The Viscount's Victress (Scandalous Nobility Book 1)

by Madeline St. James

  “Good morning, Marina!” the young girl greeted cheerfully.

  “Good morning, Beatrice,” Marina returned. “What are you up to on this fine day?”

  “Well, my father is at sea once again. He left me home alone. I have no money, no food, and the labor masters at the factories keep stopping by the house to offer me work.”

  Marina tugged at the small coin purse that hung at her hip and handed the majority of its weight to Beatrice. She despised the cultureless beasts that ran the factories in the poorer districts in London. Their immoral use of child workers caused her stomach to turn each time she passed them on her way to work. She never failed to hand a few coins to any outstretched hand within her beloved city, but she could barely stand to pass through the boroughs. It reminded her too much of her own upbringing.

  “You just need to keep refusing, Beatrice. Something better will come along. Have faith and do not lose hope.”

  Beatrice gave Marina look of uncertainty. “What illness has befallen you, my friend?” she asked with genuine worry in her eyes. “You are never so quick to offer words that encourage hope, Marina.”

  “Perhaps I’ve stumbled upon my own bit of luck.”

  “You don’t believe in luck!” The expression on Beatrice’s face was one of sheer terror. Marina let out a few notes of cheeky laughter.

  “I may not believe in luck or miracles or the like, but I can recognize a divine sign of coming good when I see it.” Marina reached into her pocket and pulled out the entrance ticket to the ball. She watched Beatrice’s face for any indication of something other than shock and panic. “I’m going to the ball.”

  “This is real!” Beatrice announced, her voice full of wonder. “Where did you find this? You cannot go to the ball, Marina. This is wrong. It’s...beneath you.”

  “I found it here on the floor. But I am going and you cannot change my mind on the matter. This is my opportunity to see how nobility live. I will not let it pass me by.”

  “What is so desirable about painting on a false face? Do you truly believe that their wealth makes them happy? Before my mother grew ill, I cleaned the halls of the assembly rooms and I watched as each of the benefactors slid on a mask of contentment at the door. It was heartbreaking.”

  Marina knew that most of the glitz and fuss was nothing more than an illusion, but part of her truly did want to believe that there was a different world filled with happiness and glamour. “I have to do this, Beatrice. The gown is already made and I need to know for certain.”

  “What do you mean you have made your gown?”

  “I made it the night I found the ticket…”

  “Marina!” Beatrice gasped. “I know you cannot afford a gown worthy of a ball. Please tell me you did not use the materials in this shop. Please tell me you were not so foolish!”

  “Beatrice, keep your voice down. Someone might hear you. I had no other choice, but I cannot take it back now.”

  “Perhaps we should be whispering like petty criminals. Because that is precisely what we will be when you get arrested for theft; you the thief and me the co-conspirator.”

  Marina did not know what to do to convince Beatrice that she had the situation under control, so she simply did not. She allowed her friend to think whatever she wanted as she refused to allow her thoughts to be swayed on the matter.

  “I’m sorry, Beatrice. But I am going to the ball.”

  Chapter Three

  Cavendish Square, London

  Marina stood before the large dressing mirror in the changing area of the shop. Her hands trembled as they ran over the fine material of her gown. She barely recognized the woman looking back at her in the mirror’s reflection. Marina decided to prepare for the ball after closing the shop rather than heading back to her home near the port.

  She parted her bangs and curled them a bit to imitate the recent trends. Marina pinned up her long tresses in a way that allowed her wispy ringlets to hang at the nape of her neck and in front of her ears. The gown was exquisite, and her hard work resulted in it fitting her body perfectly.

  A pair of borrowed elegant slippers, gloves, and an elaborate headdress furthered the look. But it was not complete without the few pieces of jewelry, a reticule, and a fan. Marina did not bother with even a drop of pigment on her face, for she knew that the more respectable ladies of the time did not entirely approve of makeup.

