One Night of Scandal

by Darcy Burke

  Chapter 3

  “I’m pleased you decided to come with me this evening,” Grandmama said as the coach arrived at the Poole town house.

  “It’s just a soirée,” Viola said with a touch of surprise. “Pleased” was a positively effusive expression from the dowager, who was as austere and detached as a person could be. On the outside, anyway. On the inside was a woman who adored her grandchildren and put family above everything. One need only look at the way she’d welcomed Isabelle into their fold when she’d wed Val several weeks ago.

  Grandmama narrowed her eyes. “It’s not just a soirée, my dear. It’s an opportunity for you to consider reentering the Marriage Mart.”

  Panic rose in Viola’s chest. Did she really mean to bring this up now? “Grandmama, I am not fit for the Marriage Mart.”

  “Bah, that was five years ago. An ancient scandal. You are invited nearly everywhere now.”

  Because she was the granddaughter of the ferocious Dowager Duchess of Eastleigh. If not for their relation, Viola would be an absolute pariah. As it was, she was at least a minor pariah.

  The door to the coach opened, preventing further discussion. For now. Viola felt certain her grandmother would continue her campaign, both in public and private. She would be direct in private, but in public, she would ensure Viola met certain gentlemen or was seen in a particular light. Oh, this was a disaster. She had to convince Grandmama that she couldn’t marry.

  She wouldn’t marry.

  Val would help her. Probably. Maybe. After years of suffering Grandmama’s sole focus regarding marriage, he would surely be sympathetic. Or perhaps he’d simply shrug and say it was Viola’s turn.

  No, he wouldn’t do that. He understood why she’d called off her wedding even though the church had filled with guests. Furthermore, he’d supported her then just as he did now.

  As they approached the front door of the town house, Grandmama murmured, “Don’t forget what I said. There will be single gentlemen in attendance.”

  She’d timed the comment perfectly, because Viola didn’t have time to respond before the butler greeted them and welcomed them inside. They gave their wraps to a footman and went upstairs to the drawing room.

  Tables arranged with newspapers, caricatures, and natural objects Mr. Poole had brought back from a recent visit to the outer islands of Scotland were scattered about the room. Viola spotted rocks and shells and even a glass bottle filled with sand. She’d decided to come to this soirée because it was to be a conversation party, meaning there would be a great deal of conversation, plus Poole had many friends in the House of Commons. Viola hoped to hear something about the mystery MP who might have assisted the radicals.

  “Find me a seat, if you will,” Grandmama said, drawing Viola’s attention from the tables.

  “Of course.” Viola escorted her to a table near the center of the room, where she could see and be seen. “Will this do?”

  Grandmama sank into the chair and arranged her skirt to drape attractively about her legs and feet. “Quite, thank you.” Her gaze went to the door. “Oh, here are Eastleigh and Isabelle.”

  Viola turned to see her brother and sister-in-law coming toward them. Now she was doubly glad she’d come.

  “Good evening,” Val said with a touch of surprise. “I didn’t realize you would be here.” Because more often than not, Viola didn’t accompany their grandmother out.

  Viola shrugged. “You know I like a good conversation party.”

  He arched a brow, indicating he perhaps didn’t know that at all, but said nothing.

  “I’m especially glad you’re here,” Isabelle said, lowering her voice to add, “I’m still a trifle nervous.”

  A former governess, Isabelle had been hesitant to become a duchess, but true love had won out, and now she was one of the most sought-after guests in town. When she attended a ball or a rout, the hostess was instantly celebrated. It was, to Viola and to Isabelle, absurd.

  “Don’t be,” Grandmama responded. “You are the toast of London this Season. You and Lady Penelope. Has she settled on a match yet?”

  Viola and Isabel blinked at each other. As if either one of them would know. Viola should know since she made a career of writing gossip, but she focused on gentlemen. As far as she was aware, no one had made an offer. “Nothing I’ve heard about,” Viola said. “Perhaps she’ll be here tonight since there will apparently be a stock of eligible bachelors.” She didn’t bother hiding the sarcasm from her tone.

