The Most Unexpected Duchess (Preview)

Chapter One

Violet

“Tell me what is amiss.” Lady Violet Avery hooked her arm around her friend’s elbow and pulled the other girl close. “I can tell something is bothering you.”

“You know me well.” Mabel Bunting’s face seemed even smaller and paler than usual as she shook her head and answered in a low voice, “But we cannot speak yet. Not until we are in the garden.”

Violet nodded and hurried her lifelong best friend down the elegant, pebbled drive of her parents’ estate, away from the prying ears of servants and family alike, and into the secluded shrubbery of their winding garden. It was a cool, bright morning, the kind that made one feel all was well with the world. At least, Violet would have felt that way if she had not glimpsed the panic in Mabel’s brown eyes.

“Here?” She slowed as they dipped into the interior of the arbor, beneath a trellis smothered in ivy.

Mabel pulled her arm free of Violet’s and turned to face her, clutching her fingers together. “A most dreadful thing has happened, but you mustn’t tell a soul. It will be terrible indeed if someone were to overhear us, or if you were to let such a thing slip in conversation…”

“We are quite alone,” Violet assured her. “And you know my character enough to trust my confidence. Speak freely.”

“Where to begin?” Mabel began pacing the small space beneath the trellis, her hands now fluttering anxiously like butterflies unsure how to take flight. “You know my dear cousin, Julia? I believe you met at our garden party a few years ago.”

“Yes,” Violet assured her. “A sweet girl—I believe we ran into one another at a salon in London once as well. She is not terribly verbose but seems a gentle enough spirit.”

“She is gentle—almost too gentle for her own good. One feels she will shatter at the slightest touch.” Mabel’s eyes filled with tears. “And she will certainly shatter after this sordid affair comes to light. Oh, friend!”

She stopped her pacing and sank down onto a narrow stone bench in a pool of white muslin, her head in her hands and her shoulders shaking.

Violet hesitated a moment and then joined her friend, slipping an arm around Mabel’s shoulders. She said quietly and calmly, “I can see you’re upset, but you must calm yourself, dear one. Tell me everything that happened, from the beginning, and we will find a solution together.”

Mabel raised her tear-filled eyes. “You say that like you actually believe it. But I don’t see a way out.”

“Nonsense. There is always a way out.” Violet smiled in encouragement. “Go on, then. From the beginning.”

“Julia and a … a young man … they struck up a correspondence during the Season. Of a romantic nature.” Mabel stumbled over the words. “It is quite secret and has been going on for months without either of their parents’ knowledge.”

“Is he an unsuitable match?” Violet asked softly. She did not share the ton’s disapproval of unconventional matches, but she knew how proper society worked after 20 years on this earth as the daughter of the Earl of Crestwood, and she knew that for those that did not play the game, censure was guaranteed.

“No! Yes … It’s complicated.” Mabel bit her lip. “He is of the aristocracy, I assure you—a proper gentleman with lands and title …”

“But?”

“But the two families are at odds and have been for generations. Julia’s father had bad dealings with this young man’s grandfather. I don’t know the details, but both men left feeling cheated, and there was even a threat of a duel.” Mabel shook her head. “Julia pleaded with them to consider the match when she first fell for the gentleman in question, but they refused adamantly.”

“And so she went behind their back.” Violet nodded. “I am beginning to see the reason for secret correspondence.”

“She had no choice,” Mabel rushed on. “I thought you, of all people, would understand. In the same situation, I have no doubt your spirit would rise above convention.”

“Happily, I do not expect ever to face such a situation.” Violet sighed. “You know my parents well—do they seem like the sort of people who would meddle in my love life, or hold grudges that rot for eternity and imprison future generations?”

Mabel shook her head wryly. “But dear Violet, you must admit that not all people are as fortunate as you. Your parents spoiled you dreadfully, and had you a more obnoxious temperament, you would have turned out quite insufferable.”

Violet smiled slightly. “But we have strayed from the topic at hand. Is it simply your cousin’s secret correspondence that has you in such a state?”

“Would that it were,” Mabel sighed. “You see, they couldn’t send such correspondence in the post for fear they would be discovered. They needed a go-between to pass notes back and forth.”

