His Duchess (His and Hers 1)

They stopped in front of Lady Smitherton. He threw Miss Forster a curious glance, but she refused to look at him. She dropped a quick curtsy and said to his shoes, “Thank you for the dance, Your Grace. I wish you a good evening.” Then she turned and began an animated conversation with her “dear” friend.

Taviston wasn’t accustomed to being dismissed. Nevertheless, he took the hint. He spent the rest of the evening avoiding his mother, his best friend, and his best friend’s wife. Not an easy feat. He also kept an eye on Miss Forster and her cousin. When he saw them bidding acquaintances good night and heading for the door, he did the same.

Chapter Eight

Victoria was more than relieved Louisa hadn’t wanted to stay at the ball too long after the midnight supper. Currently sprawled across her bed, she stared at the ceiling. Exhaustion infiltrated every muscle and bone in her body, including her brain. What a bizarre evening.

As Louisa had dragged her into the circle of the Northfields, the Duke of Taviston, and his mother, her cousin’s nefarious purpose in keeping her close all evening had become clear to her. Louisa had hoped to prove the duke’s statement about their introduction a lie, which of course it was. She couldn’t believe Louisa’s audacity in confronting the duchess in public over the matter. But she had.

She’d been further dumbfounded when Lady Northfield, with whom she had only the barest of acquaintance, had surreptitiously supplied her name to the duchess. And not one, but two falsehoods had slipped graciously from that worthy lady’s tongue. Lies were second nature to those Tavistons!

But she was far from done being bewildered, astounded, and confounded. Louisa had then pushed her, literally, into dancing with the duke. Her cousin knew well enough she had no talent for dancing. She had made a complete fool of herself and no doubt the duke as well, with her ungainly lurching and tripping.

And oh goodness, when she had tripped and been caught by Taviston. Her bosom had ached with some unknown yearning at the contact. Contact through her chemise, corset, and dress and his shirt and coat, no less. His touch unnerved her.

She had loved it, though, when he laughed at her joke but soon after, his grey eyes had turned dark and stormy, though she didn’t know why. And once again he had dismissed her breezily. She couldn’t blame him for not wishing to spend any more time with her. Every time they met things seemed to go disastrously.

“Meow!” Arthur jumped on the bed and promptly began swatting at one of the many feathers that adorned her gown.

“Oh, Arthur. Must you have your walk tonight? Couldn’t we miss it this one time?”

“Meooowwww!”

Apparently not.

“Ungrateful wretch!” The soft scratching she gave his head belied the harshness of her tone. “Let me change into something more comfortable and less hideous.”

Ten minutes later Victoria had Arthur firmly on his lead and headed out the front door with Timothy just behind her. When she saw the figure of a man leaning against the area railing she stopped so suddenly on the last step that Timothy ran into her and bumped her down the final step. The footman muttered an apology.

“Good evening again, Miss Forster.”

“Whatever are you doing here?” Victoria asked, then added hastily, “Your Grace.”

He still wore his formal evening wear, underneath his cloak.

“I myself enjoy an evening constitutional so I thought I might accompany you and Arthur.”

That clarified nothing. The duke had followed her around a ballroom for most of the evening and now he was here, at her home? Perhaps there was just a touch of madness running through the veins of his family. That would help explain the ease with which they fabricated stories.

He stood silently before her, awaiting her answer though he really hadn’t asked a question. She relented, because despite her misgivings, His Grace intrigued her. “I suppose there would be no harm in our walking together, but I must admit I am still confused as to why you are waiting here for me. Are you attempting to verify the information I gave you the other night?”

She did not care if he thought her rude for questioning his motives. Her life had turned topsy-turvy the moment he’d accosted her.

Casually, he picked up Arthur’s lead, which must have slipped from her hand, and began walking. Victoria put her feet in motion and drew even beside him. Timothy followed in their wake.

“I assure you I am doing no such thing, Miss Forster. I often take a walk in the late evening. What do you imagine I was doing when we chanced upon one another?” He paused and tipped his head forward in acknowledgement. “I will admit, as well, that I have your safety in mind. Despite the presence of the formidable Timothy, I will rest easier if I stroll with you.”

That was unexpectedly kind. No one had worried for her since her father had passed away. “I thank you for your concern.”

They strolled on in silence for several minutes. The night was chilly, but cloudless. The streets weren’t quite as deserted as they had been the other night, but no one seemed to pay them any attention. Most of Mayfair’s citizens weren’t walking, either; they rode home from their evening entertainments in carriages. There wasn’t much moonlight and shrouded as she was by her cloak, Victoria doubted anyone could recognize her. Louisa could not hear of this. The refrain of her current life.

As they headed across Oxford Street, Taviston broke the silence. “I must confess, Miss Forster, my curiosity has still got the better of me, though perhaps I could have been less blunt at the ball. How did this wayward feline end up in my home?”

Victoria hesitated, but his tone was mild, and she did owe him an explanation. She launched into an account of the events that had occurred after they had parted ways that night. He listened attentively and made no comments as she related her story.

“Your cat just wanders into other people’s houses?” he asked, clearly unable to fathom such rude behavior.

“I’m afraid so. He probably doesn’t attach much importance to the ownership of houses. Arthur’s main goal in life is to satisfy his stomach. He’s learned good meals are to be found in houses. His escaping into houses wasn’t such a problem in the country. The villagers and neighbors knew who he was. They fed him and let him stay as long as he wanted. He would eventually come back to me. Mysteriously, many of the local female cats were blessed with litters of grey kittens.”