Chapter 3

CHAPTER3

“Violet, you’re in danger of gawking like a punter at the Tower of London Menagerie,” Eleanor said tiredly and pulled on Violet’s arm.

Violet had to tear her gaze away from the Duke of Barlow as he passed by close to their group. He was walking alongside the Marquess of Huxley, heading to talk to some other ladies.

Violet gazed at the ladies with envy curling in her gut, but she knew at once why the Duke and the Marquess had gone to their group and not her own.

In her group, they were all quiet, shy in front of those they did not know, and had been labeled “merely wallflowers” in the scandal sheets. The group the gentlemen had moved toward were the bolder and more flirtatious ladies that Celia was known to be friends with.

That envy curled greater as two ladies, both beautiful, turned and smiled at the Duke of Barlow with curiosity.

“Grace.” Violet turned to her friend, who was now trying not to trip on the hem of her own gown. “Come with me to get some refreshments, would you?” She nodded at the table of canapés and stuffed pastries that was closest to where the Duke stood.

“What game are you playing at?” Eleanor hissed, taking her arm once more and peering over her spectacles at Violet.

“You have mastered the look of a perturbed governess, by the way.” Violet’s quip gave Eleanor a moment’s hesitation as she smiled. That moment enabled Violet to pull her arm free and grasp Grace’s hand, pulling her forward.

“Violet!” Eleanor hissed, but Violet was already gone, towing Grace with her.

“She’s right, you know,” Grace whispered. “I know the Duke of Barlow inspired your story, and I am glad you met him, or you would not have the wondrous story you do now in your pen name—”

“If you are glad, then what is the problem?” Violet asked, adjusting the bodice of her gown self-consciously as she neared the table.

“The problem is that the man you have created in your story is not the Duke of Barlow,” Grace reminded her, pulling her to a stop. “He is an invention.”

“I know that.” Violet looked at her friend sharply. “Grace, I am hardly about to fall at the Duke of Barlow’s feet and be the next lady in his long line of conquests.”

“I am relieved to hear it.” Grace lifted her eyebrows as if she didn’t quite believe Violet.

“But I am looking for inspiration. When I do not know how my book will end, is it so wrong to want to meet the man again in the hope it will inspire something?” Violet waited with bated breath for an answer.

Grace looked between the Duke and the Marquess, then back at Eleanor and Diana, who were now talking in panicked whispers.

“Please?” Violet added when she saw Grece hesitate.

“Very well, though I hope the ending to your story is something wondrous, as we’re putting ourselves in this man’s path.” Grace walked forward with Violet at her side. “Risky business,” she muttered, more to herself than Violet.

Violet was overwhelmingly excited. As they reached the refreshments table, the Duke and the Marquess moved there, too. Grace passed her a small plate, and she grabbed two small canapés, reaching for a platter in front of her as the Duke moved to her side.

Suddenly, Violet’s hand brushed the Duke’s over the plate, and she snatched her palm back, looking up at him. For a second, she thought he might not acknowledge her at all, then he jerked his head away from the Marquess and stared straight at her.

Any fears she might have had about him not recognizing her faded away when a single eyebrow quirked high in her direction.

“We must stop bumping into each other this way, My Lady,” he remarked, his voice deep.

Violet summoned some sort of witty response, but all her confidence around her friends seemed to have melted away as she stared into those icy blue eyes.

He remembers me.

Her heartbeat started thudding in her chest once more.

* * *

“Ah, you know each other?” Lord Huxley asked with ease, walking around the Duke to look at Violet and Grace.

“We met in passing,” Violet sought to explain, but the Duke looked away from her. The power of those blue eyes melted away, and she found herself longing to have his eyes on her again. “We met in a bookshop.”

“Reaching for the same book, I seem to recall,” the Duke said, taking a sip of his claret. “Yet, we were not formally introduced.” His eyes returned to hers.

“Ah, then allow me the pleasure.” Lord Huxley rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. “Xander, meet Lady Violet Aston, daughter of the Marquess of Pembrokeshire, and this is Lady Grace Richards, also daughter of a marquess. Lots of titles tonight, it seems.”

He chuckled warmly as he turned to address Grace, but Violet was distracted and barely paid attention. She curtsied low to the Duke as he bowed to her, and she was extremely aware of how his eyes didn’t stray from her throughout the movement. When he stood tall, his eyes then trailed down her figure, and her breath caught in her throat.

She was much shorter than him, petite, and with a slim figure. She did not have the tall and impressive figure of Celia, with her generous curves in all the right places, drawing in any man the way that bees were drawn to honey.

Does he like what he sees or not?

Cursing her own foolishness, Violet cleared her throat, trying to think of something to say so she was not her usual silent self in front of strangers.

“What brings you to London, Your Grace?” she asked in what she hoped was a conversational tone, yet it had the opposite effect to the one she had been longing for.

Those icy blue eyes darkened further, and beside him, Lord Huxley chuckled.