Now, Violet understood. “You. You offered to assist them.”

“I wanted to help them,” she said desperately. “And I thought there was no harm in it. But I was wrong. The gentleman has been compiling a book of poetry for Julia and gave it to me with a love note. The note is coded, but neither of them is particularly cunning. I do not think it would take long for a sharp mind to understand the contents of the letter.”

“Why do you speak of code?” Violet asked. “Was the letter intercepted?”

Mabel’s eyes filled with tears again. “By Colette.”

For the first time, the gravity of the situation fell fully on Violet. Colette had moved in her same circle for years, a woman of good connections in London society who was only a few years older than Violet and Mabel. Unfortunately, Colette’s good family standing was not enough to cover for her bitter and gossiping nature. She was a pretty enough girl by the ton’s standards, but she schemed constantly for power, and within the ton, power lay primarily in information—scandalous information. Colette collected it and distributed it without care or caution.

“How in the world did Colette get her hands on such personal information?”

“She must have seen me put it in my reticule at the dance, and before Julia arrived, I ducked into the powder room to freshen up. She followed me in and chatted for a short time. I didn’t suspect anything until I tried to deliver the letter and book of poetry later that night. It was missing.” Mabel began to wring her hands again. “I didn’t have long to wonder—Colette called on me early the next morning and told me she held both objects and threatened to expose the entire affair if I didn’t give her what she wanted.”

“What was that?”

“Arthur. She wants to court Arthur.”

Arthur was Mabel’s older brother, a sweet young man with a peaceful nature and good prospects. A woman like Colette would eat him alive and spit him out.

“You can’t force something like that to happen, even if you wanted to.” Violet sat back, her brain racing. “I won’t let her get away with this.”

“We may not have a choice.” Mabel caught her breath. “She expects an answer from me tomorrow at Lady Sinclair’s masquerade ball. If I can convince Arthur to seek her out at that ball, she will return the letter and the book, but she says it must be convincing, and I don’t see how to bring that about without telling Arthur everything. He is loyal to Julia’s parents, and if I tell him about the book, the secret will be out either way.”

“I do not think Arthur needs to be involved,” Violet assured her, an idea taking place in her mind. “I have a thought—a way to trick Colette the same way she tricked you.”

For the first time that day, a twinkle came into Mabel’s eyes. “Your plans have a way of backfiring, dear friend. Remember when you devised a genius way to avoid your embroidery lessons? It was fairly unsuccessful if I recall.”

“Yes,” Violet allowed with an answering grin. “It turns out that pretending one’s wrists are both broken can only get you so far. Embroidery lessons were avoided, but all the fun mathematical equations were also removed from our lesson plan.”

“You were the only child who enjoyed equations.” Mabel rolled her eyes.

“But I was a child,” Violet pointed out. “And now I am a woman of twenty years who has survived her first Season in the ton. My plans have improved considerably since I was seven years of age.”

“Tell me everything,” Mabel said briskly, crossing her hands and looking hopeful for the first time all morning.

***

Plotting complete, the girls wound their way out of the garden with lighter hearts. They climbed the stairs to Violet’s room to see the gown and mask her maid had laid out for tomorrow’s event, and Mabel nodded with approval.

“A swan is a good choice,” she said simply. “You’ve lovely auburn hair, Vi. White always looks lovely with it.”

“Thank you,” Violet acknowledged, pushing the soft muslin aside and sitting on the exposed settee. “I’m glad it will be a masked ball, at least. Perhaps the disguise will help me avoid the ardent Lord Holden.”

“Did he speak to you last week, as you suspected?” Mabel asked.

“Proposed, you mean.” Violet sighed. “He did. I knew it was coming for weeks. He was so clear with my father about his attentions and would not take a single hint that I dropped for him. Perhaps I should have been more direct …”

“Were you direct in your refusal?”

“In that, at least, I was forthright.” Violet remembered the moment as though it were unfolding before her now in the room, distasteful and unpleasant. She saw the tall, narrow man with his seedy dark eyes and long sideburns as he professed his undying love for her person. “He told me that he wanted to marry me from the moment he saw me, and that we would have a lucrative future together.”

“Lucrative. How romantic.” Mabel rolled her eyes.