  Grandmama said nothing but shot Viola a vexed glance before turning her attention to Val. “How is the circulating library coming?”

  He smiled at his wife. “You’ll have to ask Isabelle, as it is entirely her endeavor.”

  “Not entirely,” Isabelle said with a light laugh. “You’ve plenty of opinions on which books we should stock.”

  He nodded. “This is true, and it is quite difficult not to buy them all.”

  Viola was so glad to see her brother happy. He’d been in love with Isabelle—secretly—for a decade, and Viola was glad that her brother was one of the lucky few to find a person with whom he could be entirely himself. It was much harder for women, and not just because they outnumbered the men due to the war. Isabelle, however, had landed one of the good ones.

  They chatted for a few more minutes before Val went to speak with another gentleman and Grandmama’s dearest friend, Lady Dunwich, arrived. Once she was seated next to Grandmama, Viola felt as though she could step away and meander among the tables. Isabelle joined her.

  “So these rocks and shells are from,” Isabelle leaned toward the table to read the card, “Arran. And we’re to discuss them?”

  “Yes, they’re to spark conversation. As are the newspapers and caricatures.”

  Isabelle inclined her head toward the caricature on the table featuring two women in outlandish hats. “I’m not sure what to say about that other than have you ever seen a hat like that?”

  “Of course not. Hats like that don’t actually exist. And neither do women who look like that.” One was very tall and excessively thin, while the other was squat and impossibly round.

  “This is supposed to prompt meaningful discourse?” Isabelle shook her head. “They should have placed books on the tables. Those are real conversation starters.”

  Viola nodded enthusiastically. “I couldn’t agree more.” She glanced toward her grandmother to check on her as she often did when they were out together. Two gentlemen stood speaking with her and her friend. Grandmama’s gaze drifted toward Viola, and the gentlemen followed it.

  “Blast,” Viola breathed.

  “What’s wrong?” Isabelle asked with concern.

  “Grandmama has decided it’s time I consider marriage. It looks as though she’s trying to draw attention—male attention—to me.” She groaned softly and turned her back to the group.

  Isabelle linked her arm through Viola’s and escorted her to a far corner of the room. “Allow me to save you.”

  Viola laughed. “Just when I think it’s impossible to like you more than I already do, you prove me wrong. Thank you.”

  “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but why come tonight if you knew she meant to play matchmaker?”

  “I didn’t know until we arrived. Ironically I hadn’t planned to come; however, I decided I wanted to see if I might hear something that would be worth including in my column.” Viola had told Isabelle about her hidden identity, and not just because she knew she couldn’t expect Val to keep secrets from his wife. That had been a big part of it, but it was also nice to have a friend with whom she could discuss her work.

  “That makes sense,” Isabelle said. “Though how will you say you heard it here since Tavistock is not in attendance?”

  “In these instances, I say, ‘I have it from a dear friend who was there…’ but I never name the friend.”

  “Extraordinary that you’re able to do that.” Isabelle shook her head, a slight smile playing about her mouth. “I couldn’
t even manage to pass myself off as a gentleman for a single evening.” She’d tried once at Viola’s behest. Viola had been trying to play matchmaker between her and Val. It had, much to her delight, worked.

  “Mastering the act of playing a gentleman took plenty of practice. I spent many days in the park as Tavistock before I worked up the courage to go to the Wicked Duke.”

  “Well, you make it look easy,” Isabelle said. “And you’re quite successful. Two years and no one’s discovered your identity or even realized you aren’t a man.”

  That wasn’t true, of course. As if conjured by their conversation, Jack Barrett strode into the drawing room. Viola’s breath caught—because she was surprised to see him, particularly since he’d just come to her mind. It wasn’t because of how he looked with his jet-black hair waving back from his intensely handsome features. Ebony brows arched above his walnut-brown eyes and his strong cheekbones slashed down toward the dimples that, when he laughed, creased around his mouth.