“It’s nothing to worry about, my good man,” Lord Huxley said, elbowing his friend jovially. “You can tell the ladies. You see, before you are two learned ladies, and impressive readers. I do not doubt they have read the story which has given you so much chagrin.”

“The story?” Violet began, her voice lighter now.

She could feel Grace subtly trying to step on her foot beneath their gowns, but Grace was so clumsy that she only caught the hem of Violet’s dress.

“Yes, a story, clearly about me.” The Duke’s words were harsh, though he clearly tried to soften them for his friend’s sake as he gulped his wine. He was taking larger sips now, as if he needed the claret. “I am curious to find the writer of the story.”

“No doubt to give him a clip round the ear, eh?” Lord Huxley said, laughing once more.

Violet exchanged a look with Grace, seeing the same forced smile on her face.

Him…

When Violet had written her story and sent it to the magazine, she had written in a male pseudonym, fearing it would not be published if they knew a woman had written it. It seemed now her male pseudonym was offering her some protection from the anger of the Duke of Barlow.

“But I hope you have come here to enjoy yourself, too,” Lord Huxley said to the Duke. “You should dance.”

“Dance?” The Duke raised an eyebrow, as if the idea was almost comical to him, though he didn’t quite manage a smile.

“Yes. You know, where you put one foot in front of the other and try to make it look vaguely pretty.”

The Marquess’s joke made them all laugh, apart from the Duke.

He is so icy in manner.

Violet felt a desire to see a full reaction from him, perhaps a guffaw of laughter, or even a groan of despair—anything to break through the ice.

“I am surprised you two ladies are not dancing.” As the Duke spoke, his eyes slid to Violet. “Do you not dance?”

Violet longed to dance if he would ask her. Hoping this was her opportunity, she took a small step forward.

“Well, I—”

Before she could say any more, though, she caught Grace’s arm for support, and the champagne in Grace’s glass spilled on her gown.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” Grace gasped suddenly, her clumsiness so natural that Violet was prepared to carry on, regardless. “Come, let me get that cleaned up for you. If you would excuse us, Your Grace, My Lord.”

Violet was forced to curtsy and walk away with Grace.

“I am sorry,” Grace added in a whisper once they were a few strides away.

“Please, do not worry.” Violet knew that Grace was self-conscious about her clumsiness and did not want her to feel worse. “We all have our clumsy moments.”

“If only it were that.” Grace grimaced. “I am afraid I did that on purpose. I knew he is your muse, Violet, but I do not think much good can come from you getting closer to him.”

Violet’s pace slowed down as she turned to look back at the Duke, but he was no longer looking at her, and his icy stare was fixed on someone else.

* * *

“Violet, you must listen to what we are saying.”

It was a testament to the strength of Diana’s feelings that she was speaking almost as much as Eleanor and Grace were on this subject, leaning forward in her chair in the library as they perused the books together.

Violet couldn’t concentrate on the book in her lap. After Grace’s accident, and as they were wont to do at balls, the four of them had crept off to the library.

This evening, Eleanor appeared to be the only one interested in the books. She walked past the shelves, perusing the titles and adding a few words to the discussion every now and then.

Grace and Diana sat before Violet, talking intently about why she should not get closer to the Duke.

“Was he really about to ask her to dance?” Diana asked, turning to face Grace with fear in her eyes.

“I do not know.” Grace shrugged. “The conversation appeared to be leading that way.”

“Is it so wrong if he did ask me to dance?” Violet asked, dropping her book on the table beside her. “It might give me more inspiration.”

“Violet!” all three ladies gasped together.

“What?” she said, laughing at their reaction. “He is no murderer. He has not been convicted in a court of law.”

The three ladies exchanged worried looks as if Violet had taken leave of her senses, and then Eleanor returned to perusing the shelves, running her hands over the spines of the books.

“You worry too much,” Violet said slowly, looking between the three of them. “Having a few conversations with the man will hardly be signing my death warrant, will it?”

“What’s all this about death warrants?” a familiar voice called from the doorway.

* * *

Violet shifted in her chair to see Celia walking into the library. She was carrying a candle with her and had clearly come with the express purpose of finding them.

She strode forward, commanding attention in any room, as she always did. She put the candle down on the table alongside other candles, the way her fingers danced over the holder almost a sensual touch, then she turned and sat on the arm of Violet’s chair.

“I knew you would all be hiding in here.” Celia giggled warmly. “Oh, how I wish I could find the enjoyment in books that you all find.”

“You find it in men’s company instead,” Violet said with a playful smile.

Celia tapped her arm in reprimand but laughed all the same along with the others.

“Were you really coming to look for us? Or were you in search of an empty room?”

It was a testament to Celia’s sense of mischief that she didn’t even blush. She just offered a smile of her own and placed a finger on her lips.

Violet knew that over the years Celia had bent the rules many times. She was only fortunate that neither their mother nor the rest of the ton had seen what scandals she had been a part of.

