It was a Danforth family portrait; she would guess it had been painted about ten years ago. The duchess and the late duke were seated on a garden bench, holding hands. Taviston and his middle brother Peyton stood behind them, each with a hand on a parent’s shoulder. The only daughter sat to her mother’s left with the youngest brother, James, pulled to her side.
Victoria could not hold back a smile as she studied the picture. Taviston resembled his father, with the same black hair and grey eyes. He looked young, perhaps only eighteen or so, but he carried the same solemn expression he did these days. Peyton looked to be only a year or two younger than the duke. Victoria had to sigh at his masculine beauty. His tousled auburn hair and twinkling blue eyes indicated the mischievous spirit Taviston had ascribed to him. James was just a boy of ten or eleven. His black hair and serious appearance mirrored Taviston’s, but in contrast he had those same sparkling blue eyes as Peyton. As for their sister, Harriet was it? She was a lovely young woman a year or two older than Taviston, with Peyton’s auburn hair and the duke’s grey eyes.
The picture of a vibrant family sent a stab of jealousy through her heart. She had dreamed of growing up in such a family since the day her mother had died, when she was four. More recently, she had transformed her dream into a fervent desire to be the wife and mother of such a family.
The duchess swept into the room on light feet, as if she couldn’t wait to speak with Victoria. “Good afternoon, Miss Forster. How wonderful that you have called on such a dreadful afternoon.”
Victoria stood and faced the duchess. She smiled tremulously at first, then with greater confidence as she saw the sincere pleasure on the older woman’s face.
“Good afternoon, Your Grace. I am honored to call upon you.” When the duchess finally reached her, Victoria curtsied.
“Let’s sit,” said the duchess, waving her hand at the sofa. “Halston should be bringing tea up at any moment.”
Panic pierced her heart at the mention of tea. Tea would require her to stay longer than fifteen minutes. She calmed herself by remembering they were ensconced in the closed drawing room, out of sight. Taviston couldn’t possibly see her.
After they were both seated, Victoria nodded her head at the picture over the fireplace. “I was admiring your fine family, ma’am.”
The duchess’s eyes turned wistful. “I miss my William more than I can say, but I am extremely proud of my sons and their accomplishments. My daughter Harriet as well. She’s made a lovely life for her family in Hampshire. If only I could get the boys to settle down and begin families of their own. More grandchildren would not be unwelcome.” Her sapphire eyes shone brightly.
“Families are a great comfort,” Victoria said with a conviction stemming from her heart and not experience.
The duchess abruptly changed the subject. “Now then, you seem well acquainted with my Taviston.” There was not a hint of malice in the duchess’s voice, only curiosity.
Little do you know how well acquainted. This grand lady would surely be scandalized if she only knew the truth. Trying to think of something appropriate to say was proving extremely difficult, because memories of the duke’s delicious tongue invading her mouth flashed through her brain. She attempted to keep her eyes from crossing as she opened her mouth in the hope that rational words would flow forth.
“Oh... Well, I—”
Victoria was saved by dear, dear Halston. He chose that moment to arrive, bearing tea on a silver tray. After placing it on the table resting up against the back of the sofa, he answered the duchess’s beckoning and bent to hear a whispered word from that grand lady.
Taking a deep breath, Victoria faced the duchess after having watched Halston’s entrance and retreat. There was a faint glimmer in Her Grace’s eyes as she bestowed one of her regal smiles on Victoria.
“Would you do me the favor of pouring, my dear?”
“I?” Victoria did not hide her surprise well. She knew she should feel honored and privileged to pour tea for the Duchess of Taviston; she only feared botching the job. Clearing her throat, she answered more respectfully, “I would love to, Your Grace.”
“Thank you. Do call me Duchess, please.”
She responded with a quiet, “Of course,” while rising to dispense the tea. The Danforth family certainly was one for familiarity. The duke wanted her to address him as... Well, she had no idea, but he had responded well to her calling him Taviston. She shook her head free of the delightful memory in order to concentrate on pouring the tea.
“How do you take your tea, Duchess?”
“A healthy dose of milk and sugar, please.”
Victoria fixed a cup for the duchess first and carried it around to her, along with a plate of tiny cakes. Finally she poured herself a cup and returned to sit down. They sipped in silence for a minute.
“You strike me as a sensible young lady.”
How did one respond to that when one had not even seen the s
hadow of one’s sense in over a week? Victoria decided on the polite, vague reply.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Many young ladies today are so silly and capricious. Yet you always seem composed. I mean no offense, my dear, but most young women would be in a near panic at not being married by your age.”
“I take no offense, Duchess. Of course, I had no choice in having to wait for my Season, due to my relatives. But, I find that my years have given me a more mature perspective on the marriage market.” That was the biggest line of twaddle she had ever let out of her mouth. Silently asking for forgiveness, Victoria raised her teacup to hide her embarrassment.
The duchess looked over the sofa toward the door.