  But he wasn’t laughing now. He was intently searching the room, and then his gaze settled on her. It was as if he’d found what he was looking for.

  Their eyes locked, and a flash of awareness swept over her. She was so used to clinging to the background or masquerading as a man that it had been a long time since she’d felt...womanly. The moment was over almost as soon as it had begun when he pivoted and walked in another direction. Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t been looking for her. He had no reason to seek out Lady Viola Fairfax.

  “Oh look, there’s Diana. Let’s go and speak with her.” Isabelle started toward their friend, the Duchess of Colehaven. She and Isabelle had become rather close over the past few weeks. Since they were both newly married and to men who were best friends, they were well on their way to becoming best friends themselves.

  All during their conversation, Viola’s gaze kept straying to Mr. Barrett, who stood with a few other gentlemen near the table with the bottle of sand. Garbed in a perfectly tailored black coat with black breeches and a midnight-blue waistcoat, he presented an intimidating and alluring figure. She couldn’t seem to stop glancing in his direction.

  He didn’t appear to be aware of her presence, not after looking right at her and walking away. Was he purposely ignoring her? It was probably for the best. And yet, she was vaguely annoyed.

  “Pardon me,” she murmured before making her way slowly to the table next to the one where Mr. Barrett stood. She picked up a shell and held it to her ear.

  “Do you hear the ocean?”

  She turned her head to see Mr. Barrett had moved next to her. Not that she’d needed to turn to see who it was—she recognized the deep, seductive timbre of his voice.

  Seductive?

  “Yes.” She handed him the shell.

  He put it to his ear, and a half smile tilted his lips. Viola’s chest tightened in reaction. “It’s magic,” he said before replacing the shell on the table.

  “It’s actually the noise from the room gathering in the shell and bouncing back to your ear.” Why had she said that? Magic sounded rather charming.

  He chuckled. “I know what it is. But I like to think it’s the ocean. I haven’t been there in some time.”

  “I haven’t either.”

  “I love its vastness and the never-ending rush of waves over the shore. It makes me think of how complicated and yet simple our world can be.”

  “That’s rather contradictory,” she said, picking up a rock that had been smoothed by the waves he spoke of.

  “Life is full of contradictions, wouldn’t you say, Lady Viola?” He was referring to her disguise as Tavistock. She suppressed the urge to smile.

  “It can be, yes. So this is why you couldn’t meet tonight?” she asked quietly.

  “Yes. And it seems you weren’t available either.”

  She put the rock back down and moved around the table so they could put some distance between themselves and other guests. “I hadn’t planned to come tonight, but then decided it was worth trying to learn anything I could about our…project.”

  He nodded twice, slowly. “Yes, our project. We should perhaps develop a strategy for tomorrow night. I will ensure Pennington will be there.”

  “Excellent, I do think he is our best hope for delving deeper into things. We need to find out how he heard this rumor.”

  “Agreed. He typically likes to talk, so it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

  Viola didn’t disagree, but she wouldn’t leave things to chance alone. “And if he’s being closemouthed, we’ll pour ale down his throat until he speaks.”

  Mr. Barrett’s dark eyes widened very briefly. “You wish to get him drunk?” He kept his voice low.

  Viola lifted a shoulder. “If we must.”

  “Diabolical,” he said. “I like it. Tell me, Lady Viola, have you ever been drunk? It seems as though you must have, given your frequent visits to the Wicked Duke.”

  “I am careful not to overimbibe. Indeed, I rarely finish an entire mug of Colehaven’s marvelous ale.” She shook her head with regret. “It’s a crime.”

  He laughed. “Indeed.”

  “To answer your question, yes. I have been drunk.” She narrowed her eyes at him, but not in anger or disgust. “That is not a question you should ask a lady.”

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I should have said, ‘Tell me, Tavistock, have you ever been drunk?’” His eyes glowed with mirth, and she felt herself responding to his good humor.

  She angled her head to a saucy tilt. “No.”