“His sincerity was somewhat in question since his attentions were, until a few weeks ago, entirely engaged with a young heiress in America,” Violet said dryly. “She died, poor thing, at sea on the way to their nuptials, and he abandoned the New World as quickly as he had previously embraced it. Suddenly, he is fawning over me—or, over my father, as it were—and I can only imagine my fortune is a good replacement for hers.”

“So you turned him down.”

“I told him I did not think he would make me happy, nor I him. I thanked him for his kind attentions and showed him to the door.” Violet shrugged. “It was all fairly painless. He seemed surprised, I will admit, and perhaps a little ruffled, but he held his emotions in check as far as I was concerned. My fear is that we will meet again in public, and time will have sown some bitterness.”

“Well, I for one think you did the right thing,” Mabel said. “There was something very unlikeable about the gentleman. You deserve much better. I shall keep my eyes peeled at Lady Sinclair’s for a more worthy chap to sweep you off your feet.”

“Nonsense.” Violet laughed. “I have no desire to be swept anywhere. I do not wish to marry this Season, any more than I did last season. I am young yet, whatever the ton says, and I would like to engage in a few enjoyable evenings without the threat of forever romance hanging over me like Damocles’ sword.”

“Some people don’t see romance as a deadly weapon,” Mabel pointed out. “I, for one, would like to fall hopelessly in love and marry as soon as I possibly can. My life will be better after marriage—that’s what everyone says. Why would I put off ‘better’ another day?”

“I am happy with my life as it is,” Violet said. She would not say out loud what she was thinking, for fear it would wound her dearest friend. Perhaps marriage is a cage, not freedom, after all. She was happy and at peace with her family and her life. She had no need of a cage. “And this evening, of all evenings, we ought to be focused on the task at hand. Romance can wait in the wings while we flirt with danger and intrigue.” She widened her eyes and lowered her voice as though telling a ghost story.

Mabel giggled and stood up, fluttering an imaginary fan and pretending shyness. “No, romance. Don’t linger there in the shadows. Come out and woo me.”

Violet snorted and stood up, squaring her shoulders and adopting a deep voice. “Dear Miss Bunting, may I cut in on your dance? I saw you across the room and was simply captivated by your every word and action. I will not rest until I can spin you around the room in some dance or other.”

Mabel simpered melodramatically. “Oh, sir, do tell me your name. I have never seen your like.”

“I am Lord … Handsome.” Violet hid another snort. “I have gobs of wealth and a very pretty pony. Is that enough to win your heart?”

“Only if you love me eternally and write me terrible poetry,” Mabel sighed.

Violet seized her hands and began whirling around the room in a mad dash. “No poetry, I fear,” she cried. “You must content yourself with the poetry of my feet upon the ballroom floor!”

The girls fell to the rug in fits of giggles, the imaginary world fading away as they did so.

“Yes,” Mabel sighed. “That is just what I imagine.”

But Violet was not imagining any such thing. Her mind was elsewhere, wrapped around the steps of their little plan, the intrigue of a love note in the wrong hands, and her vision of a masquerade ball with a mystery attached.

Chapter 2

Strathbourne Estate, Bedford, England

Tristan looked up from his ledger at the knock upon his door, a finger falling lightly into the left-hand column to hold his place.

“Enter.”

His mother appeared in the doorway, an anxious look on her strained face. The dowager duchess was an elegant woman aging with dignity, but since his father’s death a mere month before, Tristan had noticed hard lines gathering around her lips and eyes, and her gray hair had lost its luster. He knew that much weighed on her mind as of late, and he thought again—as he had daily since losing his father—how he wanted to lift her cares and concerns from her frail shoulders.

“Mother.” He abandoned the ledger and stood. “Please, come in.” He gestured to one of two armchairs drawn up to the flickering flames of the study fireplace and took the other after she sank gratefully into hers.

“I am sorry to bother you,” she said weakly. “I know you are trying to focus on the matters at hand. How is it all coming? Is there much to sort out?”