“Celia, we need your help,” Diana spoke with sudden determination. “Violet has been speaking to the Duke of Barlow!”

“You make it sound as if I have been talking with the devil himself.” Violet leaned back in her chair. “He is hardly the grim reaper about to cut me down with a scythe.”

Diana jumped at these words, her eyes wide in horror. “We do not know what he is capable of. He could be a killer, Violet. You do not know that.”

Violet looked pleadingly at Celia.

“Enjoying a sense of danger, Vi?” Celia asked with a knowing smile. “Well, I can hardly blame you for such an idea.” She tossed one of the loose curls of auburn hair that hung down from her updo over her shoulder. “The Lord only knows that the risk is part of the… allure.”

Grace and Eleanor giggled at her words, but Diana looked even more horrified than before.

“Yet, I agree with your friends here.” Celia nodded at them all. “Violet, I am not sure it is a good idea for you to get close to the Duke of Barlow.”

“Whyever not?” Violet asked.

“Do we need to mention that he has been accused of murder again?” Eleanor cried as she abandoned her place with the books and leaned on the back of the rococo settee where Grace sat. “Did we mention it already?” she said with thick wryness. “Or am I going mad?”

“Eleanor, please,” Violet begged.

“She’s right,” Celia murmured.

Violet felt a sudden anger cripple her stomach. She turned in her seat, looking up at Celia. “You have always bent the rules,” she reminded her. “You have been bold, even brash at times, doing what you want and enjoying life. Mama hardly ever lets me out of her sight, for she is so afraid I will bend the rules as you do. Is it so wrong to want the freedom to do as I wish to for a change? Instead of being closeted at home.”

Celia said nothing but smiled a little as she looked at her. There was a rather guilty twinge in that expression, which Violet figured her sister was doing her best to hide.

“Besides, even if I did get to know the Duke of Barlow, he is hardly a fool to hurt me, with such rumors about him, is he? He’ll be on his best behavior.”

“That is certainly true,” Eleanor said with some reluctance, nodding.

Diana seemed outraged she had spoken such a thing and turned to stare at her with a slack jaw.

“Well, it’s true,” Eleanor insisted. “Only a fool of a man would risk it.”

“Besides, the Duke of Barlow will hardly take much notice of me anyway.” Violet shrugged. “In my efforts to talk to him, his eyes will pass over me very quickly, and he will look for the next woman. He is a known rake, and I am a wallflower, so he will not look at me for long.”

“Violet,” Celia said with sudden passion. “Do not disparage yourself! I cannot bear it.”

“You do not know what it’s like.” Violet stood and faced her sister fully. “Celia, you are admired in every room you walk into.” The strong words made Celia flatten her lips, that guilty look returning to her face. “We know what it’s like to hide in the shadows of rooms and disappear into the wallpaper. Men have little liking for wallflowers.”

“Or for bluestockings,” Eleanor added as she stood straight and took off her spectacles, cleaning them on her gown. “You are right, Violet, I fear. The Duke of Barlow might not take much notice of a group like us at all.”

“Oh, enough of all this disparagement.” Celia pushed off the arm of the chair and clicked her fingers. “I have an idea. A way to make you all stop hiding in the shadows.”

“Can you perform magic?” Violet asked, prompting the others to snigger once more.

Celia fell quiet for a minute. She found an inkwell and paper on a writing desk, then started scribbling something on it, before tearing the paper into five pieces. She picked up an empty box from the library floor and dropped the scraps of paper into it, fully folded, and shook the box.

“There.” She turned to face them all and presented the box.

“What is this?” Grace was the first to ask, staring at the box with a wrinkled nose and plain suspicion.

“A dare for each of you,” Celia said with a wide grin. “And one for me, too.” She counted out the bits of paper. “You wish to leave the closeted wall you have been a part of?” she asked Violet directly. “You wish to leave the shadows?” she asked Eleanor. “You wish to speak your mind more?” she asked Diana, who hung her head. “Then it’s time to mix things up a little.”

She shook the box once again. “Come, come. Vi, it is your turn first. Pick a piece of paper.”

Violet looked at her friends, wondering what to do.

Eleanor shrugged with a smile. “What’s the harm in a little dare? Perhaps Celia is right. We could do with coming out of the shadows a little.”

“You can keep each dare,” Celia went on. “You do not need to complete it now. I will come to you and let you know when the time has come for you to complete it. When I know you’re ready.”

Violet sighed and walked toward the box. It seemed as if one of the bits of paper suddenly moved before her eyes, but that was impossible. Celia had already dropped all the notes into the box. Yet, she reached for this scrap regardless and opened it.

“So? What does it say?” Diana asked quietly, clearly her curiosity burning within her.

“It says…” Violet smiled and rather thought her sister had directed her to pick this piece of paper in particular. “Make the Dark Duke show any sort of emotion.”

“Pah! Good luck with that.” Eleanor laughed at the idea, but Violet’s smile had grown wider.

“I know exactly what to do.”