His Duchess (His and Hers 1)

“Do not concern yourself with this little event, Your Grace. All you need do is show up at the appointed hour. I, your hostess, will do the rest.”

Drawing herself up to her full, albeit short, height she raised her eyebrows at him in an incredibly supercilious manner and turned to march out of the room.

“Ah, Victoria?”

Clearly upset he had interrupted her exit, she turned and mustered some semblance of politeness. “Yes?”

Taviston smiled. “When exactly will this dinner party take place? I must know when to show myself.”

“Saturday evening. Eight o’clock.” She flipped her head arrogantly and swept out of the room, leaving behind a whisper of lavender.

He followed the sway of her hips until she turned a corner. After rubbing his tired eyes, he bent to pick up Arthur.

“Any ideas, mighty king?”

The cat meowed sagely.

“Right. We had best consult Northfield; this is going to be more difficult than I had imagined.”

“THERE IS NO HOPE FOR it.”

Taviston sat slouched in an armchair, eyeing Northfield dolorously. They were at White’s, attempting to have a semi-private conversation in a very crowded room. Appa

rently not many men wanted the company of women that afternoon.

Northfield shook his head. “Please, leave the drama to me. You’re not yourself at all, Taviston.”

“Of course I’m not myself, you idiot. I have never been so hopelessly in love before.” He sat up and dropped his head into his hands.

He heard Northfield heave a huge sigh and imagined his friend’s eyes were rolling heavenward as well.

“Love is never hopeless, my dear fellow. That’s the beauty of it. Now, tell me more, so that I may offer you my invaluable assistance.”

Taviston sat back in his chair once again. He had thought to get himself deep in his cups and then admit to his best friend that he was in love with his wife, but she despised him with a malice that cut to his soul. However, he had discovered it not quite so difficult to confess his emotions to Northfield. He had done so before they had even ordered up a single drink.

“She refuses to speak to me or even to occupy the same room. Yesterday I was full of optimism, certain I could win her love. Now, I am not so certain.”

“Do not speak so.” A deliberate pause. “I think you should court your wife.” The satisfied words rolled off his friend’s tongue, as if he had just solved all of England’s problems with France.

“I cannot court a woman who won’t remain in my presence for longer than ten seconds.” Perhaps Northfield wasn’t the one to consult on this matter.

“Of course you can,” he replied calmly, keeping a steady golden-eyed gaze on Taviston.

“Well...” He sat up straighter as a plan began to form in his mind. “Perhaps you do have the right of it. I can woo her.” Some of his earlier optimism returned. “I know she has some feelings for me, Northfield. Her actions have proven it so. I think.”

“Stop thinking. Court her; show her how you feel.” Northfield waved a hand in the air, as if this were something Taviston could easily accomplish.

After a few moments’ contemplation Taviston spread his hands wide as he spoke. “Very well. How about this? I will spend the week showing her how I feel and then I will plan a lavish denouement for the dinner party Saturday night.”

Northfield nodded his head slowly. “Excellent! A semi-public venue. She will be held captive. That’s quite brilliant actually.” His friend beamed his approval.

“Thank you,” Taviston replied dryly.

“Have you made any discoveries regarding the kidnapping?” Northfield asked, apparently thinking all would now be well with Taviston’ love life.

“Nothing firm as yet,” Taviston answered. “I have a suspicion of who might be responsible and if true, things will turn ugly.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Let me know if I can assist with anything. May I pass on one more bit of advice?” Northfield asked.