Tristan forced a smile. He was now the Duke of Strathbourne, and the responsibility was not served up on a golden platter. No, it had been handed to him by his dying father in the form of this tattered and disappointing ledger, filled with columns of debt and broken promises. The ledger was a chain tying him to a dying estate and a daily reminder of the reason for his father’s untimely death. “I am learning as I go,” he said hesitantly. He nodded at the little letter in his mother’s trembling hands. “Have you brought me more business to look over?”

She seemed reluctant to let the letter go but ceded it at last into his grip. “It’s a letter from our solicitor. I do not have the heart to read it. Considering everything, it cannot be good news.”

He set the letter aside without opening it. He would tend to it later. “There is another matter pressing upon you, I can see as much from your face.”

“You know me well, Tristan.” She sighed. “I went out in my carriage today for a morning ride and came upon some of our tenants in a dispute. I could not, of course, get involved without a gentleman present to provide the appropriate protection, but when I asked Mr. Moles about the matter just now, he implied such disputes are quite common. Apparently, your dear departed father was rather too overwhelmed with his financial troubles to tend to the disputes. I hate to ask it of you—”

“I will see what I can do,” Tristan said quickly. As much as his mother hated to bother him, he hated to see her wringing her hands and fretting about the estate management. It was his burden to bear. “I will speak with Mr. Moles at once.”

Felix Moles was his father’s estate manager, a sour-faced man with a paunchy belly and a lame shoulder who seemed to take a particular disliking to Tristan. Tristan could not imagine why, as Mr. Moles seemed always to get along quite well with his late father, but guessed it had to do with his ignorance and the steep learning curve his father’s quick passing necessitated. Tristan chose to overlook the older man’s churlish behavior and hoped that, in time, the estate manager would overlook Tristan’s inexperience.

“We will settle Father’s debts,” he said to the dowager duchess, trying to sound more certain than he felt. “I know we will.”

He couldn’t help noticing how wan she looked, swathed as she was in black silk. Her clothing was, as it had always been, fine and stylish, but now her elegance was a sign of great loss rather than great status.

“What do you see in the books?” she asked, nodding toward the ledger on the table. “Is there hope for the land? Is it turning a profit?”

Tristan could not lie to her, but he chose his words carefully to spare her pain. “I believe with more careful oversight, the land could be profitable indeed. I am quite blind at present, outside these lists of numbers, but I know our lands are fertile and quite impressive. If they are not yielding as they ought, there must be a reason, and I assure you I will find that reason.”

The dowager duchess lowered her eyes. “You are using beautiful language to say a quite ugly thing. We are not turning a profit at all.”

“Mother …” Tristan broached the next topic as tenderly as he could, “… do you understand fully what happened with the railroad company?”

“I know it went under,” she said, suddenly quite pale. “Unexpectedly.”

“Indeed.” He chose his words with care. “Father believed the rails were a reliable investment, and in that, he was correct. Railroads are a booming opportunity when under correct management. He simply chose the wrong gentleman, and that man squandered the money given to him. Because Father committed so much of the estate’s funds to the matter, I am afraid …”

“I know,” she said. “Our home and estate are plunged into debt. That part I understand. I understand that your father’s stricken heart was as a direct result of hearing the news.” Her eyes pooled with tears. “He could not face the despair such financial loss foisted on his family.”

Tristan reached across and seized his mother’s hand. “But I can face it, Mother. I am not frightened away by the task before us. I believe we are capable of redeeming our dear Father’s legacy and restoring Strathbourne to its former glory.”

Even as the words came out of Tristan’s mouth, he was unsure. He felt as though another gentleman, braver and more capable, was speaking to his mother while he watched shivering in the shadows. But the bravado was necessary. He could sense his mother’s courage flagging, and her health with it. It was vital that, whatever the cost to himself, Tristan convince the dowager duchess that all was well and all would be well.

“You know the easiest way out of this predicament,” his mother said, a spot of color coming back into her cheeks. “An infusion of funds without strings attached.”

Tristan shot her a sideways glance, knowing in an instant where she was leading. “What an odd phrase, Mother. ‘No strings attached.’ I am afraid I’m rather old-fashioned in that I consider a wife to be quite … attached.”

“I only mean that a wife of good character and good standing in society—”

“And a good dowry,” he interjected wryly.

“Yes, that—” she rushed on, “a wife of that sort will improve your life in every way. It will not feel like a price you are paying.”

