by Darcy Burke
Castle shrugged. “It’s possible. I’ve been coming for a couple of years now.”
“Were you at Spa Fields?”
He chuckled. “If you don’t know, I won’t say.”
Jack supposed that was the best answer—at least the safest one. But it didn’t give him much optimism at getting to the truth tonight. “What about the day Parliament opened. Were you there outside?”
Castle’s eyes narrowed. “Are you referring to the attack on Prinny? You’d best not be accusing me of anything.”
“I am not. I was hoping someone had seen something. Do you know if anyone did?”
“Wouldn’t say if I did,” Castle said firmly.
Jack’s frustration grew. “I don’t wish to get anyone in trouble. I’m only trying to—never mind.” He stood up and started toward the door.
Dean met him before he could leave. “What’s the matter?”
“It was a mistake to come here. I can’t expect these men to trust me, and I don’t know how they can help me. Someone out there is spreading rumors and lies about me, and I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Who are your enemies?”
“Someone else asked me the same question.” Viola rose in his mind, and with it, a burst of longing so strong, it stole his breath. “I didn’t think I had any—at least not anyone who would link me with an assassination attempt—but clearly, I was wrong.” Perhaps he was going about this in a convoluted way. Perhaps he should spend his energy every day trying to determine who truly was his enemy, who would want to cause him harm in this way. “I’m not even entirely sure of this person’s—or people’s—motive.”
“Seems like that might be easy. You’ve been a champion for people like us, and that must make you unpopular in Parliament sometimes.”
“Yes, but I am not alone in my endeavors.”
“For all you know, others may be experiencing your same troubles.”
That was an excellent point. Jack would speak with Burdett and others as soon as possible to ascertain whether they had encountered any difficulty such as he was.
“Thank you, Dean.” Jack clapped him on the shoulder, thinking it hadn’t been a mistake or waste of time to come here after all.
He left the tavern and caught a hack to take him home.
Being in a hack reminded him of Viola. Apparently, things people said also reminded him of Viola. Was there anything that didn’t make him think of her?
Jack leaned his head back against the squab and closed his eyes, allowing his mind to wander where it wanted to go. To Viola. Specifically to kissing her in that closet the other night at the ball.
To have her—as Viola, not Tavistock—in his arms had been an unbelievable gift. He’d almost been unable to let go. What was happening to him?
He opened his eyes and scrubbed a hand over his face. Was this what falling in love felt like? His father would know.
Jack thought of what his father had told him, about not waiting to marry. And yet Jack was committed to his professional path. When the Whigs regained power, he hoped to receive a government appointment. That meant dedicating his time and energy to Parliament, not a wife and family.
His father’s anguish, which Jack had never known about, lingered in his mind. Regret was a terrible emotion.
What exactly was he trying to talk himself into?
Nothing. He couldn’t fall in love with Viola. That would be madness for so many reasons. Even if he wanted to wed right now, she had no desire to do so, and that wasn’t going to change in five years if Jack stuck to his marriage schedule.
There was no denying, however, that they were attracted to each other. Perhaps they could have an affair…
Jack straightened and rubbed his forehead as if he could massage the idiocy out of his brain. Was he really contemplating a liaison with a duke’s sister? Scandal might be well and good for royal dukes, but Jack was simply an MP with cabinet aspirations. Not that any of that mattered—he couldn’t sully Viola in such a way. Yes, she was an independent woman who forged her own path, but he’d already overstepped in ways he shouldn’t have.
If he were a true gentleman, he’d cut ties with her completely. This investigation wasn’t going anywhere, and could end up in disaster if they weren’t careful.
Viola would be upset. She was absolutely committed to writing this article about the attack on the prince. What could she possibly write? Perhaps he could give her other information to write about—topics from the House of Commons that she could distill into a weekly column. He’d ask her about it. Together, they could come up with something that would inspire and excite her.
But then they’d still be working as a team, and that contradicted what he needed to do.
Hell. He’d made a mess, and he feared untangling himself would only ensure things got even messier.
It was a splendid afternoon for a ride or stroll in Hyde Park. It was the type of day and the time of the Season that brought the highest number of people out, and therefore it somewhat resembled a swarm of bees. Vehicles and horses jockeyed for position, and pedestrians hardly moved because they were constantly running into people they knew and stopping to converse.
Amidst all this, Viola tried to find Jack. For now, she sat in Grandmama’s brougham as it traveled—slowly—around the Ring. His note had said to meet him here just after five o’clock, but now she wished they’d met earlier, before it had become such a crush.
After a quarter hour, she still didn’t see him and sat back against the seat, feeling defeated. What if she never found him? She was dying to know what had transpired at the Spencean meeting.
At last, she caught sight of his familiar form striding along the footpath. She reached for the door. “Grandmama, I’m going to get out and take a walk.”
The footman jumped down and opened the door before Viola could do so.
“I’m going to have Turner park in the shade,” Grandmama said. “It’s just a trifle too warm for me today.”
“I’ll look for you.” Viola stepped down with the footman’s assistance and made her way to the footpath. A butterfly flitted past her head, and she likened the fluttering of its wings to the giddiness in her belly.
