Page 45 of A Most Improper Duchess
Chapter Twenty
Thewomanreflectedinthe small glass squares of the ballroom window was a delightful stranger. Vivianne’s hair had been styled with more finesse than she could manage herself, and the tips of it glinted with crystal beads that the maid had threaded through her strands. A light powder over her nose to try to conceal a few light childhood freckles made her skin glow. She’d decided on the yellow gown, with a modest neckline, short sleeves and a full, but not too ostentatious skirt. The silk shimmered bright as sunshine. But would the pink have been a better choice? Was yellow too brazen?
People, presence, persuasion.
It was too late to change now, as the first guests were already filing into the ballroom. Vivianne held a breath, closed her eyes, and tried to draw in the memory of standing in the foyer de la danse, and to feel the freedom of that moment after the patrons had gone, and to remember the contentment of her fellow dancers as they settled into one another’s presence, no longer competitors vying for a new sponsor, but sisters of the stage.
She opened her eyes and caught her lone reflection in the glass. Her heart lurched into its hasty rhythm again.
Little prisms of crystal light, some flecked with rainbows, speckled the walls and blended into the dull gleam of the polished wooden floor. On the stage at the far end of the hall, a quartet played, the music humming between the odd moments of silence. A long line of trestle tables had been set up along one end of the room. Bright white cloths draped each one and coloured ribbons had been pinned to each corner. Blue, orange, green, lavender, Vivianne had tried to select a palette of joy and adventure. Attendants wearing a simple uniform of white pants and blue coats stood by each table, nervously holding out brochures to those who passed. Nobles, merchants, business owners, some lecturers from the university and even young students filled the room. What a strange metamorphosis this city was, where the old world mixed with the new, even though they detested it. Money changed so many things about people.
Young Elise, Iris’s assistant who lived with her aunt in Number 7, greeted the guests. She handed each group a small booklet that summarised each tour, as an introduction to the company’s offerings.
‘May I see?’ Vivianne asked. Elise passed her one. ‘I like this picture of a cat riding in the balloon on the cover. This is everybody’s Spencer, yes?’
‘I drew him,’ she said, beaming.
Vivianne opened the book. ‘So people book these tours? And someone takes them on a holiday? Why do they not go by themselves?’
‘Because a guide can help them find all the best places to go and helps them if they get into trouble or aren’t sure what to do. And people might make friends along the way. Iris is always talking about the people she met when she travelled with her father. I’m hoping to lead a tour myself one day, when I’m older.’
Vivianne flipped through the pages in the booklet.Explore Edinburgh. Venetian Vacation. Sicilian Sampler. The Mini-Grand Tour.
‘This is ours! With my list, that I helped Arley write. Notre Dame, Arc de Triomphe…’ Vivianne ran her finger down the itinerary. No painter. No gardens. None of her restaurants.
‘Iris changed some things,’ Elise said. ‘She was worried what people might think, especially if they haven’t been abroad before.’
‘What would people think that would be so terrible? About my painters, and the gardens?’
‘The Mini Grand Tour is for students and young people, but it is their parents who will pay. They will want to know where their children are going. It just needed to be more specific, is all. And what people think can be terribly important, especially in London.’ Elise spoke the last sentence with so much sadness that Vivianne felt the pain of her words. She coughed, then shifted her attention back to the door. ‘Mr Worthington. Would you like a brochure?’
Arley had said it might be a challenge to convince them how to include her suggestions. But he had promised her he would. They had walked the city, talking and falling in love as she shared her thoughts with him. The food and wine in the Quartier Latin was as good as on the right bank, if you knew where to go, and the gardens so beautiful, and the labyrinth beneath the city a powerful reminder of the darkness they had endured, only to be reborn the city of light. They were the stories young people needed to hear.
Vivianne scanned the crowd for Arley, and when she spotted him, she made a direct line for him. He was speaking to an older man, both of them in almost identical evening dress and nodding enthusiastically. ‘My father always wanted to hold the office, and I have always wanted to continue his legacy—’
‘Arley, this is not my Paris.’ She held out the booklet, open at the offending page. ‘This is a list.’
Frustration creased his brow as he made his apologies, and the man left. ‘Do you know who that was? You can’t just interrupt me. I’m trying to garner support.’
‘But you promised me my painter. You wanted my Paris.’ She pushed the booklet against his chest. ‘This is not it.’
He looked down but made no move to take the guide from her. ‘I know what I said, but that was before. Things are different now. With the house sitting and the company launching, there are other points to consider. People are relying on us. We can’t take any risks that might damage our reputation.’
‘But—’
‘We will talk later. I need to give my speech.’ He leaned forward, as if about to kiss her cheek, then caught himself and pulled back. He made his way onto the stage at the far end of the room, and once he took up his place, he put on his glasses and shook out a sheet of paper. The gathering settled and quietened, and when he spoke, it was with his lion’s voice, all stiff and commanding.
Vivianne pinned a smile as the words washed over her. That was one skill from Paris that was of some use—smiling—because so little of what she did and who she was had any place here. She could not dance. Could not bargain. Could not even sew as a duchess should. Applause filled the hall. Arley gave a short wave to the crowd, then moved behind the curtains as the quartet began to play. Couples moved onto the dance floor. She made a half turn for the door, meaning to follow Arley, but a man, tall, dark haired and full of charm, barred her way.
‘May I have this dance?’ He held out an expectant hand.
Something about the man’s face, his eyes, and his amiable smile rang familiar, but she could not quite place the memory of where she had seen him. She knew his type of charisma though. It presented with a veneer of kindness but hid something more unpredictable beneath.
But she could not refuse a request to dance. Lorelei had warned her. He led her onto the floor, and together, they moved into a waltz.
‘You are an excellent dancer, Miss Chevalier. I feel like I am flying.’
‘Merci, sir. I did not catch your name?’