Tristan stood and strode to the heavily curtained windows, pulling on the tassel to open them and let in a stream of bright sunshine. The study still had his father’s trappings all around. There were heavy books covered in dust, dark portraits of ancient family members, and his father’s old pipe, abandoned atop the mantelpiece. He had not yet made the place his own. “We’ve already discussed this. I don’t see how it does us any good to go over it again.”

“We have discussed the need for you to find a good match for years, yes,” the dowager duchess said, turning in her chair to catch his eye. “But this is different. Now you are the Duke of Strathbourne, not just a son skipping through Eton and Oxford and spending your years abroad. You have responsibilities, and a wife will help you bear them.”

Her gaze softened, and she stood to approach him, pushing a dark curl off his forehead. “You’ve got a rakish look about you, love, and the ladies love that sort of thing. You could have your pick of the ton.”

Tristan was tall and broad-shouldered, a man whose boyish features had hardened into a cut jawline and flashing eyes with age. His hair still curled long, stopping just above his shoulders and falling on occasion into his face, and he knew from history the effect such features had on the gentler sex. Still, he could not justify putting himself or a woman into a marriage of convenience.

“It is not that I disagree with marriage in entirety, Mother,” he said. “I fully intend to marry at some point, but not now—not when the weight of this estate demands all my time and attention. I do not believe love matches are the norm. It is rare for such a thing to happen.”

“So you will not marry unless for love?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow. “I thought your father and I taught you better.”

“I am not such a hopeless romantic as that,” he scoffed. “Only, if I do marry some girl for her fortune, I will have to wade through the captivity of a loveless marriage—all the conversation I do not want to be having, the intimacy without meaning, the attention of children … I am not ready to tie myself to someone yet. I would prefer to focus on doing what I can without calling on dowry money to save me.”

“You are proud, and pride comes before the fall, as you well know.” The tenderness was fading in his mother’s eyes, replaced with something sharp and cold. “It is not just about you. You are responsible for supporting your sister, and I.”

Tristan bit back a retort, but it fled through his mind anyway. Do you not think I know that? It is all that consumes my thoughts—my responsibilities to you, Cecily, and the estate. My responsibilities. Nothing else. 

“I know Cecily is not doing a formal season,” he interjected, desperate to change the subject. Cecily was 18 years old and had been planning to come out officially in society this year, before their father’s untimely death. “But I assume she will attend a few events here and there, to make a name for herself.”

“Yes, we will attend appropriate events here and there,” she reluctantly acknowledged. “We cannot sacrifice an entire year of Cecily’s social calendar at such a critical stage. I have determined to travel with her to London for your aunt’s masquerade ball tomorrow night. It is a modest arrangement and will surely be dubbed appropriate for a grieving girl to attend in proper attire.”

“I shall make certain the carriage is drawn around for you when the time comes,” Tristan said, his thoughts elsewhere.

“For us? What about you?”

He dragged his mind back to the present. “I beg your pardon?”

“Well, you must certainly attend with us. Cecily will need your support, and it will be a good place for you to meet … friends.”

“Women, you mean.” He stepped away from her and sat down heavily behind the desk. “I have friends enough.”

“Isn’t Philip recently returned from Spain?” his mother asked archly. Philip was Tristan’s long-time friend who he’d parted ways with in Spain during their travels. A dark-haired beauty had held Philip in thrall for six months, but in the end, the romance came to naught, and Philip returned to London to try his luck in more familiar pastures.

“He is.” Tristan eyed her carefully. “In truth, it is the singular reason I would wish to go to London. None of the other machinations you’ve mentioned draws me in the least. I know Cecily will be able to comport herself in full dignity without me staring over her shoulder, and I have no need of a bride.”

“Perhaps I have been going about this all wrong.” The dowager duchess came around the desk and laid a hand on her son’s arm. “I don’t mean to pressure you, only to give guidance and ask for assistance in turn. In this case, it is the latter. I believe you would be an asset on our trip to London, and a boon for me after your father has so recently departed. Would you make the trip on my account? Philip can be your consolation prize, and I will promise not to throw you in the path of unsuspecting females.”

He looked down into her teary eyes and found he could not refuse her.