  “So you’ve been drunk as Lady Viola, not as Tavistock.” He studied her intently, and her toes had the audacity to curl in her slippers. “Fascinating.”

  “Only once—just to see what it was like.”

  “You are a woman dedicated to investigation, it seems.”

  She was more than impressed with his estimation. She was…flattered. “That is an excellent way to describe me.” She tried to think of how she would describe him and wasn’t sure. Not yet. But they’d be spending plenty of time together, probably. Unless they unraveled the entire mystery tomorrow night.

  She realized she didn’t particularly want to. It might be fun to be on the hunt with Mr. Barrett.

  No, that was madness. He was not her friend—or anything else—just a necessary partner who shared her objective of learning the truth.

  “So, we’ll move forward with our operation tomorrow evening,” Mr. Barrett said. “We have meetings at Westminster tomorrow, and I’ll bring Pennington when they conclude.”

  “I’ll be waiting.” Eagerly. Because of the investigation, and only because of the investigation.

  “See you then.” He inclined his head and turned from her. As he walked away, she saw Grandmama staring in her direction. The dowager notched her chin in the way that meant, Do come here.

  Viola steeled herself to hear about the bachelors in attendance. Meanwhile, she’d think about talking to Pennington tomorrow and not how much she was looking forward to seeing Jack Barrett again.

  Chapter 4

  “Don’t you think Falworth is being unreasonable?” Jack asked, still angry about the encounter he and Pennington had just had at Westminster.

  They alighted from the hack in front of the Wicked Duke, Pennington stepping down first and Jack following. “I don’t know if he’s being unreasonable,” Pennington said. “He’s entitled to his opinion, and he doesn’t see a problem with our current voting laws.”

  “Bah,” Jack grumbled as they walked into the tavern.

  A loud refrain of “Barrett! Pennington!” greeted them, and Jack relaxed. Walking into the Wicked Duke always felt somewhat like coming home. It was familiar and comfortable, though it lacked his father, whom he was overdue to visit. It had been too long, particularly since he only lived in Isleworth, a mere ten miles away.

  “What news today, gentlemen?” This came from Lady Viola—Jack wasn’t sure he could ever think of the “man” as Tavistock now—who sat at a table near the front wind
ow.

  Seeing her as a man again was jarring, particularly after how lovely she’d looked last night. She was a beautiful woman, with golden-blonde hair, vivid blue eyes, and a face that could never be mistaken for masculine. And yet she managed to fool everyone with the addition of fake sideburns. It was more than that, he realized as he scrutinized her now. She held her mouth differently, somehow diminishing the lush bow shape of her lips. She was also careful to hood her eyes, letting her lids droop much of the time. It was an astonishing transformation and undoubtedly required impressive discipline.

  “Tavistock, weren’t you just here the other night?” Pennington asked as he moved toward her table. “Don’t typically see you twice in the same week.”

  Lady Viola shrugged as she lifted her mug. “I enjoy the Wicked Duke as much as the next man.”

  Next man. Jack suddenly felt as if he were in on a private joke, and he supposed he was. Only it wasn’t a joke to her. She had adopted the Tavistock persona for very specific reasons. Reasons that required she wasn’t Lady Viola. It was a crime she had to pretend to be someone she wasn’t in order to write for the Ladies’ Gazette.

  Mary, one of the barmaids, met them at Lady Viola’s table with two mugs of ale. “I brought you the porter,” she said to Jack. “I know that’s your preference when it’s available.” She winked at him before turning away.

  “What news today?” Lady Viola repeated, her gaze fixed on Pennington, who was taking a long draught of ale.

  “I was just trying to calm Barrett down,” Pennington said, tossing a grin at Jack. “He’s easily agitated these days.”

  “Anyone with an ounce of care should be,” Jack muttered before sipping the porter, which was absolutely delightful and precisely what he needed.

  “There is no shortness of agitation, to be sure,” Lady Viola said diplomatically.

  “Indeed. Bloody well drove Cobbett right out of the country!” Pennington arched his brows as he lifted his mug for another drink.