  While makeup was not completely shunned, it was often ridiculed or only acceptable for actresses and women of unsavory professions. Marina wanted to look her best, but she did not mind the slight imperfections of her appearance. She all but glittered in her reflection as she twirled about jauntily.

  Marina only had enough money to take a carriage to the assembly room. She hoped that her new look and identity were enough to convince the Master of Ceremonies to allow her entry. It was a well-known fact that many undesirables often attempted to gain access to the luxuries offered at the socials. Marina knew that her first appearance as Lady Leliana Gray must be perfect or else she posed a great risk to herself.

  First appearance? This is the only appearance, Marina corrected as she mentally scolded herself for thinking that her trickeries could last for more than one night.

  She waited patiently on the cobblestone street for her ride to arrive. Marina was assisted into the back of the carriage, her eyes wide as she looked around the passenger cabin. A cold lump began to form in the pit of her stomach as her nerves screamed for her to end this madness. But she closed her eyes and simply listened to the ambient sounds of the journey ahead.

  The carriage arrived much too quickly to her destination for Marina’s jittery state of mind. She clutched her fan tight with a white knuckled grip hidden beneath her opera gloves. The carriage driver opened the door and waited for her to exit.

  Taking a deep breath for courage, Marina stepped out onto the streets once again. Instantly, the warm wind against her flushed cheeks settled the thundering beat of her heat. One glance at the doors of the assembly room was all Marina needed to remind herself that, although the people inside were regarded with respect and decorum, they were human. Wealth and reputation did not change that.

  With one shaky step at a time, Marina entered through the large doors, praying to whatever divine entity would listen.

  ***

  Percival veered toward the entrance of the ballroom after a shudder and a gasp swept through the entirety of the area. He recognized it as a collective acknowledgement that an outsider was among the throng of patrons in attendance; there was a new toy to tinker with for the sake of meaningless entertainment. The game of societal imbroglio had begun.

  For a moment, he was stunned by the simple elegance of the newcomer. However, he quickly returned his attention to his colleagues and averted his gaze before he could take in her overall appearance. One of his gentlemanly peers to his right nudged him slightly and aforesaid, “That is a lady of unparalleled beauty, is she not?”

  Instead of answering directly, Percival played the game along with everyone else and deflected emotionlessly, not willing to show his hand just yet. “If you insist.”

  “Indeed, I must insist. Never have I glanced upon such a delicate flower in a midst of so many bitter thorns.”

  Percival risked a glance near the forefront of the ballroom once more. His breath caught as he resisted the urge to adjust the cravat knotted at his neck. The air had been extracted out of the entire room as he looked upon what was indeed the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. It took him several moments to tear his gaze away as he struggled to maintain composure.

  Despite his better judgment, Percival wondered what the cadence of her voice would sound like. As she weaved through the crowd with an expression of wonder, he realized that her alabaster skin and bouncing, blonde curls would forever been branded into his memory.

  Over the soft buzzing of companionable conversation, he heard one of the ladies in attendances whisper, “The Master of Ceremonies alleged that her name is Lady
Leliana Gray.”

  “Lady, you say? Did the Master mention where she hailed from, my dear? I am beside myself with curiosity,” the man at Percival’s back whispered in return. Lady Leliana Gray, he mused. It was a beautiful name for a breathtaking lady of worth, no doubt. Percival found himself just as curious as the others in the ballroom. His gaze moved to the mirror over his colleagues’ shoulder that hung above the pianoforte. It was large enough to showcase the majority of the room.

  She spoke with no one who did not approach her first. Her flushed cheeks were the only indication of emotion on her face. The lovely Lady Leliana wore the same mask of indifference as the other patrons who danced and spoke quietly amongst themselves. Carefully, as to not raise suspicion, Percival removed himself from his conversation with expert skill.

  He made his way closer to where she was chatting with a few of the other ladies, but he made no attempt to approach her directly. That would have been a mistake. I don’t make mistakes, he thought. He turned his back to them, began a conversation with a gentleman, and pulled his watchful gaze back to the mirror. She laughed openly with her head tilted back, amused by whatever was said.