“I will go, of course. Anything for you, Mother.”

His gaze drifted to the paperwork scattered across the desk. He had set his entire life aside already on behalf of his family—how big a difference would one masquerade ball make in the scheme of things?

Chapter 3

London, May 1821

Early evening

Faint strains of violin music greeted Violet as she walked into Lady Sinclair’s ballroom at her mother’s side. She wore the flowing white gown and delicate swan mask as planned, her auburn curls pinned atop her head with only a few escaping to curl around her face and neck. Perhaps under different circumstances, she would have allowed herself a secret delight in her maidenly appearance, but not tonight. Tonight, her thoughts were too caught up in the mission at hand, and as soon as she laid eyes on Mabel, she made her excuses and slipped away.

Mabel, behind a gold mask of a cat, grasped her hand and pulled her behind a potted palm. “Colette has not arrived yet, but when she does, I say we pull her aside and attempt to reason with her. Perhaps she is just a bully and, faced with someone other than just me, will capitulate.”

“There she is now.” Violet nodded slightly toward the entrance, where a thin young woman arrayed in a deep green dress with a peacock mask was scanning the room.

“How do you know it’s her?” Mabel’s eyes followed her friend’s, and she gave a nod of acknowledgment. “Ah, her father. He has not worn a mask, I see.”

“And in doing so has given away his daughter’s identity. Let us pull her aside at once.” Violet made her way swiftly across the room, Mabel lagging slightly behind.

“Lady Colette,” she said, sinking into a deep curtsy. “Do you have a moment to speak?”

Colette’s dark eyes narrowed behind her mask. “Lady Violet Avery, I presume? I’d recognize your red hair anywhere.” Her voice hardened as she caught sight of Mabel behind Violet. “And I can also guess why you are here.”

Violet guided the two girls slightly out of the way of traffic, relying on a curtained alcove to help obscure their conversation. “Mabel tells me—”

“Mabel can speak for herself,” Colette snapped. “She did not need to bring her loud-mouthed friend into private business.”

“It was you who put your nose into private matters,” Mabel cried. “What right had you to steal personal information from me?”

“That theft is a matter of history,” Colette said, her tone taking on a sickly-sweet flavor. “I do not wish to speak of the past, which we cannot now change. I wish to speak of the future. I have a certain tidbit of knowledge that I will not easily forget, and you have a certain tidbit of a brother that I would like to know better. Have you decided on a course of action, my dear Miss Bunting?”

Violet felt a flash of rage and bit back a retort. “This is beneath you, Lady Colette.”

“Oh, not at all.” Colette laughed lightly. “It may be beneath someone like you, Lady Vi, with your high principles and your perfect family upbringing, but for me … it’s rather up my alley. I have no qualms about a bit of blackmail on the side.”

“That much is evident.” Mabel’s jaw tightened.

“So, what’s it going to be?” Colette asked.

“Fine.” Mabel let out her breath in a rush. “Arthur will be here presently. He has agreed to court you.”

This was a lie, Violet knew, and the signal agreed upon that their attempt at resolving things peacefully must be abandoned in pursuit of a more effective solution to the problem.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Colette said.

“Will you not hand me the letter and book now?” Mabel asked, “since I have assured Arthur’s cooperation?”

“Oh, heavens, I don’t believe you for a moment,” Colette snapped, clutching her purse close. “I won’t hand the book and letter over until Arthur has asked me to dance. In fact,” her eyes lit as though she was just now thinking of a pleasant turn of events, “I may hold onto it until he has called on me once or twice. It does me no good to have an obligatory dance on the dance floor and then lose my real suitor once the evening is done.”

She gave a little curtsy and swept away in a rush of green silk. Mabel shivered, and Violet could hear barely-restrained tears in her voice. “I knew she would not hand it over.”

Violet couldn’t help smiling. “But the conversation was a success, don’t you see? We needed to know she had the evidence on her person. Did you see how she clutched her reticule, and how it seemed only to just now dawn on her that she could hold the letter until Arthur had paid her regular suit? It means she brought the book and letter with her, and we have a chance of stealing them back.”

Mabel relaxed slightly. “If we cansteal them back.”