Giddy at the prospect of seeing Jack.
He bowed when they met and offered her his arm so they could take a respectable promenade. In her mind, she was spiriting him off to a secluded grove where they could continue what they’d been doing in that closet at the ball…
“I’m pleased to see you are all right after last night’s meeting,” she said.
“I am, thank you. Overall, it was a pointless endeavor, I’m afraid.”
She snapped her head toward him in distress. “Was it?”
He nodded grimly. “Who among that group would admit to me, an MP, that they’d been involved with the attack on the prince in some way? The moment I broached the subject, offense was taken, and rightly so, I suppose.” He shook his head. “I am not an investigator, and I’m beginning to think we should leave that to Bow Street.”
“Should we go to Bow Street?” she asked eagerly.
“And tell them what?”
She slowed. “We could show them the letter I received about you.”
He stopped entirely. “You still have it?”
“It’s securely locked away—I thought it was important to keep it as evidence.”
“That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose.” His tone was wry. “It’s also incriminating, don’t you think?”
“Which is why it’s safely hidden.” She lowered her voice even more. “While I’d like to write a story about whatever happened, I think our primary goal right now should be ensuring your reputation.”
His gaze locked with hers, the dark walnut of his eyes heating. “Viola, that is—”
She would never know what it was because they were interrupted at that very moment by the arrival of Mr. Caldwell and Sir Humphrey.
“Barrett, I’ve heard some distressing news,” Caldwell s
aid, his mouth forming something between a frown and a grimace. Sir Humphrey stood beside him, looking equally disturbed.
“Have you?” Jack’s question was casually spoken, but Viola felt him tense.
“It’s come to our attention you were seen at a meeting of the Spencean Philanthropists last night.” Caldwell spoke so loudly that the people walking around them stopped and turned to stare at what was going on.
“Furthermore, it seems as though you had something to do with the Spa Fields riots and maybe even the ghastly attack on the Prince Regent.”
Anger and fear prompted Viola to blurt, “That’s absurd.” She looked over at Jack, who barely seemed to register what he was being accused of, save the tightening of his mouth and jaw.
“Careful with your accusations,” he said softly, almost menacingly. His tone made Viola’s neck prickle.
Caldwell straightened, his gaze both taunting and superior. “You were seen at the Bull and Fox last night. Can you prove you weren’t there?”
He could not. Because he had been there. Oh, this was an absolute disaster.
“I can,” Viola said without thinking. She ignored the sudden clasp of Jack’s hand over hers on his arm.
Sir Humphrey scoffed. “How can you do that?”
She glared at him and then at Caldwell for good measure. “Because he was with me.”
“Viola.” The urgent whisper floated to her from Jack’s lips.
Turning her head, she tried to use her eyes to silently plead with him to go along with what she was saying. If he contradicted her, he would only look even more guilty because she’d tried to hide the fact that he had been at the Bull and Fox.
Caldwell sneered. “You’re saying Barrett couldn’t have been at the Spencean meeting because he was with you? We’re supposed to just believe that?”
Viola straightened her spine and gave him a haughty stare she was sure her grandmother would be proud of. Oh God, her grandmother… She couldn’t think about her right now. “Yes. My brother is the Duke of Eastleigh. My testimony as to Mr. Barrett’s whereabouts last night should be more than sufficient proof. I would also add that you’d better have evidence about his alleged participation in any radical events. Now, you will excuse us.”
She pivoted and dragged Jack along with her. Searching wildly for Grandmama’s brougham, she saw it parked beneath a tree on the other side of the Ring. “Hell,” she muttered, quickening her pace. “We need to get to my grandmother.”
“Where?”
“Over on the other side of the Ring.”
They kept to the footpath, though she was tempted to cut across the grass to the other path that would take them to where Grandmama was parked.
“What on earth were you doing back there?” he sounded…angry.
“Why are you upset with me?” She worked to keep her focus straight ahead lest she become aware of anyone looking at them. It was too much to hope no one had overheard what had been said. But even if they hadn’t, Caldwell and Sir Humphrey were likely telling anyone who would listen.
She’d just claimed—out loud, on the busiest afternoon of the Season in Hyde Park—that she’d been with Jack Barrett, MP, last night. In reality, she had been at home while Grandmama had attended a card party at Lady Dunwich’s.
“I’m angry because you just created a massive scandal—for both of us.”
“I’m not new at that,” she said quietly.
“I am.”
Viola flinched. The worst part of abandoning your betrothed at the altar was the fact that it hadn’t just affected her, which she had been more than willing to endure. She’d known her reputation would be ruined and had hated that Ledbury’s would be tainted. He’d survived, of course, and so had she. She would survive again. Would Jack?
She walked even faster as they turned to the other footpath that would take them to the brougham. Her mind scrambled to think of how to fix this for Jack. She didn’t care about herself. She’d long ago accepted her pariah status. But Jack was a rising political star. Still, wasn’t this better than being seen at a meeting of known radicals?
