t promised his support, but he hadn’t dismissed him. Unlike his uncle whom he had inherited the title from, Pemberton had become a stickler for tradition, and had congratulated Arley on his upcoming nuptials. ‘More family minded men is what we need. Less of the old crowd, cavorting and carrying on. More even tempers. Solid values.’
In the foyer, Arley shook off his coat and passed it to Cecil, along with his hat. He shuffled through the mail. It contained the usual mass of invitations and introductions. Arley paused on one with French stamps in the corner. It was addressed to Vivianne.
Arley tapped the edge of the envelope against his finger as he strolled to the sitting room. Vivianne sat on the lounge with his mother, both of them with their heads slightly bent as they focused on small samplers of embroidery.
‘I do not know why you suggested I practise sewing. I am very good at this,’ Vivianne said with a slight smugness.
‘You are too good. That is the problem. You should have enough skill to make a simple gift, but not be so talented that people think you might have spent an inordinate amount of time at stitching. And with your gloves on.’
‘But I cannot feel the needle,’ Vivianne protested.
‘Gloves.’
‘Good evening, duchesses,’ Arley greeted them from the archway.
He didn’t think his heart would ever tire of that moment when Vivianne saw him, and light bounded across her face, filled her eyes and ignited her smile. She went to push herself from her seat, but his mother’s exasperated reminder of ‘Gloves, Vivianne,’ slowed her. She fumbled with the buttons at her wrist before she skipped across the room. Another cough. She slowed to a walk, then bobbed. ‘Good evening, your grace.’
Her hair had been braided into an elaborate braid, and she wore a delicate turquoise and gold dress, with layers of ruffles and a cinched waist. When she emerged from her curtsy, her eyes sparkled with pride. She must have been practising. It was perfect.
‘You have a letter.’ He held it out and Vivianne gave a little squeal of delight. She turned it over and lifted the flap, before pulling out a thin sheet of vellum. Her lips moved a little as she read, and her smile broadened with each word.
‘If I send her money for her ticket, Nicole will come. She will be here for our wedding!’ Vivianne clutched the letter to her chest. ‘I am so happy. I have missed her so much.’
‘Nicole? From the ballet?’ He leaned in closer and lowered his tone. ‘The one who was in the wine bar the night we met? Who left with Algernon?’
‘Oui,’ Vivianne said as her eyes scanned the page again. ‘I was so worried about her when her duke is not a duke at all. But she is well. She has a small part in the next opera. And not a duke, but an earl enjoys her company.’ Vivianne giggled, then pressed her gloved hand to her lips. ‘Désolée, Nicole is so funny about these things. She likes the attention. How do I send her money for a ticket? Can your travel company arrange her voyage?’
‘She can’t come. Not for the wedding.’ Arley shot a look over his shoulder. The archway was empty, but that didn’t mean no one lingered in the hallway. ‘And not after either. Her friendship is not appropriate.’
‘But she is Nicole…’ Vivianne folded the vellum over onto itself and slid it into her pocket. She placed a protective hand over her skirt. ‘After the wedding, maybe we can also go to Paris?’
His head was throbbing, and he still had a mass of reports to read through. ‘I thought you hated it there. Why would we go back?’ he snapped.
‘To see Nicole, of course.’ She tapped her fingertips together in an off-beat tempo. ‘She is my only friend for so long.’
Agitation gnawed at him. It had been too long a day. At one moment Winton seemed about to unravel everything from beneath him, the next, Vivianne acted like she was in collusion with him. She met his gaze, pinned him in it, and just as he was about to break away, she half closed her eyes and focused on the floor.
‘The next few weeks are so important,’ he said with a wash of guilt. ‘Maybe after we can arrange something discrete.’
Fire flashed in her eyes, and her jaw clenched. He braced himself for her fury, or even a squall. She took a slow breath, swallowed hard, then nodded. ‘Yes, your grace.’ She bobbed a short curtsy and went to brush past him.
‘No dancing, Vivianne. Not today.’
‘Not even with the doors closed?’ She smiled coyly. ‘You could join me?’
‘You can dance tomorrow, after the launch.’
‘With you?’ She smiled, and a little of her light returned.
He shook his head. ‘I don’t dance at balls, remember? I will make my speech, then retire, as I have too much work to do.’ He planted a quick kiss on her cheek, and she swayed with the pressure like a leaf. ‘But you will be there to represent me. And I know you will shine.’