“I can,” Violet said softly. “I’m sure of it.”

Before she could open her mouth to speak further, though, she heard a voice clear at her right shoulder and turned to see a tall, impeccably dressed man in a simple black mask standing beside her. He had dark, curly hair that had been allowed to grow rakishly past his ears and tumble down his forehead, and he stood with a strong and unaffected confidence.

“I am sorry to intrude, dear ladies, but might I ask the swan for a dance?”

Violet’s breath caught in her throat. This was not part of the plan, nor was the flush of heat climbing her neck or the way her hands suddenly felt like ice. “I … we were—”

“Of course she’ll dance,” Mabel said in a rush. “We were just hoping for a turn on the floor, and any other plans can wait for a few minutes of song,” she added significantly.

“Yes,” Violet managed. “Thank you.”

She collected herself as he led her to the dance floor and had banished any foolish feelings his self-assured presence brought up in her by the time they were bowing to each other and beginning the familiar steps.

“I am glad to have a turn around the dance floor,” he said, leading off in conversation as well as dance. His voice was smooth and deep. “It has been some time since I’ve engaged in the activity.”

“You do not dance often?” she asked, going through the motions of a slow turn.

“Not since I traveled the continent,” he said. “Then I danced nightly. I had a rather overzealous friend who encouraged me to be more social than was my wont.”

“And do you think it improved you, this social exploration you would otherwise not have attempted?” Violet asked. She tried not to think about how good it felt when his hand found her waist and directed her gently in and out of the crowd.

“I think most things that put us out of our comfort zone improve us,” the masked man said agreeably. “We may not go on to adopt those lessons for the rest of our lives but simply trying something new builds humility and curiosity—good character traits indeed.”

“I agree,” Violet said. After a pause, she added, “What things surprised you the most on your journeys on the continent? I myself have never been out of England.”

The man thought for a moment and then said, “We stopped at the court in Spain and were hosted there quite briefly because of my friend’s good standing with the prince. During our time, there was a royal birth. We witnessed a rather odd tradition in which the infant is presented on a silver platter to the father, at which point he kisses the child in blessing. I know that our English sensibilities can be rather naïve, but for a dreadful moment, I thought the whole thing was going in a much darker direction. The kiss was a relief.”

Violet laughed despite herself. “That is rather dreadful.”

“And yet you laugh.” A small smile curled her partner’s lips. “I see that you possess a dark sense of humor underneath your swan features.”

“Rather,” she said. She was beginning to enjoy herself. “Tell me, good sir. What is your name?”

“It is a masked ball for a reason.” His tone took on an edge it had not held before. “And perhaps some people wish to have a simple dance without the added stress of societal expectations pressing down upon them.”

“I did not wish to add stress—”

“Let me guess, you found me mildly amusing and therefore determined that I would make a good match.” The man’s jaw worked in annoyance.

Violet felt another flush, this one of a less pleasant nature. How arrogant can a person be? “I beg your pardon?”

“You will now have the recourse of saying you had no such designs, even if you had.” He sighed and lifted an arm to turn her through the dance steps. “I ought not to have said anything.”

“Perhaps not,” she said tightly. “Although I might wish you regretted your words because of their presumption and arrogance, not because they simply removed the argumentative high ground you previously occupied.”

Her words arrested him, and he stared at her with an expression made unreadable by his mask. He was wordless, and she assumed she’d angered him. Good. Let him feel as I do. 

“I will excuse myself from the remainder of the dance,” she said tightly. “As we both have rather soured the experience. I would have you consider, good sir, that not all women are sirens luring unsuspecting gentlemen to death on the rocks of matrimony.”

She tossed her hair and made her way away from him across the floor, coming up sharply only when Mabel grasped her elbow to halt her progress.

“What was that about?” her friend asked. “The dance was not over.”

“I do not think anyone noticed,” Violet said softly. “It was nothing. We have more important things to talk about.”

“More important than you abandoning the most handsome man in the room in the middle of a waltz? I think not.” Mabel stared hard at Violet. “What happened?”

“It was … an entirely unpleasant experience.” Violet shook her head. “I do not need to recount it, but suffice to say I made rather a fool of myself and found him to be self-conceited. I wish I knew his name, if only so I could avoid him more effectively in the future.”