  Percival felt heat crawl up his neck and settle against his cheeks in shame. A shiver ran down his spine at the sound. He smiled and ran through the automatic motions of socializing, all the while his attention was on the enigmatic woman less than two paces to his right.

  “You must tell us, Lady Gray! Please, we insist. Wherever did you come from? Why have we not met you in London until present? You are positively a treat for the weary.”

  “I am from all over the world, Lady Belfour,” she responded. He was enthralled by the angelic melody that wrapped around each of her carefully articulated words. Her voice hovered on the air like a sweetly scented summer breeze. It was equal parts refreshing and unsettling that she proficiently revealed nothing of herself. It stoked the fires of interest.

  “You are just darling, Leliana.”

  The understated insult to leave out the newcomer’s title was not lost on Percival; he only wished that Lady Gray did not submit to the offence. Nothing could have stifled the small, proud smile that appeared upon his lips at her retort.

  “I would love nothing more than to disclose my history, Lady Belfour. But I do not wish to bore you any further, for you are a lady of many years of capability. Surely you grow tired of tedious prattle.”

  Nothing succeeded in peeving Lady Charity Belfour like a subtle prod at her maturity. It did not matter that Lady Leliana Gray appeared to be around the same age as Lady Belfour. Through the mirror, Percival watched Lady Belfour huff in exasperation. Lady Gray simply arched an elegant brow, allowing her façade to slide away momentarily in a silent challenge.

  Percival wanted to give her a round of applause knowing that Lady Belfour would not allow herself to continue the back and forth of slights, lest she risk ridicule. Lady Gray was the most exciting thing to happen to social society in years.

  ***

  Marina beamed under the attention that had befallen her. She adored the whispers and the assumptions that followed her every gesture. Lady Leliana Gray was charming, witty, and graceful, but she was also careful. Rumors abounded. The most predominant rumor was that Lady Gray was the daughter of a Duke who was forced to travel the world with her father. Some of the more ridiculous gossips said that she had been lost at sea or forced to marry Spanish royalty. Nevertheless, Marina allowed them to think whatever they wanted. She neither confirmed nor denied their claims. Her answers to their inquiries only encouraged wild postering.

  She felt bold and mysterious as she sauntered around, taking pleasure in the gasps and scuffs at her many inappropriate actions. Eventually, Marina just imitated the actions of the more experienced ladies at the ball to make it seem like it was not her first time attending.

  “Care to dance, Lady Gray?” A voice asked suddenly.

  Marina knew it was not proper for a gentleman of well repute to approach a lady directly. So instead of outright denying his daring offer or accepting it, Marina gave him her best smile. “Perhaps I shall save you a dance…”

  “Perhaps?” his expression was one of great confusion. “If not now then when, might I ask?”

  Marina was aware that the others were watching. It was common knowledge that if a lady were to accept a gentleman’s offer without the permission of a chaperone, she would be scrutinized, if not shunned completely. “Eventually,” she said.

  Marina could have sworn she heard someone snort a quiet bit of laughter at her answer. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, but she did not see anyone chuckling beside her. Moving on, Marina returned to the ladies she had spoken with earlier in the evening and took a seat alongside them.

  Lady Charity Belfour and her cackling hens turned their attention, wicked smiles spreading behind their fans. Marina’s skin crawled under their inspection. She kept her expressions neutral as Lady Belfour began to question her once more. “Where are you settled, Lady Gray?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Where are you staying while you visit London?”

  “Family.” Marina’s answer did not please Lady Belfour. She knew her simple responses to all of their questions were not appreciated, but she had caught on to the flow of things the instant she arrived at the ball. Beatrice had been correct, of course: everything here was a game of wits. It was exhilarating.