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t thinking. I was just trying to protect you. We’ll come up with something. Perhaps Val and Isabelle can say they were with us—we had dinner. And I didn’t say all that because I was flustered. Yes, that could work.”
“Assuming they weren’t somewhere else last night that would completely destroy your fake alibi.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “While I appreciate you wanting to protect me, you shouldn’t have said anything. I haven’t done anything wrong. It’s not a crime to be somewhere.”
“No, but it could be incredibly damaging.”
“So can this.” His tone was dark, and he was clearly not done being angry.
They arrived at Grandmama’s brougham, and it was immediately evident that she already knew. A group of people hurried away from the vehicle. Grandmama sat inside, her gaze icy as she stared at Viola. “Get in.”
The footman helped Viola into the vehicle, and when she tried to sit beside her grandmother, Grandmama gestured to the rear-facing seat. “Sit over there. Where I can glower at you.” She looked down at Jack. “When is the wedding?”
Jack returned her stare without wavering. “I will call on you tomorrow to discuss it.”
“You will call on us right now.”
“Grandmama, we aren’t getting married,” Viola said, hating the impassivity of Jack’s expression. He was obviously angry, but was he anything else? She couldn’t tell.
Viola expected her to argue, but Jack spoke first. “Yes, we are,” he said firmly and without looking at Viola. He continued to stare at the dowager, then inclined his head before turning and walking toward the gate.
Was he going to Berkeley Square? Why didn’t he just ride with them? She was about to suggest that, but her grandmother’s furious expression quashed anything she’d considered saying.
“Drive,” Grandmama said to Turner.
As they left the park, Viola finally summoned some words. “I wasn’t really with him.”
“It hardly matters. You said you were, and all of Mayfair has now heard it.”
“Surely not all of Mayfair.”
“Don’t be cute with me, Viola. I am positively livid you would behave in this manner again. You seem to think you are immune, that somehow my influence will shield you from Society’s judgment. It will not. It barely did the first time, and it surely won’t now.”
“I don’t expect protection. I was trying to protect him. Mr. Barrett. He was being accused of something he didn’t do.”
“So you made up a story about spending the evening with him?” Grandmama settled herself back against the seat. “Explain yourself.”
Viola decided it was time to tell her the truth—about everything. Mostly everything. Some of the bits between her and Jack she would keep to herself. Not only did she not want to share it, she was confident Grandmama wouldn’t want to hear it. As it was, she wouldn’t like much of what Viola was about to reveal. “I suppose I should start at the very beginning.”
“That would be a good place,” Grandmama said testily.
“About two years ago, I began to dress as a man called Tavistock.”
Grandmama’s eyes nearly bulged from her head. “You are Tavistock? The columnist in the Ladies’ Gazette?”
“It was the only way they would allow me to write for them. They don’t hire women.”
“To write for a woman’s magazine?” Grandmama pursed her lips. “Idiots.”
Viola tamped down a smile—now was not the time to indulge in humor. In the amount of time it took to drive to Berkeley Square, she’d explained about being Tavistock, about pursuing the story regarding the attack on the Prince Regent, and about working with Jack and how he was now the target of dangerous gossip and accusations.
“I see why you wanted to protect him, but it was foolishly done,” Grandmama said as the brougham pulled to a stop in front of her house. “A
ctually, I don’t see why you wanted to protect him. Are you in love with Mr. Barrett?”
“I— No.” She’d been about to say she didn’t know. But she suspected she did know, and she preferred to pretend she didn’t. So she’d lie to her grandmother and to herself.
When they were out of the brougham and walking to the house, Viola continued, “I had to protect him because he went to that meeting last night for me, to help with my story. I can’t let him suffer for aiding me—he could end up in prison.”
“Balderdash. He would never go to prison.” Grandmama preceded her into the house. In the entrance hall, she paused to remove her hat and gloves, which she handed to Blenheim. Viola did the same. “Mr. Barrett will be calling shortly, Blenheim. Show him into the library.”
Grandmama moved into the library, and Viola followed. When the dowager was situated in her favorite chair and Viola perched on a settee, her expression was much improved. She almost looked…pleased?
“No, Mr. Barrett would never go to prison. He’s an important MP with a brilliant future, likely a title.”
Viola began to understand Grandmama’s transformation. Jack was now her favorite person in the world because he was about to do what no one had been able to do—secure Viola’s hand in marriage. Only that wasn’t going to happen. Just as with Ledbury, this marriage would never take place.
Chapter 12
Jack took his time walking to Berkeley Square, not because he was dreading the interview with the dowager, but because he wanted to calm his thoughts. He also didn’t want to be a sweaty mess.
As he approached the town house, he took a deep breath. His thoughts might not be entirely calm, but he was no longer angry with Viola. He understood what she’d been trying to do. And he was deeply grateful.
He was also incredibly surprised.
She’d jumped to his defense with breathtaking speed and a total lack of forethought—both for himself and for her. He knew she thought this wasn’t something to get upset about, that she’d weathered scandal before. But this was different. He wasn’t the Earl of Ledbury, and she wasn’t going to abandon him at the altar.