Mabel sighed. “You’re hopeless. But ’tis no matter. Colette is coming off the dance floor any moment now, and our plan may go into action.” She lifted a cool glass of lemonade. “My part is ready to be played. Go to the powder room. She should be headed your way in moments.”

Violet nodded, trying to shake her preoccupation with the argument and the masked man. It was all nonsense. She did not understand why it rattled her so. She hurried down the hall away from Mabel, who was already making her way across the dance floor toward Colette. As she rounded the corner, though, her heart sank.

Lord Holden stood in the doorway with his mask dangling from his fingers and a glass of Scotch nearly drained in the other hand. He caught sight of her at once and reached an arm across the hallway to stop her progress.

“How many red-headed maidens are there in the London ton, I wonder?” he asked, his voice drawling and thick.

“Enough, Lord Holden,” Violet answered, her heart dropping with a sickening lurch, “for you to find another for your affections.”

“Ah, it is you. I wasn’t certain before you spoke, but I’d recognize your condescending tone anywhere, Lady Violet.” He positioned his body between her and the powder room. Violet resisted the urge to look behind to see if Colette was coming. She didn’t have time for this.

“I wish I had time to exchange pleasantries, Lord Holden, but I’m afraid I need refreshment.” She looked behind him to the powder room. She wanted to stay above his conniving ways, yet his very nearness made her itch to flee. He had a way of looking at a woman that made her feel at once both vulnerable and unimportant, like she was simply a pawn in his chess game.

“I’m sure it can wait.” He drew closer than comfort allowed and lowered his voice. “You look fresh enough to me.”

“My Lord—”

“No, don’t refuse me again,” he said quickly, raising a gloved hand to her lips. “Hear me out. I was seized with a passion for you when I first laid eyes on you, Lady Violet. Your family is well-suited to my family, and our stations in life are so similar. You are beautiful, you are—”

“I cannot hear any more of this.” Violet pushed aside the panic that pressed in on her. Colette would be in the hallway soon, and she would have lost the advantage. Furthermore, the smell of liquor on his breath and the brief touch of his lips made her queasy. “I have been quite clear with you, Lord Holden. I do not see a future with us together. Please, do not press your case a second time.”

He pulled back, a sneer twisting his features. “You are so certain of your future, my dear lady, but no man is as committed as I once I have decided upon a course of action.”

“Perhaps no man,” Violet said softly. “But a woman? I am quite set in my answer and will not be swayed.”

“We will see about that.” He turned on his heel and stomped away, but Violet did not wait to see him go. She fled into the ladies’ room and, scanning it quickly, ducked behind a heavy velvet curtain beside the ottoman. She tried to stay still, certain her pounding heart and heavy breathing were filling the room with echoes.

A mere minute passed, during which she calmed her breathing as best she could before Colette barged into the room with fury in her eyes and lemonade drenching her fine gown. Violet watched through the slit in the curtain as Colette surveyed herself angrily in the mirror, muttering about clumsy wenches, and then went behind the screen in the corner of the room to clean herself up. For a moment, Violet thought all was lost.

Then she saw it, thrown down on the ottoman. Colette’s gloves, handkerchief … and reticule.

There was no time. Violet stepped silently out from the curtain, clicked open the reticule, and retrieved the book and paper tucked there. She did not pause to look back, nor did she take too much care with the door. Her heart pounded so loudly she was certain Colette would hear it, and she felt dizzy with fear and excitement. She had the prized blackmail in her hands, and her only goal now was to put as much distance between herself and Colette as she could.

“Who’s there–?” she heard Colette inquire as the door shut behind her.

Breathless still, she dashed down the hall away from the partygoers, trying handles as she went. The first two doors were locked. Colette would burst out of the ladies’ room any moment now. The third handle turned, and Violet stumbled blindly inside, barely registering the shelves of books and the low light of a flickering fire. A library. Good. 

She stumbled into the room and leaned against the desk, setting the book and letter upon it and pausing to take a full breath for the first time in what felt like ages. She did not have long to rest. Before she had a chance to acquaint herself fully with her surroundings, Violet felt a heavy hand on her arm and realized with a jolt that she was not alone.