Chapter Twenty-Three
The sound of the orchestra bounced off the glimmering, gilded mirrors, the sparkling chandeliers, and the gold-painted walls of Lady Tewksbury’s establishment.
It was an immense ballroom of proportions so large they had to vie for the fabled palace of Versailles.
It was a place that Victoria had doubted she would ever see. She did not have a particular desire to go to France, even if some of the greatest minds regarding archeology lived there.
No, it was a country she would miss at present.
Once, they had been the light leading the rights of man.
They had doused that light and plunged into darkness.
In her estimation, having gone from a monarchy to madness to an emperor, they’d chosen poorly. She only hoped that they’d be able to sort themselves out one day without much more blood or fear.
And she prayed that the Lords of England would sort themselves out, too, before such a thing might happen upon their own shores.
Still, she’d seen engravings of what the famous hall of mirrors looked like in Versailles, and she imagined that Lady Tewksbury’s room was an imitation.
It stretched as far as she could see and was packed to the brim.
The ball was an absolute crush of what the ton would consider the very best people.
They stood packed in side by side, fans waving, cheeks red without the enhancement of rouge, due to the heat of the room. Jewels shone and laughter rang as champagne flowed.
After all, it was important to laugh, to show that one did not take life too seriously. Nothing brought an Englishman low, or so they wished the world to believe.
The only suitable thing to do if one was not laughing was to look as if they were bored beyond measure, that they had seen it all. In her rather painful years as a wallflower, Victoria had discovered too much visible enthusiasm was an indication of simplicity, that one was not accustomed to such a thing.
It was all rather tiring, the rituals of the ton, but tonight, she was determined to make a good show of it.
Tonight, she would show that she was not to be trod upon, not any longer.
She was a duchess, after all, and duchess to a very notorious duke.
While she felt that some ladies might be crushed by such a thing, she was going to revel in it. For if he could be notorious, so could she. She could be proud to be the eccentric duchess that dug pots when not gracing the ton with her presence.
It was going to be devilish fun. She was determined.
She looked back and spotted her husband, who was but a few feet behind. His gaze slid up and down her crimson gown, wicked and promising of all the things he wished to do to her when he had her to himself.
It made her feel bold, and she gave him a playful look.
Victoria turned to Catharine, tucked her arm into her sister’s pale-gloved arm, and led her deeper into the room.
Both of their trains trailed behind them.
The crimson silk gown embroidered with silver and red roses was perfection, and Madame Claudette had gone above and beyond with the secret help of the duke. For he had supplied rubies to be woven into the flowers.
It was an extravagant gown.
She never would have worn such a thing before.
Now, she adored it.
It clung to her frame almost as deliciously as her husband’s touch. Nothing could be quite that delicious, but she did like how she felt in it. It did not change who she was. She would always be the same lady that she had been years ago, when the ton had so thoroughly rejected her, but there was something to be said for clothes that one looked well in and that one had chosen themselves.
Her red hair was coiled atop her head, not in the silly, soft curls that many young ladies wore about their faces, but in lush, sweeping folds. Stars studded with diamonds had been interwoven into her locks, inspired by the pictures she’d seen of the great goddesses of old in Grecian myth.