  “Surely you can give us a bit more than that…”

  “Westminster. I am settled in Westminster for now,” she hedged. It was a lie, but one that did not reveal too much or give any indication of wealth or status. It simply was a statement of fact. Or, in this case, a falsehood. One of the other ladies, Guinevere Lockhart, took pity and saved Marina from Lady Belfour’s insistent questioning. Her eyes were kind and unguarded, unlike the others. Marina got the impression that she was accustomed to being on the receiving end of Lady Belfour’s scorn.

  “As much as we enjoy learning more about you, Lady Gray. I would like to welcome you to London and I hope that you enjoy the ball as much as I intend to.”

  Chapter Four

  Assembly Rooms

  St James’s District, London

  Lady Charity Belfour’s hazel eyes burned in the dim lights, not because of the ambiance, but because of the envy that coiled within her. Her fiery red curls or courageous sensibility did not hinder her beautiful appearance. She alone navigated the dangerous waters of aristocracy with a temperament and magnetism that went unequaled. But now a stranger was within their midst, and Charity’s tongue was rampant with bitterness. She is beautiful, Charity thought to herself.

  Lady Leliana Gray was indeed a rare find. All curiosity and cleverness wrapped in a pretty package of innocence that contradicted her obvious sophistication. Lady Gray’s flawless circumvention and that strange glimmer of mischief in her eyes was enough to enchant everyone at the ball. Even Charity found herself intrigued by the newcomer.

  But when the Viscount Percival Knight had all but fainted at the sight of Lady Gray, Charity felt the resentment build within her. It settled spitefully in her veins like ice.

  The Viscount did well to hide his reaction. But to someone as observant as she, nothing at the extravagant societal congregations went unnoticed. Charity finished her dance with Lord Reginald Gustafson and curtsied her retreat. She was not interested in Lord Gustafson. Her eyes remained trained on one gentleman only, the gentleman who navigated his way through the vicious game as well as she did. The Viscount was exquisite and sought after by many...but he was hers.

  Without further thought, she roamed over to where her associates sat gossiping. Her fan fluttered gracefully, cooling the slight sheen of perspiration that beaded on her skin. She took a seat beside them and cast a close-lipped smile in their direction. Her heavy, lilting accent colored each of her words, illuminating her Scottish heritage.

  “And what do you think of our newcomer, Lady Lockhart? Do you believe a word she says?”

  Char
ity looked at her expectantly and continued to fan herself. Guinevere looked down at her gloved hands and tried to hide the telling blush against her cheeks. “Lady Gray is fascinating. I suppose she would make a worthy addition to our circle. Or an ally at the very least…”

  “Curious how we have never seen her around London,” Lady Garraway contemplated. “Surely one of us would have remembered if we had.”

  Charity noticed the Viscount’s gaze turning toward a mirror on the wall once again. For a moment, her eyes locked onto his just before he looked away quickly. There were secrets in that look, secrets she wanted to uncover. One could observe virtually anyone in the ballroom, but Charity suspected that the focus of the Viscount was the mysterious Lady Gray.

  “There is something suspicious going on here. I sense it is rather wicked in nature, even. Mark my words, I am determined to get to the bottom of this scandal,” Charity announced. “Shall befriend Lady Gray?”

  ***

  Percival had been caught. At least, he nearly had. Lady Belfour’s stare was predatory as she watched him with an unsettling amount of astuteness. He cleared his throat gently and focused his attention elsewhere. Many of the patrons danced happily to the lively strum of the music. His mind was occupied with the wonders of Lady Gray.

  He watched as she played the room like a finely tuned instrument, beguiling anyone who came near. Perhaps he could ask her to dance...and risk a scandal beyond repair? Get a hold of yourself, Percy. When the crimson tinge upon his cheeks lessened, he found that he could not deny his feet the privilege of carrying him across the room to get closer to her.

  Percival gulped noisily and almost reached out to get Lady Gray’s attention. Before he could act upon the urge, the ocean of most impossible blue that pooled in the depths of her eyes greeted him. He looked upon her with his jaw slack as he memorized each of the faint freckles that dusted her nose and cheeks. It was then that he realized that she arrived at the ball without a chaperone.